“March!” says General Egrald Ranzenbarzom to his thirty-six soldiers as they marched near some woods. “There’d be no time for resting ’til we get to the middle of the woods!”
Twenty minutes later, the tired soldiers are resting in an open area in the center of the woods where there are many fallen logs to sit on.
And upon one of the logs sits a rather skinny man, spacing out as he stares at the rising flames of the campfire.
“Alright, men!” yells the general, “We mustn’t waste our time here just resting! Gather up your guns! Practice your aiming skills by using those yonder trees as targets!”
Many shouts of “Roger!” and “Yes, sir!” ring from the soldiers, except for one.
“Uh, cap’n?” says the skinny man.
“What is it now? Got a headache again? Or is it a boo-boo on your finger this time? And stop calling me ‘captain’!”
“Ma’ legs be a’hurtin’ and ma’ arms are aching from the long march from Belgium to Switzerland. Let me rest for awhile, pretty please?”
“Well, er, alright, but don’t expect me to increase your salary,” says General Ranzenbarzom. “And how many times do I have to tell you that we are in Bohemia now, not Switzerland, huh, descendant of pirates?!”
For the skinny man is the descendant of the 17th century dunderhead of a pirate captain, Rascal Numbskull.
“Tango yankee, kimosabe!” says Sergeant Dulloaf Numbskull. “Then I’d be a’roastin’ these here chestnuts for an itty-bitty snack!”
“Well, fine!” says the general, then facing his men, guns at the ready, he orders, “Get ready for action my men! On the count of three, fire at my command!”
Numbskull stabs some chestnuts on some sharp sticks.
Says the general, “One… two… three…”
Sings the sergeant, “Chestnuts roasting on an…”