they were regulars here, then grew old and died, and the worms that ate them had children, and those worms had children, and so on for generations until one day someone came along and said "i know, let's can worms" and so he did, but nobody bought them, so he threw them away and locked his one remaining sentimental can in a trunk and threw the trunk into the ocean where it floated to the bottom and rested there for thousands of years until the oceans all dried up, and then the last man on earth came crawling by, desperate and crying dry tears for want of food, and he found the trunk and opened it up and lo and behold there was the can, and a gleam came into his eye as he scrabbled in his generous overall pocket for the can opener he'd been waiting to use for uncounted days and weeks and months; he applied the opener to the lid, cranked it around, and a worm popped out and said "so at the end of the day whaddya think is really better, CD or vinyl?"
