He used to ask his mother, why are we here, where do we go, how is it that you are dressed like that, why am I not as big as you, where is the sun when the moon shines, why don't I breathe underwater, is the sum of the mass not equivalent to a form, is Santa Claus a transsexual, does rock and roll make you rich? As the boy grew into manhood he kept asking all kinds of people about all kinds of things until his mother seriously considered a retroactive abortion or to take the boy to a psychiatrist or even a taxidermist or to the dog food factory, but instead she bought the boy a microphone. Tick tock poor old mom, you are sitting on a bomb.