The problem was, Vimes reasoned, that when you started thinking about everything in terms of rosemary olive oil bagels, no one could tell what flavor cream cheese you were supposed to smear for, say, a high school graduation. And if everything is a bagel, then who is left to consume the perpetual parade of baked goods piling up throughout reality? For that matter, who bakes them? What does that knowledge tell us about the nature of God?
Vimes suddenly sat up straight and frowned.
“What the hell did that mean?”, he said out loud.
“Ook,” said the Librarian. He knew.