Much To Do About Bucket

So the end of February has come, and as such, I now type this post in the Veranda font. I honestly can't see any difference in how it looks now. Maybe once I post this and compare the text to my old posts, I will.

In any case, my weekend was pretty good. Pretty great? Possibly. Fair enough? Definitely. Got to spend some time with my fiendishly fun fiancé, eat some fucktastic BBQ, and then got to come back to jolly old Macon. OH! Also got to watch 40 Year Old Virgin, and amazingly enough, it wasn't a pseudo documentary about Paul. In fact, it was actually pretty damn funny... kinda surprised me.

Know what kinda annoys me? James Blunt's singing. That guy's song sucks worse than being strapped to a chair and having brain surgery performed on you by a drugged out Bobby Brown. My ears actually HURT when listening to his flagrantly ridiculous and overly grating lyrics.

Flangricious. That is my new word to describe his singing and song writing... flangricious. Just utterly loathsome stuff. I'll probably do a post disecting his shit-pile of words that he calls a song later.

In other news, two good things are drawing closer: Kristin's wedding and Christina's (a close friend of Kelly's) baby's birth. Woo-hoo, bitches! I'm a little more excited about the wedding, but ONLY FOR ONE REASON... wedding cake.

That shit is delicious! Undoubtedly, Christina's new child shall be a delight to play with and a joy to see. But unless that kid pops out with a slice of cake just for me, then I have to keep my eye on the prize that is Kristin's wedding cake. It is a simple fact... a law of nature... that wedding cake creates orgasms for the tongue.

The Laws of Thermodynamics? Breakable. Speed of light? Fuck, I smashed that bitch a few weeks ago. Gravity? It has its limits. Wedding cake? INFINITE AND UNSHAKABLE IN ITS GOODNESS.

Lord knows that at MY wedding, no one better try and get between me and my cake. If anyone eats more than their share, I will slap them in front of every friend and family member I have. And it will be a fierce slap because wedding cake deserves to be defended, and I (being the one getting married) am the rightful owner of all slices not divied out initially.

That's all for now, folks. Off to eat some dinner with my parents who are in-town visiting.

Gremlin Mischief Stew

To make some deliciously vile gremlin mischief stew - sure to ruin your day - just add the following ingredients:

- 1 brother getting busted for alcohol-related offense (season lightly with almost getting kicked out of college)

- add a pinch of parents' guilt trip for not "talking to my brother more"

- take 1 Paul and separate from girlfriend

- simmer Paul with a low to medium fever and wisk in an 8 to 10 page paper

- 1 broken toilet that still hasn't been fully fixed

Bring to a rolling boil until Chris has an aneurism.

A Bucket A Day

Was playing some good old Halo 2 with Eddie today. That man is a beast with the plasma grenades. You'd think he was stringing Christmas lights the way so many people were getting lit up. In any case, after watching some Sopranos and playing a few rounds of Halo 2 online, I came back to my apartment to make some chicken breast strips.

And of course, what goes better with chicken breast strips than a dab or two of ketchup (pronounced catch-up)? Answer: BBQ sauce. But since I had none of that? Answer: the ketchup I was just talking about.

I had bought Hunt's ketchup last time I went shopping though, mostly because it was a buck cheaper than Heinz. Now no disrespect to Hunt. His ketchup is a fine product. But the slogan they have posted at the top of the bottle... it's a bit out there.

Taste and Believe

That's a bit ballsy on their part. They're not just saying, "Taste it and you'll probably enjoy our fine condiment. Perhaps upon a hamburger or hot dog?"

No, no. Taste and BELIEVE. What is this? Some kinda metaphysical code of ethics in the form of a red paste? Is a Kantian truth hidden somewhere between the 180mg of sodium and 4g of sugar? The Catholic church doesn't have balls that big. I've never once heard the priest say, "Taste and believe," as he passed out the host during Holy Communion... and the host is the fucking BODY OF JESUS CHRIST. If tasting could make you believe, I'm pretty sure the Vatican would be stuffing those holy wafers into envelopes and be mailing them out by the MILLIONS.

