I was thinking about the movie Purple Rain today. Remember how Prince rode around the cold streets of Minneapolis on a purple motorcycle while donning poofy, Jheri-curled hair, high-heeled French boots, and a lacy, ruffly ascot? And he was usually scowling. Can you imagine how crazy it would be if a guy like that actually lived in your neighborhood? You'd give him a name like "The Purple Guy." You'd see him riding around town on his purple bike, going through the Burger King drive-thru or picking up his dry cleaning. You'd tell your friends about how you'd seen this crazy-ass purple guy, but they'd just laugh at you. You'd go to the club that weekend, and-- holy shit!-- the little purple guy would be up there on stage with his weird-ass band, singing songs about going crazy, and crying doves and masturbation.