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You are coasting down the main drag of your small town on a scooter. But in this world, scooters are not universally mocked. Scooters are the smooth, gliding chariots of the respected. It is a balmy, spring afternoon. Your favorite townspeople eagerly wave to you from the storefronts of their successful small businesses. You are magnificently happy to see them. You are content with the world. You have never heard of war, never have you seen the film Crash, not once have your gorgeous and soft ears fallen prey to the gnashing and soulless sounds of Sleigh Bells. The band. You pause your ebullient gliding at a water fountain. The pressure and temperature is ideal. From a nearby bench, Ernest Borgnine motions for you to join him. Yes, he is still alive. Also, he has baked a pie.

Hilarious.

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