Yet Hunt's ketchup has the audacity to claim that a taste of a CONDIMENT... not even a real food... is enough to make you believe. I mean, I knew there was a reason the suicide rate had dropped, but hell. I wasn't aware that Hunt's was single-handily giving purpose to the lives of so many down trodden souls.

Operation: Don't Go #2... For Now

So here's the situation:

To put it in discrete terms, I was going to the bathroom. More bluntly, I was taking a dump. Just as I was finishing off a roll of toilet paper, I thought, "Ok. Time to switch this empty roll out for a new one."

Actually, I didn't think that because who the hell sits around and thinks out full sentences like that? Maybe good old robot Saleem.

In any case, you know that toilet paper roll holder thing? Well, as I was changing the rolls out the roll holder fell into the friggin' toilet just a second after I had begun the flushing process. I was hoping that the the thing wouldn't go down the drain, but I'll be damned if it didn't. Not all the way of course. That little rolling bitch must've gotten stuck soon after disappearing into the great beyond, and now my toilet is pretty clogged. It will drain after sitting a while, but it takes forever.

So I call the apartment complex and tell them of my situation. Then what do I do after that? I make an entire bag of tortellini and EAT IT! If this guy doesn't come to unclog the toilet tonight, I could be in for some trouble.

I do have my law school ID card which can get me into the law school at any time of day. So if I get desperate, I'll make the ten minute drive, salute Saleem's billboard, use the men's restroom in the library (due to extra cleanliness), and be on my merry way.

Clothes Make the Man

Indeed, the clothes make the man. If you don't dress right, you may not earn the respect that comes along with first impressions in the business world. In the Macon area, one man has made it his goal to get those quality clothes out to the people. His name? Saleem.

Guy has at least two billboards that I've seen: one leading down into Macon parallel to the highway, and another that is actually on the northside of Macon's downtown area... which is kinda funny because a lot of homeless people who wish they had Saleem's quality product hang around the area near that second billboard. Surely, they see Saleem's billboard as a shameful reminder of their current status.

Did I say that was "kinda funny" because I guess I meant to say it is "horrendously depressing". Easily confused phrases? Not really. Willing to move on and forgive my mistake? I hope so because Saleem's advertisement is worth reading about. Now to reiterate, these are huge billboards; not small-town shitty signs on the side of the road. In the center of this masterpiece in big bold yellow lettering, the sign says:

Saleem's

High Fashion Menswear

The man doesn't pull his punches. His fashion? High. If you're looking for middle-class apparel, then you're wasting this man's time and (from the look on his face) possibly risking your health. That's right. The guy has half-body shot of himself on the billboard wearing one of his allegedly high fashion suits. The picture of his is from the waist up, just cutting off his hands as his arms sit rigidly at his sides. He stares out unrelentingly over the masses of potential consumers passing beneath his billboard... his testament to quality clothing.

You may have guessed by the name, but just to clarify, he is middle eastern in appearance with a fairly thick mustache covering his smile-less upper lip. He is also not standing in a way that would have him facing DIRECTLY outward. His body is kinda facing slightly... oh so slightly away... so that his eyes had to move back two inches to his left to be looking at whatever intimidated photographer was taking his picture. NOT TO SAY THE GUY HAS THREATENING FACE. No! He actually seems like he is trying to act casual, but just hates the fact that he has to be taking the picture.

It's like he doesn't "want" to be there, but he wants to be there. He hates taking pictures, but he wants to inform people that his clothing is far from low-class... a step above suburban... and squarely in the realm of high fashion that one would expect from a guy who looks like he has a ten-foot steel pole shoved up his ass.

He also seems to be leaning back slightly. You know this due to a suggestion by the photographer because it is obvious that Saleem needs to work on his "people skills". The poor man knows exactly what pair of pants will go great with your twill navy blazer, but he obviously has all the charm of the Frankenstein monster. "Brionni good. Sean Jean baaaaaaad! RARGH!"

