Archive for the 'problem solving' Category

Make Believe Bitches & Money

Know what I love?

I love to day dream about gettin paid.

Yeah that ain’t working — that’s the way you do it!

I like it when loose US $50 notes flip & tumble-roll in the air like feathers escaped from a big fluffy-goose bed. I want a pile of money big enough to lay back & relax in like it was a recliner chair.

Sip on chilled neon sweat-drip glass fulls of Dexedrine-spiked & iced Alien Turd tea. With my mind on my money & my money on my mind!

There is a tall highway over-pass a short walk from town. When I want to off myself — if you don’t have days like that…get out of my face — I think about how I might jump off it. Should I so choose. But I want to go out First Class — and that crumby old bridge, from even a suicidal standpoint, is a whole low-rent load of going out coach.

I want so much money I can plunge beneath an oxygen squeezed crater-load of it until I suffocate & die. Like an Irishman near drowned after an inadvertent slip & fall into a whiskey vat; fighting rescuers off bravely and resurfacing only to demand tequila & cans of Guinness pub draft beer.

I know what you’re saying. “But Mike E: if you have so much money you need 3 bitches & a swiss bank account — why would you want to commit suicide?”

Not a reason on all sweet momma Earth. Money is the solution to all my problems. That’s why I love to day dream in my spare time about getting paid.

When I occasionally wish I were dead it invariably is because of Smoldering Abject Poverty. Sometimes I want to commit suicide. Yes. And you know what? I’m proud of it. Why? Because one day I might. It does suck that bad to be me. But I am also a fantastically wishful thinker. My fantastically wishful thoughts are why I assiduously choose to live & not die.

Like when I comtemplate suicide by Benny Frank asphyxiation instead of landing my ass in a (with my luck) barely alive pile of gut-splinters up the street.

But don’t worry. I’m too lazy to kill myself. And it’s not like I sit around & think about it all the time…

…I think about 3 bitches & Swiss Bank-loads of dough mostly.

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I’ve Insulted Georgie W!

Pippi:

I done figgered it out!

Tell you what I say: So-called President George W. Bush is the precise reason why America’s Founding Fathers provided We The People with the Articles of Impeachment. For goodnesses sake — use them!

Give him & Dick Cheney both the fair trial which is their Constitutional due.

Subpeona Colin Powell. He’ll tell the truth. Under the power of a Congressional subpoena General Powell will be duty-bound to. Much like he felt bound to lie treacherously, at the Commander in Sleaze’s behest, to the peaceful inhabitants of Earth.

People Magazine will rate it in the top 5 most memorable events in television history.

Billions will watch the world over. Most important: Earth’s peaceful inhabitants will feel proud to watch America take responsibility for the cruel acts of our leaders.

There’ll be music in the cafes at night and wild dance bashes in the street. Peace will get the chance. America will have president Nancy.

It’ll be our first genuine victory since Georgie W. declared war on terror.

Georgie W. will lift off on Marine One from the white house lawn. The red presidential carpet is rolled & whisked off — never to be sullied by Georgie W’s crooked footsteps again.

Impeachment.

Eviction.

Humankind breathes a sigh of cosmic relief.

Yeah! All this — So easy a crackhead could do it!

Alas it’s in the hands of congressional Democrats. We best redouble efforts to force our representatives to act on behalf of the voters to whom they’re beholden. History will frown gravely on inaction. Impeachment is a life or death matter. Bush/Cheney are deeply & rightly suspected of High & murderous Crimes. They must be tried.

Meanwhile back at the White House…

Hmm. Isn’t that where the President lives? Yeah. But W. Bush is not a duly elected president.

“Well,” Pippi wondered in her blog some while back, “Should we call him the Resident?”

But Pippi is hardcore and Resident doesn’t verbally gouge that rude smirk right off his face. So she went with squatter. To which I objected on grounds of my belief in the essential goodness of squatters. I occasionally take up temporary residence in a building to which I’ve no claim. A place where, according to police, it was not my prerogative to sleep.

It was wrong, I commented, to lump the largely innocent squatter culture inadvertently in league with the murderous ilk of Bush/Cheney’s.

Pippi agreed. But how to formally address our nation’s unelected leader until he gets his ass kicked deservedly to the Pennsylvania Avenue curb?

