The Final Wish

A Novella by Matt Dwyer

Written 2018, Edited 2020

Part 0

ii
 Andy was driving angry.

”Why?” is the next logical question any moderately intelligent ape would
ask. The inevitable end to the universe may provide a great answer, even the
inevitable death every human must face, something Andy has been closely
acquainted with.

No, alas his momentous reason for his vexation was the irrefutable fact
that his order at KFC did not include his favorite nourishment: mashed
potatoes. Every time he went to the local KFC, this delightful combination
of organic chemicals called the potato in mashed form (with a little butter)
was his highlight. A million-dollar corporation and they could not spare a
bowl of mashed potatoes. As the Colonel smiled from the KFC box, Andy
vigorously tore his chicken leg.

If we had any form of the word “emotion,” our current emotion would be
pity.

Who are we? Do not worry about us.

Just think of us as that drunk friend narrating a semi-humor filled story

at a college party on a Thursday night while you contemplate the meaning
of humanity – Spoiler: no meaning can be found.

After this spiritual search for meaning in a meaningless universe, you then
take out the iPhone (56 is it?) and open the newest social media craze. As
you sit staring at an illuminated touch screen, your eyes register a collection of
pixels showing your ex (let us call her Lisa) posing with a new, hotter human
for the sole purpose of making you jealous. Putting away the phone, defeated

iii
and slightly drunk, you go back to listening to the slurred-speech story of
the aforementioned friend. This metaphor is a necessity. Frankly explaining
who we are would immediately overwhelm the collection of neurons called
“the brain” merely paragraphs into this narrative.
Although we would set a Guinness Book of World Records, the intent of
this group of words would be pointless. That reminds us –
Before you go on reading this novel, we would like to remind you this
whole collection of words are pointless. Then again, so is everything you will
read in the short and pointless life you possess. ”But, ” you may interject,
”I may read something that inspires me to change the world!!” As we draw
attention to your imaginary but real complaint, we would also like to remind
you that the world you live in is just a blue and green dot floating in a vast
and empty space.
A space so vast and empty that intergalactic travel is the equivalent of
a walk from the local grocery store to the car. The space, in fact, is also
pointless and serves no meaning in a high order. Disorder is the higher
order. Nothingness is kingdom of the end.
We would also like to remind you of the infinite other things you could
be doing with your pointless life including (but not limited to):

1. Disappointing your parents

2. Receiving sexual pleasure by viewing people taking off their clothes

3. Asking that girl you will never find the courage to ask out to

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 We also know humans have infinitely small attention spans, so small in
fact that we have taken the liberty of summarizing this novel into a “Too
Long; Didn’t Read” statement. Sitting around with a group of friends in
your local coffee shop, you too can have an intelligent conversation about
this short narrative without the hassle of spending time reading.
TL;DR Go solve the impossible mathematical problem, go find the cure
to cancer, or go watch all the Netflix original TV shows: In the end it does
not matter.
Great now you can stop reading. Thank you!!

v
PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE VIEWING THIS

PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE VIEWING THIS

PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE VIEWING THIS

PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE VIEWING THIS

PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE VIEWING THIS

PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE VIEWING THIS

vi
 The morning before the KFC catastrophe, Andy put on his shirt. It was
7 am in the morning. Well it was actually 7:30 am, but it should have been
7 am. He was rushing. Andy had no job, thus no reason to rush, well one
reason. If his wife caught him sleeping in, that may very well be the last
straw. He struggled to put his shirt on, mostly due to his increasing mass
and volume.

A shirt, mind you, designed by a person in an unfathomable pit call a

“factory” doing a perfunctory job. This shirt was black, very black, black
as the deepest location in the universe where not a pebble makes a bend in
the fabric of space-time. He puts it on, with the utterly pointless tag with a
logo made by an underpaid, struggling, coffee-enthusiast artist in the depth
of another universe; New York City.

This is where Andy lived, if you want specifics he lives in the Bronx. The
fact humans find it necessary to differentiate the regions of New York City
is a mystery to us. With the expansive size of the universe, the whole Earth
might as well be called New York City.

Christmas was near. Not so near that one would hear an overwhelming
amount Christmas music. The kind of near that one knows it is their friend
on the other side of the sidewalk, however is far enough away to hide from
the friend and pretend not to know said friend if necessary. That kind of
near.

