In 1968, just before an important person's birthday, a woman had a baby. To be accurate, she had two babies, but this article deals with only one in any detail. The woman was Poxilla Muckerbag and we will begin with the account of the birth of her sons. Poxilla was pushing her shopping trolley and tandem stroller toward her home, a snug, cheerful retreat beneath a concrete flight of stairs that had once been the emergency exit from an illegal gambling house that had been demolished some time ago. Due to the overloading of these carriages with a fascinating variety of articles gleaned from the streets that she wandered, she could push only one at a time. Thus her progress was oscillating and rather leisurely. On this particular afternoon, she approached her domicile even more slowly than us