When I was a biology student I conducted a study on the balance in sea birds with a specific focus on Royal Terns.
I proposed that giving measured doses of THC (marijuana) and observing their flight patterns would give some clutch to the problems of balance in 3D space.
This proposal being given in a more liberal era, I got the funding.
I filled out thousands of forms, set up a lab with a ready supply of terns, and proceeded on my way.
After a year of diligent work, groveling monthly before the review committee to get my stipend, and living with drugged terns, I completed my study.
With trembling hands, I delivered my 347-page report, complete with charts and graphs, to the review committee.
The august body perused my study, asking penetrating questions and reducing me to jello. Finally, the department head spoke.
The light reflected off her horn-rimmed glasses as she stared down at me.
“There is a lot of good work here,” she said. “But we can’t accept this report. You have detailed marvelously the effects of THC on terns but you forgot one essential step: you have no control group.”
I turned pale and said, “You don’t mean…”
“Yes. I’m afraid so. You left no Tern unstoned.”
Melania was awakened by a strange noise in the middle of the night. “Wake up, Donald,” she whispered, “I think there are thieves in the house.” “Wha….,” said Donald sleepily, “You woke me for this? They’re not in the House, they’re in the Senate.”
The family of an elderly Arab gentleman have searched everywhere for a nursing home for him. At last they find one – a Jewish home. Some days pass, and his son calls to visit. “How is it here?” he asks.
“It’s great”, the old man replies. “Do you know, they address everyone here by their title, no matter how long it is since they practiced their vocation. There’s a conductor who hasn’t stood in front of an orchestra for 30 years, but they still call him Maestro. And a doctor who hasn’t lifted a stethoscope for 20 years, but is still addressed as Doctor Cohen. An academic who retired 25 years ago is still called Professor.”
“What about you?” the son asks.
“It’s the same with me”, replies the old man. “I haven’t had sexual intercourse for 40 years, but they still call me the fucking Arab.”
To my new job as a test pilot for preparation H