I Blame Them
Created | Updated 6 Weeks Ago
We have met the enemy, and he is us.
I Blame Them
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After almost three months of debate, the atmosphere in the huge conference room was becoming increasingly tetchy.
The Multiverse had proved to be a bit of a bloody pain, to be brutally honest.
For example, it had taken eighteen months for them to decide exactly which 'Zurich' would host them.
The resulting deadlock necessitating 887 identical conference centres, to be used in rotation, for one day each.
A further four weeks to choose who would pick locations randomly and how they would number the draw.
And that was proving to be the biggest headache of them all!
They cursed problems that the I-D portals (that 887 of their Earth's scientists had simultaneously discovered one particularly boring Tuesday afternoon, when they'd simultaneously decided to see what effects their hadron colliders would have on a Jaffa Cake and a cup of Yorkshire Tea) had caused and began to wonder if they could sneakily deny their existence.
Rock, paper, scissors had eventually decided the initial meeting place (even this was hard – you try second-guessing yourself 886 times!).
Most of the 887 (literal) World Leaders looked around themselves and despised what they saw.
The Multiverse had held up a vast mirror, and the majority didn't like what they saw.
How could these other 'thems' be so weak, so vain, so stupid, so corrupt?
Even the few dozen truly narcissistic ones, after spending the initial weeks trying to have sex with themselves, were becoming bored with the novelty of themselves.
The few honest ones were beginning to realise that maybe they weren't all they were cracked up to be?
The arguments had come to a head during the futile attempts of the Confederation of Worlds' 'Strain Location and Ordering Board' to assign a mutually agreeable designation for 887 Earths. Just to decide which bloody Zurich to pick!
Obviously, 95% of the Confederation wanted, insisted, demanded, that (obviously) their Earth be designated Earth One (obviously).
Four percent dug their heels in for plain old Earth – they were the original, after all, so why lower their prestige with a number?
The remainder, all from the nerdier Earths, (and who had failed miserably to cop off with themselves) insisted upon the snappy designation of
OG.sol03.gaia.terra.earth.alpha01.ZZP9PZA. (OG was from the one solitary nerd who appreciated rap music.)
The debate became an argument, argument inevitably turned to threats of violence, talk of war, invasion, expansionism, Empire.
The useless S.L.O.B. was eventually scrapped due to obscene fiscal overspend.
Fearing a transdimensional war, a week later, the Confederation was dissolved and 887 World Leaders mutually decided to close the portals and pretend they were alone in the multiverse.
Sales of Jaffa Cakes and Yorkshire Tea are now forbidden to scientists on 887 different, identical, Earths.
