Friday, February 8, 2008

To Infinity...

I had the most bizarre dream last night.

I was driving home from work, and I looked up in the rear-view mirror at the car behind me, only to discover it was an exact duplicate of mine. Even the driver looked like me. That's weird, I thought, and scratched my head. So did the driver in the car behind me. I waved. So did he, and I could that see that he was waving to someone behind him. I flashed my lights, so did he.

I pulled over to the side of the road. So did he. I got out of the car, and looked back at the car behind me. I could now see an infinite number of "Me" doing the exact same thing. Right as I was turning around to look down the road ahead, that little voice in my head said, Don't do it, you'll fuck up the space-time continuum by instantly creating another infinite number of you in that direction.

Sure enough, there we were, staring at the back of the head of the "us" in front of... well, us. See? I told you it was a bizarre dream.

So now I have an infinite set of "Me" in both directions, and I've got to figure out how to fix this. So, since I carry two cell phones, one for work, one for personal use, I call "myself." Phone 1 dials, phone 2 rings in my pocket.

Me: "Hello?"

Me: "Yeah, it's me. Behind you - don't look goddammit!!" I looked. Goddammit. There I was, looking behind myself to infinity.

Me: "We're fucked, aren't we?"

Me: "Yeah, looks like it. Got ideas?"

An infinite number of Gnus scratch their collective heads. Ad infinitum.

Me: "Okay, here's what we do. I'll walk up to the car in front of me and get in. Y'all do the same."

(No need for agreement or discussion, we all came up with the idea at the same time. Funny, that...)

So I walk up to the car in front of me, and get in. And when I look up from the dashboard, I'm all alone on the side of the road.

Or am I...?

2 comments:

E. S. Collins said...

Why do other people get the cool Twilight Zone dreams and all I get is dreamlessness? I call shenanigans.

Larriken said...

You're supposed to lick the toad, not fry the poor bastard for dinner.