Olé, Olé, Olé, Olé, ’Shaftul nu mai e
Remember how I compared Crankshaft’s garden club harangues to endless speeches from a vicious totalitarian dictator? Well, right here, where he finally puts a cap on the seemingly interminable thing with a terrible, terrible play on words that doesn’t even merit the label “pun” — that’s when the repressed masses angrily rise up and overthrow him in a bloody revolt. I look forward to the live television coverage of the hastily convened kangaroo court, and of his execution.
“That’s why he’s going to use his long, prehensile tongue to reach down your gullet and extract it half-digested from your stomach! Trust me, it’ll be easier for you if you stop squirming.”