Hmm. Bush deals crack cocaine. Shacks up at some digs which ain’t his. What does that make him?

The Crack Kingpin in Residence?

I was stumped as an under-ripe plumb. I promised Pippi I would take enough drugs — soon — to think up a moniker befitting that dumb hoser.

Historians may hope one day to learn whether Americans of conscience resisted the cruelty unloosed on an already weary Earth by Bush/Cheney. They’ll want to know what people thought about a president who assumed power granted by a Supreme Court facilitated internal coup. On the heels of an election he incontestably stole.

Every nefarious move the thieves made was captured on film. Minutest nuances were detailed & analyzed & glossed deceptively over. With assurances that a victory declared by the candidate who clearly scored fewer votes than his opponent would make Thomas Jefferson beam with pride to be American.

When I gamble money on a racehorse I must remember to learn — or pretend at least — to enjoy it when I lose.

Perhaps I should study the strategy Bush’s team used to propel their narrow loss into a two-term Oval Office stint.

With greatest ease for those who wish to not just enjoy but profit unnaturally from the spoils of their own defeat.

Yeah. Well I don’t care how splendidly defeat has treated him. Bush lost. And in the interest of historical accuracy — as requested by my old friend Pippi — I propose a title to befit the current White House occupant.

Nice & simple. Just the truth. One morsel for future historians who will want to know how smart people like my blog readers & I describe George W. Bush. I’m tempted to call him a dumb honkey slut & leave it at that. But whether he stole the election or won it fair & square W Bush would still be a dumb honkey slut in my book.

The point is he did not win. And what do we call people who do not win? We use one word. Which niftily encapsulates what George W. Bush is — a character description of sorts — in the eyes of a decisive majority of Americans.

Loser.

George W. Bush is a Loser.

Ooh! Better yet:

the Two Time Loser!

Yeah — and you know the rules Loser.

3 strikes & you are Out.

Biochemistry of a Make-Believe TNT Fiend

Want PBR.

Got ATP.

Good 2 GO!!

When I want beer and my hand successfully grasps the Pabst Blue Ribbon can from the bar in front of me, the accomplishment is propelled by chemical energy stored in a molecule of adenosine triphosphate (ATP).

atp.GIFPut more precisely: The “PBR accomplishment” is propelled by the release of chemical energy when a phosphate bond (one of the 2 red lines between the 3 P’s in the above diagram) is strategically cleaved from ATP.

The result: Free Energy, available to do work. Or, that’s what they say in the textbooks. It may be more accurate to describe such Free Energy as available to do anything.

Want. Pill.

POP

Another magnificent ATP-propelled accomplishment!!

ATP similarly propels every energy-requiring act by any organism on Earth – be they whale, plankton, salmon or human; from giraffes to the leaf on a tree. Albeit at some expense; an ATP minus one phosphate (adenosine diphosphate or ADP) is like a cooler filled with beer on a hot day – but no ice.

Must..be...remedied!!

When a salmon swims the act is fueled by chemical energy stored in an ATP molecule. ATP makes it so salmons get to swim upstream & have babies. So they need to eat stuff on the way. To make more ATP. To swim up more streams & propagate their species.

But sometimes salmons get caught in a net & grilled on hibachis. The salmon had other plans. But it is dinner now. Flush with energy it no longer requires, on account of being dead.

ATP waiting to happen.

And what will the human do with his freshly-synthesized Free Energy available to do anything?

People use their ATP to run around like chickens with their heads chopped off mostly.

So they can buy more salmon. To get more ATP. So they can crawl imbecilic across the carpet & pick gruelingly for those fabled crumbs of leftover crack cocaine.

So goes the mass of humanity.

Other creatures keep a better handle their ATP habit. Like vultures; supremely patient hunters, who pick nutrient-rich flesh from the bones of the inadvertently deceased. Whitewinged vampire bats drink blood from the toes of sleeping birds. The birds not only survive the predation — they don’t feel a thing.

The described creatures — salmon, vulture, human — are known as chemotrophs (chemo = of or pertaining to chemicals + trophe = nutrition). Chemotrophs extract their energy from biochemicals (bio = Life); from the carbohydrate, protein & fat molecules in food.

