Ventriloquists on the storm

*** Fifth in a Series ***

Max LeMonk, the monkey puppet, and I wandered across the vacant, arid flats; the hills so gradual, the mountain peeks so far from our spot, that the loneliness of our journey is all the more real. “I told you, ask directions! Buy a map! But no… Trust the wind, you say!”

“It’s what don Rey would do,” I told Max, and nodded with peaceful assurance, referring to don Rey Ortega, the ventriloquist nagual.* Max’s eyes rolled, and he began mocking me. “And I suppose if don Rey Ortega jumped off the Empire State Building, you would jump off the Empire State Building, too?”

I look at Max, and wished him enlightenment. Although the air is still, there is a whistling sound across the flats. Impulsively I start to mum, slowly graduating to mouthing and singing, “I’ve been cross the desert on a horse with no name, and there’s gonna be a whole lotta rain…”
“That’s ‘good to be out of the rain’,” Max corrected me with frustration. And after I miss-sang another lyric, again he was stern. “Say it with me: The desert is an ocean with it's life underground...."

A voice startled us from behind:

Well this is very true.

It was don Rey Ortega.

“Agghh! I hate when you do that!” Max screamed. Surprisingly, his voice did not echo, but fell flat on the flat. Don Rey just smiled, and waved his hand to guide our eyes across the landscape, and spoke:

As you look around all you see are a few scraggly creosote bushes, rolling cholla and an occasional beavertail cactus. We are actually standing in the middle of a desert Superhighway.

Max gritted his teeth. “Oh please tell me there’s an off ramp coming up.” Don Rey just smiled, and inexplicably threw dirt on Max’s shoes.

If you look carefully you will notice small well worn paths that go in many directions. This is where the road the Jackrabbit uses every day followed by the coyote in pursuit of his meal. Here are the tracks of quail that move in groups from bush to bush.

In the distance, the howl of a coyote broke the quiet, and the sound of a covey** of quail surrounded us, although no birds could be seen. I stood mystified. Max whispered in my ear, “funny how the don’s Adam’s apple wiggles when we heard the birds.” Don Rey grinned.

Some tracks can remain in the sand for hundreds of years or disappear in the wind within moments. Here are lizard and stinkbug tracks.

At these words, Max began to wiggle and giggle, then started scratching and brushing himself. “Stinkbugs! The old fart put stinkbugs on me!” Don Rey took out an old handkerchief, blew his nose, and Max stopped itching.

We followed the sun towards the horizon. In a distance, there was a shape, which as we got closer looked like the bones of a dead water buffalo, but max quickly pointed out that they were not indigenous to this continent. As we got closer, we could see that it was an old rusted plow, standing alone. Don Rey smiled as if it was an old friend.

This old rusted plow shows no trace of how it got here. This land has never been used for farming. Some people come here to meditate and leave flowers for the poor soul who tried to bring the plow out west with the rest of his dreams only to leave it behind in the desert heat.

I reflected on the poor man and his dreams. I asked don Rey whether he thought the plow was meant to be left behind as a symbol, a temple, a homage to dreamers. “Oh, gag me. Now you’re talking like him,” Max muttered. Don Rey threw the sound of a hyena, a predator of monkeys, behind the plow. Max grimaced.

Some people have too many dreams to carry and life reduces the amount to what is needed. But that's not what happened in this case. This is a movie prop left behind by Oliver Stone when he made the movie "The Doors" Part of the LSD dream sequence. The plow sequence was left on the cutting room floor just as the plow was left here.

Then, we looked to see a single black rain cloud race towards us. A burst of rain soaked me. I looked up and let the water run down my face. Max hid under my armpit. Then the rain disappeared. The cloud disappeared.

And don Rey disappeared. Left on the old plow was an autographed picture of Jim Morrison. Out of his mouth there was a cartoon quote balloon, making Jim appear to say:

Dreams can lead you or leave you. What will yours do for you?

As well, there was a mint-condition 45-rpm recording of Light My Fire.

***

* A nagual is a shaman teacher, and leader to wisdom. Really. I don’t make this stuff up.
** A covey what a group of quail is called. The other word for it would be bevy, which is not as cool.

***

Don Rey Ortega un-dons himself when he performs as Rey Ortega, multitalented guy and most excellent ventriloquist. You can find out all about Rey by visiting reyortegaentertainment.com, or asking his wife, Kiyomi.

