An open letter to Edward Thomas

Adoption‏


Edward Thomas

From: Edward Thomas (rob@rob.net)
Sent: Mon 6/11/12 12:23 AM
To: rob@rob.net


My name is Mr Edward Thomas and i know a single birth mother, her pregnancy was unplanned and now she have a baby girl, she is just 3 days old. She feel her baby would be best with a loving, kind, and accepting adoptive family, couple or single parent of any race. During her pregnancy she have used no drugs, cigarette or alcohol. She is still in the hospital because she have a lung disease. If any one is interested please kindly contact me by email edward15t@aim.com her name is Sarah and I am her Attorney.

Dear Mr. Thomas,

Free baby?

I would love to have a free baby.

Really free? Like, no charges, fees, licenses, or paperwork? That is, a free, under-the-table baby?

Now, question: when you say, "She is still in the hospital because she have a lung disease," do you mean the baby or the mother? This is important. I have two needs, and while one of them is an unlicensed, preferably free baby, the other is for a baby with a very good lung capacity.

The lung capacity issue is pretty critical, because I have a leaky hose somewhere in the air exchanger system, and I'm only getting partial pressure. This really isn't that a big a deal here in the lab, but I can see it being a pretty big problem elsewhere.

So the lung disease issue could be a deal breaker. I'm sorry. I don't really care too much about other defects. Well, I need to amend that, too, and say that I actually have three needs: (1) an unlicensed, free, completely untraceable baby with (2) a healthy lung capacity in case I can't track down the leaky hose who (3) has enough strength in his/her legs to work the arm and leg controls and (4) is smart enough to learn mixed martial arts from the encephalotronimater.

Oh dear. That was four things, wasn't it?

The fourth, though, is fairly minimal. I have yet to encounter a baby, a rhesus monkey, a manatee or a lab rat who couldn't become a master of mixed martial arts in a variable time period of fifteen minutes to twenty-three-and-a-half hours of attachment to a well-designed encephalotronimater (and, at the risk of sounding a braggart, mine is quite well-built and uses some really cutting-edge advances gleaned from my work with cerebrocarafes and misc. test subjects that I can't divulge--trade secrets, you know). I can even inform you that I fully expect the current Holstein trial to net wonderful results and produce a mixed-martial artist capable of producing around twenty-two litres of milk daily.

But leg and upper body strength aren't really optional. You might not think so, jumping to a conclusion drawn from observing the hydraulic systems in action. But the infant nevertheless must be able to work the control yolk and punch those large attack and block buttons, and must be able to work the foot pedals that allow the mechanoid to run and kick, turning the baby's muscle-memories of mixed martial arts mastery into elegant maneuvers that are surprisingly graceful at such an enormous scale. And bear in mind that the feedback emulators (necessary for the pilot to perform accurately and, hopefully, victoriously) are designed such that the baby will feel increased resistance in the controls at great atmospheric or marine pressures and the G-forces caused by mass or acceleration. It would be easy enough if we knew the match were going to be held on (49005) 1998 QN₆₂ every year, but the judges like to mix it up, and it would be an embarrassing showing if my baby couldn't even push the foot and hand controls hard enough to perform an adequate scissor kick.

But if the baby is really, really ugly, let's say? That's perfectly alright. The cockpit is completely sealed and when it's closed you really can't see anything inside at all unless you press your face right up against the molecular transparititanium shell and have a really, really good flashlight, like one of those big lights security guards at secret advanced research facilities use that they can also employ to beat up people who sneak in after hours to attempt to steal a Heisenberg modulator that wasn't even being used anyway and wouldn't be missed and would be much more appreciated by, say, someone trying to build a mid-range variable subatomic deconstructor.

So please, please, please let me know if this baby has good breath control and is showing signs she'll be able to throw a good punch in a few weeks, especially if she's had the finest fighting moves and combat techniques of hundreds of martial artists, boxers, wrestlers, soldiers, warriors and elementary school bus drivers directly injected into her nascent nervous system by a three-story tall supercomputer powered by a dark matter conversion process which I'm unwilling to discuss any further at this time. The initial trials are only three weeks away and I am, I'm afraid, on a very tight deadline, and I will have you know that I do, in fact, have a line on two other babies and a pregnant woman in Minnesota who has written innumerable Facebook posts about how hard her baby has been kicking and is, I understand, due at any moment. Oh, and I cannot repeat this enough: I really need the baby to be untraceable, as we've all received a very nasty e-mail this year to the effect that last year's embarrassing incident, in which New Hampshire Child Protective Services descended to the bottom of the Mariana Trench in a borrowed WHOI bathyscaphe to confiscate Dr. Owens' pilot, will not be tolerated, as it totally throws off the brackets.

Please reply at once. Thank you for your consideration.

Sincerely,
R. Eric VanNewkirk
Standing On The Shoulders Of Giant Midgets

P.S.

Being an attorney who is trusted with confidences all the time, and considering the delicate nature of our negotiations and your attempt to bypass conventional, legal adoption processes, I trust you will keep anything you might have gleaned or inferred about non-mainstream scientists conducting highly amoral and possibly illegal mixed martial arts matches fought by baby-piloted giant mechanical ninja submersible space robots completely to yourself. Need I point out that if you told anyone about such a thing, they would laugh and call you "mad" like they called me, me, me, "mad"? Besides which, I'd hate to see something awful happen to you, least of all something involving captive black holes, invisible laser satellites, a remote-controlled zombie robot Hitler clone, or a manatee who hasn't been quite right since amazing mixed martial arts techniques were implanted directly into his brain by a mostly-safe high-voltage device. I'm just saying, things could happen. Thanks in advance for your discretion.

-REV.