There could be tiny people on the top of my head, living a simple, rustic life, subsisting on the small, many legged animals that they hunt with spears through the vast jungle of hairs.
There probably isn't.
There could be a naming master, who sits in an office building, writing things down on pieces of paper, and sending them to people in authority, explaining what they should call new things. Things like kankles, or squidoids, or flummery.
There probably isn't.
There could be a small pink teapot balanced carefully on top of a very high mountain, that when struck with a spoon, lets out a reverberating ring that makes birds who hear it oddly peckish.
There probably isn't.
There could be a hairless shurgle at the bottom of every well, that refuses to interact with humans in any way, but that bares us no ill feeling.
There probably isn't.
There could be a person reading this that has realized how to make time travel possible, but doesn't really feel like sharing.
There probably isn't.
There could be a point to all this.
