Science Jokes???
- Thread starter feenx
- Start date
MacsGirlMel
Mac's Personal Assistant
Is it correct to say all forensic personnel are in a grave situation?
I was standing in line at an airport to check in for a flight. For 15 minutes, the queue hardly moved, and patience was wearing thin. Suddenly an irate voice from the back demanded to know what the holdup was. A voice from the front replied,"I'm afraid Riga mortis has set in."
There's another one here but it's a bit long to post.
http://aniljokes.tripod.com/forensicpun001.html
http://aniljokes.tripod.com/forensicfun.html
The main page.
I was standing in line at an airport to check in for a flight. For 15 minutes, the queue hardly moved, and patience was wearing thin. Suddenly an irate voice from the back demanded to know what the holdup was. A voice from the front replied,"I'm afraid Riga mortis has set in."
There's another one here but it's a bit long to post.
http://aniljokes.tripod.com/forensicpun001.html
http://aniljokes.tripod.com/forensicfun.html
The main page.
Dynamo1
Head of the Swing Shift
"I have good news and bad news," the defense attorney told his client. "First the bad news. The blood test came back, and your DNA is an exact match with that found at the crime scene."
"Oh, no!" cried the client. "What's the good news?"
"Your cholesterol is only 140."
(Jim Brass: ba-dum-bum.)
"Oh, no!" cried the client. "What's the good news?"
"Your cholesterol is only 140."
(Jim Brass: ba-dum-bum.)
Here's an attempt to explain the difference between Ecklie and Grissom:
Start by using the physics formula:
Power = Work ÷ Time
Given that Knowledge is Power and Time is Money. Substitute:
Knowledge = Work ÷ Money
Then Solve for Money:
Money = Work ÷ Knowledge.
Therefore, the less you know, the more you make.
I guess there's an assumption here that Grissom makes less than Ecklie.
Start by using the physics formula:
Power = Work ÷ Time
Given that Knowledge is Power and Time is Money. Substitute:
Knowledge = Work ÷ Money
Then Solve for Money:
Money = Work ÷ Knowledge.
Therefore, the less you know, the more you make.
I guess there's an assumption here that Grissom makes less than Ecklie.
Dynamo1
Head of the Swing Shift
This isn't a joke so much as it is CSI humor in a column of my local paper, The Sunday Gazette-Mail, Charleston, WV.
Fearing future forensic finds
by Karen Fuller
September 3, 2006
I have a new fear. It springs from having watched one too many episodes of “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.”
For those who have never watched the popular CBS show (or one of its spin-offs, “CSI: Miami” and “CSI: New York”), the series follows a team of forensic scientists as they investigate the circumstances behind unusual and mysterious crimes and death.
A typical show opens with the CSI team arriving at the scene of a gruesome murder, then the investigators poke and prod the body, all the while talking casually to each other in their smooth investigator jargon, which they occasionally mark with gallows humor.
Then the team members begin exploring the scene of the crime with their trademark tactical flashlights (a Surefire M4 Devastator — a detail only true fans can appreciate), carefully examining each nook and cranny, under beds, in closets and drawers, extricating and bagging every apparently sinister-looking fiber they find.
And thus comes my new fear — that I’ll die in some bizarre sort of way that’ll require a team of investigators to inspect every inch of my house.
I imagine Grissom peeking under my bed, the longtime favorite den of our shoe-chewing dogs. “Maybe we should have the hazmat team go through here first,” he might say with his amused smirk.
Or Stokes, he of the chiseled jaw, looking around my domestically neglected abode and saying, “I hope we bought the extended warranty for our electrostatic dust lifter.”
Former exotic dancer Catherine Willows would likely appear deeply disgusted while examining my lingerie, adorned with SpongeBob’s likeness, as she dangles it at arm’s length from the tip of her pen.
Sara Sidle would be standing, hands on hips, shaking her head over how to discern which of the thousands of fingerprints might’ve come from the perp.
And Warrick Brown would be busy for months trying to analyze the many bite marks he’d find all through my house.
Oh please, let me die from some mundane cause or with so many witnesses present no investigation will be required. Please don’t let there be a need for me to be stretched out on a table while a virtual camera zooms, complete with slurpy sound effects, into my wound in order that viewers can better visualize my exact cause of death.
Come to think of it, though, there are many CSI techniques that could come in handy in everyday life.
For instance, DNA swabbing of family members could help determine who was guilty of licking off half of the icing from the cake.
