Q: Why are you here?
A: I’ve been asking myself that question for a long time. I just kinda showed up one day, but I guess that’s all of us. The only thing I remember from my birth was popping out the front doors of a lighthouse, a doctor clapping his hands demeaningly and declaring, “Looks a little undercooked.” So, pretty much right from the start, this world seemed willing to take a massive dookie on me whenever it got the chance. But what am I doing here? What’s the point? What’s my purpose? How am I supposed to know? Maybe it’s to get people to laugh at me like a court jester or something. I seem to be pretty good at that. Just one, big punching bag or a giant whoopie cushion. Nobody knows I’m there until they sit down and hear the fart.