What if my Dad gets it mid December 1968 and I'm never born because he doesn't get horny that night when he sprayed me into my mother? What if my molecules just came out of him as a sneeze? What if I'm really just a dried up snot film on the wall of their house and this crazy, crazy thing we call life, this inordinate dance, the festival of lions, this buffet of emotions and rich experiences is just me, on a wall, an old dried film of virusy Dad snot?
Very concerned. We must ration threads to save the Republic.