Looking Pal-in comparison

It's a clear sign that a media outlet is making a name for itself when the established media starts attacking it.

So hello! This is Budding Ventriloquist! We have arrived!

The National Journal - yes, the National Journal - is trying to challenge and discredit (and a whole bunch of other dissing) BV's editorial stance that Sarah Palin belongs on the "Face that belongs on a ventriloquist dummy" list.

Back on November 18, 2009, Ms. Palin was named to the V Face list.  It took the National Journal almost five months to muster the courage to challenge that. Just look! Thay made it the garsh dang cover story! Does that  really say "No Dummy"???? Ha!

You know what I think? I think they're just trying to co-opt BV's growing audience. Steal some of the luster of the new blogosphere sensation that is Budding Ventriloquist.

Bet they're even wishing that they had covered the olympics like BV did. Too late, sucka's!

So, to save everyone from seaching for it, here is, in its entirety, an encore presentation of the November 18 post, Blowing rogue (presented in blue).

###

It's not hard to see.

The squared-off jaw* and big mouth** beg to have the lines of a dummy's moving chin. The permanent smile is quintessentially puppet-like. And if you can make a dummy that has moving eyebrows, you can certainly make one that winks.

How could Sarah Palin not make the list of faces that belong on a ventriloquist dummy?

***

* My father referred to this as "lantern jaw." In his book, this was not a good thing to have.
** This is not a political statement. She has a measurably big mouth.

***

Sarah Palin/dummy jokes were deliberately avoided in the making of this post, just like Britney Spears/dummy jokes were avoided a few posts ago.

However, I am totally unapologetic for the Sarah Palin/Britney Spears comparison I just made. And that's like comparing a jaw to a lantern. Right, dad?

OMG, Houston...

Dear NASA and President Obama:

Why doesn't anyone call me about this stuff?

It's the 40th anniversary of the ill-fated Apollo 13 space flight, the celebrated "successful failure" that showed problem solving at its finest.  No wonder you're not returning my calls. (That's for you, NASA. I know that President Obama is having 50 to 60 world leaders for some beers and nuclear talks.  Good luck with that!)

In order to honor NASA and join in the festivities, I am happy to announce that mission captain (and Milwaukeean, I am proud to say) James Lovell is being added to the "Face that Belongs on a Ventriloquist Dummy" list. Presenting the Apollo 13 story though ventriloquism is yet another way to bring this heroic story to all who should hear it.

But please, make no mistake: On Apollo 13 and at Mission Control, there were no dummies.  I can only hope that when the Ventriloquist in Space Program (VISP) blasts off, the country and the world is just as thrilled as they were when you returned.

Congratulations, captain. And if it's not too late to say... welcome back.

Sincerely,

Dan Bushman

Budding Astronaut

Budding Ventriloquist

American

***

Jim Lovell:  The V Face List honor is the highest salute I can give you. You did Milwaukee proud, and you are the first Milwaukeean to make the list.

You made it to the list before another great Milwaukeean - Liberace. You can be doubly proud.

Oh, and don't worry, you're the 18th on the list, not unlucky 13.

Break out your Men at Work albums, Mates!

Promises are made to be kept, aren’t they?

Well, I’ve been promising a big, huge, giant, epic tribute to Australian and New Zealand ventriloquists now of quite a while. The Aussies are my second most frequent visitors (trailing only Poland), and in true Aussie fashion have been very patient. New Zealand hasn’t just hit and run either, coming back a few times as well.


(My post  Blog Oleo on March 11 when i told the Aussie/Kiwi ventriloquist joke doesn’t count. I was, well, Blog Oleo.)

My challenge is that I want to do it justice. There’s a lot of ventriloquist action down under (and no doubt that is no surprise!). And, since the Budding Ventriloquist Winter Olympic Coverage ™ has ended, I’ve been discussing the overall entertainment scene of visiting countries.


For Australia, this is a big job. And New Zealand has more to offer than facial tattoos, ya know.


The solution is simple:

Ventriloquists Down Under Week

Sponsored by Budding Ventriloquist

You heard it. Gets your heart racing, doesn’t it?

 Didn’t your body tingle like when you use mint soap? Didn’t you get weak in the knee? Didn’t you start to quiver with delight?

