This bubble-producing solution dispenser is in the shape of a human being's finger, such as those belonging to the members of my audience:
Here are certain anatomical aspects of the finger, or "prst," which can only be replicated from the actual finger of a real person, such as a member of popular culture like Danny DeVito or Taylor Swift.
Notably, the fingerprint is readily available to anyone who walks into the store and buys the false extremity to bring to their home or the home of someone they visit, a friend, for example. They can enjoy blowing bubbles while they put the fingerprint into a mystical fingerprint analyzer, or "analyst."
While this process is underway, discuss how the finger is used to control the keyboard when one is playing Akalabeth, a computer amusement which was released in 1980 for the Apple II. Do please note the box in which Akalabeth was delivered to YOU:
Also do indeed please zoom in on the price tag for this game
And finally experience an image from actual gameplay of Akalabeth:
According to a website called westegg.com, whatever cost $34.95 in 1980 would cost about $105.50 in 2018. The science of economics suggests that this price is too high for an entertainment of Akalabeth's echelon. Despite centuries of research into the phenomenon of inflation, it's all completely wrong because you can buy the game for $0.00 if you just go on archive.org and play Akalabeth, the copyright to which has been abandoned by those who might profit from it.
Let's check out mystical analyst's progress:
Uh-oh, this seems like one of those programs where it loads for a long time and then when it finally finishes and says 100%, it still sits there for a minute while you go "It sure doesn't look like you're finished loading, at least from the point of view of me waiting here, seeing a totally filled-in bar and a message contending that you're 100% loaded--it's just like, are you finished or are you--oh there it goes."
According to the analyzer's "logic platforming," this finger is a cast of worldwide internet sensation F--hang on, now it says it's "processing."
While we wait, consider that people require fingers to write the following Latin sentence with their fingers:
Puellae nautīs rosās poētae dant.
Does it mean "The girls give the poet's roses to the sailor?" implying that "puellae," is nominative and plural, and "poētae" is genitive and singular; or does it mean "The poets give the girl's roses to the sailor?" implying that "puellae," is genitive and singular, and "poētae" is nominative and plural? Since the genitive singular and nominative plural cases in the first declension are identical, THERE'S NO WAY TO DETERMINE THE SENSE OF THIS SENTENCE UNLESS IT'S REWORDED???? I've been bred to internalize the rule-of-thumb that word-order in Latin never matters under any circumstances. If there are ANY circumstances under which word-order in Latin matters, what are they, hello.
Frederic M. Wheelock in his Latin textbook provides some rationale for finding the former sense the best bet:
A typical order of words in a simplified Latin sentence or subordinate clause is this: (1) the subject and its modifiers, (2) the indirect object, (3) the direct object, (4) adverbial words or phrases, (5) the verb. In formal composition, the tendency to place the verb at the end of its clause is probably connected with the Romans' fondness for the periodic style, which seeks to keep the reader or listener in suspense until the last word of a sentence has been reached.
The moment we feel confident that "puellae" is nominative and plural, Wheelock pranks us by commenting that
...although the patterns described above should be kept in mind, the Romans themselves made many exceptions to these rules for the purposes of variety and emphasis. In fact, in highly inflected languages like Latin, the order of the words can be relatively unimportant to the sense, thanks to the inflectional endings, which tell so much about the interrelationship of the words in a sentence. On the other hand, in English, where the inflections are relatively few, the sense commonly depends on stricter conventions of word order.
Wheelock rubs it in by commanding us to
...study the following idea as expressed in the one English sentence and the four Latin versions, which all mean the same despite the difference of word order.
(1) The boy is giving the pretty girl a rose.
(2) Puer puellae bellae rosam dat.
(3) Bellae puellae puer rosam dat.
(4) Bellae puellae rosam dat puer.
(5) Rosam puer puellae bellae dat.
Whatever the order of the words in the Latin sentence, the sense remains the same (though the emphasis does vary). Note also that according to its ending, bellae must modify puellae no matter where these words stand. But if you change the order of the words in the English sentence, you change the sense:
(1) The boy is giving the pretty girl a rose.
(2) The pretty girl is giving the boy a rose.
(3) The girl is giving the boy a pretty rose.
(4) The girl is giving the pretty boy a rose.
(5) The rose is giving the boy a pretty girl.
In all these sentences the same words are used with the same spellings, but the sense of each sentence is different in accordance with the conventions of English word order. Furthermore, where the fifth English sentence is senseless, the fifth Latin sentence, though in much the same order, makes perfectly good sense.
Wheelock thinks the fifth English sentence is senseless, does he? Well, what he doesn't realize is that it has a beautiful figurative sense: that the girl loves the rose so much that the rose basically gives her to the boy--it doesn't give him her person, which would have a non-beautiful sense of the boy's ownership over the girl, which is against the highest law, but her love is what the rose gives him, or her heart or w/e. The boy wants to charm the girl, so he gives her a rose, and the girl is so effectively charmed by the rose that one might feel tempted to credit the rose with causing the girl to rush into the boy's embrace. If you don't buy my figurative interpretation of the fifth English sentence, then you should say so rather than hide.
By the way, turns out the finger is from Frederic M. Wheelock.