John stares at his grape juice glass. He watches a bubble pop at the top. The seconds on Ricia's pocketwatch slowly drip by, escaping into the eternal void of time past-gone. Some sounds of drinks being poured come from behind the bar. Bushroot picks a weed out of his "hair". Two small white lab mice make an attempt to take over the bar, but no one notices. The TV continues to play whatever it's playing. John stands up, holding his glass of grape juice. "This grape juice, so frail, so mature, yet so young, holds secrets to life we mere foolish mortals could never comprehend. Nor us immortals. No, this inanimate, nonthinking object knows more than all our minds bound together ever could in a swirling mass of moldy peanutbutter with red sprinkles and apples that fall on guys' heads. While a knight rides on his noble steed, he could never see the peak at the top of a snow covered volcano on the open praire, surrounded by herds of cattle, being surveyed by sadistic English teachers marking up my papers -- and your papers -- with blue and red pens mentioning our horrendous use of runon sentences. But what is a renegade grenadier anyway? Doth anyone know the answer. Linus doesn't. Dilbert doesn't. Team Rocket doesn't. No, the answer lies in Disney's Hercules and pink fuzzy bunny slippers. Yes, the ultimate answer. 42. Size 42. Episode 42. But Deep Thought never produced the answer. The Earth was destroyed. Pikachu was never caught. The noble steed was slaughtered into Kris Kringle's battered and flattened Reindeer sausage. Yet the orange dragon atop Mt. Killhimtomorrow remains intact, sleepless, yet shattered into a million figurative pieces. But he still hasn't figured out how to uninstall Windows 98 to get Windows 95 back, but he realized it didn't really matter so he threw himself into the flames of death. Oh, poor little pony! Little green pony! Moss covered pony with buckteeth. Ahh, how time flies when you're being chased by a vicious guard dog. Yes, indeedilly doo. Too heads are better than one, unless they've been disembodied. That makes me nautious. Not nachos, for Mexican food is the biggest curse ever given to man. Well, not really. But Moses said it was. Even if he didn't, he did, though he didn't. No, noone understands antimatter. It was a concept created by some out of work physicist. But you'll appear stupid if you don't know at the conventions so you nod. And nod hard. But not so hard your head would fall off. That would be painful. Pain, not as in Pain and Panic, but pain as in 'Oh goshdangit! That bloody hurts!', y'know. I remember once I broke my thumb. That too, my sons and daughters, was painful. An Underground Society begins. A nasal hair grows too long. A pig named Napoleon takes over a farm. Zeus has another kid with a mortal woman. Some guy named Gene pushes Finney out of a tree, yet we will never know how wise grape juice is till we fill its shoes."