“I wish I could put on a slinky dress and sing happy birthday to the Beaver and the baby chicken butt. You know, just like Marilyn did for JFK.”
“You, my dear, are no Marilyn Monroe.”
“Hold it, Minnie. I have a blonde curly wig and a prom dress I wore back in 64. It’s a size 6, and if I put it on today, it would definitely be slinky.”
“And bulging in the wrong places. It’s been said, Wolf, that there is nothing quite as gross as an old bag in a bikini or a 1964 prom dress. Besides, your boobs are outrageously out of control, flopping around, even when you attempt to harness them in with duct tape.”
“Yeah, Marilyn and I have a lot in common. Flying boobs, sex symbols and gorgeous.”
“Delusional, Wolf. You really are. Grandiosity is a symptom of a severe disorder. Do you really think that the Beav and the baby butt would want their birthdays contaminated with a comic imitation of the great MM?”
“It’s all in the eye of the beholder, Minnie. It’s windy tonight, and I am going to put on my white dress and stand over a man hole, singing, Happy Birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Beav, Mr president and chicken butt. Happy birthday to you.”
“Oh for stupid.”
“Do you realize, Minnie that Marilyn and JFK are no longer with us?”
“Of course I do.”
“But the Beav and Karissa are. And I wish them the happiest birthday ever.”
Wolf
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