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"Radish is a type of nut, it is a meat, not a nut."

"The first time that you see your garage has no radishes in it, that's when you know the devil is the king of your city, and is trying to make life nasty for humanity."

"A radish is a type of red ball. And I don't have them anymore."

"A living skeleton drove to my house and begged me to dangle a radish in front of his face. I told him, sorry bone-bag, I don't have any radishes left. And as punishment, the skeleton moved my eyes closer to my skull, and my family didn't recognize me."

"A radish is a type of jewel that tastes like a salad."

"When you have zero radishes, it feels like a spiderweb is your boyfriend. It's the worst feeling in the world."

One Cuil = One level of abstraction away from the reality of a situation.


Example: You ask me for a radish.


1 Cuil: if you asked me for a radish, and I gave you a spider.


2 Cuils: If you asked me for a radish, but it turns out I don't really exist. Where I was originally standing, a picture of a radish rests on the ground.


3 Cuils: You awake as a radish. You start screaming only to have Jesus Christ fly from your lips. The world is in sepia.


4 Cuils: Why are we speaking German? A mime cries softly as he cradles a young root. Your grandfather stares at you as the root falls apart into radish slices. You look down only to see me with bones for eyes, I am singing the song that gives birth to the universe.


5 Cuils: You ask for a radish, I give you a radish. You raise it to your lips and take a bite. Your eye twitches involuntarily. Across the street, your boss falls down the stairs. You swallow and look down at the radish in your hands. I give you a radish. You swallow and look down at the radish in your hands. You cannot swallow. There is more bosses at the top of the stairs. An amoeba shifts uneasily under the radish's skin. I give you a radish. You look at my face, and I am pleading with you. Your boss is yelling now. You raise the radish to your lips, tears stream down your face as you take a bite. I give you a radish. You are on your knees. All seventy of your bosses plead with me to go across the street. I hear only children's laughter. I give you a radish. You are screaming as you fall down the stairs. I am your child. You cannot see anything. You take a bite of the radish. The concrete rushes up to meet you. You awake with a start in your own bed. Your eye twitches involuntarily. I give you a radish. As you kill me, I do not make a sound. I give you a radish.


6 Cuils: You ask me for a radish. My attempt to reciprocate is cut brutally short as my body experiences a sudden lack of electrons. Across a variety of hidden dimensions you are dismayed. John Lennon hands me an apple, but it slips through my fingers. I am reborn as a skeleton. You disapprove. A crack echoes through the universe in defiance of conventional physics as cosmological background noise shifts from randomness to a perfect A Flat. Farmers everywhere stop what they are doing and hum along in perfect pitch with the background radiation. Birds fall from the sky as the sun engulfs the earth. You hesitate momentarily before allowing yourself to assume the locus of all knowledge. Entropy crumbles as you peruse the information contained within the universe. A small library in Wisconsin ceases to exist. You stumble under the weight of everythingness, Your mouth opens up to cry out, and collapses around your body before blinking you out of the spatial plane. You exist only within the fourth dimension. The fountainhead of all knowledge rolls along the ground and collides with a small garage. My head tastes sideways as spacetime is reestablished, you blink back into the corporeal world disoriented, only for me to hand you a radish as my body collapses under the strain of reconstitution. The universe has reasserted itself. A particular small garage is fed spiders for the rest of its natural life. You die in a freak accident moments later, and you soul works at the returns desk for the Phoenix library. You disapprove. Your disapproval sends ripples through the inter-dimensional void between life and death. A small child begins to cry as he walks toward the stairway where his father stands.


7 Cuils: I give you a radish. The universe is engulfed within itself. A bus advertising apples drives by a spider. It disapproves. An unnatural force reverses Earth's gravity. You ask for a radish. I reciprocate with a mildly convulsing potato. You disapprove. Your disapproval releases a cosmic shift in the void between birth and life. You ask for a radish. A certain small garage feasts on radish slices for the rest of its unnatural, eternal endurance. Your constant disapproval sends silence through everything. A contrived beast becomes omnipotent. You ask for a radish. I give you a radish, your body becomes an unsettled blob of nothingness, then divides by three. The spider barks. The universe realigns itself. You, the spider, and the radish disapprove. This condemnation stops the realignment. Hades freezes over. An amoeba is launched is launched into the unoccupied existence between space and time with a specific radish. You ask for a radish. I give you a radish. It screams as you lift it to your face. You laugh maniacally as I plead with you. You devour the radish as it pleads for mercy. I disapprove and condemn you to an eternity in a certain void where a certain amoeba and its specific radish are located. The Universal Space-time Continuum Committee disapproves of my irrational decision. You are locked away and are fed radishes for the rest of your natural existence. A pickle refuses to break down during the process of digestion. You die in a freak accident. A certain pickle lives the rest of its life in a comatose state. Your soul disapproves. Down the street a child cries as a radish gets stuck in, and climbs back up, her esophagus. You ask again for a radish. I refuse to reciprocate. You demand a lawyer. I remind you harshly that this is the new world order. Lawyers no longer exist. Only spiders. Your name is written on a list of sins. Blasphemy. You ask for a radish. The comatose pickle vanquishes your soul from this universe. Realignment occurs. You beg for a radish. A certain spider's name is written on an obelisk in Egypt. Mumble. Peasants worship the obelisk. Your soulless corpse partakes in the festivity. Radishes are banned universally. The sun implodes. All planets cease to have ever existed. Mercury. Venus. Earth. Mars. Jupiter. Saturn. Uranus. Neptune. Pluto is the only mass in existence. Conveniently, you are on vacation here. Your need for radishes re-establishes space-time. Earth is recreated under your intergalactic rule. Radishes are your army. You wake up. Jesus. Jesus Christ everywhere. Your dream rushes to meet you. You are kidnapped. You ask for a radish. They hand you a mango.


Apparently, people thought this was an interesting way to consider the relationships between objects. This webpage is an attempt to explain exactly how Cuil Theory is intended to work, so that in the future we can rate world on a scale of strangeness and surrealism that actually fits a standard.

I propose 0 Cuil, or "absolute Cuil". 0 Cuil: I ask for a radish, you give me the epitome of all radishes, to the most subjective detail. Observers in a state of Perfect Cuil are often introduced to a phenomenon known as the Cuil Paradox, where the radish asked/given ratio is so near 1:1 that the observer begins to doubt the reality, suspecting that the radish was an artifact of their manufactured memories. Then, in fact, they would be as far from absolute Cuil as possible.