Your Days at Fermilab are Numbered

They turned their noses up at him- they, of all people. These second rate Einsteinian hangers on and their pathetic jumping rope of a particle accelerator locked in the strange pre-urban Eastern hell of Batavia, Illinois.

Couldn’t these losers, these dead-enders, these limited lifers see he was just doing a penance, he was serving a sentence, lowering himself to undeserved depths to prove his superiority, to stay in the game, to show everyone he was right?

They turned their nose up at his Von Agassi science shorts, so short and tight his white, academic flesh could feel the wind of science giving him goosebumps through the very scientific curled mat of hair all the mannish men in his family sported in tight dark coils in the hidden reaches.

They turned their noses up when they could plainly see that his jacket was an original Donna Plaasma. He had cultures more cultured than these backwater Quebecois furriers.

And Danil “Dan” Ostrov, the middle-built, round of face Russian Jew string theorist, with his jokes and good nature, his soviet-era glasses that never seemed to revert back from their polarized state when he came in from the sun… that sonofabitch wouldn’t even acknowledge that he hated him. Hated him for tagging the only piece of Nobel quality tail from this wintry grove of twigs to New York City, the kind of place where he really belonged.

He deserved to fuck Bergdora Fafnirsdottir, not that Cossack-fleeing turnip peddler, with her easygoing straightforwardness and her great, photogenic tits- those tits that stood up like a veteran at during a ballgame rendition of the national anthem even in her dowdy, stock-issue Fischer Scientific lab coat, straight and stock still as though they had compensated for her going into a pacifist life devoted to bettering the plight of mankind by enlisting in the army and making general.

He deserved the recognition he had been deprived of when he was shipped off of the CERN Large Hadron Collider project for being caught trying to put his dick in it right before putting it in a curious grad student. Shortly after that that opportunist Blake Onionplaatz had finally won approval for his experiments that stood to create food for the hungry built from the cosmos’ limitless beams of free energy.

These people should show more respect for someone who was almost the incredible hulk below the waist.