Fishing for Trousers

Give a man a fish, possibly delicious and upon some kind of table, and he will eat for about 1 minute per unit fish volume, as the saying goes. Give a man half a fish and he will eat for a similar amount of time, including that spent pondering on what you've done with the other half of the whole sea bream for which he paid. If one continues this process then a point is reached at which the man cannot even tell he has any fish, because technically he doesn't - all he has is an atom which happened to be part of a molecule which happened to be part of a protein which happened to be present in the fish before it was diced so very thoroughly. There's also a fairly good chance he won't be leaving a generous tip.

Whilst it is likely that complaints over a lack of fish will be prevalent following this asymptotic meal, it is not so likely that the man, whose hunger is matched only by his anger, will marvel at what he was given - a brick.
The effects of hunger on object identification are well understood. In dire enough circumstances it has been noted that a great many people will mis-identify the clearly inedible kebab as an item of food. In this case, the apparent plate of nothing was in fact a brick. It's the kind of brick from which not only buildings, but the bricks, cement, builder, and most (if not all) Barry Manilow records are made.
Bricks, traditionally speaking, shouldn't be particularly mobile without significant assistance. It's how you can always infer that there was at least an arm of some sort masterminding the flight of that lump of baked clay which careened so carelessly through your patio doors. In addition to their predilection for being static, it's generally accepted that bricks are made of something, as opposed to nothing. A brick made of nothing is a gap, and gaps are what walls are there to prevent.

The problem is that in the realm of quantum physics, tradition is ignored like human rights in one of the friskier third world nations. And where do we find our plated up brick? Making itself at home on quantum physics' sofa with a copy of the radio times, spilling gravy on all of the soft furnishings.

As such, our atom breaks each of these rules for good brickitude with nary of a thought of how quickly it will forgo its next scout badge for construction.
It's not entirely fair, since atoms are made of two main parts whereas your common-or-garden house brick is considered as a single lump of happiness. And it's from here that the problems arise.
In the middle is the main bulk of our fish-meal. It's a pile of neutrons and protons chumming about together as a nucleus and acting like a group of students with no concept of personal space playing strong nuclear-force twister. The remainder of the atom is a number of electrons who whizz around the outside in various rigidly defined orbits without a care in the world. they whizz so much in fact, that rather than being a physical thing in space, it's sometimes more convenient to think of them as a probability distribution of negative charge spread around the entirety of the three-dimensional orbit. The candidacy of our atom for full brickhood is beginning to collapse, since motion at extreme speeds and uncertainty as to where the brick is at any given moment are generally a little taboo when it comes to satisfying building codes. Homeowners like to know that their bathroom door is going to remain in the doorway and not trundle off into the space behind the fridge.
The issue is then compounded by the consideration that the orbitals of these electrons form the boundary of the atom, loosely speaking. So, travelling from one end of the orbit to the other, the diameter of the atom is generally of the order of 0.1 nanometres, or one thousandth of a millionth of a metre. This kind of journey is unlikely to be expensive on the bus. The diameter of the nucleus is typically of the order of 1 femtometre, or a thousandth of a millionth of a millionth of a metre. This is also going to be an economical trip.
The ratio of the volume of the atom compared to that of the nucleus, ends up as approximately 1:10^15, i.e. 1 with 15 0s behind it. i.e. 1:1000000000000000.
The nucleus contains around 99.9% of the mass of the atom. (Oprah Winfrey contains around 99.9% of the mass of the occupants of her studio during recordings).
The upshot of these short holidays and huge (tiny) numbers is that the vast, staggering majority of the atom is not in fact made of something, so much as nothing at all. Everything around you is as close as makes no difference to being entirely gaps. Even if the man had received his whole fish, he would have had only 1 part in a thousand million million of a meal. No matter how many sea bream he orders, his plate will always be empty; just like his wallet if he keeps paying for restaurant meals before they are served.

