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Friday, December 27, 2013

The Buggy Physics Of Superman (Part Two)

One of the most iconic scenes from the Superman films is that of Superman and Lois Lane flying over Metropolis. Superman floats down to Lois’s apartment windows and offers her his hand. She takes it and they go for a ride through the night air. At first, he carries her but, after no time at all, they are flying at arm’s length, wind combing through both of their hair. This scene, although lovely, ignores every law of Physics. Depending on how you read this scene, Lois Lane should either have been dangling from Superman’s outstretched arm or her arm should’ve been torn off. The speed of the scene suggests that the former should have happened. Lois appears, in the scene, to have achieved enough acceleration to have Lift. Lift is what allows planes to fly. To achieve flight, Lois’s lift had to be equal or greater than her weight and her Thrust Force, what is propelling her forward, must be greater than the Drag Force, wind-resistance, acting on her body. Lois’s body is completely horizontal, but both she and Superman are moving far too slow for that to be possible. It appears that her Thrust Force is too weak for flight. They’re moving like two kites on a strong breeze. I could be mistaken and both Superman and Lois could be flying fast enough to allow for Lois’s flight. I have to assume that Lois Lane weighs approximately 111lbs. Superman is reported to weigh 215lbs. That is a combined weight of 326lbs. Superman, Lois’s mode of acceleration, would need to provide -326lbs of Lift force. That, as I stated above, causes its own share of problems.

I had mentioned Tensile Strength earlier in this paper. Tensile Strength refers to the ability of an object to be stressed without breaking apart. The Tensile Strength of a human arm averages around 600lbs of force, applied. As I stated before, Superman has to provide 326lbs of Lift. The acceleration is acting on Lois’s very human body. This means, without factoring in the Thrust Force, Lois’s arm is more than halfway to the point of being torn from her body.

On average, a small Ultra-Light plane flies at 100mph at Take-Off. Lois Lane, most likely, weighs less than a piloted Ultra-Light plane. Lois, also, doesn’t have massive wings that would help her remain aloft. Because women tend not to fly, with or without Superman’s help, it is difficult to figure out what speed she would need to fly through the air. For the sake of argument, I will assume that Lois needs 100mph of Thrust Force. This means that she is experiencing -100mph of Drag Force. This all lends to the assumption that Lois Lane wouldn’t think much of Superman’s romantic gesture.

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

(REPOST) How Rock Saved Christmas! (REPOST)


How Rock Saved Christmas!

Jesse and Fin didn’t have the same affinity for making custom-built toys that the other elves had. No, they wanted to rock. For Jesse, it was the electric guitar. Alice Cooper, Judas Priest, Jimmy Hendrix. He prayed to them like they were his gods. For those about to rock, we salute you and he’d always salute back. When his fingers ripped across those taunt cat-gut strings, he felt the spirit of Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza and any other holiday there was.

For Fin, it was the drums. Taunt canvas. A couple sneers, a bass drum and some symbols would do him fine. It wasn’t quite a religious experience for Fin as much as it was something primal. Smashing and bashing. Faster. Faster. Noise. More noise. Bang. Bang. Bang. Make the earth tremble in fear beneath him and the heavens crumble down over his head. Faster. Faster. He didn’t quite care about his drumming predecessors. It just felt good to drum. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Now, Santa had grown tolerant of oddball elves over the years. Ones that wanted to go into dentistry and Fashion Design. Ones that wanted to repair old cars and ones that loved baking. He found uses for them all, finding squared holes for the less round pegs. However, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t tolerate Jesse and Fin’s love of rock. For one, it scared the crap out of the reindeer. For another, Jesse had managed to repeatedly shatter the candy glass windows when his guitar solos crawled up into the higher frequencies. The glass would first rattle in its gingerbread frames and then explode outward into the frigid arctic air. Jesse had been quite pleased with himself the first time he’d managed it, but it spelt out doom for rock in the North Pole.

Jesse’s ax and Fin’s skins were stripped from them and locked away. The two of them were dragged off to work the assembly line, sticking wheels on toy trains. Left wheel. Right wheel. Left wheel. Right wheel. Hand to the elf to your right. On and on for what seemed like forever. The world’s population had grown to seven billion. A lot of trains to make and a lot of splinters as well. It might have been a dark day for the pair and for rock, if it wasn’t the fact that Rock and Roll has a long and honored history of harboring rebels.

