Q: Do porcupines live in holes?

A: Moles live in holes. That's where they tunnel and dig and eat - worms and grubs mostly. It's where they make their mole music, their sweet, beautiful mole music. The most beautiful music you can imagine. You hear that music, next thing you know you're leaving your house, walking out the door - what is that beautiful music? Where is it coming from? - you find a hole. The music's coming from the hole. The most beautiful music. Music meant for you, only you. You climb in, look around. There you see it, the most beautiful thing in  the world.

You see a mole.

You see a mole standing there, in the dirt, greeting you, arms wide, mole hands splayed, tiny mouth breaking into a tiny, toothy smile. "Hi," he seems to say, "Hi! Welcome to my hole!" You think that's what he's saying. You're not sure, you don't speak mole. You're sure of one thing. You've never loved anything as much in your life.

You love the way he tunnels, love the way he digs, love the way he eats mole meals - piles of worms, 20 or 30, that have been incapacitated - love the way he can barely see. Most of all you love his music, his tender mole music.

You call the mole Steve. That's what he looks like. That's who he is. Steve. The most beautiful creature on God's Earth. The love of your life. Steve. The mole.

You choose a life with Steve. You choose to leave behind surface life, human life - house, wife, kids, car, DVD collection - and make a life with Steve. A mole life. In his mole hole.

After a while you get used to the side glances and the upturned noses and the graffiti - the worst things imaginable sprayed right on your house. I don't have to tell you what it says, you can read - and the firings and the bankruptcy and the lawsuits and the visits from animal control, and you find happiness, true happiness down in that hole. In that hole with the mole.

One day you wake up and everything is different.  The hole seems smaller, dirtier. Steve's not as friendly. He acts like he doesn't even know you. He acts like he can't even see you. He doesn't offer you any of his mole meal. He runs when you try to cuddle. Instead of making beautiful music, he hisses and gnaws. Instead of making sweet love, he bites and scratches.

The truth sets in. You meant nothing to him. He used you - for warmth, for food, for shelter. The love you had was fake, false - make believe. You feel ashamed, stupid - how could a mole love a man? No wonder your wife left you, no wonder your kids mocked you. All the graffiti makes sense now.

I'm okay now. It's been a tough road, but I'm okay.

To answer your question, sir, I don't have a porcupine problem. I have a mole problem. There's a mole in that hole. An awful, evil mole.

Pour the cement.