A dimension filled with my missing clothes.
A dimension where we are all slightly taller because Earth has weaker gravity.
A dimension of infinite grammatical complexity.
A dimension where Taco Bell survives the Franchise Wars.
A dimension made possible by viewers like you.
A dimension with really loose morals.
A dimension where Mumble Rap is Tumble Rap, and many rappers are excellent gymnasts.
A dimension that’s quantifiably shittier than all the other dimensions, so for the greater good, everyone living in the non-shitty dimensions agrees to use it as a trash dump.
A dimension where time is actually a flat circle.
A dimension where human knees bend the other way and we all hop like kangaroos.
A dimension that’s exactly like The Dark Crystal, only I’m not scared of it.
A dimension where people don’t care that I don’t watch RuPaul’s Drag Race.
A dimension where Jesse Stone and I are married, even if it means I’m a woman, I guess.
A dimension where I can remember all the words to all songs, especially Turn the Beat Around, or at least more than the part about rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tatting on the drums.
A dimension glowing with pride.
A dimension riddled with plot holes.
A dimension who owes me child support.
A dimension with a Kickstarter page.
A dimension of swords.
A dimension where couples are required to provide examples of appropriate outfits for the aesthetic of their weddings, instead of just saying “fancy casual.”
A dimension where all you fucks finally understand that DS9 is better than TNG.
A dimension where everyone knows what I’ve been up to.
A dimension where we all get three do-overs.
A dimension where I understand how dimensions work.