A thermodynamics professor wrote a take home exam for his graduate students. It had one question: Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)? Support your answer with a proof.
Most of the students wrote their proofs using Boyle's Law -- gas cools off when it expands and heats up when it is compressed -- or some variant thereof. One student, however, wrote:
First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. Therefore, we need to know the rate that souls are moving into Hell and rate they are leaving. I think we can safely assume that once a soul goes to Hell, it will not leave. Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, well, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today. Some of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion you will go to Hell. Since there are more than one of these religions, and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can predict that all people and all souls will go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. Now we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand as souls are added. Thus, we are left with two possibilities:
1) If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
2)Of course, if Hell is expanding at a faster rate than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.
So which is it? If we accept the postulate given me by Ms. Therese Banyan during my freshman year, i.e., "It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you" and take into account the fact that I still have not succeeded in having sexual relations with her, then #2 cannot be true, and so Hell is exothermic.
The student received the only A.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Badtimes Virus
If you receive an email entitled "Badtimes," delete it immediately. Do not open it. Apparently this one is pretty nasty.
It will not only erase everything on your hard drive, but it will also delete anything on disks within 20 feet of your computer. It demagnetizes the stripes on ALL of your credit cards. It reprograms your ATM access code, screws up the tracking on your VCR and uses subspace field harmonics to scratch any CD's you attempt to play.
It will re-calibrate your refrigerator's coolness settings so all your ice cream melts and your milk curdles. It will program your phone autodial to call only your mother-in-law's number. This virus will mix antifreeze into your fish tank. It will drink all your beer. It will leave dirty socks on the coffee table when you are expecting company.
Its radioactive emissions will cause your toe jam and bellybutton fuzz (honest, you have some) to migrate behind your ears. It will replace your shampoo with Nair and your Nair with Rogaine, all while dating your current boy/girlfriend behind your back and billing their hotel rendezvous to your Visa card.
It will cause you to run with scissors and throw things in a way that is only fun until someone loses an eye. It will give you Dutch Elm Disease and Tinea. It will rewrite your backup files, changing all your active verbs to passive tense and incorporating undetectable misspellings which grossly change the interpretations of key sentences.
If the "Badtimes" message is opened in a Windows95 environment, it will leave the toilet seat up and leave your hair dryer plugged in dangerously close to a full bathtub. It will not only remove the
forbidden tags from your mattresses and pillows, but it will also refill your skim milk with whole milk. It will replace all your luncheon meat with Spam.
It will molecularly rearrange your cologne or perfume, causing it to smell like dill pickles. It is insidious and subtle. It is dangerous and terrifying to behold. It is also a rather interesting shade of mauve. These are just a few signs of infection.
It will not only erase everything on your hard drive, but it will also delete anything on disks within 20 feet of your computer. It demagnetizes the stripes on ALL of your credit cards. It reprograms your ATM access code, screws up the tracking on your VCR and uses subspace field harmonics to scratch any CD's you attempt to play.
It will re-calibrate your refrigerator's coolness settings so all your ice cream melts and your milk curdles. It will program your phone autodial to call only your mother-in-law's number. This virus will mix antifreeze into your fish tank. It will drink all your beer. It will leave dirty socks on the coffee table when you are expecting company.
Its radioactive emissions will cause your toe jam and bellybutton fuzz (honest, you have some) to migrate behind your ears. It will replace your shampoo with Nair and your Nair with Rogaine, all while dating your current boy/girlfriend behind your back and billing their hotel rendezvous to your Visa card.
It will cause you to run with scissors and throw things in a way that is only fun until someone loses an eye. It will give you Dutch Elm Disease and Tinea. It will rewrite your backup files, changing all your active verbs to passive tense and incorporating undetectable misspellings which grossly change the interpretations of key sentences.
If the "Badtimes" message is opened in a Windows95 environment, it will leave the toilet seat up and leave your hair dryer plugged in dangerously close to a full bathtub. It will not only remove the
forbidden tags from your mattresses and pillows, but it will also refill your skim milk with whole milk. It will replace all your luncheon meat with Spam.
It will molecularly rearrange your cologne or perfume, causing it to smell like dill pickles. It is insidious and subtle. It is dangerous and terrifying to behold. It is also a rather interesting shade of mauve. These are just a few signs of infection.