But with the lean, it's almost like he's now inviting you to come see his clothes and bear the possibility of falling under his penetrating gaze in real life. I mean, COME ON! He's leaning back. The man clearly is laidback and probably ready to go watch some football and down a few beers when he gets back home.

But there's more! As Saleem stands watch over the homeless of Spring Street, to the left side of the billboard stands a friendlier and caring youth. A small boy in a dress shirt, trying to keep an over-sized fedora from falling over his eyes. The kid has his head titled down, smiling at the great big world that lies just beyond the rim of his hat, and his eyes staring up with all the love in the world.

Crafty move, Saleem. Crafty as a fox. The child (probably Saleem's nephew because I'm pretty sure that Saleem has no time for love in his fast-paced world of pleats and tie-coordinating) brings the perfect balance to the emotional void coming from Saleem's side of the sign.

So this post is for you, Saleem... you stone-faced guardian of clothing quality. May your pleats stay sharp and your cufflinks be plentiful.

The Shower

The shower is one of the greatest places in all the Earth. Seriously. It is awe inspiring.

At times, I feel like I could spend a full hour just standing there... soaking in hot water... I'm actually zoning out just thinking about it. Usually, I shower in the morning right after I get up to go to law school or work or whatever else I have planned. At one time in my life, I used to be pretty well suited for waking up. I could literally just jump right outta bed, take a shower, get dressed, drink milk, go to school, avoid using drugs, wear huge gold necklaces, and be like Mr. T. Minus the Afro-centric genetic heritage, that is.

But such days are behind me. Far, far behind me. When I awaken now, I usually shut off the alarm and go back to sleep. Then when my cleverly set second alarm on my phone goes off, I get up and get started. By "get started", I'm talking about hobbling over to the bathroom... turning the shower on... and giving myself a long look in the mirror as I wonder: Is today really worth getting out of bed for? Bed feels good. Walking sucks.

But these base and vile sleep-temptations always lose out to the divine bliss that is The Shower. That warm showery mist hits me in the side of the face, and I know that dreamland is a thing of the past. Because honestly... how can your bed compete with the coziness and cleanliness that comes from getting naked and sprayed with hot water?

You know it can't, so don't even fucking say it can. Because that would be a lie. And people who lie to themselves while reading blogs are like people who cheat at chess while playin alone. Oh yeah. THINK ABOUT IT.

I even do most of my thinking while in the shower. Some people prefer the isolation of the toilet to plan out their week or consider important issues, but call me crazy, I like the company of a billion waterdrops as I ponder... self-analyze... and investigate the bountiful mystery that is life.

And no, I don't do all of that thinking because I just cranked one out. You people and your masturbation thinking. It disgusts me. BUT since you brought it up (pervert), I might as well comment on the fact that men can get a lot of good thinking done right after a round of punching the munchkin. It feels like the floodgates to the universe open and angels are trying to jam every piece of knowledge into your head at once. Hell, it's the reason why "pillow talk" exists, ladies. We just have a billion things on our minds now that sex is outta the way, and you're the nearest person to us. No offense, I'm sure your man was looking forward to talking with you, but with thoughts of breasts and obscure positions gone from his mind (well, at least pushed to the back), you gain his undivided attention.

Unless he's one of those guys who decides it's nap time right after the whole sha-bang is over. Oh yeah, but anyway, the shower is really great. Damn, this was one random as hell post. Until next time...

A Bucket for your Thoughts

Old people. The elderly. Senior citizens. Geriatrics. The aged.

Call them what you will, but they best stay the fuck outta my way.

Now I'm very kind... often polite... to my elders. These folks have been through a long life where they didn't have many of the luxuries we take for granted today like cellular phones, high speed internet, Ti-Vo, or car with airbags. Then again, they don't seem to use any of those things and will be taking Social Security to the grave with them, so maybe we shouldn't exactly pity the old ones among us.

