My Sponge in Every Sink Speech
As many of you know, I spend much of my time traveling the country, making inspirational speeches. Today I gave a speech at the Former Drunks With Dreams Syndicate, Omaha chapter. Oi, It was outrageous! After my speech, wholesale riot! Broken chairs, broken jaws, broken hearts! For those of you still drinking, or for Former Drunks With Dreams who had previous engagements, here is the text of my speech:
Thank you for inviting me here today, ladies and gentlemen of the FDWDS - and thank you, Professor Iain J. Jackson, for allowing me to stay in your gorgeous lakeside home. I won't actually be staying there, but my friend Steve will, for he has no home to speak of. He was abandoned at an early age. Then he was reacquired for tax purposes. Onward, however.
Harken unto me, Former Drunks. I have something to say, and I think you'll like it. What is it, you say? It's not that easy. It's never that easy. Lao Tzu said "All difficult things have their origin in that which is easy," but that is of no use to us today. We live in the atomic age, and that means no shirt, no shoes, no soft-shell taco. Except in Arizona.
We need peace and prosperity! We need a sponge in every sink, a ham in every garage, a plastic hand-held weapon that bakes and fires tiny bran muffins! We need lemon-scented Pledge for our wooded surfaces, and something else for the formica! We need a man for all seasons! I would suggest Conway Twitty, but I've heard that he is dead. Just as well. God bless his soul. But what does this have to do with me, you ask. Keep asking! It is one of the eternal questions. "Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?" is another one. "Where are the salad tongs?" is another. Ask them all. Ask them all!
When I last spoke with Mr. Twitty, he told me a little story about a man with a problem. Yes - a deeply problematic man. Is he you? Probably. He was every man, but with a dirtier shirt. He ate at every Chinese buffet in Grand Forks, and he had the paperwork to prove it. But he was hurting inside. What he needed his folding basket full of-
Sorry, folks. That was the end of my speech. I was cut short by the massive brawl. My words of inspiration whipped those Former Drunks With Dreams into a sublime fury, a riot of epic proportions! I was smuggled out the back door in a violin case; my assistant, Porkpie Lewis, drove me to the airport in an unmarked Camry. I was fortunate to have escaped with my life. Exhilarating.
Thank you for inviting me here today, ladies and gentlemen of the FDWDS - and thank you, Professor Iain J. Jackson, for allowing me to stay in your gorgeous lakeside home. I won't actually be staying there, but my friend Steve will, for he has no home to speak of. He was abandoned at an early age. Then he was reacquired for tax purposes. Onward, however.
Harken unto me, Former Drunks. I have something to say, and I think you'll like it. What is it, you say? It's not that easy. It's never that easy. Lao Tzu said "All difficult things have their origin in that which is easy," but that is of no use to us today. We live in the atomic age, and that means no shirt, no shoes, no soft-shell taco. Except in Arizona.
We need peace and prosperity! We need a sponge in every sink, a ham in every garage, a plastic hand-held weapon that bakes and fires tiny bran muffins! We need lemon-scented Pledge for our wooded surfaces, and something else for the formica! We need a man for all seasons! I would suggest Conway Twitty, but I've heard that he is dead. Just as well. God bless his soul. But what does this have to do with me, you ask. Keep asking! It is one of the eternal questions. "Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?" is another one. "Where are the salad tongs?" is another. Ask them all. Ask them all!
When I last spoke with Mr. Twitty, he told me a little story about a man with a problem. Yes - a deeply problematic man. Is he you? Probably. He was every man, but with a dirtier shirt. He ate at every Chinese buffet in Grand Forks, and he had the paperwork to prove it. But he was hurting inside. What he needed his folding basket full of-
Sorry, folks. That was the end of my speech. I was cut short by the massive brawl. My words of inspiration whipped those Former Drunks With Dreams into a sublime fury, a riot of epic proportions! I was smuggled out the back door in a violin case; my assistant, Porkpie Lewis, drove me to the airport in an unmarked Camry. I was fortunate to have escaped with my life. Exhilarating.
2 Comments:
That Porkpie is a good man. I told you it was worth it to cut him in on the St. Louis job.
I take it that you will deny all links with the "Acme Sponge, Loofah and Xylophone Manufacturing company"; an evil conglomerate formed by a series of ill advised and badly spelt mergers in the nineteen fifties. I can produce papers (I'll have to write them first, but that is another matter) that will conclusively prove that you are acting as an agent for this ill starred enterprise, and that your other inspirational speech "A Xylophone for every Home" is further evidence of this.
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