A Book at Bedtime - Day 2

And so there was a little girl whose first name was a last name, Jefferson. Her parents were helpless yuppies, but they kept the consumer economy firing, like large chunks of coal in a steam engine. They bought Jefferson a T.V. when she turned 8 years old. She liked the radiation and all the fuzzy colours, but she sure didn't like having to hear those obnoxious voices, nor the grating music that often accompanied them. At first, she did not like to watch her new T.V. at all, but at her parents' urging (perhaps it's fallacious that such avid consumers truly cared about the end use of their purchase) she learned more about operating the T.V. When she discovered the 'mute' button, she began to watch T.V. every day.

Somewhere far away from Jefferson lived an aging man named Limpapulous VIII. He was a supremely intelligent being, and he enjoyed tinkering with the imperfect fabric of existence that Jah had woven eons before. Jah could have been upset with Limpapulous on numerous occasions, but for reasons unknown, Jah never voiced any such concern, nor did he at any point thump Limpapulous out of existence - which Jah could easily have done.

A disgruntled Limpapulous, the day after Jefferson learned about the 'mute' button, decided he wanted to search for another means of generating a destructive paradox. After a few minutes' searching through his incomprehensible avenues of deduction, he saw Jefferson in his mind's eye. He noticed her strange patterns of T.V. watching, and decided to act.

It took the slightest telepathic urging for Limpapulous to get Jefferson to desire to write the T.V. station she always watched, FX, and ask the subject of her favorite program, as yet undecided, how she came to be on T.V. Limpapulous, in the same instant, created a strong compulsion on the part of the T.V. station to broadcast the exact images of Jefferson writing a letter to the program. The undecided program, Limpapulous thus declared, would be Jefferson writing the letter. As soon as Jefferson was writing a letter to an image of herself writing a letter, typewriters everywhere stopped typewriting - computers stopped computing - and brains stopped braining. All action surrounding Limpapulous' new paradox ground to a halt, incapable of proceeding with an infinitely looping context nearby.

Having rendered the planet earth virtually beyond repair for all eternity, Limpapulous returned to his far away flat, and sat down in his easy chair. His id still clung to the hope that one day Jah would react in some way to his manipulations of Jah's creation. Limpapulous' conscious self, however, ate some snicker doodles, got an upset tummy, and went to bed. Somewhere a hummingbird made a buzzing sound.