Look. Zack Bloom. I invented “The Force”, “The Pirate Code”, I wrote the letters in Back to the Future, the notes in Good Will Hunting, the poems in Dead Poets Society. I figured out how people fall in love, presented my case to the scientific community, which publicly ridiculed me for it before I could publish my own article in the British Journal of Dermatology, the world’s second oldest medical journal. Nobody cares. I can fix heroin addiction, easy. Nobody cares. My local university (that I outgrew in 4th grade) who might cooperate (and have, once) by giving one of my experiments a go-over by their human subjects review committee IRB, are so angry with me for giving them an idea which they turned around and sold for $200,000,000.00 (two hundred million dollars), that they wouldn’t give me even the time of day. I dropped off a self-published book and the dean’s secretary, his secretary, called the police on me. Yes, it’s my fault because I gave them zenite gas inadvertently, but luddites they remain, grabbing after baubles, pebbles really, and oblivious to the whole beach of them in my pockets.
Yes, I would love to defend my vegetable oil dump as necessary to a scientific committee of utter and complete imbeciles who would never think that what happened to a pond in Ben Franklin’s day could possibly happen in the ocean. You do notice that good old Ben did the “scale models” already, right? Plus there’s a nice literature on molecular monolayers. Digitizing them? Would you give me a break, please. Those numb bunnies at the National Hurricane Center have been aware of my hypothesis in complete detail for decades. Test it? Heck no. Should I wait until thousands of my fellow Americans to die waiting for those idiots to tell me it can’t work and that the “damage” of a 17 gallon fresh, new, edible vegetable oil spill would be too much to risk? Incidentally, no fish were injured, although a petrel or two might have been lured to the sheen for naught.
You know, I decided not to try to explain to policemen guarding bridges to the barrier islands, there’s one right there in downtown Daytona Beach, because of the absurd attitude you yourself are exhibiting. It would take more time than I had. It’s Walmart vegetable oil, on water, not petrosludge. The little bugs in the water will gobble it all up. I mean, Exxon, PenaMex, and BP are huge conglomerates so they get to dump trillions more gallons of really, really poisonous oil into, under, and onto the ocean without permission of the scientific community? My little 17 gallons of canola oil? Give me a break. People eat this stuff. It didn’t go into anybody’s drinking water. I put a little one molecule thick sheen on ten, then twenty more square miles of the Atlantic Ocean. Somethings are too ridiculously obvious to submit a talk (likely rejected as my last two urgent lifesaving talks were) to blithering “colleagues” without sense enough to see that the cure for heroin, cocaine, and oxycodone addictions (uncomplicated by alcoholism) is sitting on the very ends of their own noses.
What I’m saying is that I understand your criticisms and they are invalid, moreover, you are a simpleton for advancing them. When society arrests Exxon, I’ll turn myself in, OK?