I wonder if my thoughts are really my own. I’m thinking they might be put together by artificial means and then fed into my brain through some kind of one-way telepathy I’m not aware of. If the latter is the case, it’s peculiar that this is one of the thoughts I’m being made to think. Likewise, the thought that the thought… etc. is a peculiar artificial concoction. And so the pattern continues into infinity. These kinds of infinite circular patterns occur often. It might be that whatever it is that is making my thoughts has a sense of humor, hence the thoughts that my thoughts aren’t my own. But what is humor? Humor is something I define with my brain. It follows, by this argument, that humor is therefore itself a creation of this artificial outside entity. From there, it’s easy to see that I have no control over my conceptions of anything. And that truly is funny, if a bit sad as well.