Thursday, January 10, 2008

Bathroom Monologue: Back home we call a broken telescope "a stick"

On a blue planet somewhere in the dull end of the universe, there exists a species of dwarf giants. They reside on the brown and green spots on this largely blue planet; some scientists suggest this is because the dwarf giants live on irony, though empirical data suggests they live rather on water and lesser-evolved lifeforms. They aren't very spectacular, only slightly scientifically inclined, and not at all spiritually or athletically inclined. Even their smartest thinkers only come close to realizing the limits of logic's practicality. They cannot fly high in the skies or dive deep in the oceans without devices, which is unspecial because anything can fly or dive given a task-specific device. They think themselves very clever for inventing these devices. Any tourists interested in visiting the dwarf giants are advised to keep their distance and only approach those natives who are intoxicated with any of the various mildly poisonous chemicals they ingest in order to forget their problems, pretend they live somewhere else, or to kill an afternoon. The dwarf giants love their poisonous chemicals almost as much as they enjoy pretending they know more about the universe than they actually do. It doesn't matter what they're wrong about or how wrong they are; they're determined to be determined. Despite their attempts to build mechanical tubes that will fire a couple of them (mind you that there are over six billion dwarf giants on the planet) into space for a few days, and despite all the riches made by natives who religiously, philosophically and scientifically try to divine the universe as a whole, much of their work is introverted. They show a great propensity at killing and coming onto each other; these are such great aptitudes that they will soon be incorporated into the encyclopedia definition for these creatures, supplanting the illustration. Even their humor is introverted, largely focused at each other in decreasingly amiable and increasingly hateful forms, pointing out the baselessness of everything that any other dwarf giants enjoy or rely on to make it through life. Our researchers suggest that this may be the first empirically-observed example of entropy in stand-up comedy, which has made for some wildly interesting anthropological papers, but gets a lot less funny after a while.

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