A medley of Bee Gee songs rings rhapsodiously through this tender grove of coconut trees. Suddenly I remember I am not here only due to the lack of primates. It is more, more than the heartless cribbage games played by God, more than the slimy toenail paint on which He nibbles. There are vicissitudes of cheese and fiddle-playing mosquitoes, but I have found them all and they are insipid. I must locate the outrigger canoe and die.
– Mike Norris