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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 race horse.”
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. [to top of second
column] |
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.”
“Well, here’s something to think
about,” our young friend said. “If you are 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.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
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