Friday, January 14, 2005
The Life of a Computer Science Major - Author Unknown
Ask anyone who has stayed awake for thirty-seven hours consuming nothing but
Coke and Snickers bars and staring into a green CRT screen, if there is
anything glamorous about the world of computer programming. Look deep into
his bloodshot eyes, and try to detect any signs of joy among the red
streaks. Then, just for kicks, ask him why he does what he does, despite all
the pain it's causing. The most positive answer you'll get is, ``it feels so
good when it stops.''
Although computer sciences majors come in all sizes and shapes, each
possesses that essential ``nerd'' quality which led us to declare the major
in the first place. Some of us, the stragglers, are only part time nerds.
Unfortunately, over the past three years, an alarming number of lifers,
full-time nerds, have appeared. These are the really scary people who hang
around the terminal room regularly, with absolutely no purpose for being
there. People who'd rather sit around hacking on a Saturday evening than
lying stuporously drunk in one of the Dellys, or sleeping. This specialized
breed of computer nerds, affectionately known as the Computer Nazis, becomes
an increasingly large organization every semester. No one knows exactly
where they come from, since no one has ever seen a Nazi outside of the
computer center. Similarly, no one has ever tried to find one, either.
The leader of the Williamsburg Nazis, it seems, is a large Arabic slob we
shall call Abdul. Abdul typifies the model Nazi. Granted, he's not quite as
dweebish looking as you'd expect, yet somehow you know that he's not the
kind of guy you'd invite to dinner. He's loud, he's self-righteous, and he
can tell you anything about the computer system you'd never want to know.
Below Abdul are his Seargeants at Arms, Jeff and Andy. Though not quite as
loud as their leader, both possess voices which will rise above all others
at large gatherings. Jeff has a lisp and Andy is annoyingly nasal; everyone
in the department can imitate his favorite Nazi. Somehow, they're always in
your class. And today is no exception.
Larry, the instructor wanders in, dumps several folders on his podium, and
smiles at the class. Attendance is good today, for the first time since the
beginning of the semester. Ah yes. Today he is to hand out the specs for the
final program, an event not to be missed. Floating among the seemingly
carefree students is a definite air of uneasiness; a combination of hope,
anticipation, and dread. He passes out the assignment, announcing that he
will take questions regarding the program during the next class meeting.
Simultaneously, two hands shoot up in the front row. Apparently, Abdul and
Andy, the ``Sunshine Boys'', have questions which can't wait two days.
You've got to hand it to these guys. They're fast readers, and seem to zero
in on ambiguous phrases and logical errors in the description even before
the entire class has received the document. This time they've even caught
the instructor off guard with their rapid fire analysis of his instructions.
You can tell that Larry really wants to tell them off, but remembers his own
Nazi days.
Two days go by. It's Question Day. Again, Abdul and Andy have the floor.
Seems that the instructor's skeleton for the program didn't work for some
obscure test case, and caused their respective programs to bomb. Larry
apologizes to Abdul, and makes a few witty comments to Andy. Most of the
class stares in amazement with the patented Computer Science ``Holy Shit''
expression hanging off of their faces. Have these two guys actually finished
the assignment already? We haven't had the thing for forty-eight hours yet.
Hell, I don't even remember where I put my specs sheet.
Two weeks have passed. Monday morning. The project is due on Wednesday.
Questions are finally rolling in from people other than the Sunshine Boys. A
certain anxiety begins to well up in the stomach as the deadline approaches.
Serious doubts about finishing the program in time arise. Larry, ever the
entertainer, mentions that ``If you haven't started the project yet, you'll
never get it done.'' He means it, too. That night, the stragglers tackle the
machine for the first time in weeks, trying to make some sort of headway, or
at least translate the problem at hand.
There are two mutually exclusive techniques that are used in the early
stages of programming: The Software Engineering method, and the ever-popular
Brute Force strategy. Right from the start of our computer careers, we are
told that any problem can be broken down into manageable pieces, and that
these pieces can be linked together to form a logically constructed program;
the method used by Software Engineers. This process is time consuming, yet
incredibly simple. Keep the pieces as small as possible, construct each one
separately, get it to working, and plug it in. ``This method can be applied
to any problem you'll ever have to solve, in the field of computer science,
or in real life situations,'' says the textbook. Sure. If you've got the
time.
