There was once a town called Mucus, Missouri. A few of the people in Mucus were rather happy. A large chunk of other people were completely miserable. The majority, however, were neither particularly happy nor excessively sad; they simply existed, incapable of experiencing emotions of any sort. In this town, a Newspaper was printed, and his name was Nigel. He was alive, obviously. He was born in a factory. He was an edition of the Saturday paper. Nigel sat on her front steps and thought, "My, what a lovely home. I'm so glad I was delivered to such a splendid place." It was a refrigerator.