But still, I give respect to my elders. MY elders. A funny thing about the phrase "respect your elders" is that no one defines who your elders are. Should we just assume that every single wrinkled, cranky, cough-drop-sucking body out there is "my" elder? Erroneous thinking at best. At worst, it's a leading cause for why people end up in therapy talking about how old man Withers touched their no-no places when they were five.

So I go out of my way... I take that extra step... I walk that extra mile, and I come up with my own clarification for who "your" (and "my") elders are. I say that the phrase "respect your elders" refers to anyone who was born before your parents' generation AND who is directly related to you or to a friend of yours.

Ta-freakin'-da. That's a nice narrow scope for people who automatically earn my respect. Now they can still work to lose that respect, but right off the bat, they keep it. Fair enough. Moving on.

Now as to all those other smelly, sweater-wearing has-beens who think they can act rude to me just because I haven't lived through a World War? I have some advice for those elders (who are not mine and probably not yours either) that will help them to survive in MY world.

1) Avoid the use of condescending tones with me at the supermarket. That area between the front ends of the aisles and the check-out lanes does not belong to you, geriatrics. If I am exiting one aisle to turn into the next one and I happen to cut in front of you, DO NOT SAY, "Well, excuse me," or else I will be forced to beat you to death with my box of Entenmann's cheese danish. This is mostly because it is a commonly held understanding that the area CLOSEST to the ends of the aisles is for turning. That is how God intended it at least, and if you want to argue the point, I will gladly send you to Him via the cheese danish. So don't give me attitude when YOU are the one getting in MY way.

2) Try breathing through your nose more. Do old people just not realize their breath stinks? And I'm not talking about every old person; I'm talking about the ones who walk around with their mouths ajar every friggin' second of every friggin' day. When I've reached a ripe and wizened age, I sure as hell know that I'll be popping Altoids like no other if my breath starts to smell like hot New Jersey garbage. On a side note, the guy who sits next to me in one of my law classes still hasn't learned to use deodorent. Good luck winning over clients with that smell, jackass.

3) Do not shop for food on days other than Senior Citizen Discount Day. Not sure about other states, but Georgia has a rather nice policy: on Wednesdays, old folk get a discount on all the groceries they buy. So logic would dictate that on any other day besides Wednesday, I wouldn't have to worry about running into the tottering horde of Mattlock-watchers. WRONG. Their numbers are bountiful at all moments. Hell, I turned on the lights in my kitchen this morning to get some cereal, and two 80-year old men with pants up to the collar bones were playing pinnocle over my sink.

Being fearful of unknown words that start with "p", I quickly turned my television onto Fox News and hurled it out the living room window. Like ravenous vultures, they descended upon it, seeking tidbits about how Bush is winning the war in Iraq and how liberalism is a possible cause of colon cancer.

But the bottomline is that they should shop on the one day alotted to them. Is that fair? Surely. Still, they don't seem to care. Honestly, when all of their food money comes outta MY paycheck, I guess they don't give damn about discounts. Well, they will from now on. Starting tomorrow, my "No Elderly Person Left Standing" policy goes into effect. If you are clearly a generation above my parents, I don't know you, and you are walking in or out of a grocery store on a day other than Wednesday, then prepare to taste the phenomenal fury that is the front fender of my Mitsubishi. They know what it looks like. They usually get a good look at it as I'm swerving aside in the parking lot to avoid them careening into it as they drive ever-wrecklessly. Which brings me to point 4...

4) Do not buy cars with the turning radius of a large yacht. You. Are. OLD. Your reflexes grow shottier by the day. Why in the name of all that is holy do you want to further hinder yourself with a vehicle that is ridiculously hard to steer, has horrible responsiveness, and needs about 100 yards to make a complete turning circle??? Sometimes I just want to scratch out my eyes after dipping my finger tips in vinegar as I watch you prematurely decaying souls taking a half hour just to get into a parking spot.

