Now, with that joker Lucky in prison, I was once again ready to engage in more what? Hilarious capers. It was now the 1960s. In this decade, I was to kill 47 Vietnamese. The day was May 17, 1960. I had taken a new job as a tourbus driver in St. Louis. I took jokers from all over the world to see such sights as the St. Louis Arch and the Steak & Shake down the street from my house. Well, we had a lot of Vietnamese on board that day, and boy, those jokers were talking a lot of gibberish. Why, those turkeys couldnít understand a word I said. So, I pulled out my trusty revolver, and opened fire. "Ha ha ha ha ha," I laughed as I slaughtered those jive turkeys one by one. Well, I lost my what? Job after that. Itís a damn shame too, an honest American citizen goes out of his way to protect his country from crazy jokers who donít even understand his what? Language, and he gets what? Fired. I was fed up with this nation, and decided to flee to the magical land of what? Cuba.
Now, the previous year, my good friend Castro had come to power in Cuba. Old Castro was a good fellow, but not quite right. Why, he was always speaking a lot of Spanish and smoking fine Cuban cigars. This wasnít the Fidel Castro I had grown up with in St.Louis so many years before, the Castro that NEVER spoke Spanish, the Fidel Castro that loved capitalist America and hated fine Cuban cigars. Why, that Castro was hit by a train on December 27, 1952, and died shortly thereafter. But boy, that Castro was one what? Crazy bastard.
Now, the year was 1948. I had recently entered the third grade, a year that I would remember for the rest of my life. Castro was always a rowdy boy, he was always throwing chairs at the other students and setting the teacherís desk on fire. "Mr. Long," he would always say to me, "how would you like to go out to the railroad tracks with me this Saturday? We can put pennies on the tracks and watch them get flattened!" Well, old Castro and I soon made a habit of going out to the railroad tracks every Saturday morning. This continued for quite a few years, until one day in late 1952.
Now, this joker Castro was always fooling around, jumping up and down and shooting people in the face. But on this particular day, I was not in the mood for Castroís tomfoolery. Mr. Longmas had passed 2 days before, and I received nothing from Castro but a handmade card. Why, there wasnít even any cash enclosed! So, as we heard the train approaching in the distance, we laid 2 pennies down on the tracks, as was our tradition. I waited until the train was in sight, at which point I grabbed old Castro by his lapels, and pushed him into the oncoming train. Never again would I receive an inexpensive Mr. Longmas gift from that jive turkey, for he was now dead. I laughed and laughed at that joker. Due to the pennies and Castro on the track, the train derailed, killing 273 of the 437 passengers inside, and wounding the remaining 164. "Ha ha ha ha ha," I laughed at those crazy jokers as they lay there, screaming in the burning wreckage.
Now, Cuba was an interesting place. As I had told you, this jive turkey Castro was always hanging around, smoking fine Cuban cigars and speaking a lot of Spanish. Now, this joker was a Communist, which meant that he hated progress and lard of any kind. Well, this didnít fly too well with me, being the progressive lard-eater that I was. I quickly set out to destroy Castro and assure my future dictatorship in the magical land of Cuba. "You Communists will never take my home land of what? Cuba!" I yelled to that jive turkey. Soon though, I found that I had met my what? Match.
Now, the following week, Castro invited me over to his apartment in order to sort out our political differences. Castro welcomed me in, saying "Quieres un cigar?" Although I didnít understand Castroís strange language, I was in the mood for a cigar. I grabbed the cigar out of that jokerís hand, lit it up, and the next thing I knew, I was back home back in old St. Louis. Apparently, the cigar was laced with a strong tranquilizer that rendered me unconscious for the next 2 months. During this time, Castro seized power in Cuba and deported me. When I awoke from my 2 month slumber, I decided I would have to what? Bomb Cuba.
Now, the following day, I headed to the hardware store, hoping to pick up some large bombs with which I could bomb Cuba. I would have to work hard, as I didnít have any government what? Support behind me, but I knew that if I truly wanted to bomb Castro and his Cuban goons, nothing would be impossible. Unfortunately, I found large bombs quite difficult to find, and settled for a few M-80s with which to frighten my neighborís what? Cat.
Now, this cat was a real crazy joker, and I had just about had it with its cornball antics. That cat was always sitting on my what? Porch, drinking my milk. Back in these days, everyone in St. Louis put their milk on their porches. At the time, it was widely believed in St. Louis that milk would never go bad if it was properly placed on the porch. Unfortunately, during the summers, the milk would quite often go bad anyway. Scientists in the area attributed this to the what? Russians.
Now, the Russians were a crazy bunch, they were always banging their shoes on the table, telling us theyíd bury us, and speaking a lot of Russian. I not being one to put up with this Russian jive, I founded the St. Louis Kill the Russians Society in the spring of 1963. As it turned out, I was the only person to join this group. But boy, I had some great times, killing those Russians and burning down their what? Homes. However, this is a completely different story.
Now, I walked outside onto my porch one sunny July morning, ready for a big drink out of my milk bowl, only to find that darn cat drinking my milk again! I rushed inside to collect my what? Supplies, which I had purchased the previous week, and prepared to explode that little kitten! Unfortunately, the cat had fled by the time I returned, so I instead burned down my neighborís house. I laughed as I imagined that burning cat, screaming in agony. Unfortunately, the next week I saw that cat again, badly burned but still moving. "Ha ha ha," I thought to myself, "that cat can barely walk, thereís no way heíll get away from me this time!" I rushed back inside, grabbed my M-80s, and before you could say Mr. Long I had one what? Exploded kitten in my yard.
Now, exploding kittens was great fun, but I soon decided that my life needed more. Every day I would walk down to the Steak and Shake down the street, and every day I was served by the same fellow wearing a large ring. I envied that ring, and hoped to someday have a ring like that of my own. "Where did you get that what? Ring?" I asked this fellow on one occasion. "Why, I was a star football player. I went to Purdue University, where I played a very prominent role on the football team, and played in the first racially integrated Blue and Grey game on Christmas Day. I even met Martin Luther King Junior. I later played for the Pittsburgh Steelers, but soon left, because I could make more money flipping burgers at the Steak and Shake."
Now, this man's story touched my heart, and I now knew what I had to do. The next day, I walked into the Steak and Shake, ordered my usual meal, and, as the man brought me my food, I grabbed the ring from his finger and ran like hell! I ran for hours and hours, until I arrived at the Greyhound Bus Station a few blocks away. I hopped on a bus, hoping it would take me to the exotic paradise of Kansas City, Missouri, or Kansas City, what? Kansas. After a ten hour drive, I stepped off the bus, ready to see the magical wonders of Kansas City, Missouri, and Kansas City, Kansas. "What is this wild and wonderful land before me, good what? Driver?" I asked the good driver, to which he replied, "Why, we're in Kalamazoo, Michigan!"
Now, I had never heard of this strange land of Michigan, but I was a crazy young boy, still open-minded, and ready to embrace new and exotic cultures. I stepped off that bus, with nothing but a bottle of whiskey in my back pocket, a can of lard in my side pocket, and a dream in my what? Heart. I was now a resident of the greatest nation on earth: Kalamazoo, what? Michigan.