No, Amos, you have just woken up from an extended dream. All those things you remember about your "life" here were imaginary.

You are not who you think you are.

Your real name isn't Amos. It's Louie. Louie Troutfriend.

You are an assembly line worker at a poultry processing plant. You work day after day handling filthy, disgusting chicken carcasses that go by ceaselessly on a noisy conveyor belt. You have handled over 3 trillion of these pathetic dead chickens by now, and have also been exposed to a simply inconceivable number of bacteria and pathogens in so doing.

It was cumulative blood poisoning from all the crap in the chicken processing plant that finally caused you to become ill, lapse into a coma, and dream up your supposed existence as a pretentious wordsmith on an internet forum called Mudcat Cafe.

You are not a wordsmith. Your greatest talent is chugging 3 beers in under a minute and a half at the local bar on Friday nights and doing a ventriloquism act through your belly button with a George Bush action figure.

You have a wife who used to be in the roller derby, but she had to quit after getting pregnant and miscarrying for the 4rth time.

You have $120 in the bank and owe the bank about $13,000. Your job at the chicken processing plant has been given in your absence to an illegal immigrant named Alfonso...poor bastard! I pity him.

You and Alfonso are both shit out of luck. I suggest volunteering for something...but I'm not sure what.

Well, chin up, old chap...it could be worse! ;-)