 Ventriloquists Down Under Week will start on Monday, August 2. There is now a countdown counter in the sidebar that you can check 24/7.

 Why August 2? Because in the Northern Territory of Australia, August 2 is Picnic Day, the public holiday every year on the first Monday of August. According to one source, Picnic Day was originally declared a public holiday so railway employees could go to Adelaide River to enjoy a picnic. However, another story tells that it stemmed from a race meeting on November 27, 1947, that grew into what is now known as the Harts Range annual races. The meeting, which included riding, a barbecue and a dance, was such a big success that it became an annual event.

 

The Harts Range annual races are held in the Harts Ranges about 215km (about 133.6 miles) northeast of Alice Springs. Bull rides, a ute (utility truck) competition, children’s novelty events, whip cracking, lizard races, and a rural ball are part of that party.

 

People also visit the town of Adelaide River to participate in a traditional railway picnic on this day. The town of Adelaide River is about 114 km (about 69.6 miles) south of Darwin. The event’s activities and games include tug-o-war, sack and three-legged races, as well as egg and spoon races. Traditional railway food and refreshments are served on the day.

 

My goal: To do such an amazing job at covering the Down Under ventriloquist scene that right after the bull rides, along with the barbeques (aka, the barbies!), with the fun of the three legged races, that ventriloquism become a full fledged part of the Picnic Day holiday.

 

You have to admit, when I set a goal, I go big. At least the Winter Olympics were in the same hemisphere. But then again, so many people said the Winter Olympics couldn’t be covered from Hudson, Wisconsin either.

Oh yee of little faith.

 Australia, Australia, Australia, We love you. Amen.

You too, New Zealand.

***

If you look really hard in the 1919 South Wales Rugby Picnic picture (the second one), you can see a ventriloquist.

 Just keep looking.

 Yes. Right there.

***

On this adventure, I openly invite all the help I can get. Know who I should highlight? Other cool Aussie stuff to talk about? Send recommendations to bushmandaniel@gmail.com. I'm a very gracious guy - I might even hug ya.

 

Virtually, of course.

***

Once again I'll make a rash promise: If I can't find anything about New Zealand ventriloquists, I'll get a henna tattoo painted on my face like a Maori native as a living tribute.

 

And then do ventriloquism.

Blog Oleo - the dumb blonde joke

For the second time in the long, storied history of Budding Ventriloquist, I find myself presenting Blog Oleo. Blog Oleo, you may remember (see March 11), is a cheap substitute for an actual product, just as oleo margarine is to butter.

I went on a quick hunt for ventriloquist jokes, and out of the close to 600,000 sites that The Google gives you, they all seem to have the one same joke. I'm interpreting having it on my site as some goofy rite of passage.

It is also a dumb blonde joke. I truly believe that for some reason, no matter how politically correct someone insists on being, a dumb blonde joke is everybody's guilty pleasure.

A young, successful ventriloquist is on tour and stops in a small town to perform at a club. He's going through his usual run of stupid blonde jokes, when a big blonde woman from the third row stands on her chair and screams: "I've had just about enough of your degrading blonde jokes. What makes you think you can stereotype women that way?"


"What does a person's physical attributes have to do with their worth as a human being?" she goes on to say... "It's guys like you who keep women like me from being respected at work and in my community, of reaching my full potential as a person because you and your kind continue to perpetuate discrimination against not only blondes but women at large - all in the name of humor."

Flustered, the ventriloquist begins to apologize, when the blonde screams again, "You stay out of this mister, I'm talking to that little sh*t on your knee!"

***

I didn't think so the first time, but now that Blog Oleo has reappeared, it needs its own logo. Unless, of course, it appears only on No Logo Thursday. Then I can just use that logo.

Positively 4th In a Series

*** Fourth in a series ***

Max LeMonk, the monkey puppet, and I wandered into a roadside diner that sits alone along the side of the dusty dessert road. The low angle of the setting sun sends light though the glass tubes of the broken neon sign in the diner’s window.

Then the neon word “EATS” begins to crackle randomly, like a beckoning, or perhaps an ominous warning. Perhaps it is both. “Wish we hadn’t had our last Snickers ,” Max confides. I nod.

