Once there was a Gitomancer. He was a most puissant wielder of magic of a very particular kind. If he ate a lunch he didn’t like, he’d simply jump back to a pre-lunch commit and create a new lunch branch. That probably wasn’t the best way to do that, but he didn’t care. It worked well enough. Soon, though, there were fifteen versions (or branches, if you will) of the Gitomancer. (His name was Fred and he kept getting fatter and fatter the more he used his git magic. But that was OK. He had a pretty roomy wizard tower.) All the different Gitomancers, frankly, didn’t get along very well. Gitomancer (a41b6e7fdc295c4d40c50e64e59b282da2d5dcff) had terrible taste in fashion (yellow suspenders, for one). Gitomancer (9ad4227e44c76ea761bb3fd38f9c44152a4f2894) got crumbs just everywhere, even when he wasn’t eating anything. Inexplicable! Anyway, there was a big wizard showdown and then there were only three Gitomancers left (they were pretty sore, but thanks to their diff spell, they knew exactly who was who). They had a sneaking suspicion that all the others were still around. Somewhere.
Moral: It’s turtles all the way down.