Steve thrusts and grunts; he splits and splats; he weeps and moans as a veritable hurricane passes through his bowels. He can feel the angry spirits of the thousands upon thousands of fish who were pureed to make the sandwich he had so lovingly enjoyed a scant hour before, swirling throughout his intestines, biting him, mocking him. He fears that the end is upon him, and as a last will and testament he begins to furiously play his guitar, pouring everything he has into one last solo.
As the storm subsides and he finds himself still amongst the land of the living, he comes to a sudden understanding: HE NOW KNOWS THE TRUE NATURE OF THE BLUES. It suddenly dawns on him: Now is the time.
Without another moment's hesitation, he packs up his guitar, loads it into the trunk of his car, and within minutes he is speeding down the highway in the direction of Swaggering Bob's Dolorous House of Chitlins and Other Culinary Oddities. Tonight is the night. Tonight he realizes his dream.
At open mic night he will finally prove to the world, once and for all, that he is THE REAL DEAL.