The thing, I’ve been told, looks a bit like a fish with skirts and spoilers. Something long thought extinct from the annals of street racing. Man, if you squint with these glasses, the sun becomes a flattened disc. The problem with being dead is there’s nothing to eat.
By measuring the depth of penetration with a rod or needle, we can determine the consistency or hardness of my TA’s ingratitude.
“I'm indebted to Charles the Walcott, this evening, for allowing me the use of his penetrometer, though the results are going to make a lot of law abiding citizens very angry.”
The TA is speaking rapidly now, now that the story has become a media spectacle, giving us a faster tempo against which to measure our reactions. Whatever it is, up on the screen, it looks like a cauliflower.