Andy never understood Christmas. He viewed it as a means to not kill

yourself during the cold and dark winter. However, the mythology of humans

vii
claims some magic is inherent to Christmas. The kind of magic which inspires
countless uninspired movies about the holiday.

Andy enters the kitchen. The atmosphere of the kitchen immediately in-
formed Andy he was not the only human which resided in the apartment who
was tardy that morning. Mark ran into the living room. He was frantically
searching for his keys and backpack. After the light reflected on the face of
Mark reached the eyes of Andy, the brain of Andy registered a frantic and
slightly angry expression. Upon this realization Andy promptly walked over
to the table which were suspending the keys of Mark ever so slightly above
it.

The human race claims this force, Mark would later learn that day, is the
work of the electric fields of the particles in the table and the keys repelling
each other. Humans claim this force is very strong, the repulsion of particles
is a force humans experience with every object, including other humans.
Some humans may know of this phenomenon being labeled the “Normal”
force. As per normal, humans were incorrect with knowledge concerning this
phenomenon.

Andy then says to Mark “Have you checked the living room for your
backpack?”

Mark, slightly defeated, shakes his head to communicate that no, he in

fact did not, and quickly walks to the living room. The type of walk a person
in a rush who does not want to appear to be in a rush would demonstrate.

Zelda enters the room, ten seconds following the exchange. Zelda had

viii
previously slept on the couch of the living room. Zelda had slept beyond the
time in which her alarm went off. The frantic detective had awoken her in
his quest to find the missing backpack.

Zelda bitterly and calmly says “Morning.”

Andy stands perfectly still. Just as Andy would if he were in the presence
of a tiger or if one were holding a gun to the head of Andy. “Sorry,” Andy
chokes out.

“For what?? For last night? For being a failure? For being a disappoint-
ment? For not supporting anything I want? For not supporting this family
in any form?”

“That is not fair” Andy defiantly blurts out. “Just because I followed my
dreams and you did not.”

“Well your dreams are really materializing are not they?”

Silence. The only noise was the radiator, the broken radiator. A simple
machine which manifest the property of heat exchange. A simple patch of
the broken hose and change in the coolant would fix this problem. Andy
could complete this project in under an hour according to our estimate. In
fact, neglect is the cause of the issue in which the radiator is broken. Every
human knows one must flush and replace the fluid every 20,000 miles.

“Just fix the fucking radiator. . . .” Zelda blurts out. She looks down,
for a moment Andy believes things are normal. Andy thinks she may say
something sincere, something which could possi-

“. . . . today” she finishes

ix
 Zelda moves to exit the focus of the eyes of Andy. A millisecond of
blurriness is followed by the refocusing of the eyes of Andy. The focus is
then on a different human figure, that being the son of Andy.

“I am sorry you had to see that” Andy states.

“It is fine” Mark replies. He then advances to the door, out a portal to a
starkly different world. A world which humans are doing great and terrible
things all at once. A world where the arguments of Andy and Zelda do not
exist. A world where every human relationship is perfect. A world that
condemns the arguments of the house world to be displayed.

A world we pity due to the under advancement of the human race. A

world where people believe a touch screen is a novel idea. We know the truth.
We pity you.

Andy said “Love-” followed by the portal door slamming shut. The other
word Andy intended to speak did not actualize.

Before Zelda reopened the same portal that Mark had utilized a few
minutes ago, wearing a very nice black skirt with a red shirt which was cut
a little too low to be work appropriate, she pauses. Again, Andy and now
Zelda both believe a meaningful exchange is ensuing.

However, Zelda instead asks “What are you cooking?”

Andy looks down. Face turning a shade of red, the same red as her skirt.
He states, “French fries.”

Oh my we apologize. We have failed to include the detail of Andy prepar-

ing and cooking twenty-two frozen French fries. You do not worry though;

x
the fries were not that delicious anyways.

Zelda turns. The silence of her annoyance is broken by the slamming of

the door.

Andy quietly says, “I am truly sorry.” This was mostly to himself. The
oven beeps. Andy takes out the fries from the over. He then obtains mustard
from the refrigerator, another simple machine which manifest the property of
heat exchange which was not broken. This was rarely the case in the house.
He then squirts the mustard on his plate. This was an odd combination of
food items which most humans do not enjoy. Andy was in fact not most
humans.

