Shut up, Science.

I'm going to go fold myself back into the dimension where I become best friends with Nick Nolte, 
endear myself to his wife and family, provoke a nasty argument between Nolte and his wife,
steal Nick Nolte's wife, attend Nolte family holiday dinners in Nick Nolte's stead while Nolte drinks alone
in the bathtub in his increasingly decrepit studio apartment, start dressing like and adopting the 
mannerisms of Nick Nolte, beat Nick Nolte out for acting jobs, use my newfound influence as the toast of 
Young Hollywood to further grind Nick Nolte beneath the boot of ill-fate, and ultimately get shot by Nolte 
on the 18th green of a public golf course on a rainy California night; a tale which, 200 years later will be
adapted into a Spacefilm entitled, "The Assassination of Nick Carter by the Coward Nick Nolte."

Which way to that dimension, Science?

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