Why There Are Obviously Not Infinite Universes

Have you ever seen a bird, flying in the air overhead, nonchalantly take a poop? Sure you have. But have you ever seen a bird, flying in the air overhead, nonchalantly take a poop, which then fell down and landed directly on another bird, of a completely different species, just chilling out and walking around on the ground? Of course you haven’t.

If that ever happened in real life, anyone who saw it would either:

  1. Go insane instantly;
  2. Become a born-again Christian (subset of #1);
  3. Run and hug the besmirched bird, causing a hipster passer-by to make a really awful Uber-finch pun (really really small subset of #1, and probability may depend on bird species involved, with finch at the high-p end and tufted titmouse elsewhere);
  4. Achieve Nirvana (one in three chance of being a subset of #1, one in two [always reduce fractions] if you count Pat Smear); and/or
  5. Film it and create a real-life Infinite JestĀ (definitely a subset of #1—J.I. went one up on Sylvia Plath after all).

Now, if every possible universe actually exists in its own reality, that means there exist literally an infinite number of universes where a guy was walking along, this bit of non-local Avian Centipedery occurred directly in front of him, and he turned to the talking unicorn next to him walking a tiny velociraptor wearing a LIVESTRONG bracelet and sporting an ironic Jurassic Park 3 tramp stamp, in the pocket of whom (the man) is a 1986 Roseanne Barr Topps Super Rookie baseball card, voraciously eating (Roseanne, on the face of the card) from a partially empty bag containing exactly 4E23 molecules of doorknob-flavored Doritos, and, nonplussed, said, “Ewww, did you have him declawed? That’s pretty goddamn insensitive.”

Q.E.D.