Are we all stuck in a giant simulation? If we are to believe someone like David Chalmers, we can't
prove that we're not. If, however, we have understood the main argument against the theory that we are all figments of a simulation (and we are not at all sure that we have), there would - if we were all stuck in a giant simulation - not only be glitches, leading to weirdness like gravity suddenly malfunctioning and pigs becoming airborne, there would also be no way that whoever made the simulation would omit leaving some sign to his or her or its creation that it existed in an artificial production. Simple smugness demands it. Being something of a virtuoso in the matter of smugness ourselves, this argument seems inexorably logical, and we see no reason to probe more deeply into the matter.
What caused us to reflect on the simulation problem is that it has recently dawned on us that Shewee Fiend Friend gives us advice not according to what she, on close reflection and with balanced judgement, considers to be the best course of action, but according to what would provide the best entertainment for her. In other words, Shewee Fiend Friend might potentially be a benevolent if capricious puppet-master, setting us off bumping hither and thither like a rather gorgeous dodgem car, then sitting back to enjoy the ensuing chaos and drama, spiced with the occasional distressing hangover and/or heartbreak.
Considering that Shewee Fiend Friend has been our close friend for over a decade, this gives rise to some rather curious, not to say nervous, reflections. Has Shewee Fiend Friend been manipulating us for her own amusement for twelve years? What about that time when we had three near-death experiences (at least - it is quite possible that we lost count due to alcohol and terror) in the course of twenty-four hours? Or has an unsettling symbiosis developed, in a manner that would be slightly worrying if one were a Freudian, where we ask advice in the knowledge that we will be told what we want to hear (except of course in the case of looking at pictures of Justin Trudeau), meaning we are likely to soon be doing something unwise but entertaining? Possibly we will never know. But bear this possibility in mind, as we take a disconcerting virtual stroll through an ancient prairie hotel.
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| Does this remind us of something? Why, yes, it reminds us of the Sinister Gurglings Toilet Tale. (If you perk up at the thought of charging across the steppe on a noble steed, nostrils flaring, while roaring "Bij, morduj!" and attempting to decapitate your enemies with a sabre, you should definitely click on the link.) |
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| Does your heart swell with pride at this dedication to the Privy Counsel Standards of Source Criticism (PCSSC)? Ours does. |
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| Mmm. Who doesn't! |
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| Shouts from the gallery: "Boo!" |
It is perhaps lucky, all things considered, that one's hopes never really lifted off the ground. At best they flapped about for a bit then crashed drunkenly.
Speaking of crashing drunkenly after flapping, we've had communications from Jonny (who counts as a friend for administrative reasons). What follows below are photos from the gents' toilets at the Hereford Rowing Club. You heard it here first!
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| Are the sinks and taps weirdly reminiscent of those in the Banff Springs Hotel? Are we too distracted by Jonny's essential hunka-hunka-ness to commit to any deep reflection on this topic? Yes, yes, and yes. |
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| This, according to Jonny, is a "fancy James Bond-style keypad". |
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| Don't you love this avant-garde angle of these urinals? Does it remind you of something? Of course it does. |
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| We don't know where this is and do not want to know, but Jonny calls it a "Tetris toilet". As you were. |
We will not of course let you go before we have foisted a Festive Video on your already fragile state of mind.
Festive Video: Caitlin Rose, Pink Rabbits
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