Washington Crossing the Delaware, Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze
A pair of black eyes gazed up at a man of Olympic proportions. Her hand reached out to stroke the long cape that hugged his body.
George, ever the silent fellow, gazed off into the dark waters, his leg hiked up on the side of his noble lady-ship and his head slightly cocked toward the setting sun. He slightly twitched at a tug on his cape.
The black eyes spoke: “I cannot go back to Transylvania for there is a dark lord awaiting us! You’ve all read Bram Stroker! To my dear relatives in the Carpathians, these recent events spell out a dark omen, indeed. He wants us to leave and is backing the IRA. This can only mean one thing–the Count is back in London!”
George: “Why, you’re a regular francophile!”
Romanian vixen: “Please hear me out. Why else would Gordon Brown take such pains to conceal his membership in Fight Club? Why else does the Mari Juana strike at our youth like Napoleon struck down nations? And why does Stolichnaya burn green in the presence of the Japanese?
George felt his back turn to ice at the truth in these statements, but he soon recovered. “Your words do not convince me. In fact, we can fit at least 25 more people in each boat. It will be back to the land of goats and cowboys for all of you!”
The vixen resigned and laid back, feeling the husky wood bind her to a flaxen sailor. A lonesome star began to twinkle in the distance. She wondered if it were part of Taurus like the man next to her must be.