Infinite Pie

These squimonk is gettin way too smart for an old guy like me. They been workin round the clock on gettin this van we towed rigged up with some bloopy-bleepy thing that's gonna let us follow it around from space. And it's not like they even own a satellite or anything, they're using a weather satellite that NASA or whoever turned off ten years ago. They figured some way to turn that sucker back on and then have it cruise around to other decomissioned satellites to take parts from them that it will need to track a van. To top it all off, they've got to disguise the tracking device so that when McClawenstein or his people sweep the van for bugs, it won't show up as anything more than a blown fuse. Their plan is to release the van, track it on its deliveries, then blow the fuse goin to the radio. This last part's gonna send the driver back to base for repair because meth addicts can't do nothin without music of some sort. They're thinkin the driver'll get right to headquarters, replace the fuse, throw the burnt out one in the trash and go about his merry, or at least very hyper and itchy, way, leavin the tracker there. Then, they're gonna send out some sorta microwave signal or somethin to get a 3-d layout of the base and then figure out how to strike. Me, I'd just follow the guy around or maybe tie some string to the bumper of the car, but they gotta get all fancy.

To put this plan to work, they was sittin around solderin circuit boards and stuff in the back all day yesterday. I'm an old hand at solderin stuff together, even though it's usually wobbly metal table legs or old toys my nephew broke that I wanna fix up before they go to the Goodwill. I don't figure that, even if a kid is poor, they're gonna want a singin doll that don't sing. I mean, they probably get enough sadness in their life when they have to eat all that creamed corn and pumpkin pie fillin that everyone donates during thanksgiving. They're lookin at the tv or the ads or somethin and they see all this turkey and potatos and stuff and what do they get in the middle of the table? Can of creamed corn. So, I try to bring a little extra happiness into those poor kids' lives by givin 'em old toys that, while they are a little dirty and threadbare, actually work the way they're supposed to. I like to imagine those kids thinkin that the toy is magic or somethin when it starts singin or dancin or whatever it is.

So, there I am, sittin in the donut shop, soldering a couple of wires onto a board when I overhear a couple squimonks havin this conversation.

"Just because we can't see the end doesn't prove that the universe is infinite! That's a ridiculous proposition."

"I tell you, it has nothing to do with whether we can see the end or not."

"Then how can you stand there and say that you know definitively that the universe is infinite?"

"It's easy. Think about containment."

"I'm thinking about containment, but it's not helping."

"Do you agree that something infinite cannot be contained by something finite?"

"I do."

"So, then, a finite universe cannot contain infinite things?"

"True."

"Then, were we to find even one infinite thing, we could say that the universe would logically be infinite?"

"That is true."

"Then I have you!"

"Have you?"

"I do."

"Explain."

"Pie."

"Pie?"

I drifted off at this point. I've never seen an infinite pie myself, but I imagine it would be delicious; infinitely delicious. I was ponderin this to myself, this infinite pie of deliciousness, and I came up with some ideas. First, the pie would obviously have to be mixed berry of some kind. I at first thought it'd be strawberry rhubarb, because it covered fruits and stalks in the ground. But then I realized it covered only an odd berry, the strawberry, which has its seed outside. Then, I thought it may be something whacky, like banana cream or lemon meringue. Then, I stopped, took a deep breath, and asked myself, "Pat,"

"What?" I responded.

"You're talkin to yourself again."

"Oh, am I?" I was surprised by this.

"You sure are, and you're wandering off topic."

"Yeah," I admitted, "I do that once in awhile."

"I second that," I affirmed.

"And I'll third it," I piped in.

"Quiet, you!" I threatened.

I was cowed, "sorry."

I returned to my previous self. "So, what was it you were gonna ask me?"

I was shaken out of my woolgathering, "Oh, I'm sorry, I was lost in a weird world of existentialism."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Nevermind, we don't have time for that now. I need to ask you a question."

"Shoot!" I was feeling gracious.

"What kind of pie would God eat?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me. If God were eating pie, what kind would it be?"

I was taken aback by the question. "Are you a durned fool? Anyone knows it'd be mixed berry. He's gonna eat as much of everything as he can."

I had my answer and went back to soldering, humming to myself. The squimonk in the earlier conversation wrinkled their brows, looked at each other and slowly backed away. I think they're workin on the satellite stuff now.

Boy howdy, now I want some pie.