a balloon in the snow blows, ("Pow! Pow! Wee! Ahhhh! Ooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!") That's a carrot up my nose, and I think you look pretty tonight. Do you want to go on a date and get married with me? We could have seven cats-and-dogs and take them on a road-show through Texas, where we show the animals to drunkards at saloons. We tell them the animals do tricks, but actually all the animals do is what animals do, and they do the do-do all over the drunkards. We laugh and take their money and tell them the animal doo-doo is magic. They smile and thank us, and we laugh and tell them, "No, thank you!" We laugh, ("Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!") [laughing] "Ahh-ha-ha-ha-ha!" [laughs hysterical cartoon] ("Muah-ha-ha-ha-ha!") [wild laughter] Then a horse shows up; his name is Tod. He gives us a ride to the nearest pub, where he tells us stories of his great battles against the Argonauts, the evil beings from the planet where evil was first manufactured by the evil robots made by the evil robot cats-and-dogs who God originally designed and created to fight Satan in the great war between heaven and hell. But that's actually a totally-different-thing than the thing I'm trying to get at right now, so we'll come back to that later. ("I think... I don't know, I'll think it over, maybe not... it's been a long day at the ship-yard. I work hard for Maggie, the ship-yard boss who owns the ship-yard with her brother Skip and her father Binky. They run a mean business at the docks, selling old garden-rakes to tourists. They tell the tourists the rakes are ancient-rakes made by the elders of the sea-side cavern just up the road from Tommy's Tavern, where an old witch cackles in a window, quilting a blanket made out of old rubber-boots from the ancient soldiers of the war-that-never-ends. Ends are funny things when you think about it. Really, it's like getting on a salad-bowl and calling it a swimming-pool and demanding that the city pays you for the job-creation due to your plans to open the pool to the public. You will need to hire life-guards, but life-guards that the city certifies. In this particular city, life-guards are protected by the city, and the city closely monitors their jobs, so the city must pay money for the salad-bowl pool. These are the salad-days, these are the salad-days. THESE ARE THE SALAD-DAYS! I say, ("These are the salad-days!") I don't say, "Pass the mayon-naise!" That stuff is weird and super-gross. Why do so many people get into it? I think it should be banned. Mayonnaise is very gross and the World-Health-Organization should regulate it. However, again, I am getting off-beat again. You came here for the real-thing, the actual pizza, the Chicago 'go-big-or-go-home' style, the deep-dish, the trip down south to see your aunt in Columbia. She moved there from Columbus, Ohio, but now she lives in Columbia, working as a physical-trainer for prisoners who are trying to get in shape to go to the prison-prom. Yes, you hear that right: in Columbia there are proms in prison, and yes, the prisoners get to dance to any music they want to, except for songs about breaking-out-of-jail. Those are strictly forbidden, much like the potatoes once eaten by the evil-witch-farmers of the Moon-South-Grow-Town-Banana-House-Bingo-Salad-Farm, where the lorry comes and rolls past you and you cry, ("Oh, why-me? Oh-oh-oh why!!!")
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