Humans like to believe in the notion they are special. This is simply false.
You are not special. You are, at best, a snowflake. Not a special snowflake.
But simply a snowflake, unique and not all at the same time. Just like each
uniquely non-unique mustard covered french fry that reached the mouth of
Andy that very morning.

One french fry had an excess amount of mustard. This common human
mistake often results in the excessive sauce separating itself from the item
drenched by said sauce. This case was no exception. As the french fry slowly
advanced toward the mouth of Andy, the force of gravity on the liquid-like
mustard substance was greater than the force of cohesion among the mustard
molecules. This resulted in mustard landing on the shirt of Andy.

Andy, being the impulsive low-minded human he is, wiped the mustard
with his finger and then licked said mustard off his finger. This resulted

xi
was a yellow, square like shape forming in the middle of his shirt where his
stomach just began to form a slope outward.

The yellow square on the black background is a sight which would please
any Earthling artist. The type of piece which would end up in an art museum.
The type of piece which would perplex most art patrons, causing them to
ask themselves “What on Earth warranted this piece to be included in the
museum?” The type of piece which an art student who had a single tattoo and
felt this caused him to be “cool” would choose for a project which involved
analyzing an expressionist piece of artwork. This artist would write a subpar
essay earning that student a B-. The art student would later drop out of
the school and move back with their parents. Drawing on a canvas in the
basement, the student learns about the illegal drug market.

After working in the field for ten years, the art student realizes their
morals have been compromised. Of course, no morals exist (as we have most
certainly communicated to you by now). However, the art student believed
that they were doing right by quitting this dubious career. Instead, the
art student used the knowledge in addictive chemical combinations to create
a soft drink. This soft drink would later be recalled and known to cause
depression and cancer (and spontaneous combustion if you were to believe
the medical websites on the human internet).

After the consumption of an unorthodox, innutritious breakfast along

with the mustarding of an innocent shirt, Andy opened his laptop. We
would think if one harnessed the power of millions of transistors, one would

xii
do something useful. Again, useful is being used by us very loosely, as of
course nothing is useful.

However, instead of endeavoring on a quest to locate a real job, Andy

continues to write his book. Yes, Andy is an author. He is of the belief that
anyone with a smartphone and decent idea can be a writer. After pretending
to work on his novel for an hour, he opens his email. The lack of new
information in his inbox disheartens him. We are not sure why this would,
as this has been the truth of his inbox for the past five days. In the wake
of this disappointment and lack of dopamine, Andy starts something he has
waited twenty-two years to do.

A new email, the header simply containing the characters “Dear Mom
and Dad...” Andy then writes, more passionately that he ever has. He writes
about his feeling toward them. He writes where he believes his parents have
failed. Andy writes where he believes his parents have succeeded. Andy
writes an apology for switching his major from Engineering to English. Andy
writes a scolding message for his parents attempting to control his life, even
if they unintentional did so. He writes that he understands that they both
were computer nerds. He writes that he simply did not want to be. He writes
that he did not mean to disappoint them. He writes that he simply wanted
to help people. He questions if he chose the correct method to do so. Tears
started to form, blurring his vision to the point the brain of Andy would no
longer interrupt the pixels creating characters on his screen. He finishes the
pseudo-letter, pseudo-rant with “-Andy” Upon the lactic acid in the fingers

xiii
of Andy causing pain in his hands, Andy decided to take a walk. He believed
he needed to get out of the house or he would go crazy. We believe this is a
bad choice. Not that a human could possibly make a good choice. No good
can be done.

Good. We have that sorted out. Andy decided to walk without a jacket.
Granted, the excess body fat Andy possesses does provide an advantageous
guard from the cold. Andy simply did not care enough to grab a jacket.
He was looking for something. He did not know what. We believe he was
looking for a spike in adrenaline.

This English language annoys us. All forms of Earthling communication

do. It seems humans rely on metaphors to convey meaning rather than
literal meanings. Metaphors being a necessity in this form of communication
is annoying. Further, the mere use of characters is unintelligent. You humans
are so adorable.

