Embarrassingly, these are all original….
I got into a dispute with Arnold Schwartzenegger yesterday and we decided to duke it out in a one-on-one fight with pistols at ten paces. I was really intimidated by his strength, so I made him remove his muscles before we faced off; of course, I'm not very strong either. He still had the advantage of being famous. But when the time was called to turn, I was extremely quick to react, and we came out even. Turns out that in a duel, it doesn't matter whether you're a weak star or just weak, as long as you're reflexive.
A bike shop owned by a giraffe who identifies as both a Democrat and a Republican is guaranteed to sell only normal bikes. Indeed, a biparty giraffe has no odd cycles.
A plan to provide government benefits to sets not containing themselves has shortchanged beneficiaries due to an error in which each such set was mailed an ID card belonging to another, according to a class action lawsuit filed in Superior Court yesterday.
What does Scott Walker do if there are polynomially-many opportunities for workers to organize but an exponentially-small probability that each opportunity will be taken?
My friends aren't socially inept at all - quite the opposite, in fact. I met each one of them at a restaurant while the piano player was playing a different musical selection - these selections were all among the least-contrived pieces of music I've ever listened to, and we think of these songs as fundamental in the formation of our group. Sometimes, when my friends get together, we eat too much transcendental dessert and feel really ill. In other words, the root of sickest times by some of the inverse-squares of natural numbers is pie.
I met a guy named Joe yesterday. Joe was trying to figure out who he was, through writing. He liked writing with other people. First he tried writing with people he had never met before. But he still didn't know who he was. Then he tried writing with his acquaintances. But he wrote prose. That didn't work. Still no idea who he was. Finally, he started writing poetry with people who were very close to him. At that point it came to him - Joe knew that he was Joe, and exactly what that meant. The moral of the story, Joe concluded, was that only when you compose with your own in verse do you end up with identity.
Has anyone seen my collection of functions on gl(n) that map sl(n) to 0? They seem to have vanished without a trace....