the sand.
“It’s my fault,” someone above him said. “I never shoulda’ let him get up with a bump on his head like that.”
Dennis felt strong arms grab his legs and shoulders. The world swayed about him.
Cavemen
. They were probably going to put him in a cot so he could
practice
it into a feather bed just by laying in it.
Dennis laughed dizzily. “Aw, Denze, be fair … they’re a
little
better’n cavemen. After all, they
have
learned that practice makes perfect.…”
Then he lost consciousness altogether.
6
It was a late-night talk show on the three-vee. The guests were four eminent philosophers.
Desmond Morris, Edwin Hubble, Willard Gibbs, and SeamusMurphy had just been interviewed. After the commercial break the show’s host turned to the holo-cameras, smiling devilishly. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve heard a lot from these four gentlemen about their famous
Laws of Thermodynamics
. Maybe now it would be a good time to get a word from the other side. It’s a great pleasure, therefore, to bring out tonight’s mystery guest. Please welcome Mr. Pers Peter Mobile!”
The four philosophers stood up as one, protesting.
“That charlatan?” “Faker!” “I won’t share the stage with a con artist!”
But while they fumed, the orchestra struck up a sprightly, irreverent tune. As the fanfare rose, a high-browed
chimpanzee
rolled out onto the stage, grinning a buck-toothed grin and bowing to the cheering audience.
On his head he wore a little beanie cap with a toy propeller.
The chimp caught a microphone tossed from the wings. He danced to the music, spinning the toy propeller with one finger. Then, with a scratchy but strangely compelling voice, he began to sing.
Why’s it so?
Oh, why’s it so?
It’s an easy ride,
I will confide,
If you know just what I know!
The refrain was catchy. Pers Peter Mobile grinned and sang a couple of verses.
Oh, old Ed Hubble blew a cosmic bubble,
He said it did explode!
He won’t confess
to the resultant mess,
But it’s gettin’ awful cold!
And Willard Gibbs, His frightful Nibs,
Worked out matters’ economic.
Time’s arrow’s the thing,
you’ll hear him sing,
And the debit’s always chronic!
The chimp capered to the music, but never stopped spinning the little propeller. The blur at the top of his head became hypnotic, like the meshing and weaving of moiré patterns.
Pop anthropologists claim, oh, happy refrain,
That
man’s
defined by
tools.
Tools help us abide
ol’ entropy’s tide,
But even
they
obey the rules!
And Murphy critic, pessimistic,
Cries, foreboding still,
This
entropy
thing’s
got a
personal
sting,
And what can go wrong
will.
The music swelled, accompanied by the growing whine of the propeller. The dancing ape returned to the refrain.
Why’s it so?
Oh, why’s it so?
It’s a bloody mess
I will confess,
But there’s a
secret,
don’t you know!
The blur at the
top
of his head no longer needed a finger to keep it going. In fact, it wasn’t a toy propeller anymore at all! The beanie cap had become a space helmet and the whirling blades lifted him into the air, much to the dismay of the other guests.
The camera panned close to the chimp’s face. Two rows of big, yellowed buck teeth grinned at the audience. The music soared to a crescendo.
Oh, there’s a time and place for everything,
Or so the sages say.
If you don’t like the rules
in one stupid place,
Don’t
gripe,
just fly away!
The chimp zoomed about the studio, his cap now a fullornithopter suit. He buzzed the furious philosophers, sending them diving behind their chairs in dismay. Then he swooped about in a sharp turn and streaked straight for the camera, laughing, howling, shrieking in mirth.
Just fly a-waaaa-a-a-y-y!!
“Uh!” Dennis flailed and grabbed the edge of the cot with both hands. He
“It’s my fault,” someone above him said. “I never shoulda’ let him get up with a bump on his head like that.”
Dennis felt strong arms grab his legs and shoulders. The world swayed about him.
Cavemen
. They were probably going to put him in a cot so he could
practice
it into a feather bed just by laying in it.
Dennis laughed dizzily. “Aw, Denze, be fair … they’re a
little
better’n cavemen. After all, they
have
learned that practice makes perfect.…”
Then he lost consciousness altogether.
6
It was a late-night talk show on the three-vee. The guests were four eminent philosophers.
Desmond Morris, Edwin Hubble, Willard Gibbs, and SeamusMurphy had just been interviewed. After the commercial break the show’s host turned to the holo-cameras, smiling devilishly. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve heard a lot from these four gentlemen about their famous
Laws of Thermodynamics
. Maybe now it would be a good time to get a word from the other side. It’s a great pleasure, therefore, to bring out tonight’s mystery guest. Please welcome Mr. Pers Peter Mobile!”
The four philosophers stood up as one, protesting.
“That charlatan?” “Faker!” “I won’t share the stage with a con artist!”
But while they fumed, the orchestra struck up a sprightly, irreverent tune. As the fanfare rose, a high-browed
chimpanzee
rolled out onto the stage, grinning a buck-toothed grin and bowing to the cheering audience.
On his head he wore a little beanie cap with a toy propeller.
The chimp caught a microphone tossed from the wings. He danced to the music, spinning the toy propeller with one finger. Then, with a scratchy but strangely compelling voice, he began to sing.
Why’s it so?
Oh, why’s it so?
It’s an easy ride,
I will confide,
If you know just what I know!
The refrain was catchy. Pers Peter Mobile grinned and sang a couple of verses.
Oh, old Ed Hubble blew a cosmic bubble,
He said it did explode!
He won’t confess
to the resultant mess,
But it’s gettin’ awful cold!
And Willard Gibbs, His frightful Nibs,
Worked out matters’ economic.
Time’s arrow’s the thing,
you’ll hear him sing,
And the debit’s always chronic!
The chimp capered to the music, but never stopped spinning the little propeller. The blur at the top of his head became hypnotic, like the meshing and weaving of moiré patterns.
Pop anthropologists claim, oh, happy refrain,
That
man’s
defined by
tools.
Tools help us abide
ol’ entropy’s tide,
But even
they
obey the rules!
And Murphy critic, pessimistic,
Cries, foreboding still,
This
entropy
thing’s
got a
personal
sting,
And what can go wrong
will.
The music swelled, accompanied by the growing whine of the propeller. The dancing ape returned to the refrain.
Why’s it so?
Oh, why’s it so?
It’s a bloody mess
I will confess,
But there’s a
secret,
don’t you know!
The blur at the
top
of his head no longer needed a finger to keep it going. In fact, it wasn’t a toy propeller anymore at all! The beanie cap had become a space helmet and the whirling blades lifted him into the air, much to the dismay of the other guests.
The camera panned close to the chimp’s face. Two rows of big, yellowed buck teeth grinned at the audience. The music soared to a crescendo.
Oh, there’s a time and place for everything,
Or so the sages say.
If you don’t like the rules
in one stupid place,
Don’t
gripe,
just fly away!
The chimp zoomed about the studio, his cap now a fullornithopter suit. He buzzed the furious philosophers, sending them diving behind their chairs in dismay. Then he swooped about in a sharp turn and streaked straight for the camera, laughing, howling, shrieking in mirth.
Just fly a-waaaa-a-a-y-y!!
“Uh!” Dennis flailed and grabbed the edge of the cot with both hands. He
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