My esteemed colleague may be top nerd, but not because she thinks she deserves extra points for wearing braces and Coke bottle glasses during her adolescence. After contributing to several fields of study, she’s earned her nerd ranking. I’m not giving her any sympathy points for her orthodontic head gear. In fact, I wanted braces because she had them and I didn’t. Looking cool, with all the metal, kind of robotic and shit. I made robot doodles in the image of her. If that doesn’t illustrate how much admiration I have for this cranium, then give me sympathy nerd points for being deprived the necessity to correct for anteroposterior discrepancies. Hence, science looks good on her and they don’t call her “β-lactamax” for nothing.
Additionally, my associate has been out of her natural habitat too long. Not having a laboratory to manage and no rookie techs to torment, I have been become the victim of her mockery. With that said I am seeking retribution for the ridicule I received, which is in regards to my kernel measuring technique. Little Miss Know-It-All had the gall to taunt me about how I over estimated the volume. Thanks Captain Obvious. Anyone with two working optical spheres could plainly see that the final volume of the popped kernels exceeded the pan. It seemed like I had taken on the role of some previous half-wit underling; however, we were not in the laboratory and I’m not a dimwit. In conclusion, this soured what was supposed to be a relaxing evening of watching episodes of Highway to Heaven together.
Back on point, some company needs to make haste and swoop up this egghead before she starts scheming to compete for the position I covet, the Federal Water Master. That title is mine!
Also its critical that this mastermind not have control over this precious resource. During the darkest hours of the night she’ll mumble to a marble-eyed cat with an abnormal body. Supposedly that cat was used in medical research experiments she was privy to. I’ve heard her whispering and mumbling perverse things to this lumpy bumpy chunky globule of fur. I suspect she’s concocting some vile scheme to rule the world. Plus her pajamas smell like evil.
Furthermore, I want payback! This way, any time this brain decides to roll into Tahoe, I’m shutting down the Truckee! Turning it off! No booze cruise paddling for the gangantubrain while I’m running the show.
Please do me a solid and give my colleague and prized gargantubrain a home. Other than her plans for world domination and that sinister chortle, she’s a good egg.
Lord Eggs Benedict, 8th Duke of Breakfast.