Andy walked to the downtown. He knew this action was dangerous, but
cancer has the side effect of causing one to feel invincible. Funny how cities
are formed by humans. While Andy battles his own cells dividing at a high
rate, fighting his once agreeable body. A civil war was now occurring within
his large (comparably) frame. Just as humans had once lived on the Earth
and produced a beneficial coexistence, now the Earth is being attacked by
its own. Cities are the tumors. New York City was not the first, nor the last.
But it contributed to the downfall of the health of the Earth. Along with
every human who inhabited the tumor. Every cell of that human being.

xiv
 Andy was walking on the streets. He was cold. He was alone. Until a
sound indicated otherwise. This sound was brief. This sound was distinctive.
Yet simple. Much as the shape of an egg is simple yet distinctive. The click
was unmistakably one of a gun. A gun being cocked. A gun following the
strict sequence of events necessary to utilize the tool for the intended purpose
of the object.

The man who wielded this gun claimed he did not desire to harm Andy.
Andy knew this was true. This perplexes us, as Andy did not have the
ability to transmit information from one human brain to his brain without
physical communication. The man asked for money, along with the remaining
contents of the wallet of Andy.

Andy has prepared for this. Andy possessed a twenty-dollar bill, credit
card, Harris Teeter card, and library card. The credit card could be cancelled
promptly ensuing this interaction. Both men knew this. The Harris Teeter
card was also equally as useless, as no Harris Teeters exist in the realm of
New York City limits. Just as the stars have perplexed humans for epochs,
the existence of a Harris Teeter card in the wallet of Andy perplexes us. The
man graciously purloined the twenty-dollar bill and, after some insisting on
the part of Andy, took the library card.

The man starts to walk off. Andy decided to offer the man a lunch. He
accepts, and he walks with him to go to the Chick-fil-A. They arrive at the
Chick-fil-A and the man at the register takes their order. He says to him he
wants a milkshake and then he turns to him and he says he wants a soda, a

xv
soda which would later be recalled, a soda which was his favorite and that
he drank for years. He paid for the meal. He thanked him for doing so.

Pronouns, just as metaphors, are an annoyance to us. We apologize

for the inconvenience this linguistic messiness causes. We do not like using
pronouns.

The man and Andy had a conversation. This conversation was rather
long compared to others Andy had shared recently. Andy and the man both
quite enjoyed said conversation. The conversation was filled with emotions,
positive and negative. Filled with the emotion on usually reserves for an old
friend or significant other. Yet, both men have wasted it on a mere stranger.
Humans are pathetic.

The conversation ends. This conversation was the most uneventful and
useless conversation of the life of humanity. Do not worry about the dialogue
of this conversation. It is pointless.

The homeless man says, with hope in his eyes “Live on.”

“Live on-” Andy expected the name of the homeless man to follow this
statement however Andy then realized that Andy did not possess the knowl-
edge of the name of the homeless man. Rather, Andy just repeated the
statement made by the homeless man, smiling.

If we had any form of the word “emotion,” our current emotion would be
disgust.

Andy walks home. Despite the perpetual lack of a coat on the walk home,
Andy feels warm when he arrives home. This may be due to the excess body

xvi
fat we previously mentioned. Or the fact the walk home was at baking
temperature for frozen french fries compared to the dark depths of space.
Or the fact a walk from Chick-Fil-A to the home of Andy is unperceivable
compared to the scale of the rather small planet Andy inhabited.

Andy arrived home to a cold atmosphere. This is in no small part due to

the broken radiator which still inhabited their home.

Zelda walks in from the bedroom.

Andy says warmly “Hello.”

Zelda promptly asked, “Did you fix the radiator?”

“No.”

“And why not?”

“I was working. I was out. I want to fix it. I will do it tonight.”

“It is not about the radiator.”

“I know.”

“What is it about?”

“I know.”

“Then say it. . . .”

“I want to fix it. Do we want to fix it?”

“Honestly I do not know anymore.”

The conversation endured as they both stood approximately, to use an

arbitrary human label, 5 feet away. Zelda moved as a human hip hop dancer
would, free of constraints in any form. Meanwhile, Andy stood perfectly still,
as if an extensive number of photons had been directed at a deer during the

xvii
time of the Earth day which possesses little light. To use another arbitrary
human label, dumbfounded as if he were deer in headlights.

Upon realizing this interaction, like every other human interaction, was
futile; Andy decided to promptly depart.

As he is walking out, Andy says coldly “Hope-”

Zelda leaves before he can finish. But she left while remaining an appro-
priate distance to hear the voice of Andy via propagating sound waves if he
were to finish. She hoped he would finish. He did not finish.

