There was once a giant by name of Krumpleoakes. Now Krumpleoakes was not a true giant by yours or my standards. He was, rather, only relatively speaking a giant, for the universe in which he lived was very, very small.
It was so small, in fact, that he could reach up his great big arm and bang his fist upon it, very much like your tallest relative might do upon the ceiling of your house. This pleased Krumpleoakes exceedingly, and he often walked around his minuscule planet (which was about a mile in circumference) happily knocking his fist on the edge of the universe, thinking to himself how very special he was.
For you see, Krumpleoakes's line of thought went like this: because the universe was so, so very small and he so, so very large in it, he must be unbelievably important. He did live, after all, dead centre in a very tiny universe. Krumpleoakes felt so good about this.
But, one day, a teeny tiny worry popped into Krumpleoakes's giant brain.
