Anyway, 10:30, the other night, I go out in my yard, and there’s
the Wurster kid, looking up in the tree.
I say, “What are you looking for?”
He says “I’m looking for my burrow owl.”
I say, “Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick. Everybody knows
the burrow owl lives in a hole. In the ground. Why the hell do you
think they call it a burrow owl, anyway?”