Once upon a time when I was but a wee, a wee one in a car with Noel.

A couple of weewees.

A couple of weewees, you could say.

We were driving to the caribou and we saw on the ground.

The most cursed image of all time.

Truly it was cursed, the face of a moon,

two butt cheeks pointing skyward, completely exposed.

And where was the man attached to the butt cheeks, my friend?

Underneath his vehicle.

What was he doing beneath his vehicle?

His dick was assuredly pressed into the gold-hard concrete.

Ah, but it was a hot day!

You're right, my friend, it was hot concrete.

It was burning.

Rachel, why would he do such a thing?

It was a fetish.

We can only assume he was having the time of his wretched life.

Science does tell us that when all other possibilities have been determined false,

the whatever remains, no matter how unlikely, must be true.

Must be a fetish.

It was a fetish.

This is a curse story.

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