And attention could be called to whatever needs done by placing little orange evidence markers next to all non-hampered clothes, unfinished homework, overdue library books and dirty dishes left in the living room.
Genetic matching could be used to determine which neighborhood dog is responsible for building its own mountain (one deposit at a time) at the foot of your yard.
And a simple bacteria test could determine whether a child’s hands have really been washed.
Replicating blunt-force trauma would be perfect for cleaning rugs.
And the beam from a Surefire Devastator flashlight would be ideal whenever you need to entertain cats.
Karin Fuller’s columns (along with photos and additional commentary) can be accessed easily online at her blog at thegazz.com.
Fearing future forensic finds
by Karen Fuller
September 3, 2006
I have a new fear. It springs from having watched one too many episodes of “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.”
For those who have never watched the popular CBS show (or one of its spin-offs, “CSI: Miami” and “CSI: New York”), the series follows a team of forensic scientists as they investigate the circumstances behind unusual and mysterious crimes and death.
A typical show opens with the CSI team arriving at the scene of a gruesome murder, then the investigators poke and prod the body, all the while talking casually to each other in their smooth investigator jargon, which they occasionally mark with gallows humor.
Then the team members begin exploring the scene of the crime with their trademark tactical flashlights (a Surefire M4 Devastator — a detail only true fans can appreciate), carefully examining each nook and cranny, under beds, in closets and drawers, extricating and bagging every apparently sinister-looking fiber they find.
And thus comes my new fear — that I’ll die in some bizarre sort of way that’ll require a team of investigators to inspect every inch of my house.
I imagine Grissom peeking under my bed, the longtime favorite den of our shoe-chewing dogs. “Maybe we should have the hazmat team go through here first,” he might say with his amused smirk.
Or Stokes, he of the chiseled jaw, looking around my domestically neglected abode and saying, “I hope we bought the extended warranty for our electrostatic dust lifter.”
Former exotic dancer Catherine Willows would likely appear deeply disgusted while examining my lingerie, adorned with SpongeBob’s likeness, as she dangles it at arm’s length from the tip of her pen.
Sara Sidle would be standing, hands on hips, shaking her head over how to discern which of the thousands of fingerprints might’ve come from the perp.
And Warrick Brown would be busy for months trying to analyze the many bite marks he’d find all through my house.
Oh please, let me die from some mundane cause or with so many witnesses present no investigation will be required. Please don’t let there be a need for me to be stretched out on a table while a virtual camera zooms, complete with slurpy sound effects, into my wound in order that viewers can better visualize my exact cause of death.
Come to think of it, though, there are many CSI techniques that could come in handy in everyday life.
For instance, DNA swabbing of family members could help determine who was guilty of licking off half of the icing from the cake.
And attention could be called to whatever needs done by placing little orange evidence markers next to all non-hampered clothes, unfinished homework, overdue library books and dirty dishes left in the living room.
Genetic matching could be used to determine which neighborhood dog is responsible for building its own mountain (one deposit at a time) at the foot of your yard.
And a simple bacteria test could determine whether a child’s hands have really been washed.
Replicating blunt-force trauma would be perfect for cleaning rugs.
And the beam from a Surefire Devastator flashlight would be ideal whenever you need to entertain cats.
Karin Fuller’s columns (along with photos and additional commentary) can be accessed easily online at her blog at thegazz.com.
MacsGirlMel
Mac's Personal Assistant
Happy b-day Feenx! And love your sig!
allmaple
Judge
we have discussion forums for my courses and in the one for my evolution class the prof posted this joke about intelligent design:
three engineers are sitting around talking about the nature of the designer.
"the designer must be a chemical engineer" says the first. "who else could come up with the complex chemcial reactions of cells?"
"no, the designer must be a computer engineer" says the second. "who else could design the processor of the brain?"
"youre both wrong" says the third. "the designer is obviously a civil engineer. who else would run a sewage pipe through a recreational area?"
three engineers are sitting around talking about the nature of the designer.
"the designer must be a chemical engineer" says the first. "who else could come up with the complex chemcial reactions of cells?"
"no, the designer must be a computer engineer" says the second. "who else could design the processor of the brain?"
"youre both wrong" says the third. "the designer is obviously a civil engineer. who else would run a sewage pipe through a recreational area?"
MacsGirlMel
Mac's Personal Assistant
LOL good one. And I love your avvie too 
lol about the cat flashlight thing...mine loves them.
lol about the cat flashlight thing...mine loves them.