Instead he turns, rather dramatically (too dramatic for our taste, but
what do we know?) and closes the door behind him. Most humans will slam
a door to communicate or resolve their anger. Andy was not this way. In
fact, if he was angry he would make a point to softly close a door. And so,
Andy left Zelda and the broken radiator without a sound.

You may wonder why we are narrating this story. Besides to sums of
monetary reward for doing so, we find humans amusing. Like a human finds
a pet amusing. This why we do not simply kill you all instantly.

So. . . you are welcome.

Oh my, it appears thus far we have only taken you to follow Andy around,
a third person limited point of view as humans call it. To comprehend to the
full extent, one must be inside the mind of their fellow apes. We apologize for
this inconvenience and we must simulate this experience. Please remember
our depiction of the stream of consciousness Andy possesses is one which will
be overstated due to our superior intelligence.

xviii
 SIMULATION START

I am fake. Indeed, so fake that these words I speak in my mind to the

invisible audience are the only true ones I speak. Outward appearances for
any persons are just illusions, facades put up to help others imagine that
everything is fine with you.
“How are you?” the KFC cashier asks.
“Good.” I respond.
Do I tell her that my wife had just informed me of her disdain for me
and our relationship? I do not. How about the fact I possess and fight an
infallible cancer, who wins the end game in every chess match it plays? No,
I do not. I could go on for days about my problems, even write a novel that
wins a Pulitzer Prize in fiction and get in the top ten on every book selling
site. A myriad of extol reviews would materialize on the internet for my
contemporary style novel. Yet many would never know this fictional work is
my life.
An inept English-majoring college student wasting 80,000 dollars at “the
perfect college” can infer that I am depressed. But externally, I smile and
have friends and go home and kiss my wife and pet my dog and wave at the
neighbors. Inside, I have my own personalized, custom fabricated hell.
Now, for the non-perceptive Engineering-majoring college students actu-
ally investing in their future, I assume you have not meticulously and vehe-
mently read the preceding paragraphs. For these student, I shall construct a
summary:

xix
 TL;DR I am depressed, and so is everyone else on this earth.

(For those who are not internet literate, the acronym I just used is Too
long; Didn’t read. Please become internet literate.)

I hold friends for the sole purpose of the one moment of happiness. That
instant where all the neurons in my brain fire at just the right time to re-
mind me that these people, intelligent people solving the biggest problems
of the world I may add, have taken their valuable time and limited energy to
accompany me. These people with far superior intelligence to most humans
have decided consciously to spend time with me, a far inferior form of them-
selves. Those are the moment I crave as I spend hours with them around the
fire singing along to 80s rock hits. I do not derive those same moments of
joy from my wife.

This deficiency of delight is the direct result of my dear complex wife

and simple physics. The most famous equation of science is E=mc2. (If the
letters in this equation make no sense, Google was invented for a reason).
This is why at the same place where the Higgs-Boson was discovered is also
the place where protons are annihilated with antiprotons to create energy.
Yes, according to this equation moving the book, I will someday complete,
upward will increase the mass of the book. A book that is a sci-fi mystery
which has it all: romance, jokes, science, philosophy, references to literature,
a dumbfounding mystery to solve, and an amazing twist. A twist not even
Sherlock Holmes would expect (any interaction of Sherlock Holmes, from the
conception Doyle to depiction by Cumberbatch). The point being, energy

xx
and mass are equivalent.

This is the same which happened with the souls of my wife and I. The
energy of our souls have annihilated, in the wake of our newly decimated
energy came a mass, insuperable for one to comprehend. This newly con-
structed mass was swift in creating a black hole, which lives in our house,
proudly displayed on the mantle.

This black hole is an ever-sucking being of evil which light, light! cannot
escape. How will a therapist, which we contently scourge every Tuesday,
supposed to conjure up a panacea for our defective relationship.

Saying irrevocable collections of words, to greet me with abhorrence, even

the recriminations cannot commence to open the impediments of a better
marriage.

I am a robot she is a fantasy. I am laid back she is captious. I show

lamentation she does not expiate.

Yet, these problems are miniscule compared to the black hole we have
created.

She was effulgent in the first meeting. I used to frequent a local club.
Our equally graceful dance moves attracted us. Like two galaxies orbiting
each other, we danced and became one. She was wondrous at the wedding.
We stole the show (as we should) with our memorizing dance moves. My
malleable nose was vulnerable to her unique scent. This delight derived from
her is inscrutable.

