Even though the weather was perfect for sleeping, Dean Martin woke up with one of the big questions about human existence. What is the purpose of life? Dean Martin is not a philosopher and he didn’t look for that question. And he didn’t want it. It seemed to have squatted somewhere deep in his mind, in a corner he didn’t know existed, and then pounced on him the moment he woke up. The rain was tapping on the window by his bed and he wasn’t in the mood to look for answers but the question insisted: what is the purpose, what is the purpose? Dean Martin was cornered in his bed. Is it to – as the Bard said – find your gift and give it away? What if the only gift to find is some plastic junk toy under a Christmas tree? Does everybody have a gift? What if they don’t? What if they just spend their entire lives looking for something that’s not there? What if I don’t have any gifts, thought Dean? Or maybe there is some other purpose – like to get married, reproduce, help your kids secure incredible amounts of education money they will then have to work their entire lives to pay back? What is the purpose of life, Dean, what is it?! Fuck, I don’t know, thought Dean and got up to fix some coffee.