When I was a sloppy teen, I once woke to find a weird saran wrap holder salesman with a porn-stache in my raised ranch home. My ‘rents had regrettably failed to inform me this friend of a friend of a friend’s dirtbag salesman’s friend was staying for the same weekend I had planned to exploit my house or sake of a drinking party on. The party persists, stache-can man lurks n’ lunges, streakin’ his slime wherever he walks. I don’t remember his name, but I am pretty sure he was a Larry. He left my beer fridge empty and a saran wrap holder that never really worked very well, oh well.