Hola Hombres, it’s been a while since I wrapped at ya. But your old pal Jim Anchower has been pickle dicked like a crunchy’s cucumber. And now my ride is all fucked up. My most recent whip is a 2002 Toyota Camry. For the first time in the Anchower League of Memories, I have a vehicle that was now dropped from mamma car pussy in at least a moment past Y two fucking K baby!
You long time fans will know that I’ve never been for the imports, but the Camry came up in a land swap where we swapped two pieces of land, except my land was worth more than his land, so he threw in my new Camry. Except it wasn’t land Amigo, it was Pocatello Pirate Dust. I show up with a fat rock of Uncle Donny’s famous bar snack, and Rick Yukon dropped in with what I can only describe as a broken piece of bud that someone lost under a restaurant table. So I told him the deal is off, and he saw my rock, and his jaw hit the floor. Slackjaw, like his sister just gave him a Christmas Card, that kind of jaw. He spoke slow … “Anchower, good man, I must have that Chilean Chow Chow. I will give you my car.”
I looked down at his car, and this wasn’t even the kind of car that Anchower would want in his stable. It was faded grey, bone stock engine, AM/FM with a CD. But I was between vehicles at the time, using my number one and my number two, the two-cylinder piston engine below my nutsack. And I told Rick. “Sorry man, this rock is worth more than that car.” So Rick tells me that he’ll throw in the little bud of herb, and I shook his hand. The rest is history, Anchower is back on the road.
But let’s say Amigos, that your Anchower budy has fallen for a married woman. Perhaps she is a married woman who Anchower knew back when she was a fair maiden. And since I left her, she lived her life, met a good guy and now lives with a little less misery than she did before she was married. What does your Engine Jim do? I guess she’s my new tortured soul. Your’s truly, Anchower, sower of pain and evil.
The neutrino flux needs to statistically concentrated. The key is the mass to volume ratio of a cubic meter of space, consisting of actual mass of the average total mass of three flavors of neutrinos through the volume, versus the total average relativistic mass of all above ground-state photons in that volume. I believe that the weak interaction with the photons can be considered as negligeable compared to the weak interaction between the neutrinos and the coupling surface. And yes, Amigos, I wrote neglige and able because I do not plan to send this woman a neglige. I don’t want to be a creep, I just want to have her in my life in a non-intimate way. Is that selfish? Yeah. Should I not do it? Do I even have that kind of control as a man in a woman-man interface? Maybe with some women, not with a woman as experienced and skilled at the language of love as she is. So these questions are meaningless. She owns the machinery, and I am the hired hand. I just happen to have knocked on the factory door when she needed a dumbass like me to shovel coal.
There may well be a transition somewhere where the Relativistic speed of the boat would benefit through near light-speed coupling at the reaction interface. Perhaps at that point the weak-field reaction may even improve. But it should be possible to build a “wind tunnel” version of the Weak Force Jet. I would need to show an improved weak force interaction cascade with the device turned on, versus the device turned off. And it might even be possible to measure the change in momentum of the reaction surface.
I think this is the core of the Weak Force Jet. Ultimately, our vacuum pantry doesn’t consist of much. We have above ground state photons, below ground state photons, neutrinos of oscillating flavor and a spare fermion here and there, about one atom per cubic centimeter, so that’s about 100 x 100 x 100, some million fermions per cubic meter. It may or may be enough to move a snail’s dick halfway across the dash of a 1974 AMC Pacer and a straight six. But if the measurements agree then we can either use it or walk away. I would prefer to use it.
Right after humans walked on the moon, the future seemed wide open. Then the future shut down again, we didn’t have the means to travel through space in any meaningful way, at speeds significant portions of 3×10^8 meters per second. So we stayed here, Musk dreams of putting people on Mars. Yeah, putting people in a fucking vacuum. People need to be on pretty planets like Earth. Or at least we need; to look for a pretty planet like Earth.
And then, when we spend a few years realizing there are none like Earth in our corner of the Milky Way, we will come home, in non-relativistic time, and say, “Shit’s fucked up out there, and shit’s fucked up in here. This is the only planet like this in all these motherfucking stars.” And then maybe we will find a way to fix all the shit on the planet that all the dead people before us broke … and we broke a good bit too. (As I type this, West Africa is being converted into global rare earth element mine. Dug up, polluted and fucked right and center. We can get the REEs out of the ground in clean and sustainable ways, we just need to do it. If anyone wants me to help them mine REEs in a sustainable way, please visit the lab in Golden. I’ll give you a good deal on that one.)
We need to be able to leave Earth to properly protect Earth.
To do that, we will need near-light-speed boats. So yes, we need to develop the Weak Force Jet, because why the fuck not? If we get really, really lucky, a few of us might even be able to see some hell-forsaken rock in some nearby star before they haul our withered ass back to Wyoming to dump us into a hole in the ground where the only remaining family never bought a tombstone.
We need the Weak Force Jet, dude.