No doubt all of you are wondering what to get me for my birthday. This will, after all, be a special anniversary of my birth: an odd number of pairs of decades, only the second (and quite possibly the last) such occurrence of my lifetime.
Because of the uniqueness of this particular observance, I will step back from my typical practice of eschewing all gifts. Very well; if you wish to procure a present for me I offer here my list of materialistic desiderata:
The complete works, Sunday and daily, of Ponce de Leon Montgomery County Alabama Georgia Beauregard Possum, known as Pogo.
With the adroit assistance of Walt Kelly, Pogo and his swamp buddies were the superlative practitioners during my lifetime of finding the game in actual reality.
Only one of you need purchase the single available volume; I suggest drawing straws or casting lots (the format depending on your commitment to Moravianism) as to which person shall have the honor of financial investment. The remainder may roll on the floor as I quietly read it aloud.
I must point out that Swamp-Speak is a second language for me, a good Northerner, but I can usually follow along when it is skewering my northern-state neighbors. In any case, if I own the book I can always sneak back to read it for the eleventh time.