While minding my own business, an amusing thought entered the fracas of my mind, like a burly bouncer pressing his way onto a crowded nightclub dance floor to nab an intoxicated frat boy in preparation of tossing him out of the mother fucking club for being an asshole. Why do we park on a driveway, and drive on a parkway? As the bouncer hurled me through the nightclub's door, and my face hit the cold, rough sidewalk outside, I realized that I was stealing material from a popular 1980s comedian by the name of Gallagher. My entire pathetic existence is now rendered completely and utterly meaningless. Hey, look, I found a quarter in the gutter!