Monkey.

Consider an infinite number of monkeys, equipped with an infinite number of typewriters, typing infinitely.

Sooner or later, Shakespeare's complete works will be produced. But consider the feelings of the monkey who produces a draft with a typo in the last speech of The Tempest. So close; and yet so far.

Come to this, if the above scenario is enacted then somewhere along the line there must also be a monkey who produces an exact facsimile of the 15th May 1977 issue of Woman.

Imagine that. Anyway, I'm off to surf a for bunch of monkeys on a finite amount of computers, typing finitely - for it is, after all, November.