Brute Force can similarly be applied to any real life situation, and in the
early stages it's quicker than the Software Engineering method. It's
instinctive, spontaneous, and produces concrete results almost immediately.
Read the problem, get a general idea of where you're headed, and head there.
Start simply, and then build the sucker. If you don't understand something,
ignore it. If it doesn't work, throw it out. Assume you know more about what
you're doing than you actually do. It's kind of like picking a nice living
room set, and building a house around it.
Apparently, Brute Force is the way to go this time around. The first few pot
shots at the problem miss their target completely, but finally pieces begin
to fit together. Granted, there's no central structure here yet, but we've
definitely bought the living room set. And, with a little bit of pushing and
bending of good programming rules, we seem to have built the fireplace and
part of the upstairs bedroom. So far so good. Who says we can't finish this
in two days? Get a printout, go home, have a beer and watch David Letterman.
The Letterman show appears to have been a tactical error. Brute Force has
come to its inevitable halt, and the deadline is tomorrow. Bits and pieces
of the program are working just fine, but the major chunks are still in
shambles. The program has to be finished within the next eighteen hours. We
have not choice but to begin the Caffeine Airlift.
If it weren't for caffeine, many of us computer science majors would have
died back in sophomore year. Sometimes, there just aren't enough waking
hours in the day to accomplish everything that has to be done. The logical
solution is to eliminate some of the sleeping hours, through carefully
measured doses of coffee and Coke. Time release caffeine pills were in
fashion two years ago, but turned out to be entirely too efficient. It's
difficult to concentrate on programming when your body wants to tap dance.
In any shape or form, the Caffeine Airlift has saved us all.
Once the body is properly primed, the work begins. The computer lab
overflows with other desperate individuals, all heavily caffeinated, and all
decked out for the long night ahead. Grab a terminal, and start hacking.
It's comforting to know that everyone else will fail this project with you.
The mood is surprisingly relaxed, and jokes about impending doom begin to
fly.
Ten o'clock. Eleven hours and counting. Condition: guarded but stable. The
three Cokes in your system are making your legs bounce, but you ignore it.
Concentration is the key. The room fills to capacity, and the jokes
continue. Of course no one will finish, but who cares anymore? This is no
longer a project, but a mission. Actually, you've made amazing progress in
the last few hours, but won't admit it to the others. More fun to complain,
isn't it?
Midnight. The Jello Hour. The Jello Principle state that ``no matter what
quick solution you find for a given problem, it will still make you worse
off than you were before.'' Kind of like nailing Jello to a tree. The
temporary solutions look pretty for awhile, but are destined to fail in the
long run. After Jello hour, you get a whole new perspective on life. The
beard begins to appear. The empty Coke cups form a wall along the side of
your work space. You realize that you'll miss Letterman tonight. Short cuts
that simulate important program elements come to mind, are added to the
code, fail, and are discarded. The best rule of thumb is to try something so
unorthodoxly simple, that it could never work. Odds are that it will.
One thirty. You've watched half of your classmates walk out in stuporous
frustration. The die-hards remain, chugging caffeine in lethal dosages and
cursing quietly to themselves. And suddenly, the peaceful torpor of the
terminal lab is shattered by the unexpected arrival of the Nazis. Abdul
strolls in, flips on a terminal, and talks loudly to his partner Jeff across
the room. In the back of your mind, you wonder where Andy is tonight, but
the truth is you don't really care. Abdul is amused that we non-Nazis are
working on the same program they had finished nearly two weeks ago. Jeff
comments, through his speech impediment, that the program was ``trivial.''
Eventually, the Nazis become engrossed in their own work, whatever the hell
they do at two o'clock in the morning. Abdul has found some new way to amuse
himself, and yells for Jeff to come over. Jeff yells back that he's too
busy. Everyone wishes Abdul and Jeff would die painfully.
Finished. It's four AM, and the damn thing is finally in the can. Smile at
the amphetimized corpses as you leave, and wish them luck. The walk home
seems longer tonight. No cars. No birds. No noise. Life seems to have gone
on outside of the computer center. As you hit the bed, you know you're too
wired to fall asleep. It doesn't matter. You've won the game again. As your
body continues its tap dance, you realize that the process is going to start
again on Monday. No problem. Yeah, it's hurts for awhile. But it feels so
good when you stop....