We enter the diner, disturbed by the stillness and confused. The lights seem to be both on and burned out at the same time. A condition of the sun-faded sign telling us to “Please seat yourself” leads us to wonder if we should try instead to make it to Joshua Tree.

We sit down in a booth with tall sides. Then we hear a voice from behind us, a voice from the next booth.

This little place here is called The Crossroads.

“Please tell me I didn’t hear who I thought I heard,” Max said with a sigh of exasperation. Max and I turn and peer over the top of the divider and into the next booth. There sat don Rey Ortega, patiently savoring a bite of what appeared to be a Denver omelet. It was a hardy one, too.

Max and I looked at don Rey, the omelet, and each other. Then we looked at the handwritten, partially erased menu board behind the counter: Breakfas Erved Al Da . Though the presence of don Rey always makes me reverential, even I had but one question for the nagual. “How’s the food here?”

Max was busy looking around. “Bet there’s still lead paint on the walls. This place is a dump!” Don Rey stomps his foot under the table, and Max felt dirt inexplicably being thrown on his shoes.

The rusted corrugated metal and barnwood that decorates the place was collected from old broken down homesteads shacks out in the desert.

I look around, and notice that faint outlines of human figures are appearing all around us. Behind the counter, a young boy appeared, covered in tattoos and flipping burgers. Max, believing don Rey was distracted, tried to steal a piece of his toast. Don Rey just smiled, and the toast turned into hash browns before out eyes.

And the people that gather here are just as unusual as the surroundings, from the tattooed kid taking orders at the counter to the variety of desert rats that this place attracts.

“Rats? Did he say rats?” Max murmured.

Then the juke box turned itself on, playing a 1950s standard, "I Got A Crush On You, Sweetie Pie..." Don Rey’s head bobbed lightly, enjoying the tune like an old romantic fool. Then he gestured to the haunting figures which have gathered.

The smelly homeless looking guys walking out the door are actually attorneys from Los Angeles. There's the local chain smoking vegetarian and the dreadlocked hippy kids with their drums and backpacks along with their cardboard signs that say Arizona or San Diego. They all gather here to eat and drink at this desert watering hole.

Max’s eyes rolled back in his monkey head. His hunger overtaking his sense, Max rants. “Lawyers, he says! Vegetarians! Dreadlocks! If the old fart were Irish, he’d tell us their names are all Malarkey!” Don Rey simply smiled, and Max’s mouth filled with a side of bacon. Don Rey’s eyes looked out into the hazy figures in the now crowded diner.

They come to listen to the quiet and fill their souls.
Before returning to the city that is full of holes.

“Oh, god," Max said with his mouth full. “Now he rhymes? Next he’s going to make us call him don Bob Dylan or something.” I covered my eyes, fearing don Rey’s wrath at the monkey puppet’s impertinence. But I heard nothing. Then I felt Max tapping my shoulder. He told me to open my eyes; they I won’t believe what I’ll see.

Don Rey was gone, leaving only his check… and enough money to cover a tip.

And the tattooed boy smiled.

Mitzi and me

*** A Very Special Budding Ventriloquist ***

So many years ago, I grew up on the south side of Milwaukee. The south side of Milwaukee was predominately German and Polish, and sometimes still first or second generation German or Polish. The accents were like music to me.

And, at a young age, I developed a passion for comedy recordings. Naturally, comedy recordings about the south side of Milwaukee were, in my mind, the ulitmate definition of hilarity.

I also grew up with loving classic 1950s-60s musical theater. The Broadway soundtrack of Guys and Dolls and the movie soundtrack to South Pacific were mainstays in my musical listening(and air banding) repertoire.

With this as background, I give you this "six degrees of separation" kind of thing, with a bunch of timelines converging at a very special brush with fame.

Timeline One: I decide that Budding Ventriloquist is going to cover the Winter Olympics. I wonder over time why I'm not getting any hits from Poland.

Timeline Two: I'm learning a lot about technical blogging things, like how to put my own videos on youtube.

Timeline Three: My daughter continues to take voice lessons. I sit and listen, interested in singing technique.

Timeline Four: I spend a bunch of time organizing a bunch of CDs, and find a copy of Milwaukee DJ Mad Man Michael's four recordings that spoof the Polish south side of Milwaukee in the 1950s.

