Of Monkeys and that

If an infinite number of monkeys typed on an infinite number of typewriters, one would eventually publish the complete works of Shakespeare. Infinity makes it happen; that's the rub.
 With infinity, everything is possible; it's more than possible, it exists: everything.

Isn't it queer? But yet, back in 2010, people didn't even believe any aliens existed. Is this not egotism to its utmost? Looking at the absurd species on Ferengal or Zeuslya, our own race's self-bias then is rendered even more ridiculous.

In our infinite universe, there's a planet made of jelly. There's stars having sex using dildos and stuff. There's armies of water bottles throwing pecans and almonds at rebellious bands of leather wallets. There's the complete opposite of that, too. There's girls, guys; electrons, protons; neutrons! that's a good one; there's a solar system that looks like Bob Geldof. There's Aliens who are nine feet tall. There's aliens that are eight feet tall. There's aliens that are feet. There's aliens that are nine. There's... everything.

At the very least, in 2033, we are closer to everything.