Art’s shopping in the produce section of a grocery store when a large black man recognizes him and approaches Art saying, “Damn, G! You blowin’ up, dawg!!!”

Misconstruing the man’s enthusiastic fanboidom with a Central Park mugging, Art dives under the stand of Gala Apples (5 for $1) and pleads, “Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me! I’ll give you anything! Can I sign a copy of “The Art of Talk” for you with $1,000 cash inside?”

It’s a typically crowded night at the Excalibur Casino & Hotel. Suddenly the front doors burst open, and in rides a fully armored Art Bell atop his trusty steed Whitley. Art lowers his helmet’s face guard, kicks Whitley in the ribs, and gallops at full speed to the buffet, where Art spears a pot roast, a loaf of bread and a rack of ribs with his lance, before galloping back out into the night to the disbelief, awe, and amazement of all inside.

Curt LOADer