I rode my bicycle down the mountain the other day because the wife wanted some bread and butter. Dang, it was chilly out there, and I'd forgotten my damn hat. So when I came riding along and a stick slapped my face, my damn ears damn nearly shattered like glass.

Anyways I got down into town and I sat myself down at a cafe table. A couple of blokes are banging on the piano, ringing my ears. I'm getting pissed off. So guess what I say to the waiter when he asks me what I'll have? I tell him "nothing. give me a good, nice plate of absolutely nothing, because that's all I'll be getting today."

The fella walked off all confusedly. I could feel my stomach growling, but I walked out of the cafe anyways because of how mad I got after reaching my hand in my pocket and finding that my wallet had gone missing.

This shitty day got worse more when, cycling downhill from the cafe to the general store, I soon found myself skidding to a stop due to my rear wheel having fallen off.

All this explains why I had to walk 6 miles back to the camp. All this explains why my lady didn't get delivered her butter or her bread. And all this explains why, when I stumbled upon an abandoned steam-roller, and I tried my excavator key inside of it, and the thing started, I opted to roll onward and flatten your dear Dr. Goldstein's Cadillac. The fucker. I hope he had a laugh. Lord knows I did.

You mad, Goldstein? If so, I dare you: Come up to the cabin. Tell me how mad you are. I'd love to have a beer over it while swatting flies and watching the sun go down.

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