While recently buying gum at a local convenience store, I noticed the clerk at the cash register had the most incredible white-head pimple on his chin. It made me swoon, this pimple. Honestly, I was almost weak in the knees, made delirious with desire and envy. It took every ounce of my mighty, masculine strength to resist reaching up, grabbing that chin in my hands and squeezing! squeezing! squeezing! until the money shot enveloped me in its greasy bodily payday fluids. The euphoria of zapping that zit would have been similar to the unbridled emotion I get when listening to Texas Overture by Pere Ubu--a tune so filled to bursting with creamy-hot goodness that even the moster guitar riffs could be eaten like toast.