Two fat ladies, eighty-eight.
So is there life on a distant planet?
How will we ever know?
Unless of course there is a galaxy beyond outer space that sort of replicates ours.
I say sort of cause it may be like ours but different.
It could be better, it could be worse.
It could be a world inhabited by giant woman and dwarf males.
The dwarves, however, would be the dominant species, having total control over their own, and their women's, destinies.
At least they would whilst they were in the pub with their mates and there were no women around.
Wobble wobble.
How does anyone know that the world we live in is not just a speck of dirt under the little finger nails of one of the giant woman?
The nail could be what we think is the ozone layer, the layer that protects us.
It rains every time the giant woman washes her hands and the faster she walks and swings her arms, the stronger the wind blows.
Thank you wobblers.
The downside is, of course, that one day the giant woman is going to go for a manicure and we will all perish.
Unless our speck of dirt is luckier than most and miraculously lands in the ear of a dog, or other household pet.
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