The Wrath of Richard Feynman

I’m at the Isle of Tortuga, prepping for brunch. Christy had me making Monkey Bread, where we take refrigerated biscuit dough, the kind that comes in the little cans that you crack open, and then split it into little balls, roll it in cinnamon and sugar and place it into a pan for baking. It’s tasty and easy.

I was going along, making little biscuit balls and rolling them. I don’t remember how it came up, but I was talking about the mistake I had made in pursuing physics and saying “It’s all Richard Feynman’s fault!”

And there was a sharp CRACK! and I was covered in biscuit dough.

The biscuit can I had not yet opened had exploded, apparently after warming up enough to split its seams. We’re convinced that the ghost of Richard Feynman acted to punish me for blaspheming his name. As Burro noted, “People have converted to Christianity for less.” The Church of Richard Feynman! Starting now!

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