Re: A Problem To Solve :-)

On 3/27/2024 3:51 PM, Physfitfreak wrote:

On 3/22/2024 7:07 PM, Physfitfreak wrote:

 She then took it back inside, pressed a button, then placed the gadget down and gave the order to him without asking for any money. Physfit smiled and drove back home to enjoy it.
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What did Physfit say to the gadget?
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  Problem was, as soon as he arrived and prepared to have his three fish fillets and coleslaw, a cat stepped on the exposed side of his head and sat on it and didn't budge, waking him up. He was still in bed, and Long John Silvers meal that smelled so damn good right in front of him, was nommo.
 He told the cat without forcing her off, "Damn it, couldn't you at least wait till I had one bite?..." It would still be another 24 hour of waiting before the next meal.
 He slowly turned to his left to get the cat off without tearing his face up, as well as taking a look at the pendulum clock; yes it was waking time anyway, so the cat knew what she was doing. He got up and thought, "Well, I can have coffee at least, so it's not all pure loss."
 Got his Beaumont Coffee Classic Roast out, the cheapest fucking coffee to find both east and west of the Pecos, and measured the filtered water just to make a third of the drip machine carafe filled with the terrific fresh coffee. Filled a good-sized mug with it and went and sat with the cats to drink.
 "Ahah... I better check." He stood up and went to the window; yes, the mountain was there. Anything could be up! He came back to enjoy the cats' company. It was the black long haired's turn to sit on his lap, and she sure knew it.
 Coffee tasted right. She was not his own cat. She belonged to a neighbor two houses away, but hadn't received enough attention and care from them and was almost always outside, and almost always trying to get inside Physfit's house when it was too cold or too hot or too rainy or too windy. She did carry the old dirty collar indicating her name and proof of rabies shot from two years back, but the state the collar was in showed she'd perhaps been abandoned after that one-time proper care. So Physfit had deservedly adopted her, and proof of that was the fact that despite letting them know she was with him, when they at last left that address they didn't even come to get her, or at least see their cat for the last time. That, Physfit wouldn't allow a cat owner do, without disowning them of the cat, in principle. So this wonderful, kind, and patient cat was absolutely his, and he was absolutely hers.
 This "sitting on his lap" while having coffee in the morning had become a tradition. A routine. A cat thing. And not just for her; she had to share the privilege with the white and gray tabby. One day her, next day the other one. Luckily, none of the other cats were interested one bit to sit on his lap. Male ones didn't generally do that anyway, and a couple of female ones didn't even like him enough to do that. But all of them still enjoyed his company at coffee time, and he enjoyed theirs.
 Someone knocked on his door, he stood up and made sure his hair didn't look like a mental case, then walked to the door and as it was the finest of Texas tradition, opened it wide regardless of who it was at the door. It was the mailman,
 Mailman:  "Dr. M.. you have a certified piece of mail, and guess who's the sender!... :-)"
 Physfit thinking, "Ahh crap... That 'Dr' shit again. Could it be that those in school whose asses I burned 35 years back are now deliberately using that prefix before my name in their snail mails to get even with me?... It sure has made a wrong impression on the mailman." And continued,
 Physfit   "Thank you sir. Oh I see what you mean."
 He signed the mailman's form and thanked him again and came back inside.
 The letter or whatever it was, was from Bill Gates. "The son of a bitch acts fast, don't he", Physfit thought. He opened the envelope and saw a check for $2.88 Billion in it written to his name. How the fuck he knew his real name was another matter. He Sat down with the cats again and continued drinking his coffee, making sure cats don't sneeze on the check or one of the male ones don't put their seal of approval to it; pissing on it.
 "Hmm... that hypothetical trick worked after all. Good that I deliberately made the bill equal to the amount that those pervert IRS thieves had forced me to pay."
 So the matter of 2023 tax was in fact resolved. Might as well. God knew how much money that Seattlite rude creature owed to millions who used Windows. All those hours, all that time crassly stolen from them...
 Was it the educational scenery down a Mossberg barrel that did the job, or the name of Greg Abbott putting fear of the fucking god into that Seattlite billionaire? Hard to know which one. Both could work quite similarly.
 In any case, Gates would now pay Physfit's debt to IRS! God worked in mysterious ways indeed.
 Coffee was finished, but he was still lingering there despite a zillion chores he had to get busy with.
 "Is there a way, while the magic mountain is there anyway, to change layers of reality on demand?... Hmm... I wonder" he thought. "Why do I have to wait until it happens by itself?... Is there a word, an act, a sign, something, that I could use to trigger that change?"
 "I did replenish my Walmart National Cup tea-bag on demand, didn't I. And the can of sardines, the oxygen tank, anything I needed, while on that mountain."
 He decided to try a few things. But he needed to know towards what end. So he thought a bit and decided he'd try to get himself at the menu board of that crazy Long John Silvers again to get another chance to have the formidable three fish fillets with a huge side of coleslaw. He couldn't, of course, just drive there and get them. The day was not the eating day for him. But getting there via another layer, could "imply" a change in date too.
 He first, of course, tried,
 "Fuck that Pope The Penis X!"
 But nothing happened. Probably worked only on the magic mountain. But he knew such exclamations would require being originated out of the deepest parts of logic and sanity in his mind. So he tried,
 "Trump! Why does your wife look like she made her first step out of the Siberian jungles just yesterday?"
 "Hahhahhhahh :-)" Physfit couldn't help it after forming that image in his mind. It really took a lot of stupidity in a man to fall for a woman who looked that way, especially that permanent expression on her face. Pure cro-magnon instinct, having to do with Jungles and cold as fuck weathers, would be the cause.
 But nothing happened regardless. He was still in the same layer. So,
 "Lindsey Graham! Have you honestly ever outdone this one:
 https://i.postimg.cc/d3sLh3WX/Grahams-competitor.jpg
 in thinking?..."
 Physfit certainly didn't think so. And it didn't work anyway. Perhaps it was something about the fact that the real culprits were those who put such characters up in those positions.
 "Nah.. this type of statements won't get me there. Let's try COLA stuff."
 "DFS! Fart for Mormonites! Be what you're made for."... nothing.
 "RonB! Splash around some of that stuff you have in your Holy Grail you're holding under Pope The Penis X's exposed penis, to bless COLA members with THAT kind of benevolence." ... Still nothing.
 "hh! Now that you've lowered yourself communication-wise to the level you've actually been all your life, perhaps even born into, then you know what to do. PAY MY DICK!"
 BOOM!... Physfit was in his car, at Long John Silver's Drive-Thru!
 But as before, he didn't know how he got there. No recollections of what immediately preceded his being there. Especially, he didn't know when he had last eaten. And he was hungry as hell, so... it sure "implied" he hadn't eaten for days perhaps.
 "Ok, let's see what's in store this time," Physfit thought as he looked up at the menu board. It was still a double-or-nothing type of deal, and there was a sign above the board now saying,
         "Happy Ramanujan's Day!"
 The menu items didn't share the same type of challenge this time. Each item had its own different challenge now, having something to do with Ramanujan's work. He wasn't interested in other items, so he just studied the challenge for the three fish fillet with coleslaw deal. It looked like a tough one. "The suckers have learned their lessons... They're making it tougher and tougher for me." He thought.
 The challenge stated,
     "Give the Ramanujan's relation for PI that computes it correctly to 15 significant digits, and consists of nothing but two simple ratios, one subtraction, one multiplication, and the numeral 1"
 Physfit looked behind him to see if other cars were waiting. None were there. So he got his Aspire One mini laptop with QB64 on it out of his backpack and fired it up and began thinking where he should even begin to think about such task. A minute or two passed. Could he program such a wild, arbitrary set of conditions to somehow narrow it close enough to the answer? It didn't look like it. That man, Ramanujan, was sure a different kind of creature from what Physfit was. He indeed didn't know where to begin.
 "I've got to just look for it in Ramanujan's three-volume manuscripts and hopefully stumble upon it inside that sea of numbers and relations and hard to see scribblings. This shit is otherwise beyond me."
 As hungry as he was, he still didn't want to pay double the price, so he turned off his Aspire One mini Laptop with QB64 on it and put it back inside his backpack, and drove back home to go through Ramanujan's three-volume manuscripts that he'd downloaded from Anna's Archive some time back. It resided on his other computer, the mighty S20 that was still rocking after all the crap that had happened to it.
 What was that relation for PI?
     

