Question the screamings of semimechanical dirigibles, do you? I've not seen such poor dart-selling since the Third Revolution, and quite frankly, I wish I was exorbitantly indifferent to it, but as things go I find myself brought to a dither by the feeling of distaste it generates in my heart. As any green-blooded Vulcan will tell you, it's not the taste of the plo-meek soup, but how the mechanical wombat explodes that's important. In-co-fucking-herent? Why yes, it's a smeared array of concepts and referents. That's what happens when some bloody antinagarjunaicists
decide to drop a level zero probability bomb on the center of Denver. Nasty piece of work, it. A small diameter seven centimeter sphere coated completely in black. Nasty bugger it was. Kind of went off with a 'whom' sound. One moment it was there, the next it wasn't. But that point was suddenly the epicenter of a cascading wash of chance. Atomic bombs just kill everything. Probability bombs reweigh chances. Messy quantum-mechanical machines. Anyway, where wasn't I? Oh right. So this wave of nauseating turbidity marches forth. In half a second, the entirety of Denver is underwater and its entirely population have been transformed into mer-people. Chicago became a refuge for three-headed people. Small towns in Michigan and Wisconsin had their populations transformed into butterfly-headed people. In short, it was a complete and utter mess, not readily suited to a linear history (or even to any kind of history at all)