"We've found the satellite that beams mistakes into all our brains," the hostess told me.
"No, really. Mistakes all come from that one source, the benevolent alien race who also taught us philosophy and rock n' roll. We're going to shoot that satellite down and stop making mistakes."
I brought them all lots and lots of deceptively strong beer so that, in the end, the Howitzer was irreparably damaged.
I need my mistakes, thank you very much.