After a chance meeting on the beach with Uncle Dean, Accomplished Electrical Engineer, we begin to doubt that this supernatural being who recently sat in on drums with the Brat Pack is actually Satan. Uncle Dean, Accomplished Electrical Engineer, has recommended a simple procedure to distinguish The Beast from famous Hollywood actors, but it involves getting close enough to the thing to touch it, so we're waiting for a volunteer.
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Further on down the beach, we ran into Uncle John, Experienced Systems Specialist, and he suggested that Uncle Dean, Accomplished Electrical Engineer, may be in over his head when it comes to nth dimensional phenomena. He reminded us that the horrible demon did count off each song with 666, authenticating his claim of Dark Lordship.
Suddenly, Uncle Nick, Masterful Architect, chimed in with an objection that was WAY over my head, but maybe something like - anyone can say the number six three times in a row and wear a red hat with horns on it. Everyone on the beach fell silent.
So we called an expert - Uncle Bill, Compassionate Neurologist. He weighed the merits of each argument and promised to do some research on the abolition of postprandial alkaline tide after vagotomy.
But really, Cousin Matt, Punk Ass Teenager, said it best when he implied that our weekend with Lucifer didn't cure the pronunciation problems which plague Love Shack and therefore even if it was the Prince of Darkness, no one apparently made a deal with him.
I touch the beast almost evvery day, but it doesn't look like that. It's more like a snake or a summer sausage.
JV
a reasonable scientific debate
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