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As sometimes happens, when we are glancing at the tabloids to see
who fathered Bigfoot's new baby, we get into discussions of trivia.
Annette was sliding broccoli and corn flakes over the glass-window
dinger machine, and we were just chatting about... I think it was
bears this time. You know... "I read," said Annette, "that a bear
can run 45 miles an hour, faster than a racehorse."
To which I added, "Did you know a polar bear's skin is black and
a black bear's skin is white?"
"Really?" Annette said, weighing the plastic bag of apples. "And
did you know," she said, "that horses can't vomit?"
Horses just hadn't heard me sing yet, that's all.
So it was then that the next guy in line, a young fellow dressed
in camouflage, smiled and joined in.
"You know the song, 'The Duke of Earl'?" he asked.
Well, of course we did. We used to slide around the dance floor
to that when Elvis was still a pup. Wasn't as good for snuggling as
a Johnny Mathis tune, but what is? Half the marriages in this town
began while dancing to "The Twelfth of Never."
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column]
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"Well, here's something to think about," our young friend said.
"If you're driving down the highway and you tap your foot on the
accelerator each time the car goes by one of those broken yellow
lines, and if you do it in time to 'The Duke of Earl,' you're doing
exactly 55 miles an hour."
"You're kidding!"
"Nope. I'm a trucker, and I can tell you it's a fact. Heard it on
the radio and gave it a try. Fifty-five miles an hour."
Let's see... Duke, duke, duke, duke of earl, duke, duke, duke of
earl, duke...
Might come in handy if the speedometer goes on the fritz.
[Slim Randles]
Brought to you by
"Sun Dog Days,"
now on sale at bookstores everywhere, or from www.unmpress.com.
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