Coke and Snickers bars and staring into a green CRT screen, if there is
anything glamorous about the world of computer programming. Look deep into
his bloodshot eyes, and try to detect any signs of joy among the red
streaks. Then, just for kicks, ask him why he does what he does, despite all
the pain it's causing. The most positive answer you'll get is, ``it feels so
good when it stops.''
Although computer sciences majors come in all sizes and shapes, each
possesses that essential ``nerd'' quality which led us to declare the major
in the first place. Some of us, the stragglers, are only part time nerds.
Unfortunately, over the past three years, an alarming number of lifers,
full-time nerds, have appeared. These are the really scary people who hang
around the terminal room regularly, with absolutely no purpose for being
there. People who'd rather sit around hacking on a Saturday evening than
lying stuporously drunk in one of the Dellys, or sleeping. This specialized
breed of computer nerds, affectionately known as the Computer Nazis, becomes
an increasingly large organization every semester. No one knows exactly
where they come from, since no one has ever seen a Nazi outside of the
computer center. Similarly, no one has ever tried to find one, either.
The leader of the Williamsburg Nazis, it seems, is a large Arabic slob we
shall call Abdul. Abdul typifies the model Nazi. Granted, he's not quite as
dweebish looking as you'd expect, yet somehow you know that he's not the
kind of guy you'd invite to dinner. He's loud, he's self-righteous, and he
can tell you anything about the computer system you'd never want to know.
Below Abdul are his Seargeants at Arms, Jeff and Andy. Though not quite as
loud as their leader, both possess voices which will rise above all others
at large gatherings. Jeff has a lisp and Andy is annoyingly nasal; everyone
in the department can imitate his favorite Nazi. Somehow, they're always in
your class. And today is no exception.
Larry, the instructor wanders in, dumps several folders on his podium, and
smiles at the class. Attendance is good today, for the first time since the
beginning of the semester. Ah yes. Today he is to hand out the specs for the
final program, an event not to be missed. Floating among the seemingly
carefree students is a definite air of uneasiness; a combination of hope,
anticipation, and dread. He passes out the assignment, announcing that he
will take questions regarding the program during the next class meeting.
Simultaneously, two hands shoot up in the front row. Apparently, Abdul and
Andy, the ``Sunshine Boys'', have questions which can't wait two days.
You've got to hand it to these guys. They're fast readers, and seem to zero
in on ambiguous phrases and logical errors in the description even before
the entire class has received the document. This time they've even caught
the instructor off guard with their rapid fire analysis of his instructions.
You can tell that Larry really wants to tell them off, but remembers his own
Nazi days.
Two days go by. It's Question Day. Again, Abdul and Andy have the floor.
Seems that the instructor's skeleton for the program didn't work for some
obscure test case, and caused their respective programs to bomb. Larry
apologizes to Abdul, and makes a few witty comments to Andy. Most of the
class stares in amazement with the patented Computer Science ``Holy Shit''
expression hanging off of their faces. Have these two guys actually finished
the assignment already? We haven't had the thing for forty-eight hours yet.
Hell, I don't even remember where I put my specs sheet.
Two weeks have passed. Monday morning. The project is due on Wednesday.
Questions are finally rolling in from people other than the Sunshine Boys. A
certain anxiety begins to well up in the stomach as the deadline approaches.
Serious doubts about finishing the program in time arise. Larry, ever the
entertainer, mentions that ``If you haven't started the project yet, you'll
never get it done.'' He means it, too. That night, the stragglers tackle the
machine for the first time in weeks, trying to make some sort of headway, or
at least translate the problem at hand.
There are two mutually exclusive techniques that are used in the early
stages of programming: The Software Engineering method, and the ever-popular
Brute Force strategy. Right from the start of our computer careers, we are
told that any problem can be broken down into manageable pieces, and that
these pieces can be linked together to form a logically constructed program;
the method used by Software Engineers. This process is time consuming, yet
incredibly simple. Keep the pieces as small as possible, construct each one
separately, get it to working, and plug it in. ``This method can be applied
to any problem you'll ever have to solve, in the field of computer science,
or in real life situations,'' says the textbook. Sure. If you've got the
time.