So Physfit arrived home and directly went to his desk with the hope that he'd somehow find the relation inside three volumes of relations and equalities of all sorts!... After spending an hour or so looking page by page, sometimes line by line, through just one of the manuscripts, he sat back and breathed deep and thought it a bit of a stupid way to look for a piece that was math, and therefore perhaps there would be better ways for finding it.
So he decided to go back at again giving it a thought instead.
After a few minutes,
Physfit:  "How the hell can one use the meaning of PI, ratio of circle to its diameter, to calculate it with no less than 15 significant digits of accuracy, using such a ridiculously limited number of options at his disposal? ... If the challenge form of the relation didn't have seriies here and series there, and at least didn't have some radicals in there in it, then how in the fucking hell could one come up with a result that accurate, with so little to use?... "
Truely, a relation only involving two simple fractions, a numeral 1, and one multiplication and one subtraction between the three, and nothing else to have, was extremely isufficient to yield such an accuracy in calculation of PI. It would in fact require the knowledge of the unknown beforehand to get to such relation. Only somone else had to come to you and tell you that a relation like that exists. You could not find it yourself.
And nobody in the entire world could come to you and make you aware of the existence of such a relation, except this one man, Ramanujan. Nobody before him and nobody after him. Only him.
Physfit had his manuscripts on the screen in front of him. So he realized down to his bones that it required a Ramanujan to find it, and he was no Ramanujan. So he began continuing through the manuscript, page by page, line by line, in search of that relation.
By the time he at last spotted that jewel of a note, and checked the accuracy, it was past midnight and Long John Silvers was closed, and the next day would give him by all probability another challenge, not this one.
So it was three fish fillets and huge coleslaw, again nommo.
But he got to have an appreciation for the significance of that little note, and the fact that only God knew how Ramanujan, before even he knew of its existence, came to find it!
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