You know, I've been thinking about the names of things. There's a lot of geese around here; many a goose. I wish geese were called "honkies" instead. A lot of people have been asking me what exactly the Eighth Stage is. Well first, if you have to ask, you probably can't afford it. And also, I need to have a secret to take to the grave, something to whisper with my final expiration of air, into the ear of a woman who has only at that moment realized how much she loves me. And if she's worth a damn, she'll join me right then and there in the Great Return.