Sylvester and Tweety

The nippy sweeties were kicking in, and I was struck by the thought that if anyone deserved to be taller, it was Sly.

I’d better say up front that I had knocked back a couple when this incident happened. Now, I know what you're going to say, but you have to understand that I was of the age when such things were de rigueur. Besides, I was due to fly out the next day on an extended tour, and such behavior is expected.

Better start afresh. I was a British soldier stationed in London, and as aforementioned, I was on the eve of departure for parts unknown. I had been to Harrods to purchase an electronic travel chess set, and had popped into the Grapes of Wrath for a couple of nippy sweeties before joining the gang down at a little pizza cellar.
Chess set? No, I’m not really very good. But by God it beats trying to talk over the engine noise of a C-130. Believe me, ten hours in a canvas seat on a C-130 and you’ll never complain about in-flight entertainment again. But I digress.

I managed to navigate my way to Pizza Pompadour’s, and that was when the popularity of the place became apparent. The line wound up the steps and out onto the road. This was when I made the fatal error of trying to negotiate with the moronic element of British culture. That, my dear reader, is the standard-issue British doorman. Now, much as you may wish to slap the clown down with some sparkling observation and barge past his pimply 5' 5" frame, you have to understand that he holds your immediate future in the palms of his sweaty paws.

I made much of the fact that my friends were debauching and otherwise carrying on downstairs, but to no avail. Six feet and buffed hard is great in combat, but it matters not one jot in a London line. So bowing down to popular demand, I removed myself to the rear of the snake that now resided inside the narrow entranceway to the establishment.

I was well on my way to a damn good thrashing by an electronic Kasparov when a commotion started ahead of me. Something large and nasty was making its way up the steps, and people were hastily plastering themselves against walls. The cause of the excitement didn’t even seem to notice the disturbance coming from its base. I would say human, but I never heard it speak, and so I shouldn’t be relied upon for an opinion on the matter. Suffice to say that it was huge and solid.

I was so impressed that I almost failed to notice the wizened dwarf that trailed in its wake: Sylvester Stallone. The unlikely pair stepped out into the watery London sunshine, and I really felt for the poor chap. The nippy sweeties were kicking in, and I was struck by the thought that if anyone deserved to be taller, it was Sly. Then I realized that the giant of the pair was in fact Sly, and that next to him the bodyguard was just a Tweety Bird.

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