Anyway, when some champion of human liberty in a Che Guevara T-shirt and Mao jacket was haranguing his audience with claims like “A single Hiroshima bomb set off downtown would annihilate this university and all of us in the blink of an eye”, what better way to burnish one's Strangelovian credentials than to whip out a handy-dandy nuclear bomb computer slide rule, whip—slip—slide, and interrupt, “Naaah…fifteen kilotons at five miles? Surface burst? Why, that's only a quarter to a third of a pound per square inch overpressure—it'll probably break some window glass but that's about it.” Flipping the slide rule over, “The flash isn't even enough to cause sunburn, and the immediate radiation is next to nothing.” For some unfathomable reason, this never seemed to either carry the argument or suitably impress chicks. //

My nostalgia for this particular relic of the Cold War was such that I've had a project to produce an online edition on my to-do list for more than five years. Like many items on this embarrassingly long and all too infrequently shortened list of unrealised ambitions, it's something I half expected someone else to do long before I got to it. This would be perfectly fine with me—I undertake these projects because I want to see them done, and crossing off an item without the wear and tear of doing it myself couldn't make me happier. In fact, scanning (and possibly OCR-ing) The Effects of Nuclear Weapons was an item on my list before the fine folks at Princeton got the job done.