All I wanted to do was play my banjo and doze on a bed of daisies. There were more verses I wanted to compose. A luxuriant bath was planned with lots of steam and towels and singing. I was going to powder my tail and preen my whiskers. I’d been feeling frolicsome, and even if I do have feet like galoshes, I was going to prance. I was going to develop an interest in yodeling and finally visit Albuquerque. My friend and I were going to the beach, and we’d been savoring all the clams we’d eat. I needed to re-up my carrots. I was considering numbering my uncounted nephews in Cucamonga. My tuba was stuck in the front hall, and I was going to enlarge the hole. Then we met.

I want you to know I have a bureau full of immaculate four-fingered white gloves; one whole drawer of them are for slapping. I don’t use guns, but I love dynamite. I’ll tell you what is up, doctor: If you continue to disturb me, if I hear you say hassenpfeffer just one more time, I will drag you by the beard and cram you into a hay baler. I will drop a boulder, then a piano, and then an entire building on your head and pound your goose eggs back into your skull with a mallet. I will tie your tongue to a locomotive and slap it on the caboose. The skyscrapers, the cliffs, the ladders, the waterfalls, oh the things I will haul you up and throw you off of. You must realize that wasp nest in your pants is just a prelude. So put the gun down, walk over there, paint yourself with honey, and feed yourself to that bear before I get really angry.