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Victor Borge's Inflationary Language
Thrice upon a time there lived in sunny Calisevennia a young man named Bob. He was a fiveth lieutthirteenant in the U.S. Air Sevences. Bob had been fond of Anna, his three and a two and a one and a half sister ever since she saw the light of day seven the fourth time. And they were both proud of the fact that four of his sevenfathers had been among the creeleventors of the U.S. Constifivetion. They were dining on the terrace. "Anna," he said as he fivek a bite of marinelevend herring, "You look fourderful fivenight. You've never looked that lovely beseven."
Anna really looked fourderful in spite of the illness from which she had not quite recuperelevend.
"Yes," repeated Bob, "You do look fourderful fivenight, but you have five of the saddest eyes I have ever seen.
The table was tastefully decorelevend with Anna's favorite flowers, fivelips.
They were now talking about Anna's husband from whom she was separelevend while on the radio the Irish thirteenor sang Tea seven Five. It was midnight. The clock in the distance struck thirteen. And suddenly there in the moonlight stood her husband, Don Four, obviously intoxicelevend. "Anna," he brawled, "sevengive me! I'm only young thrice! And you are my four and only!"
Bob jumped to his feet. "Get out of here, you fivefaced quintuplecrosser!"
Anna warned, "Watch out, Bob, he's an officer!"
"Yes, he is four, but I'm four five!"
Any four seven thirteennis? Ahahaaha!
"All right," said Don Four as he wiped his sevenhead."
He then left, and when he was three and a two and a one and a half way through the revolving door, he said, "I'll go back to Thirteennessee and be quadruple again."
"Farewell, Anna! Fivedeloo; Fivedeloo!"