(To be read in a dull monotone by a set of two people for the amusement of the complement.)
I could go for a cup more.
You could always go for a cup more.
Better then that I do not start at all; for by induction I would never stop.
Nonsense, for there is a boundary condition in the worldwide availability of coffee beans.
But are not coffee beans, with respect to time, a renewable resource beyond the rapidity I can consume them, even in a liquid concentrate?
Ah, I see you are right; you should not even have had the first cup.
Indeed. And I shall not have another.
Was that good?
That was better than yesterday.
But was it good?
It was the best I’ve ever had.
But was it good?
That I’d rather not say.
In this cup, coffee frozen to brown snow. In this cup, a boil under the lid. Let us call the temperatures zero and one hundred.
From cup to cup you pour this, back and forth, portion and portion.
So the temperatures change, but do they converge?
They do; I have proven this.
Where do they converge? We may assume the cups to be identical, and containing an identical amount of coffee.
At fifty do they converge.
Let me sketch this. You graduate student over there, stop eating the chalk and give me one. Scribble scribble. Oh, yes, right, they converge. Hooray.
It is proven, then?
It is proven, with reasonable assumptions on “pouring”, “back and forth”, and “portion”, for all measurable cups of finite Lebesgue measure in any fixed dimension. Results for Hausdorff cups of non-integer dimension to be investigated next.
Yes. I will get more coffee.
Coffee is life.
Correction: Lack of coffee implies lack of life, by the Erdös definition of life; “life: doing mathematics”. This is the standard definition of life.
Correction acceptance accepted.
Never speak topologically when I’m here!
I speak topologically; you vanish.
Topologically speaking, this coffee cup is the same as this donut.
How so? I only know function theory.
Both could, assuming they are malleable, be deformed to the other.
But your coffee cup isn’t malleable!
Not at this temperature, no. But that is hardly the point.
What would you do with a ceramic donut anyway?
I would give it to my son.
I am puzzled.
So I would solve the longstanding open problem in theology, “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone instead?”
But what of the donut-matter coffee cup?
That I would eat.
How would you drink coffee, then?
See, your plan fails like the commutativity of addition and the square root operation, and you resemble a mathematics student in such a person’s first year by claiming the negation of this statement!
Ha ha. I am amused.
Yes you are!
I am amused by your wit. Ha ha.