It was Fin, doing what he did best. What he loved. Bash. Bash. Bash. He bashed the machine that made the little wheels that went on the little toy trains. He did it early on the second day of their time on the assembly line, before the elves came in for work. The other elves found the machine in ruin, but did not dismay, for fixing was a kind of building. They got to work and didn’t notice that neither Jesse nor Fin was in their ranks. The two were off to Santa’s Tomb of Things Not Befitting Christmas, knowing that’s where their instruments would be.

Fin, again, got to bash. This time it was a lock, barring them from their prizes. Bash, bash, bash and the lock fell, along with the door that held it. They found their prize at the end of a long hall, along with a man in a cage. He was all curled lips and hollowed eyes, what might be called very metal. Atop his cage, there was the legend: ‘Here is Black Peter of Dark Christmas’s past. He who rode alongside Santa Claus, punishing the wicked children of the world. Who kidnapped misbehaved ones and stole them away to Spain.’ Very metal, indeed. Black Peter followed the two elves with his coal furnace eyes, towering over them like some Monolith of Metal Christmas. Chains bit into his tree trunk sized wrists and he breathed black ash. Too goddamn metal. More metal than Fin could possibly stand. He succumbed to the Black Peter’s metal and bashed and bashed well, releasing the obsidian skinned imp from his incarceration. Jesse had cried, “No!” as the heavy metal dead bolt that secured the beast had clattered to the ground. Black Peter might have been metal, but releasing him was not.

He was out from his confines in a flash of smoke and hellfire, sending the pair flying to either side of the long hall.
“Why? Why would you do that, dude?” Jesse cried, waving smoke away.
“I’m sorry. He was too metal. It was awesome.” Fin said.
“Do you know what you did? Do you even understand?”
“I said I was sorry. How much trouble can he really cause? He and Santa were riding buddies back in the day.”
“Until Santa decided that a black guy kidnapping children was too racist for his modern image. Santa threw him in chains and Black Peter swore to destroy Christmas and Santa for the betrayal. We have to warn Santa!”

But Black Peter was swift to begin his vengeance. As they scurried across the bitter snows to Santa’s house, they heard a titanic roar and the earth quake beneath their feet. Brilliant rushed up into the sky like an upside down sun, spewing heat and liquid magma. Smoke rushed outward, turning their white world an ashy gray. Shadowy figures rode on the volcanic winds, their mouths filled with glittering, sharp teeth. They laughed and snared and snatched up elves at random. Some were off in a clearing slaughtering a red nosed reindeer. It cried and squealed until it went still forever more.

They moved closer to a yawning chasm in the ground where all of hell was spilling out onto the earthly realm. Santa was being held aloft by two horned demons. They laughed as the jolly, old elf was slowly roasted by the flames of hell. Jesse had his ax slung on his back and Fin had a sneer under one arm, his bass drum under the other and his sticks in his back pocket. Black Peter was holding the portal open with shredding rifts off this sick ax made from the bones of children off the naughty list. Jesse peered down into the fiery maw and saw a crimson fist rising through the flames. The hand of Satan. Black Peter was using Rock to summon the Devil. No, Black Peter was bastardizing Rock to summon the Devil.
“Get set up, Fin!” Jesse cried, taking his guitar off his back.
“All I got is this Sneer! This Bass! You don’t even have an amp. We won’t stand a chance against those killer chords!” Jesse pulled out a pick he’d concealed in his hat and put it to the strings.
“You and I are more metal in our sleep than he’ll even be. Amp or not amp, I’m going to rock this bitch. You with me?” Fin pulled his drumsticks out from his back pocket and spun them once in his fingers.
“We might die, but I can’t think of a better way to go.”

