text: Imagine you are an immortal chimp working to support your chimp family. Your chimp wife and children need the money. One day your chimp children will go to college and support you and your chimp wife when you are too old to work any longer. It's truly the perfect chimpanzee dream, just like the movies. You work in a never ending cycle of tippity tapping away on a keyboard. You're not alone, you are surrounded by a seemingly endless supply of fellow simian laborers, all typing just the same. Work consists of pressing buttons and submitting a plethora of unreadable garbage to meet the yearly quota. Life is good, it's easy work. One day, management decided to make better use of you and your ape compatriots. You are assigned with one task and one task only; write the entirety of Shakespearean literature. You can exit the building only when you have completed your assignment. Sounds time consuming but simple, right? Wrong. Your small chimpanzee brain can not yet process the meaning of the strange symbols on the keyboard in front of you. You try to quit, “I can't write Shakespeare!” All that comes out is incoherent screeching and wailing. You are quickly escorted back to your seat at gunpoint and reprimanded for your behavior. Surely the other apes have something to say about this new turn of events? No, your ape coworkers are seemingly unbothered and continue to smash their keyboards. You panic, you haven't had to exercise your brain in decades. Now they expect you to write full english sentences? Internally screaming, you type frantically and randomly across your keyboard in hopes that you may get lucky and write a legible sentence or two. You won't, at least not for another couple of eons. Only now do you survey your surroundings, desperate for a way out. The door, locked. How about the windows? Seems like you never looked up from your computer for long enough to realize there ARE no windows. Maybe the ventilation shaft? Bolted and secure. Maybe you can break the door down? Nope, the years of endless office work has shriveled your body into a husk of its former self. You can barely support the glasses you wear on your head, let alone a steel door. Looks like you're out of options. The chimps alongside you work diligently and happily, unaware of the dire situation. You try typing, for only a bit. The constant mistakes and deletion of your hard work grinds you down. You work for hours at a time for zero gain. The end is nowhere near in sight. Only now does it truly dawn on you your situation. You sit down and cross your arms in protest. You will refuse to work until they let you see your family! Except, no one ever comes. What's one monkey refusing to work in a sea of countless others who work with no complaints? Eventually, you lose all hope and spend countless decades, even centuries, doing absolutely nothing. Time truly has no meaning when you are immortal. Luckily your small ape brain is easily entertained by throwing assorted objects around the room and screeching at the top of your lungs. Even that however, gets old eventually. One day this repetitive cycle ends. An announcement, over the intercom. “Chimp #72938403 has completed his work. Congratulations!” You are dumbfounded. Chimp #72938403 waltzes over to the exit doors. You seize this opportunity and make a break for it. You see the outside world. You see sunlight again. Just as quickly as you gained your temporary freedom, you lose it again. You are thrown back into the endless cubicles of your workplace. Seeing a fellow monkey make his way out of this hell, it determines you. “If he can do it, I can do it!”, you think. You must get to work if you ever wish to live again. Despite the overwhelming odds against you, you begin. You imagine your loving family’s embrace after you finally conquer the dreadful workload. “It will all be worth it in the end”, you tell yourself. Yet, you have a creeping thought in the back of your mind, “will there be an end?” Time passes, slowly you see yourself make progress. Another announcement, yet another ape has regained his freedom. This drives you to work harder than before, soon you will be free. Yet more time passes. Another announcement, and another, and another, and even more. The ape to your left leaves you, then the one to the right. Soon enough, you are completely alone. What did you do to deserve this divine punishment? You weep, your keyboard getting soggy. Yet, you type. You stop thinking. One day, you do it. You place the period on the last sentence of the last book of Shakespeare. You can't believe it. You don't believe it. You get up and head for the exit door. Locked. Confused, you yell out into the open air. The voice on the intercom starts speaking. You erupt into celebration. You are free. He says, “Three Witches, act one, scene one.” What? What does that mean? You rush to your computer and scan through your work. Oh god. You read aloud, “Fair is fpul, and foul is fair.