Don’t get me wrong, the show is complete crap, even if it does have young Ernie Reyes. They don’t even use AAU rules, which would be bad enough … they have more like pussified AAU rules, which is like being the shortest guy in a family of midgets. I never liked AAU tournaments because you couldn’t punch to the face. They were okay with you doing a hook kick and spinning someone’s head around like a scene from The Exorcist, they just don’t want you to do it with your hands.

So why endorse some crap show on MTV2, of all places? Michelle Spencer, that’s why. She’s too young for scientists though, like most women, she will insist age doesn’t matter. But she looks like this and that’s all she needs to make us happy from a distance, really:

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Or for the sensitive. To wit, I still haven’t cracked the top 50 science blogs but I think it’s mostly because I don’t shriek about evolution or global warming. There are blogs on that list that haven’t been updated since April so how many people link to you can be misleading.

Science … real science,not academia, where people have lots of time to blog … isn’t for the squeamish. If you’ve been in the private sector, you know they expect results.

Take this example. It’s an email I had forwarded to me from one of my applications engineers;

“XXXXXX, I got the inductance results on the subset of our package and your explanation of why they were different than I expected and, I have to tell you, they hit 8.2 on the bullsh*t Richter scale.”

It went downhill from there. Now, to help you calibrate, this guy was a consultant and his whole mission in life was to get a contract at the expense of the people actually employed at the customer’s company.

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Science Shows You How To Get Twice As Much Pussy

Heisenberg ( get your sour grapes shirt here) once postulated that a cat could be alive and dead at the same time. What he didn’t foresee was that one day a cat would be born that could be both normal and a mutated aberration at the same time:

And yet there it is, another scientific miracle, normal except for the freakish two-headed aspect. Some of you may be worried that this cat will be subject to persecution and ridicule by other cats. Fear not. All we have to do is make a quaint holiday video and have him save Christmas and he can get all the adulation any two-faced cat needs.

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There once were two girls, Betty and Veronica, who loved a boy. One was a cute blonde girl who didn’t like being called cute and one was a sexy brunette with big cans who wanted to be respected for her brains. The blonde girl liked the bad boys and the the brunette girl liked … the bad boys. Yes, even when they were over the age of 30, Betty and Veronica still liked the bad boys, which defies logic and common sense. That they both like the same bad boy makes even less sense.

So Betty marries a bad boy whose whose music I have never listened to, mostly because I don’t use hairspray. Veronica marries a bad boy with a penchant for hookers and cocaine. They both figured this would be a recipe for success, because bad boys love to be changed. Betty and Veronica learned a valuable lesson about why they should have fought over Archie instead.

Why bring this up? Because one of the science groupies in blogdom who lurk without commenting wrote me an email poem which quite cleverly referenced the whole David Spade/Heather Locklear madness of a few weeks ago. There is no more fitting allegory for Betty and Veronica than Heather Locklear and Denise Richards, which is why this parable needs two parts. The question via poem goes:

Cash, you are my final chance
Of finding the true happenstance

What I don’t understand is just why they
Can’t like one another, at the end of the day?

I agree about the baffling nature of this whole thing. You know things have gone crazy when the girl from Wild Things is trying to take the moral high ground.

And you know she is playing for keeps when all Charlie Sheen does is ask to see his kids and she demands it be in the presence of a police officer, calls him a pedophile, and tells the world he kills hookers.

Thus my answer, in rhyming verse:

You came to Cash, guru of physics
Who writes sexy equations and confounds his critics

My prediction is this, sure they’re all just plain crazies,
But their pussy’s are still purring, not pushing up daisies.

In other words, Betty and Veronica aren’t exactly done with their bad boys yet. And you can bet there will be a poem with updates in the future.

It may be indefensible but it wouldn’t be a fun day if I didn’t try and defend it for that very reason. Why bother, you ask? Sure, you’re thinking ‘he’s the cracker mack daddy of science’ so I never need to smack my b*tch up to get her to act proper, but this doesn’t mean arguing the merits of the occasional love tap can’t be valid as an intellectual exercise.

I am inspired by this topic because Sean Connery’s ex-wife says he used to slap her around and if it’s good enough for the original James Bond it is at least worth thinking about. Obviously publicists denied the whole thing ever happened and sometimes you have to go right to the source, so I called up Mr. Connery and asked how things were going with his current bride after three decades.

“She needs a firm rein,” said Sir Sean, “I’ve whipped her when she was ripe for it, and it has settled her down nice and grateful for it. This isn’t on the record, right?”

“No, Mr. Connery, my blog is nothing if not discreet.”

That put him at ease and he expounded a little. He was quick to say you can’t punch your chick like you would a man. “There’s a difference,” he said, “between firm and being the kind of creepy wife beater you and I would knock on his ass. And then there’s sex.”

That made sense to me, especially since someone as cool as Sean Connery made it sound like we were compadres. Wait, did he just say sex?

“Cash, a girl’s bottom is a prime erogenous zone but the sexual arousal nerves in the bottom are buried in a layer of fat and require harder stimulation — like in spanking — to trigger them. You really should know all this. I have read your stuff. On your blog you always sound invincible.”

His sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed and I didn’t have sex last night so my temper was short.* “Hey, I am not sure I have to take that crap from a guy who starred in Meteor.”

“I nailed Natalie Wood every night during that shoot. Who have you done?

“I don’t see how that is relevant …”

“Easy, lad. All I am saying is I read that crap of yours about a line of women longer than the Wall of China and I am telling you, if you really want the chippies, star as James Bond in a movie some time.”

Well, I had to concede that point. I couldn’t even get cast as Rick in the Magnum P.I. feature film. But we still hadn’t gotten to the part about whether or not he slapped his ex-wife around.

“Cash, I have gone over this a million times. It was a different era. Before disco. We didn’t have guys wearing gym shorts to go to clubs. Do you think Leo Sayer could have gotten a girl in the ’60s?”

“No, you needed to be a man,” he continued. “Sometimes there are women who take it to the wire. That’s what they are looking for — the ultimate confrontation. They want a smack. Don’t tell me you’ve never done it.”

“Well, my girl isn’t from the ’60s. I’m pretty sure she’d set me on fire if I did that.”

“You never know, Cash. You never know. The divorce rate is probably a lot higher today because women don’t respect men enough. A good ass whippin’ might take care of some of that.”

I thanked Sir Sean for his time but came away feeling like I hadn’t come up with a slam-dunk defense for hittin’ your chick. Plus, today isn’t all bad. Today’s youth don’t wear gym shorts on television but they perfected the concept of “friends with benefits” and I think that is a reasonable trade-off. And I don’t care who invented that whole Brazilian Wax thing, they pretty much deserve a Nobel Prize.

* How did I not have sex last night, you wonder? Sweety said she had an appointment with her gynecologist the next morning. “Do you have an appointment with your dentist too?” I asked. This was, apparently, not the appropriate response.