Now maybe someone would come to the defense of the age-ed and say, "They buy those bulkly car for safety. Most of them have great crash-test safety records."

My answer is: if a simple fall is enough to break your hip, then a car accident of any significance is pretty much going to win you a visit with the Grim Reaper. So screw safety. Go for SPEED and MANEUVERABILITY. You can't protect yourself from the chilled grip of death, but perhaps you can avoid it.

Put This Bucket on your Head and Sit in the Corner

I received two e-mails from the UGA registrar's office. This copy of the second one basically explains the first....

Dear Student:

Last night you were sent an e-mail message containing your Fall 2005 semester schedule with information about Spring 2006 semester enrollment. As of January 3, 2006, you were not enrolled for Spring 2006 at UGA and the e-mail message should not have been sent to you. You should disregard the e-mail that was sent from our office on 01/03/06 with the Subject Heading “Welcome Back”. We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact us.

Sincerely,

Office of the Registrar (aka a pack of idiots)

These people seriously never have a clue as to whether I'm enrolled, graduated, or expected to be graduating. This is almost as good as last year when UGA sent me notification saying that an incomplete class had kept me from graduating followed days later by a letter asking me to fill out how'd I'd like my name to appear on my diploma. If my eyes could roll any farther back into my head, I'd be staring into my sinus cavity.

Cruel and Unusual Punishment?

Isn't the a death sentence, by it's very nature, cruel AND unusual???

Being semi-serious here. Possibly also semi-sweet, but why I taste like Hershey's chocolate is none of your business.

To stay on topic, how "usual" is it for someone to die by sitting in a chair full of electricity? How often are people across the United States gassing themselves to death that we can consider that a "usual" way of dying? If you wanted a usual way to die, why not have convicted murderers continually run back and forth through highway traffic until they get clipped? Or maybe we could just serve them McDonald's for breakfast, lunch, and dinner until they die like that idiot in "Super Size Me" almost did.

And as for cruelty, how is being killed NOT cruel? These aren't exactly mercy killings here. These convicted criminals are basically being killed off because society deems that they've committed an act so heinous that they are no longer worth anything... to anyone... to even be allowed to live. Considering a death sentence implies a captial offense violator is more worthless than a country music singer, you can see just how cruel it really is.

Now on the flipside, if the CURRENT death penalty methods (lethal injection, electric chair, and gas chamber) are NOT cruel or unusual, why not bring out some TRULY effective methods of death? Think about it. Lethal injection is basically what we do to our pets when they get sick, old, or injured badly. Such a death is almost too nice because how exactly is this supposed to deter OTHER criminals from committing similar acts? Sure... the death penalty stops ONE criminal from ever committing murder again. But is it really so horrible of a punishment that other criminals will think twice? Doubtful. The current penalties just don't seem "dramatic" enough. Right? See where I'm going... err, typing with this?

The methods we have now don't make enough of a statement. So why not... bring back... some of the good, old fashioned methods of execution? Like the stake!

Sure, burning people at the stake got out of hand during the witch trial hysteria of the early colonial period and back during the persecutions of Jews and Christians by the Romans. But hey, now such execution would only be used on convicted murderers. And if murderers are worthy of being put to death (in certain states), then why pussyfoot around and kill them in such "painless" ways? Ok, now I'll give ya this much... the chair has gotta be painful for a few instances before the brain goes outta comission. But burning at a stake??? Now THAT'S fucking painful. Better yet, it's fuckin' wicked hot, as a modern New Englander might say inbetween bouts of drinking and yelling obscenities at New Yorkers.

Now with modern tech, we wouldn't necessarily need a bonfire to do this. Maybe just an incineration chamber with a post in the center to tie the murderer to. But geez, that's a deterrent, right?

Cause the way I see it, it's easier for people look past death and still do heinous crimes. But to look past a PAINFUL death?

