In the town of Snuffilmburg, everyone lives in small huts which squat low to the ground. Frederico never gave this a second thought until his girlfriend admitted to be running around behind his back with the fire-domed Sylvan; and this revelation fanned some latent desire Frederico held inside to fling himself off a rooftop.

Frederico just could not understand — Sylvan had the physique of ten lumpy pillows and all the humor of a still-born lamb. And the more he thought about this, the more delicious his suicide agenda became.

Hitching a ride with a blue-beehived truckette named Myrtle, Frederico arrived in Big City three hours later, twirling a Slim Jim between his lips. (Thanks, Myrtle.)

Looking up and all around, Frederico saw before him a panoply of shimmering roof tops, and also thousands of glistening windows from which he could defenestrate if he so chose.

Then he turned around and saw a marquee, surrounded by a parade of chasing lights, boasting a 2:00pm viewing of Boobies Without Pasties II.

“Well, I guess I could postpone my death for an hour or two,” Frederico murmured as he felt up his pockets for a few wadded bills.

It has been three years and Frederico is now the proprietor of his own adult theater. He has since outgrown that old dream of his.