Everything begins and ends at the horizon.
Walter was almost positive that his perception of the horizon was accurate and that everybody else's was askew, and that everybody would come around to his way of thinking before it was too late.
He was right, but he was wrong.
What drew Daisy to Edmund wasn't his dancing.
Or his looks.
Or his drooling.
What drew Daisy to Edmund was his sensitive nature.
And his way with animals.
And his love for the music of The Carpenters.
Plus, he was hung like a horse.
Wilhelm was an intense, certified genius who wrote a scathing column on modern culture for the Mensa Times-Picayune. He saw the world as one big asshole, so he never left the sanctuary of his little bungalow, surrounded by his his goldfish, his Fresca and his collection of rare erotica.
What Wilhelm didn't know was that the "asshole" outside his south window was actually just a hole in the ground, and that the north side of his bungalow faced a communal swimming pool shared by five other bungalows. His neighbors were all busty, Teutonic flight attendants with Lufthansa.
I guess "genius" is a relative term.
