Many of today’s Boy Scouts have never heard of Victor Borge. Borge was a great entertainer. He was a superb pianist and a fantastic story teller, and somehow was able to put those talents together and create a humorous musical show. I have not seen many of his television programs but the couple I have seen I have enjoyed immensely.
One of Borge’s most famous stories was called Inflationary Language. It demonstrated what our language would become if it showed inflation like the prices in the grocery store. Just add one to everything in the language. Thus, wonderful becomes twoderful. Tonight becomes threenight. You get the idea. It is very funny when told correctly.
We have a gentleman in our council who has learned this story and occasionally tells it during a campfire program. It is a tough story to learn, and even tougher to recite, but he does it quite well and does not miss a beat. We have had Boy Scouts in our troop try to learn it or read it aloud and I can tell you, it was quite a challenge for them. So here is your challenge, learn this story and recite it at your next troop campfire.
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!”