"20 minutes of nutting."

When I finally saw the sign I said to the empty car:
"Ooooh! Cape Broyle!"
Not Cape Royal.
It's a matter of oven funtionality. Not regency.
Anyway.
So, I did this show for the wee little children.
It wasn't terrible, really.
That's not to say it was overly pleasant, either.
I performed on the back of a flatbed truck.
And I immediately followed two of the b'ys from Celtic Connection.
The kids didn't laugh, necessarily, but they did interact.
"Who here has a cat?" I asked.
40 hands shoot up.
"You kid, what's your cat's name?"
Then everyone else yells out their cat's names.
"No no, I don't need everyone's."
It wasn't all bad.
It was the most money I've made in a seven minute-period of my life.
Without question.
Also, I met an MHA and ate a free chicken burger.
While doing my 'Pat' joke, the row of 16-year old rec staff employees all lost their minds.
I spoke with them about it afterwards.
One of them explained that they wrote 'for a good time call Pat' in washrooms all over St. John's.
I thanked them for giving me a deadly bit.
The kid's cat was named 'Dusty.'

Shamefully, that's all I've got.
Take it away boys!