"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Fred shouted as he leaped to block the trash receptacle. "You're not just going to throw that away, are you?"

Laurie blinked as she looked down at the empty yogurt container in her hands. "Yes? I mean it is garbage."

"That yogurt lid is assuredly not garbage," Fred said as he snatched the container out of her hands. He tossed the bottom portion away and kept the lid. "I've been collecting yogurt lids for nearly ten years now. I'd wager I've got the largest assortment of them this side of the Mississippi. It's taken over most of the rooms in my house, so now I sleep in the corner of the laundry room. Although I'll be out of space there soon, too."

"Um, okay," Laurie said. "But isn't having room to sleep more important than collecting used yogurt lids?"

"Excuse me?" Fred sputtered. "Are you joking right now? Surely you must be. I need the yogurt lids as an offering for the ninth dimensional gnomes. I must appease them. They like to lick the old yogurt film off the lid. Everybody knows that."

"The who from where?" Laurie asked.

"For crying out loud, do you really not know about this? What are they teaching people in school nowadays? The ninth dimensional gnomes think Earth is responsible for the defiling of their great Temple of A'pth. You know, dedicated to the worship of all things A'pth related. But it wasn't Earth that did it, you see. It was the denizens of Yavin, a planet that looks almost exactly like Earth except for the fact that there's no New Jersey. It's easy to see how there could be confusion. Unfortunately the ninth dimensional gnomes have sworn vengeance on Earth and the only thing that can save us is used yogurt lids. I must collect as many as possible for the Day of Reckoning."

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about right now?" Laurie asked.

"Have you not listened to a single word I've said?" Fred threw up his hands in disbelief. "I've been discussing the ninth dimensional... wait, hang on a second. I really like this song." Fred snapped his fingers and danced as he sang along to a Lionel Richie song that was being played in the background through some speakers in the ceiling.

Laurie tried to say something but he hushed her until the song finished.

"Okay as I was saying, the ninth... oh wait a minute. I like this song, too."

He hummed his way through songs by George Michael and Hall and Oates before a Spandau Ballet song came on that he deemed was not good enough to delay his important message any longer.

"So in the future if you could put all of your used yogurt lids into envelopes and mail them to my house, I'd really appreciate it, okay?"

"Sure, Fred. Whatever you say. So when are these sixth dimensional pixies supposed to be attacking us anyway?"

"You don't need to worry about them," Fred said. "Pixies are easily confused by bagpipe music. And houseplants. You play the bagpipes, right?"

"No, I don't," Laurie said.

"Hmm. Well, I know a guy who can teach you but he doesn't accept cash payments. He works on the barter system. You got anything cool you could offer in exchange? Like maybe some ancient Mesopotamian artifacts?"

"No, I don't have anything like that."

"Well, that's not good. Say, any chance you'd want to play some ultimate frisbee with me next Friday? Afterwards we could go get some Dairy Queen."

"No thanks," Laurie said.

"Okay, maybe that's not your speed. Perhaps we could go to a city council meeting instead. They got one coming up next week where they're going to discuss tax codes for small business owners. Should be some really riveting stuff."

"Yeah, I'm busy that night. Speaking of which, I've really got to go. It was nice talking to you, Fred." Laurie hurried away as fast as she could.

Fred turned to his invisible friend Lothar and shrugged his shoulders. "I thought that went pretty well. What do you say, you want to dress up like samurais and feed cotton candy to gerbils?"

"No thanks," Fred's invisible friend Lothar said. "I'm busy that night. Look, I really have to get going, but it was nice talking to you." Lothar hurried away as fast as he could.

Fred wasn't sure what to do so he thought he'd go visit his mom.

She answered the door with a smile, but her face noticeably fell when she saw her son. "Oh, hi Fred. Sorry, I'd love to chat, but I'm really busy right now. In fact, I was just on my way out the door."

"How come everyone's always busy whenever I'm around?"

Fred's mom sighed. "Look there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about for a long time. I didn't have the heart to tell you this, but you're thirty-six now and you deserve to know. Fred, you're really weird."

"I am?" Fred said.

"Yes. I've known it since you were a baby and you were born with a soup can growing out of the back of your head. We had that surgically removed, that wasn't the end of it. Most kids had a favorite stuffed animal, but you always insisted on sleeping with an old plate of lasagna. You were a weird little kid and we hoped you'd grow out of it, but you never did."

"But being an individual is good, Mom. Right? My third grade teacher always said you should be yourself. Really, he did. If you don't believe me we can go ask him right now. I've got him locked up in my closet."

"Normally it's good for people to be themselves. But not you, Fred. You should definitely be somebody else."

"I see," Fred said thoughtfully. And that was how he decided to become Art Garfunkel of international folk sensation Simon and Garfunkel. The real Art Garfunkel tried suing, but apparently there was some mix-up at the social security office and it was decided by the Supreme Court that from here onwards, Fred is actually Art Garfunkel.

He's still pretty weird, but marginally less so.