I’m a scientician. I’d tell you never to try this at home, but where else would anyone allow you to try it? Do as I do — go out in the garage when dad’s not home and hook everything up to everything else, and turn that sucker on. Freebase all the fumes, stick your fingers in all the molten puddles, grab everything glowing and see if you get a tingle. Yell, Eureka! once in a while, or Ouch!, or Oops!, whatever; but no matter what happens — keep scienceing!
You see, true sciencing is not the stuffy, boring, procedural perdition you’ve been led to expect. It’s a blast! I mean that every which way. Let those girlie men in white coats and wraparound lenses cluck their tongues and check things off on some antiseptic clipboard to earn their bread. Bah! A real sciencer like me isn’t going to stand there giving directions to a bunch of albino mice in a maze. Manly men scientophiles eat the cheese and then fart and set the methane on fire, after painting little numbers on the mice and racing them.
(thanks to that friend of discovery Gerard at American Digest for sending that one along)