“You think you’re gonna live another, 60, 70, 80 years? Well, I tell you what. My BELLY is gonna outlive the lot of you! Just look at this thing. Jesus, just check out the hair and the roundness and how it moves to the music. How can something this beautiful ever die? I’ll tell you, buddy. IT CAN’T.”

And the prophesy did say that one day, a man would come who rolled upon his back while air-guitaring, stood on his mighty feet and stomped like a goose, then bobbed his head with a woman of his choosing like some drunken, magnificent chicken.

Did we cheer when this prophesy, in the year two thousand and ten, did come true.

We did cheer.