I was driving on the freeway in the fast lane with a rabid wolverine in my underwear when suddenly a guy behind me in the back seat popped right up and cupped his hands across my eyes. I guessed, “Is it Uncle Frank or Cousin Louie? Is it Bob or Joe or Walter? Could it be Bill or Jim or Ed or Bernie or Steve?” I probably would have kept on guessing But about that time we crashed into the truck. And as I'm laying bleeding there on the asphalt, finally, I recognize the face of my Hibachi dealer who takes off his prosthetic lips and tells me: “Everything you know is wrong. Black is white, up is down, and short is long. And everything you thought was just so important doesn't matter.”