The man I refer to as my brother called me the best man at his wedding.
I guess I shouldn't have volunteered his wife to the experiment. The society wanted a perpetual motion machine so bad, they would do anything. I didn't realize the danger until it was too late.
It started on a smoky summer day. Forest fires raged near town, and the wind carried the acrid smoke across the valley floor. Near the river, bears were hanging their catches to preserve the flesh. Only I knew who had lit those fires. Only I can prevent forest fires my ass, Smokey. You're the freakin' arsonists. I digress.
My friend's wife stomped across the living room in a panic to get a Pepsi. Pepsi panics are the worst. I pulled the lever by the fireplace, and she went down the slide. Well, she nearly went down the slide, the edge of the floor caught her by the waistband. There she hung like a bat with insomnia, swaying with eyes like pancakes.
I jumped up, and with a swift whirl of my computer chair, freed her from her entrapment, and gravity once more had its way with her.
A moment later, I clambered down the slide, as a golem in the night. The floor returned to its natural state.
The society was not pleased. In my haste to complete their requested task, I had failed to understand that they only craved a lock of hair from an angry female, and not the delivery of an unconscious female.
I attached the hook to her waistband, and reeled her back up the slide.
The unfortunate effect was, however, that she was evermore angry. This made getting a lock of an angry female's hair relatively easy, but made my friend's marriage the more difficult to sustain.
I destroyed my best friend's marriage.
At least we achieved perpetual motion?
