What you don't know about... the can opener could change your life, man.

I believe in… the can opener. Every time I open the drawer I look a little longer at it, just sitting there. Spooning with the salad forks. I can hear it’s little voice speaking Spanish, you know, speaking Spanish like it does when the drawer is closed. And I run over and listen for a second… I don’t speak Spanish, really. But I listen, hand poised on the handle, for a moment then jolt the drawer out. Silence! “Coward!” I yell, “Come on, just once you dirty bastard! I could hear you in there!” So I’d get Rosetta Stone and start to learn, getting the fundamentals down, waiting the next day to hear the muffled voice of… the can opener. Waiting for Spanish and I hear German. It’s German now.

I believe in… the can opener. I put it in the pocket of my bright green goat. His name is Barbara and he is from New Zealand. He is a New Zealand Greenish Pouch Goat, and he cost about $900. Barbara has a pouch on his side, which is nifty for storage, and is actually the perfect size for… the can opener. Living in the city here we don’t have fields of grain, or the typical leafy diet of the New Zealand Greenish Pouch Goat, so I’ve bought him corn. It comes in a green can and is bright yellow and to be honest, Barbara likes it. He doesn’t have opposable thumbs, but he likes it. And he’s green.

I believe in… the can opener. I took it with me when I flew to Australia. Long flight, sat next to a panicking bald man. “Something’s wrong with the plane!” he told me right away, “we’re going to die!” He was a clownish mess and I hated him. “Gahh!” I yelled, and hit him over the head with… the can opener. Then I thought about what it means to hit someone over the head with… the can opener. Some bystanders, then the stewardess, then the pilot, then the police informed me that it meant assault with a deadly weapon, and that people were no longer allowed to bring can openers on planes.

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