Complex Trousers

                The world is a complex place. A very complex place. In a vote to determine the most complex thing in our 4 dimensions, probably held by the editors of the Daily Telegraph, the world be would sure fire winner - even without canvassing or a campaign endorsed by a professional wrestler. You may very well be of the opinion that setting up your wireless router is fairly complex, but the world is at least 3 times as complicated as that. At least. (Upon the inclusion port blocking the iPlayer, this comparison is of course reversed.)
                What makes the world complicated is that there an awful lot of things in it, and all of them are vying to be continue being in it. Some of them even want to be able to have access to online tutorials on how to get salsa stains out of the curtains from anywhere in the house, which only makes things worse. As one of these things, we take our competition with the other things to extreme levels; we have long since won our war against the insidious Dodo and are well on our way to crushing the last dying breaths from the dangerous and vitriolic practice of being nice to one another for reasons other than personal gain. We raise our arms to the blackening sky with each victory, safe in the knowledge that simplification is under way, and no-one needs to be helped out by anybody else with anything, or heavens forbid smiled at by a stranger.
                As the dust settled on the last remaining Dodo skeleton (because the nice lady who volunteered to clean it was executed as a war criminal) an observation was made by a manipulative bastard, who was able to alert his networked acquaintances from the comfort of the space behind the boiler. The observation read thusly - the removal of some elements of a very complex system makes the other aspects of a very complex system behave differently, in a very complex way. After waving his networked device around a lot in order to find what paltry signal he had available, this particular bastard played no further part in proceedings. We shall assume he contracted typhoid.
                The problem with how certain people perceive this observation is the same problem that the same people have when trying to unwrap sweets with their mouth, namely that they have everything the wrong way around and paper tastes awful. They remove one element from the overall system and watch as the butterfly effect takes place, causing the extinction of a subspecies of bee, begetting a fall in the numbers of rare flora and a sharp increase in the number of people willing to sit in a coffee shop to exploit the free wi-fi and discuss the lack of bouquets available to bribe their partners into forgetting that they shot the dog last weekend. At this point they make a bold declaration, a challenge to fill the gauntlet before it is cast down . "It all relies on a few too many coincidences doesn't it? This can't all have happened by chance or mistake?". They are taking something from the end of the system and saying that they could never work out how it affects everything else, let alone build the entirety of the rest of the system from it, therefore it can't be done. They're not so much putting the cart before the horse as taking a newspaper which happened to fall into one of the boxes being transported, looking at the horse and claiming the situation could never have happened by chance because they don't know what a cart is. They are expecting to be able to take a shiny new wireless router and infer the existence of the dinosaurs which must have died to become the oil which is manufactured to produce the plastics moulded to form the casing of the router itself.
                The interwoven cycles and creatures are not cosmic coincidences, neither is the suitability of Earth for the life on it too convenient to have happened by chance. The wrapping paper is stuck between the teeth of ignorance, but it just so happens that there are toothpicks on the table. The life on the planet exists because it is one of the possibilities opened up by the presence and proportions of the chemicals on it and the conditions that they produce when coupled with the positioning and behaviour of the planet in the solar system. The various species are interwoven because they co-evolved that way and anything which didn't fit into the harmonious plan was incapable of continuing to exist because it didn't fit in, and nothing else wanted it to (see also: Jim Davidson).  The complex relationships we observe are the result of a set of billions of criteria and how they interact, what they allow and what they don't. You can look at a piece from a jigsaw but you can't infer the whole picture from that one piece. Tragically, and as with so many otherwise perfectly interesting subjects for an infographic passed around at the kind of dinner party you wish you were invited to so that you could detail why you don't want to attend, it just comes down to statistics and very, very, very big numbers. Like, 6 or something,  I don't even know.
                So yes, everything may seem like an incredibly unlikely series of coincidences at this stage, but only if you're looking at it cross eyed and through a mirror behind wrong-tinted glass.