Impure Mathematics

[this is probably against the rules here, but it seems to have been a slow week]

Wherein it is related how that paragon of womanly virtue, young Polly
Nomial (our heroine), is accosted by the notorious villian, Curly Pi,
and factored (oh, Horror!). Once Upon a time (1/t), pretty Polly
Nomial was strolling across a field of vectors when she came to the
boundary of a singularly matrix. Now Polly was convergent and her
mother had made it an absolute condition that she never enter such an
array without her brackets on. Polly, however, who had changed her
variables that morning and was feeling particularly badly behaved,
ignored this condition on the basis that is was insufficient, and
make her way in among the complex elements. Rows and columns closed
in on here from all sides. Tangents approached her surface. She
became tensor and tensor. Quite suddenly, two branches of a hyperbola
touched her at a single point. She oscillated violently, lost all
sense of directrix, and went completely divergent. As she reached a
turning point, she tripped over a square root that was protruding
from the erf and plunged headlong down a steed gradient. When she
rounded off once more, she found herself inverted, apparently aline,
in a non euclidian space. She was being watched, however. That smooth
operator, Curly Pi, was lurking innerproduct. As his eyes devoured
her curvilinear coordinates, a singular expression crossed his face,
He wondered, was she still convergent? He decided to integrate
improperly at once, Hearing a common fraction behind her, Polly
rotated an saw Curly Pi approaching with his power series
extrapolated.Arcsinh." She could see at once by his degenerate conic
an dissipative terms that he was bent on no good, "Arcsinh," she
gasped. "Ho, Ho," he said. "What a symmetric little asymptote you
have. I can see your angels have a lit of secs." "Oh sir," she
protested. "Keep away form me. I haven't got my brackets on." "Calm
yourself, my dear." said our suave operator. "Your fears are purely
imaginary." "I... I" she thought. "Perhaps he's not normal but
homologous." "What order are your?" the brute demanded. "Seventeen."
replied Polly. Curly leared, "I suppose you've never been operated
on." "Of course not," Polly replied quite properly. "I"m absolutely
convergent." "Come, come," said Curly. "Let"s go to a decimal place I
know and I"ll take you to the limit." "Never!" gasped Polly.
"Abscissa." he swore, using the vilest oath he know. His patience was
gone. Cohsining her over the coefficient with a log until she was
powerless, Curly removed her discontinuities. He stared at her
significant places, and began smoothing out her points of inflection.
Poor Polly. The algorithmic method was now her only hope. She felt
his hand tending to her asymptotic limit, Her convergence would soon
be gone forever! There was no mercy, for Curly was a heavysided
operator. Curly"s radius squared itself. Polly"s loci quivered. He
integrated by parts, he integrated by partial fractions. After he
cofactored, he performed runge kutta on here. The complex beast even
went all the way around and did a contour integration. Curly went on
operation until he had satisfied her hypothesis. Then he
exponentiated and became completed orthogonal. When Polly got home
that night, her mother noticed that she was no longer piecewise
continuous, and had been truncated in several places, But is was too
late to differentiate how. A the months went by, Polly"s denominator
increased monotonically, Finally she went to L"hospital and generated
a small but pathological function which left surds all over the place
an drove Polly to deviation. The moral of our sad story is this: "If
you want to keep your expressions convergent, never allow them a
single degree of freedom."

--
Ron

A boy's will is the wind's will,
and the thoughts of youth are
long, long thoughts.
-Longfellow

LMAO, Ron, you should toss this over on ASSM. There are a bunch of
folks there who would get the humor as well.

On Fri, 13 Apr 2007 19:17:39 +0200, "Talashar"
<Talashar.RemoveThis@SPAMBEGONEgmail.com> wrote:

>[this is probably against the rules here, but it seems to have been a slow week]
>
>Wherein it is related how that paragon of womanly virtue, young Polly
>Nomial (our heroine), is accosted by the notorious villian, Curly Pi,
>and factored (oh, Horror!). Once Upon a time (1/t), pretty Polly
>Nomial was strolling across a field of vectors when she came to the
>boundary of a singularly matrix. Now Polly was convergent and her
>mother had made it an absolute condition that she never enter such an
>array without her brackets on. Polly, however, who had changed her
>variables that morning and was feeling particularly badly behaved,
>ignored this condition on the basis that is was insufficient, and
>make her way in among the complex elements. Rows and columns closed
>in on here from all sides. Tangents approached her surface. She
>became tensor and tensor. Quite suddenly, two branches of a hyperbola
>touched her at a single point. She oscillated violently, lost all
>sense of directrix, and went completely divergent. As she reached a
>turning point, she tripped over a square root that was protruding
>from the erf and plunged headlong down a steed gradient. When she
>rounded off once more, she found herself inverted, apparently aline,
>in a non euclidian space. She was being watched, however. That smooth
>operator, Curly Pi, was lurking innerproduct. As his eyes devoured
>her curvilinear coordinates, a singular expression crossed his face,
>He wondered, was she still convergent? He decided to integrate
>improperly at once, Hearing a common fraction behind her, Polly
>rotated an saw Curly Pi approaching with his power series
>extrapolated.Arcsinh." She could see at once by his degenerate conic
>an dissipative terms that he was bent on no good, "Arcsinh," she
>gasped. "Ho, Ho," he said. "What a symmetric little asymptote you
>have. I can see your angels have a lit of secs." "Oh sir," she
>protested. "Keep away form me. I haven't got my brackets on." "Calm
>yourself, my dear." said our suave operator. "Your fears are purely
>imaginary." "I... I" she thought. "Perhaps he's not normal but
>homologous." "What order are your?" the brute demanded. "Seventeen."
>replied Polly. Curly leared, "I suppose you've never been operated
>on." "Of course not," Polly replied quite properly. "I"m absolutely
>convergent." "Come, come," said Curly. "Let"s go to a decimal place I
>know and I"ll take you to the limit." "Never!" gasped Polly.
>"Abscissa." he swore, using the vilest oath he know. His patience was
>gone. Cohsining her over the coefficient with a log until she was
>powerless, Curly removed her discontinuities. He stared at her
>significant places, and began smoothing out her points of inflection.
>Poor Polly. The algorithmic method was now her only hope. She felt
>his hand tending to her asymptotic limit, Her convergence would soon
>be gone forever! There was no mercy, for Curly was a heavysided
>operator. Curly"s radius squared itself. Polly"s loci quivered. He
>integrated by parts, he integrated by partial fractions. After he
>cofactored, he performed runge kutta on here. The complex beast even
>went all the way around and did a contour integration. Curly went on
>operation until he had satisfied her hypothesis. Then he
>exponentiated and became completed orthogonal. When Polly got home
>that night, her mother noticed that she was no longer piecewise
>continuous, and had been truncated in several places, But is was too
>late to differentiate how. A the months went by, Polly"s denominator
>increased monotonically, Finally she went to L"hospital and generated
>a small but pathological function which left surds all over the place
>an drove Polly to deviation. The moral of our sad story is this: "If
>you want to keep your expressions convergent, never allow them a
>single degree of freedom."