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August 2, 2007

Thursday

Where are today's young mad scientists coming from?

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Dave: Graduation Day

"You leave here today from Phlogiston Tech, facing an uncertain but promising future.  Far from the mundanities of my era -- diet fads, CIA drug experiments, cold fusion in the kitchen sink -- you, the mad scientists of a new generation, have the opportunity for mad, mad I tell you, experiments in nanotechnology, chimeras, global obesity, and the challenges of keeping a hidden laboratory clammy in an era of global warming.

"So, as you go forth from here, I remind you all, remember: madness in the pursuit of personal apotheosis is no vice, and, rest assured that, in the end they'll all pay!"

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David: Teach Your Children Well

It was project day at the Institute for Really Advanced Science. Dozens of super-genius children had their projects set up on card tables in the gymnasium.

Anastasia won third prize for her improved mutant meat-eating plant. It could consume a Chihuahua in a single sitting.

Second prize went to Archibald, whose revolutionary cybernetic implants kept a week-dead badger in a constant state of angry, pain-fueled agitation.

The program was disrupted when Theophilus’ laser-guided mosquitoes escaped their enclosure and ran throughout the gym, draining patrons and spreading the hyper-virus, killing one third of them. The survivors awarded him the blue ribbon.

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Michele: Genius

The first meeting was held in the basement of Dunkin’ Donuts. Everyone was surprised at the number of people who showed up, especially Dr. B, who had to run upstairs for more munchkins.

They all eyed each other with a combination of respect and fear, wondering who was here to work together and who was here to steal ideas.

When everyone had coffee and donuts, the Mad Scientists of Tomorrow meeting was called to order.

An eager member raised his hand .
"What are we going to do tonight, Dr.B ?"
The doctor sighed.
“Same thing we do every night, Pinky....”

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Jim: It's All Greek To Me

It seemed innocent enough to the jocks on Frat Row,
Shouting insults at a few passing nerds.
And I’m sure the jocks expected some sort of reprisal
Involving large flaming bags full of turds.

But the boisterous jocks went back to their drinking
And promptly forgot the jeering event.
After all, they had two cold kegs of draft beer
In which they had hardly yet made a dent.

The explosion occurred early the very next morning
(Some say around eight and some say later).
Despite the time, all that’s now left of Frat Row
Is a mile wide, radioactive crater.

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Ted: Multiple Intelligence Training

We called it MIT for short. Joking of course: the geeks at MIT were nothing compared to these kids.

Ever since the aliens landed back in '04, we have been sending the smartest of our kids out to the desert to learn from them. We have gotten damn near everything of any technological consequence from these wunderkin.

Problems arose when these kids hit their twenties, yeah. But except for that one kid running off to give Opp the final bit of Manhattan, we tend to de-program them very well.

That is, until now. Some mad, insane, person is un-de-programming them.

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Jeff R.: Self-Made

I met Lynne through several statistically absurd events that led to both of us, on seperate vacations, myself to Mexico and she to Vancouver, getting stranded in Miami airport while our luggage gadded off to Vladivostok and Sydney.

It was love at first sight, despite the constant distraction of eleven distinct narrowly-averted fatal accidents. (My 'favorite' being the classic falling piano.)

I rather suspect that in a few years, Alva's going to invent a time machine, and then take the adolescent cry 'I wish I'd never been born' literally. Luckily, his more mature, further-future selves must have won that fight.

Read more from JeffR's .

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From The Comments: Barb

“Your baby, your way”…sang the snappy radio commercial.
“Predictable. Reliable. And no messy sex.”

Hillary hummed along as she slid a rack of test tube babies across the stainless steel countertop at Synergism Laboratory. Human cloning was fashionable now.

“Two decades ago, in 2007, folks protested when the word “clone” was added to birth certificates,” she harrumphed, reaching into the pocket of her white lab jacket.

Unfolding the glassine paper, she uncapped a tube and sprinkled in one milligram of 2,4,dichlorophenoxyacetic acid. “One agricultural mad scientist to go,” she chuckled, labeling the boy for shipment to Con-Agra, Peoria, Illinois, USA.

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