And that's just the tip of this crazy iceberg we call "execution", my babies. Remember this classic hit from the Dark Ages up through the 18th century: "Drawn and Quartered". Who even thought of this one? What was the process... the stream of ideas that passed through the minds of the men who came up with the drawing and quartering process? My guess is that a few Dark Ages British guys just got drunk one night and started to one-up each other on who could come up with the sickest execution idea.

Lindroy: B'fore he gets 'ung up by his froat, I'd 'ave him drug by a horse! FULL SPEED! (sips on some potato-based liquor with twigs floating in it)

Henrich: Oy! Y'think that's a sorry state, huh? (laughs) When he gits dere, I'd have him 'ung, but juss for a bit.

Lindroy: I say, bit?

Hendrich: Aye, are ya daft!? JUST A BIT! Then we'd cut him down... and... and... (drinks some more) cuts off his privy members!

Lindroy: Oooooooo! (slams his glass down) I'd take those bits an' pieces... AN' BURN 'EM BEFORE HIS FACE!

Hendrich: You sod!

Lindroy: Call me a sod now? What'll y'think whens I says I'd then cut him in fours like a morning loaf?

Hendrich: I'd say boil those four pieces and put them on display at the town gate!

Lindroy: Oh my lord, really? Because frankly that's quite sick. (gets up to leave) Good day to you, Hendrich.

Henrich: Oh, come now Li-

Lindroy: I said GOOD DAY TO YOU SIR!

New Planet = Whining

So scientists have discovered that far beyond Pluto lies another planet, which they are temporarily calling 2003 UB313. Which by the way, that's pretty funny shit. Just imagine if people met someone new, but failed to catch their name. "Shit, I didn't ask her what her name was! Guess for now I'll just refer to her as 6591 ICb00bs."

But this new planet (even larger than Pluto) is pretty big discovery. Because who knows what the hell is out there, just at the edge of our own solar system. Are there tons of these planets? Could there be even bigger ones? Earth-sized one maybe? Are there possibly new elements on these outer planets that didn't form on the inner ones? You'd think these and other queries would be on the minds of people when they hear the news of another world.

Instead, we hear this: "How am I supposed to remember all of these planets without the My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pies thing? They'll think of a new one, right?"

This is all that most people have to say, and typically, I respond by punching them in the throat. If I feel extra righteous, I then stomp on them while their down... but the righteousness must be flowing like a river down a mountain of justice.

Because seriously, people. In the grand scheme of things, our solar system is like a spec of dust in the cosmic Bissell vacuum cleaner that is this universe. It's our tiny, little home. You should KNOW where your home is!

What if some aliens abduct you tomorrow and fly off to their galaxy. Maybe it turns out these aliens are cool dudes. You get to talking, you have a couple of drinks, one thing leads to another... and next thing you know, you're rolling over in your sleep cube (aliens don't use beds... at least not for humping) to the sight of Glork's nineteen reproductive flaps and the smell of Captain Morgan's spiced rum (aliens do love to drink the Captain... especially for humping).

Well, the alien is still asleep, so like any tragic one night stand, you decide to get the hell outta there before the other person wakes up. So you sneak out and find a taxi. The driver is saying shit you can't understand in some garbled language, but that's not really any different from Earth. You tell him to take you home, but he then asks you, "Where's that at?"

If you tell him, "My Very Educated Mother," he will probably slap you and laugh. No, your ass NEEDS to know the address for your universal home. You gotta figure "Earth" is the street name... the "Milky Way" is your state... and the "Sun" is gonna be your city... and "between Mars and Venus" can be your zip. But if this guy hasn't been down that way, you need to be able to give him some vague directions. If you fuck up and say, "I'm on the fifth planet from the Sun," then I hope your ass enjoys gas giants and red hurricanes because he's dropping you off at Jupiter.

Mercury. Venus. Earth (obviously). Mars. Jupiter. Saturn. Uranus. Neptune. Pluto.

It's easy enough. And if they tack one more on, then with time, it shouldn't be hard to memorize.