In other words: chemotrophs eat for their ATP.

But there are other ways.

Like so:

Ever wonder: Since the Road Runner always somehow evades him — what does Wile E Coyote eat?

TNT.

wile-e.jpg

Actually he doesn’t eat TNT. But when it explodes inadvertantly in his face, squirts brain from his ears and blasts the top half of his skull through a hole in the sky – that TNT nourishes him. Sure as the rest of us are nourished by a bowl of home-made chicken soup.

TNT, coincidentally, is chemical energy.

Which means Wile E Coyote is a chemotroph. Just like me & you. Except, instead of eating salmon, the coyote synthesizes his ATP with energy derived from ACME brand TNT.

Never underestimate coyotes. Delighted, remarkably adaptable — the daredevil species.

His nemesis, the Road Runner, is just some dumb cartoon bird Wile E Coyote chases for giggles & cash. The chase is perpetually doomed. But what the hell? Doom is Money – at least in the Freelance Daredevil business. And a gig is a gig. Trick to it is get a wild kick out of doom.

Like a gambler who knows how to make a fast buck when he loses.

Eat the Road Runner? But…then there would be no Road Runner cartoon. And with no cartoon that coyote is just another doomed jerk on the street.

So he pulls out all the stops to let the road runner get away.

Play to lose. And when you mistakenly win keep a good excuse handy. Plus a dozen-odd hits of strong acid in case you need to hallucinate hugely:

I know what you’re thinking: But Mike E – does Wile E Coyote really synthesize his own ATP?

Great question!

I don’t know. But I can tell you that the TNT-fed cartoon coyote uses ATP to chase the Road Runner sure as a salmon uses ATP to swim upstream.

When something moves on Planet Earth it does so aided by the energy released when a phosphate bond is cleaved strategically from a molecule of ATP. Movement – deliberate movement by a living thing – requires ATP. Just does. Always.

I ask: can Wile E Coyote move across your TV screen without ATP?

Here is an unassailable illustration of the rhetorical nature of my question:

Can I borrow a few thousand bucks? I’ll pay you back when I get a job…

Preposterous!

Dig?

Nothing moves without ATP.

Not even the trickster.

Wile E Coyote is ATP-dependent. Suppose he lacks the cellular mechanism to produce his own. How will he move?

So easy a crackhead could do it.

to be continued…

The Salmon Of Disco

Dig: The graph below demonstrates the difference in energy required to get a sober vs. a drunk person to dance at the disco party.

catalyst_effect.png

Notice that less energy is needed to activate a [red] catalyzed reaction — while a greater energy input is required to activate & drive its uncatalyzed [blue] counterpart to completion in the same amount of time.

Look the graph over once more while you chew on the above paragraph please; it’s entirely brain wraparound-able.

Like [blue] is the dude who just showed up cold sober to the party. While [red, catalyzed] is a properly liquored up party goer.

The reactions are complete when each hits the dance floor.

The red line denotes the amount of energy required before a lady-friend’s entreaties successfully convince a drunk person to disco dance. Blue for the amount of convincing Joe Sober dude needs.

The drunk person goes by the name Drunk Yo.

Joe Sober requires more energy to convince him to dance to We Are Family. You can count on it like a law of physics.

Drunk Yo’s activation energy is far lower than Joe Sober’s since Drunk Yo is halfway to the dance floor already.

Singing I got all my sisters & ME!!

By strategically lowering the activation energy required to move a drunk ass to the dance floor, liquor makes Drunk Yo a million times easier to convince. In this way liquor at the disco party behaves remarkably like chemical reaction catalysis.

Joe Sober will get funky eventually. It’s human nature. But without the benefit of catalysis…not funky enough. Not fast enough. Joe Sober is of no use to the party.

Not without liquid booze fuel.

Consider: a salmon steak breaks down far more readily, to its’ molecular components, in the presence of enzymes — digestive catalysts — in the stomach, than when left to rot in the sun. Each result — the molecular LEGO set from which salmon steak is originally assembled — looks quite the same.

But catalysis accelerates the situation in magnificently handy ways.

Yeah — whoa! — like Far Out.

Bitchin!!

If you learned one thing here today remember this: The crucial difference is speed.

Any questions?