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Wednesday, May 18, 2016

The Birth Of TrashBall.

"Hey, you know what would be great? A steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee, you know, grind the beans, the whole works."  Jeffrey asked, up to his elbows in a centrally enhanced fusion generator.

He was literally up to his elbows, this was a big generator, had it not been for Jeffrey's "little accident" it would have powered a small city using diet Coke and Mentos.

But, as is so often the case with research, technology and the rapidly advancing pace of technological innovation Jeffrey, and I bit off a little more than we could chew. 

"That sounds great, but we have a lot to do to get this thing operational before the demonstration with ConEd tomorrow." I replied, thinking how much a cup of coffee would hit the spot. "Hey, we have the that small worm hole down in the lab, what if we shot the ingredients, the grinder, two mugs and instructions to ourselves last week when we were waiting on the Coordinated Wheel Bashings? We had time then, remember the coffee we had on Wednesday. Man, that was great." I swooned a little just thinking about it.

"That was great coffee. And that is a great idea. Plus, think of the potential benefits. We can send back the data to ourselves when we had time to analyze it and make sense of the numbers." Jeffrey said, the excitement making his voice tremble, and his hands shake a little.

This had the potential for a real breakthrough. We could double our productivity without hiring any more people, analyze data before it was even available, make decisions based on experiments that had yet to be performed, and get fresh, hot coffee. The potential was limitless.

We packaged up some coffee beans, a French press, a Grinder, two mugs, and wrote a nice note to ourselves. "Please make us some coffee, and send it back through time to yourselves in the future. No cream, or sugar. Thank you." We signed our names so we would know it was us.

We tossed it into the Space Time Eddy in the lab. And as soon as it went in one of the cups came
flying out smashing into Jeffrey's face and breaking his new glasses. Then the note, dripping coffee and crumpled around the used grounds flew out and splatted against his white lab coat, with a insulting sound of pulling your foot out of wet cement. It left a stain that looked like he had been shot and bled coffee coffee.

The note had been written over with the words "make your owned damned coffee, losers." Man, we were jerks last week.

Jeffrey quit when the company wouldn't pay for his glasses. Enhanced fusion died on the vine, and the game of Trashball was born. We added the compressed air cannon because you really need to put some distance on it, or it comes shooting right back out.