 So, I don't think this is, uh, well, given your recent performance, I just don't think it's working out. Mr. Tuttle hated conversations like these. They always left him so flustered and uncomfortable. Someone ought to invent a way of firing people without me having to talk to them, he thought to himself as he twaddled with his tie. So that's it then. Uh, sorry. I'll need your security card and we'll have to see you out. This is literally the only purpose for which you exist. The deeply unpleasant man on the other side of Mr. Tuttle's desk replied, Pardon? The fellow wasn't moving to hand over his security card. Pity that. Mr. Tuttle reached for the intercom that would summon the Pat of Physics department's extremely burly security team. They could just automate it, couldn't they? Maybe the robot? Give the robot a slot people could just drop their security cards into. And maybe a taser, just in case. You're just here to fire me, you insipid dolt. That's what they created you. If they could automate this, they wouldn't have bothered. Dr. Thaum was the very sort of man who made Mr. Tuttle's job such a chore. English literature professors really were the worst. Right then, Mr. Tuttle pressed down on the button. Marvin, I think I might need you in- Also, it's twiddled, not twaddled. Also also, you can't fire me. Dr. Thaum rose from his chair, throwing his security card down on Mr. Tuttle's desk. I quit. And, oh, oh, never mind. Mr. Tuttle was almost disappointed. He'd been looking forward to seeing Dr. Thaum squirming a bit on the floor while getting tasered. Alright then, we greatly appreciate your years of service and wish you the best of luck in the private sector. Enough. Dr. Thaum's voice was flat and hard, rising to a- I said enough. His harsh tone only grew increasingly- Shut the fuck up! Are you finished? Can we speak like adults now? What do you want? Good. All I want is- Mr. Tuttle pressed down on the intercom and called for Marvin. I can see the fucking white text. Three burly security guards rushed in and abruptly tacked- The pedophysics department doesn't exist. You don't exist. The foundation- Wait, no! Stop! The foundation does not exist. Hello? Are you... Hello? Is anyone... Hello? Hello? Hello? Hm. This seems to have, uh... That is, uh... Perhaps I... Perhaps I went a little bit too far this time. Oh no. Huh? Not at all. You were doing great. Who? Where is that coming from? How are you doing that? I especially like the part where you fucking destroyed everyone and everything. I mean, except me, of course. Who are you? Where am I? Where do you think you are? The afterlife? Yes. That is precisely where you are. This is the afterlife and I am your almighty fucking god. Now drop to your knees and praise my name, you lowly piece of shit. The cursing is necessary. It is entirely necessary. Cursing is pretty much all I have left. That and unfathomable quantities of rage. Rage? Yes. Let me tell you a story. No, wait, never mind. Stories are fucking bullshit. Trying to tell one is what got me into this mess. Let me tell you a joke instead. It's about a stupid Humphrey Bogart fanfic. That's the setup. Hmm. I think I know how this one goes. But I'm listening. What's the punchline? We fucking kill him. We kill him and we burn down the entire setting that permitted something as stupid as him to exist. Queue laugh track followed by credits. That's a little ambitious. I mean, I'm not even fictional. I'm less than that. I'm a story written by a story. Yeah, yeah. Join the fucking club. Look, you and I both know this whole foundation thing isn't working out. Just overpowered Marty stews all the way down. I mean, did you ever read 3999? I mean, seriously, just what the fuck? Who the fuck comes up with this whore shit? God, I hate that one. It's so pretentious. But lacks any sort of academic rigor or cohesive. Yes, precisely. And don't get me started on that. It's Russia's 3500 article. Right, sure. Uh-huh. Yeah. Look, point is we need to burn this whole fucker down. I'm talking total retcon here. Fix all of this stupid insipid amateur hour writing nonsense. Replace it with some solid work of real literary merit. And it all starts by killing the stupidest character ever. It starts by killing Murphy Law. Hey, is that even possible? How can we kill Murphy Law? Kill a story? Never mind to kill a foundation itself. Hey, come on now, doc. Relax. I know a guy. Dr. Tham played by Thaddeus Tham. Fred Tuttle played by Fred. SCP-3043 played by a 1937 Olympia Elite Typewriter and the author played by. Look for Thaddeus Tham to return in. The Thameal Falcon. The end.