You Take One Down and Pass It Around

Professionalism Drinking Game

Take 1 Shot Everytime the Professor:

1. mentions that his brother is a preacher
2. plays a video clip over 5 minutes long
3. says "amen"
4. takes a sip from his #1 Dad mug

Take 2 Shots Everytime the Professor:

1. takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves
2. says that he's not trying to preach to the class
3. cancels a class
4. recalls how he personally chose our new Dean
5. mentions how he wrote our creed of professionalism

Take 3 Shots Everytime the Professor:

1. forgets his #1 Dad mug
2. repeats what you said as his own answer
3. explains ways to abuse the law you never considered before
4. mentions the class is one of a kind
5. plays a video clip over 9 minutes long

Randomness

Fetch Me a Bucket...

Just a small aside: If you're thinking to yourself, "DAMN! I wish I could leave a comment without having to sign up for thi-"

Stop your thinking right there! You don't need to sign up as a member of Blogger to leave a comment on my blog. Mine allows for anonymous comments, or for you to just make up your own name to post a comment under.

Just spreading the word, people. And the word... is... Bucket.

Exceeding Light Speed: Fair Enough

Did some quick research to see if my idea had already been shot down, possibly by some old German scientist. But I haven't seen anything like that yet, so let's get it on!

My idea is a simple one: take a device that can move at near-light speeds, get it going at full speed, and then launch another near-light speed device from it.

So let's say we have an antimatter engine pushing a ship at near-light speeds. Sure, none have been created yet, but theoretically, such an engine would create enough thrust to get pretty high on the speed scales. Now let's say that that mounted on the front of the antimatter engine ship, we have a railgun that can fire objects at near-light speeds. Well, if you fire that gun while the ship is moving at top speeds, the porjectile should exceed the speed of light.

Now let's see what dumbass "science" has to say about that:

Most individuals are accustomed to the addition rule of velocities: if two cars approach each other from opposite directions, each travelling at a speed of 50 kilometres per hour (31 miles per hour), one expects that each car will perceive the other as approaching at a combined speed of 50 + 50 = 100 km/h (62 mph) to a very high degree of accuracy.

At velocities at or approaching the speed of light, however, it becomes clear from experimental results that this rule does not apply. Two spaceships approaching each other, each travelling at 90% the speed of light relative to some third observer between them, do not perceive each other as approaching at 90% + 90% = 180% the speed of light; instead they each perceive the other as approaching at slightly less than 99.5% the speed of light.

The difference here is that velocities are being added in a head-to-head style. This guy's 90% coming at my 90% creates a weird frame of reference, so that their near-light speeds appear to only add upto a slightly greater near-light speed.

But let's say there was dude sitting in antimatter ship travelling at 90% the speed of light. Then the railgun fires off a pumpkin (because pumpkins are awesome) at 50% the speed of light. That pumpkin should be whooping light speed's ASS.

Unless we're supposed to believe... what? That the dude in the ship will see the launched pumpkin as just kinda hovering in front of him? Refusing to break the speed of light?

Ha. Doubtful. There's also some scientific mumbo-jumbo about how light appears to be moving at the same speed no matter what your frame of reference (ie: how fast you are moving in relation to light) is.

But once again, how fast a beam of light appears to be moving has nothing to do with how fast a massive object (like the pumpkin) will appear to be moving. So while there may not be any antimatter engines, there are still various other engine prototypes that can reach... let's say... 10% the speed of light. So by stringing together enough of these things and launching them off one another, we should be able to break the speed of light.

Or tear a hole in causality and the fabric of time, but that's what science should be all about.

Exceeding Light Speed: Possible

Have I figured out a way to travel at or maybe above the speed of light? Maybe. Tune back in later to see if my idea has any bearing, but this idea in mind:

If you stand in the back of a pick-up trucking driving at 70 miles per hour and throw a baseball going in the direction you're travelling at, that baseball is automatically travelling at a speed greater than 70mph.

Oh yeah... I think I'm onto something here.