Timeline One: Poland drops in on the Budding Ventriloquist Winter Olympic Coverage(TM), and as was my standard practice, I do a tribute to Polish athletes and ventriloquists.

Timeline Four: I figure out how to make a video of an audio recording so I can post Mad Man Michael's "Michael's Market," and I post it with my Poland tribute post.

Timeline Three: My daughter gets invited by a friend to go to Florida for spring break. I realize that, having paid for the lesson already, I could have a voice lesson for myself.

Timeline One (and Four – this is getting complicated, isn’t it?): Because I befriended a Polish ventriloquist, the hits to Budding Ventriloquist from Poland pour in (Thanks Wojie!). As a thank you to Wojie, I post another one of his videos, and Mad Man Michaels’ the Czarnina Kid as bonus coverage.

Timeline Three: I decide I want to sing “Younger than Springtime” from the Musical South Pacific for my lesson. I wind up listing to that song, plus the rest of the soundtrack from the movie starring Mitzi Gaynor as nurse/Lt. Nellie Forbush.

Timeline One: The Olympics end. I have received more hits from Poland than any other country other than the US.

Timeline Three: I take my singing lesson. I am declared a tenor.

Timeline Four: I receive an email from a lady named Sandy who saw the Czarnina Kid on youtube, and she thanks me. We exchange a friendly mail or two.

Timeline Five (yes, Five): On Easter, my wife and I watch the movie Easter Parade. The satellite system lists Fred Astaire, Judy Garland, and Peter Lawford. The female foil/villain is a heck of a dancer. My wife asks who it is. I say, “I want to say Mitzi Gaynor, but Mitzi Gaynor was prettier.” I looked it up. It was Ann Miller.

Timeline One, Three, Four, and Five collide: I check my email and there is another note from Sandy...

Hi Dan,
Just thought I would let you know....
I sent the Czarnina Kid to a friend of mine in Seattle. She is very good friends with THE Mitzi Gaynor, who she sent it to. MITZI LOVED IT!
Sandy

And that how destiny leads to a brush with fame.

***

Could life be any richer? To think that at the exact same time I thought of Mitzi Gaynor, she was watching a video I put on youtube...

To think that, in this obtuse but very real way, I've been in a "Mitzi Gaynor state of mind" for weeks, and it obviously may have been part of a greater plan...

***

I had to create a logo for this, even though I would usually only do a logo for an ongoing series of stories. I guess it's because I want this story to continue.

What could possibly be Mitzi and Me: Part Two?

***

Dear Ms. Gaynor:

You have entertained me so many times. I am thrilled that I could return the favor.

My most sincere thanks,

Dan Bushman
Budding Ventriloquist
Tenor

***

Allow me to present a reprise performance of Mad Man Michaels' classic, The Czarnina Kid.

Austria: Not just a smaller Australia?

Leave it to the Austrians to take a wholesome family-oriented form of entertainment like ventriloquism and make it dirty, Dirty, DIRTY!

I'm just kidding, of course.  I'm still a little miffed that the Austrians totally blew off the Budding Ventriloquist Winter Olympic Coverage (TM). I mean, the coverage started while it was still January, and the games themselves were, like 123 days in a row. How long can a whole country play with their own edelweis?

But, being a proud German by both heritage and nature, I am an amazingly forgiving soul, of course.
And when they aren't selling Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer autographs on ebay to each other, there is a good bit of ventriloquism action in Austria.

Here's a promo for a show called Magic Mushrooms, which features a ventriloquist dummy/dragon who wants to be a porn star (see?  Dirty, Dirty, Dirty!). The video is actually a promo for a big magic act, but the first minute is the ventriloquist part of the act, and it's very funny - and it has subtitles!

It also makes me want to learn all the German Mr. Alles tried to teach me at Bell Junior High in Milwaukee 35 years ago, so I can perform at the Kabarett Simpl in Vienna, Austria. It looks so classic.

Is that Joel Grey and Lisa Minnelli necking in the corner, old chum?



And then there's bauchredner (Ventriloquist) Frank Rossi and his human puppet, Karlchen, delightfully portrayed by Bert Rex.
This is great stuff, and it's always fun to watch performers when they obviously are enjoying their schtick.  The clips is from their performance at the GOP Varieté theatre, which has 4 theaters across Austria and Germany.

