You thought you got a good laugh at this guy at the festival, calling him “Cletus” and “Jim Varney” and trying to read the back of his tie-dyed shirt. When he left early, you joked that he was going to fix a carburetor for the Dukes of Hazzard and then make some moonshine for Tom Petty.

Who was laughing hardest when you got home late and found him in bed with your mother in a twisted mass of sunburned limbs and hair?

Who was laughing then?