Then something happened. Despite all the knowledge I possess about

xxi
her. From science to literature, from her prized pirated movie (Arrival) and
her most beloved book (Sense and Sensibility). Yet the origin of our black
hole is a mystery I cannot solve.

God the underlying sadness is creeping up again. This pit of darkness

which I try so careful to avoid on my daily travels. Is this why games were
invented? To distract. Is everything we do in our lives merely a means
to distract ourselves from this pit, this void of darkness. Is this what our
economy is built on, means of distraction. Humans seem to do anything and
everything to avoid it, to forget, to numb, t-

“Order 152 is ready,” the rather attractive lady bearing the rather old
and unattractive man on the bag yelps out. I grab my KFC, give a half-smile,
and say “Goodbye.”

Then I move on with my day. Back to the black hole. I catch a glimpse
of bow and reef on the glass of the door to exit the KFC. Great. It is near
Christmas. The in-laws. Zelda is going to get on me about eating KFC
before our super-special dinner with the in-laws, just as every dinner was.
What is it 2 pm? I will be hungry again before dinner. I hope Zelda does
not notice the mashed potatoes smell...

The only positive aspect of the in-laws visiting my house was Zelda’s
wonderful cinnamon pound cake. Maybe that will hide the potato-esque
smell of my being when she arrives home.

SIMULATION END

xxii
 We hope that was helpful. Our simulation included a plethora of unnec-
essary commas, incorrect statements, and emotion (a range of them, with a
touch of overconfidence).

Entering the car, Andy was on his way back to the house. To continue
“writing” his “book.” In actuality, Andy would “attempt” to write his “book”
for five minutes. Then, he would promptly open his web browser. Stare
at the Google home screen for forty-two seconds. Then attempt to resist
the urge to type in four simple letters in the eagerly blinking lines in the
Google search box. It takes twenty-five seconds in order to type the “p.” He
immediately types the remaining three letters after courageously typing the
first. He watches a video of two human beings participating in intercourse.
He receives sexual pleasure from this.

Not enough to warrant this action. In fact, Andy now participates in

viewing porn for the mere comfort. He just feels obligated to do the cor-
responding actions when watching porn, that mainly being masturbation.
Comfort is a rare form to escape the void. He knows this only brings him
further into the void, further into the black hole on the mantle. However, he
believes he has already passed the event horizon.

This is the moment Andy has now noticed his delightful combination of
potatoes and butter were, just like himself, devoured by the void. Upon
noticing the lack of existence his mashed potatoes exhibited, he became en-
raged.

The smallest thing can make a human fall. A gust of wind. A wave

xxiii
of water. A missing order of mashed potatoes. After the extended rant
performed by Andy to no audience, filled with every conceivable profanity,
he came back to the non-mashed potatoes reality of the interior of his car.
The reality of divorce, the reality of cancer, the reality of utter failure.

He thought of who would get Mark. Mark was such a great child. Mark
was a rare human who rivaled Andy in his amount of nerdiness. But some-
thing more. That spark that Andy had, to be a writer to make it big. To do
great things. That is something Andy believes Mark possesses as well. Andy
was very hard on Mark. Andy knew this. Andy just wishes that Mark knew
that he lo-

Mark Dent sits in his 12th grade physics class. He is not remotely thinking
about physics, rather the next dialogue exchange he intends to have with the
rather attractive human female (Lisa is it?) adjacent to him. As the sixty-
some-old bald physics teacher drones on, the teacher mentions an interesting
characteristic of the universe. In fact, this piece of knowledge one of two
things humans has ever gotten correct in the field of science. Conservation
of energy.

The other happens to be how light works, which Mark would later discover
and receive two Nobel Prizes for. Mark honored his father, who died during
his late high school career, during his first speech. Before Mark made his
discovery, humans believed in the notion of light being both a wave and a
particle. The absurdity of this notion is as outlandish as a rhino being a
cross between a dragon and unicorn.

xxiv
 Before his death, Mark also helped unify the scientific community un-
der one common unit for measuring temperature: the Guyian. Before, hu-
mans inexplicably used three units of measurement for temperature: Kelvin,
Fahrenheit, and Celsius. Along with the “F” one being impossible to spell,
this schism baffled Mark.

xxv