A You In Every Universe

It has been postulated that there are an infinite number of universes.
Parrallel ones.
In which an infinite number of yous are living out an infinite number of possibilities.
Meaning that in some universe you are sporting a fu man chu.
In some universe you accidently shit your pants in grade 4.
In some universe you exclusively date bank executives.
In some universe you exclusively shoot bank executives.
In some universe you actually did push your mother down the stairs that time out at the cottage.
You're far happier in that universe.
It stands to (meta)reason, then, that in some universe all of my failures were successes.
I signed up for hockey.
I never wore bib overalls to school.
I was the prom king (it's all politics).
I studied radiology.
I bedded all of the women I hoped to bed.
I wish I could talk to the alternate women in those universes.
And say, "See!? Wasn't that flask of shcnapps worth it?
Could you tell the women in my universe, please?"
I've been trying to contact these women for a while.
It's tough for me to get around to (not) sending Christmas cards.
Let alone get a postcard to you in another dimension.

We have a cat in that other universe, you and I.
Named Schrödinger.
And at certain points in time the cat is both dead and alive.

Man, I hope someone gets that.
Yet another reason why Gus Webb should be reading my blog.

further reading:
This Futurama episode explains the phenomenon perfectly.