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So I'm sitting up here on this magic mushroom, minding my own beeswax, when along comes the most righteously ugly caterpillar I've ever laid eyes on; and he's wearing an all-weather plastic rain poncho, eight pairs of scuffed saddle-shoes, dark glasses, and a suspicious-looking hand-rolled cigarette never sold by the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Co. 'Get off my turf,' the creep says to me. 'Like hell,' I reply. 'I was here first,' he says, in a fit of pique. 'That's what the Indians said,' I answer, 'and look what happened to them!' So he settles down to give me rotten looks, and I figure the only way I'm going to get this hairy bug to mellow out is to tell him some stories, which is what I'm known for, so I tell him the following: about the guy whose next-door neighbor raises flowers with eyeballs; about the actor who was so much into the Method that he became the characters in the play; about the aliens that came to Earth to burn up in our atmosphere; and about what happens to the guy who used to say 'rain, rain, go away, come again another day.' But it didn't do a bit of good, he took me to the Housing Commission and tried to get me evicted. So I stepped on the little green sonofabitch."
