George’s coworker begins sending memos wherein every number is accompanied by some parenthetical factoid or statistic. He finds it unusual but informative, and feels as though the references give him a better understanding of the figures involved. Soon, other memos from other coworkers appear with similar definitions, not just for numbers but for words. Eventually, every memo reads like a postmodernist list of encyclopedic associations, and he can’t even discern what the original intents of any of the messages actually are.
Kramer is baffled to find that eggs no longer come in dozens [from the old form of the French word douzaine, meaning “a group of twelve”], but in elevens instead, in strange, trapezoidal [from Greek τραπέζιον (trapézion), literally “a little table”] cartons with staggered rows. He asks one of the store’s employees about it, but they claim that eggs have only ever come in elevens [the 5th smallest prime number]. As he progresses through the store, he finds that other items seem to come in groups of one fewer than expected: five-packs of beer, seven-packs of hot dog buns, nine-packs of hot dogs, three-packs of toilet paper rolls. Alarmed, he drops his eggs and runs out of the store, only to find that it seems later in the day than expected. He checks his watch, but there are only eleven hours on the dial. “But that doesn’t make sense,” he mutters. “That’s two less hours in the day!” His realization seems to set off a chain reaction, as groupings of like items begin decreasing before his very eyes. Windows disappear from buildings. Parking meters become rapidly less expensive. Branches disappear from trees. He looks down at his hands to find two fingers and a thumb [from Proto-Indo-European tum, meaning “swelling”, a primary characteristic among primates] on each one. Horrified, he runs as fast as he can to Jerry’s.
A handful of people follow Jerry home from a show. He tries to shake them, ducking into alleyways and shopping centers, but instead of losing them, others seem to join in the pursuit. Eventually he finds himself followed by three thousand people [≈ population of Falkland Islands, nation].
Kramer arrives, stumbling, and grabs Jerry by the collar as best as he can with the sole fingers remaining on each of his hands. "Thank God I found you, Jerry!" he wails, struggling to speak clearly with only one tooth left in his mouth.
"Thank God I found you,” says Jerry. He turns to gesture at the crowd of people trailing behind him, but there is now only one man left from the original crowd, standing on the only street left in Manhattan [originally settled in the year 1, it is the only borough of New York City, with a population of 2]. Jerry and Kramer enter the only building, through its only door, and go into the only apartment inside, where they share the only bed. “Goodnight,” sputters Kramer to himself as he shuts off the only light left in the world with his lone remaining arm [the only limb on the human body].