I don't know how we got here. Don't know why we're here.
I don't know if we have a purpose other than a genetic predisposition to procreate. But an amoeba can reproduce, so one can only wish for a higher purpose than a monkey-humping, huckle-buck in the hay barn.
There's always that pesky voice reminding us to do our bit. Sometimes it takes more than a good night's sleep to inspire us to do some good while bare-backing this hurling biosphere.
That's where the ukulele comes in.
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