Brute Force can similarly be applied to any real life situation, and in the
early stages it's quicker than the Software Engineering method. It's
instinctive, spontaneous, and produces concrete results almost immediately.
Read the problem, get a general idea of where you're headed, and head there.
Start simply, and then build the sucker. If you don't understand something,
ignore it. If it doesn't work, throw it out. Assume you know more about what
you're doing than you actually do. It's kind of like picking a nice living
room set, and building a house around it.
Apparently, Brute Force is the way to go this time around. The first few pot
shots at the problem miss their target completely, but finally pieces begin
to fit together. Granted, there's no central structure here yet, but we've
definitely bought the living room set. And, with a little bit of pushing and
bending of good programming rules, we seem to have built the fireplace and
part of the upstairs bedroom. So far so good. Who says we can't finish this
in two days? Get a printout, go home, have a beer and watch David Letterman.
The Letterman show appears to have been a tactical error. Brute Force has
come to its inevitable halt, and the deadline is tomorrow. Bits and pieces
of the program are working just fine, but the major chunks are still in
shambles. The program has to be finished within the next eighteen hours. We
have not choice but to begin the Caffeine Airlift.
If it weren't for caffeine, many of us computer science majors would have
died back in sophomore year. Sometimes, there just aren't enough waking
hours in the day to accomplish everything that has to be done. The logical
solution is to eliminate some of the sleeping hours, through carefully
measured doses of coffee and Coke. Time release caffeine pills were in
fashion two years ago, but turned out to be entirely too efficient. It's
difficult to concentrate on programming when your body wants to tap dance.
In any shape or form, the Caffeine Airlift has saved us all.
Once the body is properly primed, the work begins. The computer lab
overflows with other desperate individuals, all heavily caffeinated, and all
decked out for the long night ahead. Grab a terminal, and start hacking.
It's comforting to know that everyone else will fail this project with you.
The mood is surprisingly relaxed, and jokes about impending doom begin to
fly.
Ten o'clock. Eleven hours and counting. Condition: guarded but stable. The
three Cokes in your system are making your legs bounce, but you ignore it.
Concentration is the key. The room fills to capacity, and the jokes
continue. Of course no one will finish, but who cares anymore? This is no
longer a project, but a mission. Actually, you've made amazing progress in
the last few hours, but won't admit it to the others. More fun to complain,
isn't it?
Midnight. The Jello Hour. The Jello Principle state that ``no matter what
quick solution you find for a given problem, it will still make you worse
off than you were before.'' Kind of like nailing Jello to a tree. The
temporary solutions look pretty for awhile, but are destined to fail in the
long run. After Jello hour, you get a whole new perspective on life. The
beard begins to appear. The empty Coke cups form a wall along the side of
your work space. You realize that you'll miss Letterman tonight. Short cuts
that simulate important program elements come to mind, are added to the
code, fail, and are discarded. The best rule of thumb is to try something so
unorthodoxly simple, that it could never work. Odds are that it will.
One thirty. You've watched half of your classmates walk out in stuporous
frustration. The die-hards remain, chugging caffeine in lethal dosages and
cursing quietly to themselves. And suddenly, the peaceful torpor of the
terminal lab is shattered by the unexpected arrival of the Nazis. Abdul
strolls in, flips on a terminal, and talks loudly to his partner Jeff across
the room. In the back of your mind, you wonder where Andy is tonight, but
the truth is you don't really care. Abdul is amused that we non-Nazis are
working on the same program they had finished nearly two weeks ago. Jeff
comments, through his speech impediment, that the program was ``trivial.''
Eventually, the Nazis become engrossed in their own work, whatever the hell
they do at two o'clock in the morning. Abdul has found some new way to amuse
himself, and yells for Jeff to come over. Jeff yells back that he's too
busy. Everyone wishes Abdul and Jeff would die painfully.
Finished. It's four AM, and the damn thing is finally in the can. Smile at
the amphetimized corpses as you leave, and wish them luck. The walk home
seems longer tonight. No cars. No birds. No noise. Life seems to have gone
on outside of the computer center. As you hit the bed, you know you're too
wired to fall asleep. It doesn't matter. You've won the game again. As your
body continues its tap dance, you realize that the process is going to start
again on Monday. No problem. Yeah, it's hurts for awhile. But it feels so
good when you stop....
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