M. L. Wilt is a fraction of the Body Politic
To hell with cell phones.
Homing pigeons are the only way. Easy to train, they clean up after themselves quite well.
They may take longer to deliver messages, but how often are your emails that important?
Teach them to make deposits on public statues of Confederate generals.
Hillary can send Trump her 31,000 lost pigeons. The birds can retrieve the messages for him.
Trump Tower will make an excellent roost.
You’re wrapping up a long, cold night of collecting vital evidence, and what do you know, you almost step on a sample of humankind’s most abundant product: a rude, warm, steamy pile of homo sapien squeeze.
You called it poop when you were a kid, but whatever you call it, it’s been following you around ever since: weighing on you, demanding your undivided attention at times, making those silly, vulgar, hateful noises. Now it has invaded your worklife. What should you do? My God, you found a turd fouling your beautiful crime scene!
Give up. You heard me. Leave! Pack up your little kit, find the agent in charge, and tell him no, this too much, I’m going home, get out of my way, this is not who I am, no, no, no!
Is it too late for me to become a priest?
Calm down. Tomorrow is your day off, you got over 30 hours of uninterupted drinking ahead of you. Focus on that.
So. Easy. One step at a time.
Before touching the specimem, put on a pair of latex glove. Shit happens to pick up fingerprints well, that is, if the criminal didn’t think to wipe it down first.
Carefully weigh the nasty thing, time stamp it, and assign it a 0 to 9 score. Drop it carefully in a plastic bag, resist the urge to squeeze it and don’t throw it at anybody.
Flee! Your mind is a filthy cloud, but you must find your car. If you hitched a ride from somebody at the office, steal another car and go home. You got four fifths of vodka waiting. As you are driving, look at yourself in the rear view. That flea hopping off the end of your nose – is this the last of your dignity?
In my universe, when you are born, you get a number. The number is not sequential. Your number is put in a time slot. When The Clock reaches your slot, your number is up. Poof.
The Clock runs on EST, not that it matters. If you meditate religiously and reach nirvana, you’ll find out your number. Not that it matters – much.
At times this system bobbles and a baby is born who doesn’t get a number – so this person’s number never comes up. This very rarely happens. Of all the events that almost never happen, this is the one of the rarest.
But we can’t conceive of all possible events that almost never happen. Then we are left with the impossible events that never happen. Maybe they are not impossible but merely events that almost never happen. How would we know?
The person born without a number could find out by paying attention, and keeping careful records..
Fraction Man .00000000133 