“No thanks, dude,” you mumble as you turn away and head for home.  “Someday I’m going to be rich, famous and miserable, and then I’ll be happy,” you think to yourself.

At home in your room you pull the blinds, light a candle and put some My Dying Bride on the stereo.  Here, in solitude, you are at peace… until your retarded mother starts pounding on the door.