We can’t bust heads like we used to. But we have our ways. One trick is to tell stories that don’t go anywhere. Like the time I caught the ferry to Shelbyville. I needed a new heel for my shoe. So I decided to go to Morganville, which is what they called Shelbyville in those days. So I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time. Now, to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on 'em. “Gimme five bees for a quarter,” you’d say. Now where were we… oh yeah. The important thing was that I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. They didn’t have any white onions, because of the war. The only thing you could get was those big yellow ones…
My story begins in nineteen-dickety-two. We had to say -dickety- because the Kaiser had stolen our word -twenty-. I chased that rascal to get it back, but gave up after dickety-six miles. What are you cackling at, fatty? Too much pie, that’s your problem! Now, I’d like to digress from my prepared remarks to discuss how I invented the terlet…