The two of them stepped up like men on a mission,
Determine to send the Prince of Darkness back into Perdition.
Black Peter roared and cut a killer rift off his ax
And the force of it sent them both on their backs.
Neither was deterred. Neither cried off.
They both got back up with a laugh and a scoff.
They gave as good as they got. Jesse strumming. Fin bashing.
The Prince of Darkness in his pit started up thrashing.
“You rifts are too sweet. Your metal is too pure.
Please I beg, little elves. Shred no more.”
Did they stop? Did they show mercy? No.
They played harder and faster, preparing their death blow.
The Prince and Black Peter howled and fell. Both of them made humble.
But to Jesse’s dismay, the ground began to open and started to crumble.
“Fin! Stop! We’ve already won.”
But Fin wouldn’t hear. He was having too much fun.
In a wild fury, he played. Bash. Bash. Bash.
Hell was seconds from claiming them when along came Slash.
With the sickest rift of his legendary Gibson
He sealed the portal leading down into Perdition.
Long, black curls and a black velvet top hat.
He nodded approvingly and said, “Your sound is pretty Phat.”
He walked off into the tundra with his Gibson on his back
And the elves were speechless, All words did they lack.
“That was Slash. Slash was he…”
“Yeah. That was Slash.” Fin did agree.
“He liked our sound. He thinks we’re sweet.”
“You think he’ll let us play with him? Come on, man! Move your feet.”
The two of them chased the rock star without any pause.
Not even stopping to help up a coughing, ashen faced Santa Claus.

Extraordinary as the tale is, I swear that it’s true.
Remember, Merry Christmas to All and We Will Rock You.

The End

Friday, December 20, 2013

The Buggy Physics Of Superman (Part One)

A 1938 Studebaker, reportedly, weighs approximately 3,250lbs. That weight is divided over four wheels designed to bear 3,250lbs. If we can assume that the surface area, touching the road, of each wheel is 5 inches in width and 7 inches in length. The surface area would, then, be 35 inches. If we multiplied that surface area by itself, and then, divided that by the overall weight of the Studebaker divided by the four wheels. That is represented as 35 times 35 (1,225) divided by 812.5. That tells us that the Surface Pressure acting on each wheel of the Studebaker is 1.5 degrees.

Superman’s hands are drawn grasping the fenders on either side of the Studebaker, suggesting that all of the Studebaker’s Surface Pressure is being concentrated on the palms of Superman’s hands and on those two side fender. It is unknown how large or small Superman’s hands might’ve been but for the sake of argument I’m estimating that Superman’s hands were 7 inches long by 4 inches wide. This can be represented by as 28 times 28 (784) divided by 1625 (the weight of the Studebaker divided by Superman’s two hands), which would come out to 2.07 inches of Surface Pressure. This is interesting because if the Surface Pressure acting on an object is greater than the Tensile Strength, which I will address soon, said object will break. In the real-world, that Surface Pressure acting on those Side fenders would cause the fenders to rip off and for the Studebaker to come crashing down on Superman’s head.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Matt-o-pedia: Stink Tube

Stink Tube


Of or relating to the rectum and/or colon. Typically using is "Emptying out the stink tube" which refers to emptying one's bowels.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Mott-o-pedia: Hobo Hug

Hobo Hug


Of or relating to the practice of urinating while embracing another person.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Matt-o-pedia: Sob-plosion



Of or relating to the occurrence of suddenly sobbing during a basic task, such as cleaning dishes or loading a washing machine.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Admissions from a Broken Brain

I don't like to be cornered. I don't like not have options, but also constantly ignore options when they arise. I have a sick brain, but I'm working on it.

Last Summer, while I was parsing together my life prior to 2010, I had to go into Boston, chasing funding for school. I don't go into Boston. I don't use public transportation. I like the ability to leave whenever I like. I like to keep my options. So, when I had to go into Boston, I also had to take the commuter rail, the subway and a city bus. I didn't like it. My mind is broken and it likes to torture itself.

You're on the wrong bus/train.

This dialogue rattles in my head and it becomes physically exhausting. I want to lay down and curl into ball. Even when it's over, I'm still shook by travel. Being on a plane would drive me the fuck insane. I have a broken brain. Tonight, I stood outside a library in Tewksbury, MA, waiting for a ride home. I knew that I had a ride coming. I knew my brain was torturing, but I still had a mini-panic attack about how will I go home. Again, I have a broken brain.