An old man, in a cave, near a mountaintop sat alone in silence for two years, absorbed in deep thoughts that could lead his mind into the deepest crevices of its darkest matter for the ever elusive lyrics to the perfect love song. A lizard scurried across his stockinged feet, slowly stirring him from the prolonged nap. He stood, and began the long descent, with surrendered emotions, swallowed pride, down the mountain. Utterly defeated, he stared at his comfortable feet, cozy, wrapped in sensible colored patterns. His only friends, Mr. Left and Ms. Right. Then he raised his head at the same moment the sun broke the horizon, and in a brain-flash, the right words came.
“Truth Is Weirder Than Any Fiction” – Hunter S. Thompson