On my way to St Hives I met a man with seven Hives...

"911. Please state the nature of your emergency."

"I'm calling from the Internet! There's a guy here who claims that Curry's paradox proves the non-existance of thermodynamics!"

"How exactly is this our problem?"

"I can't measure the causal temperature of the likelihood principle divided by the number of YouTube comments!"

"Oh my! I am alerting a tactical response unit. Has he tried violating Godwin's Law yet?"

"No, but he said something about Australian volleyball scores! I'm SCARED."

"Ma'am, please try and stay calm and avoid all caps. Under no circumstances link your posts to his. Stay on the line until Spatial Word Assault Trichotomy gets there!"

"His argumentum ad nauseam is beginning to turn into cognitive dissonance! We are running out of red tape and forward error corrections!"

"Try proving a formal fallacy! You must make him understand that he is in danger of becoming an anecdotal evidence chain! Can you hear me? Ma'am? Bueller?"

. . .

"Hello? Am I speaking to a 911 operator? This is captain Foucalt. I am the on scene S.W.A.T commander."

"Thanks be to the pendulum! Is the lady I was talking to unharmed?"

"Yes. Our hazardous materials unit is hosing her down with a Goldbach Conjecture as we speak."

"What about the man she called about?"

"No sign of him. He must have divided by zero when he saw us coming. We did find an infinite set of perpetual motion fallacies at the location. They appear to have no attached De Broglie–Bohm theories. Which is nice. We are taking them back to HQ now for deconstruction."

"Good work, captain. I am cancelling the Anti-realism alert. Take five. Actually, in the current economical situation, you better take four."
 

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Space-Time Nazis.
Each time I'd left tales behind they'd hunted them down, but this time I would be ready. This time I'd weave a story the likes of which they'd never...

[pages missing]

...damn. They were faster than I'd expected. I would have to...

[pages missing]

...oh, come on!

And then the letter arrived, adressed to me by my own handwriting. A letter from the future. In it he described a plan by which I'd write before I'd written. Narrative of the past from the future.

And then/now/in the future the stories began to stick. When they tried to take one away it fought back with all the ferocity of the timestream itself.

And the stories begat a life of their own. They became nazi killers. And very good at it.
 

Wait... if you sent yourself a letter from the future wouldn't that create multiple divergent time lines depending on if the letter got stuck in transit, lost, accidentally delivered across the street, or arrived in tact and on time?
 

Wait... if you sent yourself a letter from the future wouldn't that create multiple divergent time lines depending on if the letter got stuck in transit, lost, accidentally delivered across the street, or arrived in tact and on time?
...and then the second letter arrived, the delayed revised version, with the warning of the dangers of sentient nazi killing stories turning against us all afterwards, much too late.

And then the third letter, this one the true original, arrived to my neighbour who made his own army of sentient stories, which he sent against the parking ticket goblins.

And then the fourth letter arrived to an alternate me, who decided the whole thing was a bit silly anyway, and tore it up.

But since the alternate me was the me who had/would sent/send the original to me from the future the letter never happened. And so a grandletter paradox was born. And also, not.
 


...and then the second letter arrived, the delayed revised version, with the warning of the dangers of sentient nazi killing stories turning against us all afterwards, much too late.

And then the third letter, this one the true original, arrived to my neighbour who made his own army of sentient stories, which he sent against the parking ticket goblins.

And then the fourth letter arrived to an alternate me, who decided the whole thing was a bit silly anyway, and tore it up.

But since the alternate me was the me who had/would sent/send the original to me from the future the letter never happened. And so a grandletter paradox was born. And also, not.

Damn those Spayed-Thyme Gnashies!
 



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