Googol’s Grandiose Gamble

For many years, Googol carried a light burden. He knew how to prove the impossible, namely that one equals two. Had it been correct, this 1 = 2 equation would have had many ramifications, including that of the absurdity of life, notwithstanding its already obvious irrationality—fait accompli. The equation was derived by means of seven simple steps:

Most people faced with these equations could not find the error, or as Googol called it, the trap. Most of them laughed about it, while a few got confused and even worried about it, understanding the implications of such a truth.

Reader! Do not read any further if you want to give it a crack! But do come back to read the rest of the story whether you were able to find it or not!

Googol wished it to be true before finding the trap. It would have meant the end of logic, the end of the rational, the end of science, and a foundation for the illogical, a foundation for the irrational, a foundation for religion. But (A - B) in Step 4 was equal to zero given that it was postulated in Step 1 that A was equal to B. And dividing both sides of the equation by (A - B) in Step 5 was hence erroneous given that a division by zero is undefined, thus negating the last equation of 1 = 2.

...

Death of the Beard: Another War Story

Bertrand Barbeau speeded to the nearest store under a strong-sounding storm to purchase his preferred shaving cream. He had readied a two-bladed razor on the bathroom sink for his day-old beard, which was slowly ensconcing the surface of his frightful fatigued face. He hated his beard as much as he loved his smooth skin following a sharp shaking shave. He paid for the cream and sprinted home to get rid of his baby beard.

He held the razor in a hefty hand, set to inflict another cut. His face was moist with sweat and covered with a rich thick layer of cream—snow melting on his face. His whiskers fell like soldiers in a lurid war, dying on a field of water and cream. “You’re all dead now,” he uttered with immense pleasure as he flushed them into the pit—a collective burial of nameless corpses and limbs. He then celebrated the triumph of his act by stroking his silken skin. A single orphan whisker lingered on his face, and in midst of his postwar feast, fell onto the meat that he was devouring with great appetite—cannibal.

War is never over. It looms like death on death row following a peace only brought on by a large enough number of deaths that warrant the eventuality of its declaration. Barbeau’s beard flowered back into existence during the hours that followed the massacre. Aware of his beard’s growth, he was preparing himself for another confrontation.

The battle between the two raged for many years, ending only after Barbeau’s demise. Yet, it is widely believed around the uncivilized world that the beard wins the final fight, the last struggle, the end-all war. It persists on growing for a very short while following the death of its host, finally triumphant, thus showing that war is only won when one of the two warring parties is gone.

...

Dear, Philip K. Dick: Tears Were Never Enough

Come on, Phil! You didn’t have to die, man

too soon

too young

Freaking Vast Active Living Intelligence System, man

Freaking VALIS, man

but you knew that, man

led the way to Horselover Fat and you, man

You shouldn’t have died, man

so soon

so young

We should all die together, man

all at once

suffering would stop

other animals could thrive

nature would turn to Nature

You, Phil, then, man

laughing at everything, man

laughing at them