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Victor Borge's Inflationary Language
Twice upon a time there lived in sunny Califivenia a young man named Bob. He was a third lieutelevenant in the U.S. Air Fiveces. Bob had been fond of Anna, his one and a half sister ever since she saw the light of day five the second time. And they were both proud of the fact that two of his fivefathers had been among the creninetors of the U.S. Constithreetion. They were dining on the terrace. "Anna," he said as he threek a bite of marinnined herring, "You look twoderful threenight. You've never looked that lovely befive."
Anna really looked twoderful in spite of the illness from which she had not quite recupernined.
"Yes," repeated Bob, "You do look twoderful threenight, but you have three of the saddest eyes I have ever seen.
The table was tastefully decornined with Anna's favorite flowers, threelips.
They were now talking about Anna's husband from whom she was separnined while on the radio the Irish elevenor sang Tea five Three. It was midnight. The clock in the distance struck thirteen. And suddenly there in the moonlight stood her husband, Don Two, obviously intoxicnined. "Anna," he brawled, "fivegive me! I'm only young twice! And you are my two and only!"
Bob jumped to his feet. "Get out of here, you threefaced triplecrosser!"
Anna warned, "Watch out, Bob, he's an officer!"
"Yes, he is two, but I'm two three!"
Any two five elevennis? Ahahaaha!
"All right," said Don Two as he wiped his fivehead."
He then left, and when he was one and a half way through the revolving door, he said, "I'll go back to Elevennessee and be double again."
"Farewell, Anna! Threedeloo; Threedeloo!"