This last weekend I was enjoying brunch with The Professor and drinking some F-Max, a rich, pungent, pale orange liquid and to my knowledge the only fish soda.
The Professor puffed on his pipe, silently enjoying my delicious company. His gaze fell on on the fireplace, and a brick unweathered like the rest. He leaned forward, steaded his knees and rocked forward out of his chair with a soft seductive grunt as his eyes darted around the room to see whether I had noticed his rising. I remained motionless and let out a conventional chortle at a possible cartoon I was reading in the New York Times between us: a paper known for its fiberous touch and a firm stance on the Dutch. The viewing holes cut into the paper did not betray my view.
He moved to the fireplace and dramatically threw his glass of F-Max to his lips and downed the refreshing soda in one gulp. The Professor folded his starched cuffs back and then reached out for the sooty mismatched brick. Buttoning my vest I jumped to my feet and surreptitiously offered him another glass of delicious F-Max as I looked him up and down and let thoughts of his smile enter my mind.
"Fuffelworth's maiden voyage is only days away; will you join us?" I inquired.
" 'fraid not. I have a previous engagement about some Indian carpets. The buggers," his eyes widened "the real buggers are so difficult to acquire. One must be a man who knows men, so to speak"
I licked my chops.
He broke eye contact and looked again at the brickwork. His olive skin suited the room. Some features... some facial components are so classical that when one sees them they almost appear intentional. The long shadows on his face were as if chiseled, with small almond-shaped eyes sparkling like a ripple on the lake of his mind. His perfect brow furrowed like so many actors that had been, yet it did not furrow for awards or fame, but for a mismatched brick.
The Professor dragged his fingers along the gravely join and satisfying tugged at it. The brick came away in a single piece.
His eyes tightened on an inscription.
"Ha ha! Of course!"
"What?"
"Winston paradox! This is Winstons unifying theory of chemistry and physics!
Sounds, light, time and speed... it's all so simple, why didn't I see it before?! The world must know!"
"The world isn't ready"
That moment Emilio Estevez entered the room wearing a blue muscle top and sweat pants. "I'll take that, suckers!" he laughed, and he dive-rolled out the door, into the hall.
Months later the world was a far different place. Secrets were out that I hoped went to the grave with Vavoom from Felix the Cat. Emilio ruled the world with a knowledge of sound, the vibrations of energy...
Emilio is become death, destroyer of worlds.
