One of the journals I edit periodically receives letters from an old man in the country. They are written in an old-style hand with many quaint expressions of respect, and concern the price of subscription and back issues. The letters are clearly products of an old brain stuck in an infinite loop.
All are almost identically phrased and keep coming regardless of how we reply. It looks as though this gentleman uses a master copy of the letter to rattle off a new one every time he starts to feel the need for subscription information, but that he is unable to remember that he has already had that information from us repeatedly.
One might think that the existence of a master copy would alert him to the fact that this has been going on for years. But maybe there isn’t one. Maybe the full text of his letter has become burnt into his firmware, ready to be copied onto paper every time the “Must Subscribe to More Journals” neurons in his brain flicker on.