Carlton knows this, a little too well. Neighborhood kids plagued him, calling him Mike Teevee for years. Just because he wore guns and had sticky-outty ears. He didn't want to be a fake television cowboy, he wanted to be a lawman. He is a lawman.

He sighs. Loompas are real. He's at the of the universe with sentient female furniture and rats serving drinks. And he's not dead or in hell.

This is somehow his reality. It makes absolutely no sense.

He sighs again.