LET'S PLAY WHERE ARE MY KEYS: How deep do you think you could dig a hole? What if you had ten million friends to help you, and unlimited backhoes? Do that.
How big is your hole now? Imagine the volume of the following things that it would take to fill it up: those berries from palm trees that you can't stop stepping on; dried street-urine; Canadian pennies given to you as change when you buy gum; sap from the tree above your parking spot; skeeter-eaters and swarm termites; opossum; tourists who stop and gape right in front of the escalator; paper cuts; inconsiderate behavior; insecurity. Fill it.
Say, that hole is dangerous. Build a fence around it. The fence should be made from quarter-inch pressboard and it should be right next to your house, maybe even on your property, just a little. For glue, use the stink of live skunks. At the gate in the fence, which is attached by totally dry hinges, which make that noise when you open it, somebody has spit out his gum, and also somebody's dozens of friends also have spit out their gum, and, man, it is hot today with all of this gum on the pavement right in front of the gate. To get into the gate, you need to give your credit card to the guy at the gate, and then all he needs is your security code and password for verification purposes. Coincidentally, the guy at the gate is always the dad of the person who wants to get in, and, weirdly enough, he is naked and sexually aroused.
Hey, David Stern, I found your keys. They're right over there, in that there hole.