***

Bauchredner = Ventriloquist
Bauchreden = Ventriloquism
Bauchrednerattrappe = Ventriloquist Dummy
Ok - pop quiz.  What's the German word for ventriloquist?

No, you can't borrow a pencil from Steve. It's not my fault you're not perpared. What if your father went to work without his tools? Huh?

***

Bauchredner literally translates into "belly talker". By no coincidence, ventriloquist translates into "belly talker" as well.

Strange, you say?  Yes, but true.

Do laugh for me, Argentina

Buenos dias, Argentina!

Imagine my surprise when I came to the conclusion that, relative to the rest of Latin America, Argentina is Ventriloquism wacky! La Argentina es ventriloquia loco!

There's even a website - http://www.mundoandino.com/ (Andean World, or World of the Andes) -that has a page dedicated to just to Argentine comedians. They are wacky for all comedy, too! La Argentina está loca para la comedia!

First, let me present ventilocuo Karim Araujo . His specialty is doing imitations with his ventriloquism. Here, he does an impressive Andrea Bocelli, the famous Italian Pop tenor and crossover artist.  Having been recently diagnosed as a tenor*, there's even more reasons I find this interesting.



And then there's who I imagine is the grand old man of Argentine ventriloquism, Rodolfo Aredes.  He's got a great website - http://www.pepitoaredes.com.ar/ - and I am having a blast seeing what I can figure out without knowing any Spanish.  Rodolfo was born in 1943 (so he's 67) and he's been performing with his puppet, Pepito, since 1956. That means he started when he was 13, and he and Pepito have been getting laughs for  54 years.  That alone is worthy of this salute.

I found two interesting videos of them.  First, here's Rodolfo and Pepito being interviewed on a show called "High Profile."  I am always so impressed with the ease and comfort that great ventriloquists have as they practice the Art of Kings**.



And here's the two performing for an audience at the Garden Theater in Salta, Argentina.  There's three reasons I love this one:

1. He put am microphone in front of Pepito.  That is a piece of stagecraft that I think is so important to the illusion that I can't believe how rarely I see it.
2. He is obviously not hiding a secret microphone or speaker in his hair.
3. Rodolfo and I share the same hairline.  It gives me great hope for my future that male pattern baldness and laughter will still go together for years to come.

Enjoy.

***

ventriloquía = ventriloquism
ventrilocuo = ventriloquist
ventriloquía, arte del ventrílocuo = ventriloquism, the art of the ventriloquist
muñeco de ventrílocuo = ventriloquist's dummy

Don't bother to ask, you know what the answer is:  Yes, it will be on the test.

***

* Yes, being called as a tenor after all these is like being diagnosed with a tumor - A benign tumor, but a tumor nonetheless. I'm not allowed in the baritones' locker room anymore, either.

** Yes, I'm still on a crusade for ventriloquism to be referred to as the Art of Kings. Hard to argue with, I think. I mean... why not?

St. Amateur's Day?

The bunch of people who are “Some” sure talk a lot. And they say such quotable stuff.

Some might say that: 

• 
  
  New Year’s Eve is a holiday for amateur drinkers to party.
• 
  
  Valentine’s Day is a day for amateur romantics to make up for missed opportunities.
• 
  
  Independence Day is a day for amateur patriots to make fireworks go bang.
• 
  
  St. Ventrila’s Day is a day for amateur ventriloquists to quiver their lips.
• 
  
  Christmas is a day for amateur gift givers to be generous for a change.
• 
  
  Mother’s Day is a day for amateur loving children to express some appreciation for the single person who had done more for them than any other person ever could…(That’s for you, mom.)
• 
  
  Thanksgiving is for amateur turkeys to … gobble.
• 
  
  April Fools' day is a day for amateur fools to try to be funny.

And Some are right, except for the last one. On April Fools' Day every year I see people who you never expect pull a fast one on someone, laugh and laugh, and then start plotting for next year.

This is my first April Fools' Day since I started Budding Ventriloquist, and I have to apologize. Today I should have something really special. It should be a celebration of what this blog is and what ventriloquism is all about.

I feel just horrible. So horrible, in fact, that I realize now what a ridiculous farce this blog is, and that this is, as it should be, my last post. Budding Ventriloquist is shutting down.

Thanks, regular readers. I'm going to miss you.

APRIL FOOLS!

  

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!