Saturday, April 30, 2011

To Fire One's Stern Guns

aka:  A fusillade from one's fundament. 
  " And in winter, under my greatcoat, I wrapped myself in swathes of newspaper, and did not shed them until the earth awoke, for good, in April.  The Times Literary Supplement was admirably adapted to this purpose, of unfailing toughness and impermeability.  Even farts made no impression on it.  I can't help it, gas escapes from my fundament on the least pretext, it's hard not to mention it now and then,  however great my distaste.  One day I counted them.  Three hundred and fifteen farts in nineteen hours, or an average of over sixteen farts  an hour.  After all, it's not excessive.  Four farts every fifteen minutes.  It's nothing.  Not even one fart every four minutes.  It's unbelievable.  Damn it, I hardly fart at all, I should never have mentioned it.  Extraordinary how mathematics helps you to know yourself."  "Molloy" -- Samuel Beckett. 
   And that's why I occasionally read things like "Fermat"s Last Theorem"  DA

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