Physicists Admit They've Been Making Everything Up

In a startling announcement, the world's leading theoretical physicists have jointly announced that they have just been pretending to do research for the last 60 years and that all of the new discoveries they've reported in subatomic physics and all of the quantum physics and string theories they've created to explain them are just random musings from their imagination that have in no way been corroborated by real world experimentation.

"Yeah, a typical 'discovery' will be one of us shining a beam at a mass of atoms, using a spectrometer to measure the refraction, and then inventing some bullshit that we claim the refraction has uncovered. None of us know what the sub-atomic structure of matter looks like, and we have no idea what experimental data tells us about it. It's just wild conjecture on our part", said Gus Manyard, a leading physicist at George Mason University.

"Another group of us will typically repeat the experiment that made the 'discovery' (Manyard gestures the 'quotation' sign for this word), and just pretend it verifies the original conclusion. We had all wanted to avoid breaking down the facade and letting on that we're all bullshitting, so we've been quite cooperative in supporting each other's ruses."

"Oh it's easy", said Trent Downey, a researcher in Selubon Ohio. "We just talk about something incomprehensible like the the 7th or 8th dimension in string theory, and people don't bother to actually try to understand it since it sounds too complicated. They just assume we know what we're talking about".

Downey added, "The CERN Large Hadron Collider is the best. We get billions of dollars to create a huge circular tube, magnetize it, and sit around all day trying to come with complicated sounding theories for the measurements we get. None of us know what the fuck any of it signifies."

Last page of 1984

The trumpet-call had let loose an enormous volume of noise. Already an excited voice was gabbling from the telescreen, but even as it started it was almost drowned by a roar of cheering from outside. The news had run round the streets like magic. He could hear just enough of what was issuing from the telescreen to realize that it had all happened, as he had foreseen; a vast seaborne armada had secretly assembled a sudden blow in the enemy's rear, the white arrow tearing across the tail of the black. Fragments of triumphant phrases pushed themselves through the din: 'Vast strategic manoeuvre -- perfect co-ordination -- utter rout -- half a million prisoners -- complete demoralization -- control of the whole of Africa -- bring the war within measurable distance of its end victory -- greatest victory in human history -- victory, victory, victory!'

Under the table Winston's feet made convulsive movements. He had not stirred from his seat, but in his mind he was running, swiftly running, he was with the crowds outside, cheering himself deaf. He looked up again at the portrait of Big Brother. The colossus that bestrode the world! The rock against which the hordes of Asia dashed themselves in vain! He thought how ten minutes ago -- yes, only ten minutes -- there had still been equivocation in his heart as he wondered whether the news from the front would be of victory or defeat. Ah, it was more than a Eurasian army that had perished! Much had changed in him since that first day in the Ministry of Love, but the final, indispensable, healing change had never happened, until this moment.

The voice from the telescreen was still pouring forth its tale of prisoners and booty and slaughter, but the shouting outside had died down a little. The waiters were turning back to their work. One of them approached with the gin bottle. Winston, sitting in a blissful dream, paid no attention as his glass was filled up. He was not running or cheering any longer. He was back in the Ministry of Love, with everything forgiven, his soul white as snow. He was in the public dock, confessing everything, implicating everybody. He was walking down the white-tiled corridor, with the feeling of walking in sunlight, and an armed guard at his back. The longhoped-for bullet was entering his brain.

He gazed up at the enormous face. Forty years it had taken him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark moustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother.