4:20

The first thought the beaver had as his head cleared after the collision was, “Oh gross, I’ve got a rat up my ass!” The second thought was, “Oh gross, I’ve got a rat up my ass!” As a result of these two very similar thoughts, the beaver jumped — in as much as a short-legged beaver with a rat up his ass can jump — almost straight up and swiveled in an ungainly heel turn to settle between the slightly flattened rat and the stairs.

“Gaagh!” the beaver spat, “I hate rats.” He backed away slowly through the once-more scattered papers and continued to mutter. “Stupid, ugly … can’t stand the smell … all over my ass for hell’s sake … Not coming off I bet …”

The rat for its part lay where it was, its sole movement a slight downward turn of its cheeks and whiskers producing a look that could only be described as pathetic — if one chose to have sympathy for a rat, that is. And predictably enough, very few people did; the beaver certainly had zero sympathy, empathy, affinity, harmony or anything smacking of fraternity for the bedraggled and flattened rodent. In fact the beaver tended toward outrage, affront, aggrievement, and offence.

The spiders on the ceiling were of course neutral.