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@JonoMarshall
True if nothing is finite, the following sonnet would take about 5*10^813 years for one monkey to randomly stumble upon:
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest
Thou dost beguile the world unbless some mother
For where is she so fair whose uneard womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self love to stop posterity
Thou art thy mothers glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime
So thou through windows of thine age shall see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time
But if thou live rememberd not to be
Die single and thine image dies with thee
Outside of the mathematics, no, stop talking nonsense.