Like a moose � but a pretty moose � confronted with a shotgun, you planned to spend the day just moose-ing around: grazing, dozing, copulating with a moose-un. But hunting season has other plans. There is your lover�s safety-orange vest and camouflage hat, the wading boots, and, of course, the big trophy knife. (They always take a trophy.) Your plans will be revealed as stupid sylvan fantasia; and then you will see only the jagged hole, the blood, the frantic spasms of your forelegs. Your final visions are the white tails of other hooved lovers bounding fearfully away from your disaster, off into the safe forest of their loves. Everything goes black. You, alone, believe you will die. But you will not. When you come to, you will be one very pissed-off two-ton antlered motherfucker. Drag your bloody tufty ass out of there and go home, and gore anyone who gets in your way.

They say that a spiritual awakening occurs when the obvious becomes obvious. �These cigarettes won�t kill me,� we say with every puff. �When I was a little girl I knew I�d be a jazz singer in Harlem,� we think into our pillows every night. �I�ve always dreamed of starring in a hardcore double-penetration video,� we weep in our therapist�s Upper West Side office, �and I want my dreams to come true!� This is your moment. Your dumper�s shortsighted cruelty is life�s gift. Now that you�re free and unafraid, you must make yourself into what you always knew you would be. Whether or not you become friends with your dumper, you will come to love him or her with gratitude as you scat away smoke-free into your own fantastic, pornographic future.