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This story starts back in eighteen eighty-eight; it's about a mining town slapjack who made the worst pancakes ever. (But, if you're hungry, who gives a damn . . .). Well, anyway, the story we really want to tell is about his son, Shorty. Shorty was born in nineteen thirty-four. Needless to say, Ol' Josh was seventy-four when Shorty was born. Well, as Shorty grew on plain folks' food, he attained the great height of five feet two inches, and he expan'ed to two hundred and ninety pounds. And Shorty jus' kept on expan'in'. . . and expan'in' and expan'in'. . . We won't mention his weight again, but we'll tell of his inheritance of the saloon business from his pappy, Ol' Josh. By the way, Ol' Josh kept the fire hot and fathered sixteen more youngin's named Lenzie, Drew, Ervin, Pat, Bill, Patrick, Rodney, Chuckie, Tracy, Daniel, Brad, Dave, Tarek, and Craig. Ol' Josh died happy at a hunnert and four. In fact, it was a hunnert and four degrees the day he died. There were lots of women in Shorty's life, and he loved `em all includin': Kathi, Paula, Katie, Linda, Jennifer, "Boom Boom", Michele and Pat (but not at the same time...). But none caught his fancy like Sadie Woedzinski (wad*zen*skee!). Sadie was just a skinny young thang, an' she was gooder than gold. But years of cookin' for Shorty - and his inherited interest in young ladies - began to show a lot of wear and tear on poor Sadie, yet she still stuck by his side (it was the right side - not the left). Well, you're here readin' all this bull, and we're sure glad you are. As you can see and taste, the great American Shorty Small's tradition is still expan'in' - and so is the saga of Shorty Small. |
