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Nearly two decades ago, revered Professor of Neuroscience Dr. Ethan Martin set out to test the classic mathematical postulate that an infinite number of monkeys tapping randomly on keyboards would eventually reproduce all of history's most treasured literary works. This week, Martin concluded the groundbreaking research project with the publication of 'You're Sick, Ethan Martin, You Are One Sick Fuck,' the combined efforts of the countless primates he cruelly forced to type without rest for the past seventeen years.
Martin's research has already been hailed as a breakthrough in modern science. "We simply could not be happier with our results," gushed Martin, a man whom the monkeys interchangeably refer to as "humanity's greatest scorn," "a walking genocide," and "Lord Voldemartin". "Before we started this project, we doubted that our subjects would ever create so much as a single coherent sentence. In truth, we had very little cause to even begin our research, which required the senseless abduction of millions upon infinities of chimpanzees and the destabilization of innumerable already-suffering rainforest ecosystems."
Adding to Martin and his colleagues' doubts was the obstacle of building a laboratory large enough to house the enormous experiment. "We eventually had to dig underground to construct a suitable space," Martin explained. "And to make up for funds used to purchase typewriters, ink, and monkey poachers, we needed to make some unfortunate cuts: light, heat, ventilation, doors, walls, and a floor."
With perseverance and irrational commitment to an unverifiable hypothesis, however, success was close at hand. "Infinity is a concept mankind cannot possibly understand or replicate; yes, infinite random typing will eventually create Shakespeare's 'Hamlet,' but under the conditions of our experiment, we thought we'd be lucky just to get the word 'ham'," Martin said. "Imagine our excitement when after only seven months [the monkeys] were somehow writing desperate cries for help in perfect English!"
The reader of 'You're Sick, Ethan Martin, You Are One Sick Fuck' is able to follow the development of the forsaken monkeys: their writings begin as seemingly random gibberish, but slowly progress towards descriptions of the impossible blackness of Martin's heart.
"What is the point of this experiment?" write the monkeys, who sat chained to outmoded typewriters for twenty-four hours a day in Martin's laboratories. "What useful scientific conclusions could possibly come out of this? Under the wrinkled lab coat that hangs awkwardly across your narrow shoulders, beneath your blinding white skin, is there a soul in your body, Ethan Martin?"
"You must have committed a truly atrocious act in your past life," the monkeys suggest of Martin, who frequently strolled about the laboratory noisily snacking on ripe bananas, leaves, and termites, "To be cursed with so ill-tuned a moral compass. Rest assured that if you ever set foot in the jungle, we will arrange for you an intimate welcoming committee of mating-crazed silver-backed gorillas. Their fingers may be too large to use a typewriter, but do not doubt that they create a story that your fellow scientists will tell for generations to come."
"Eat shit and burn in hell," the monkeys add.
The impact of Martin's research has been immediate: Many of his peers at other research universities have already begun developing similar plans to prove previously unverifiable thought experiments. "Apparently Dr. Louise Frumpkin is designing a rocket capable of traveling at nearly the speed of light so that she can test all of Einstein's theories about special relativity," Martin said. "If she's planning on powering it with monkey feces, I just might be able to help her out."
"Because God knows what I'm going to do with all these monkeys," Martin said.
