Monsieur LeSeur

Monsieur LeSeur

Just a word, before we begin. . . It has been remarked that this seems very reminiscent of a Three Stooges routine, and in all honesty. I must admit both that the intellectual level is appropriate and that (after it has been pointed out to me) I can make such a recollection, also, thru the past, darkly. Having admitted this, I will simply say that I am not factually aware of this stimulation, or unconcious plagiarism, and I am perfectly happy to give credit where credit is due -- all I know is that I could not sleep one night till I purged my system of this incessant, disrhythmic litany until I got it down in black and white, so to speak, in a cybernetic sort of way. . . .

I was glad to see my old friend again, he looked so well. "You look so
prosperous," I told him, "what are you doing now?"

"I run a restaurant," he said proudly, "a franchise of the LeSeur
corporation!"

"LeSeur?" I queried uncertainly. . . .

"Yes, LeSeur. I infer from your manner that you are confused, which is
understandable: we are a specialty restaurant. LeSeur's indeed is famous
mostly for their canned peas, but our cuisine is not limited just to that!"

"That is a relief", I confessed, "what do you call your place?"

"Monsieur LeSeur's Canapes," he announced with satisfaction.

"Can of Peas?" I ventured.

"No, no, no," he demurred, waving his hand as if he were wiping a chalkboard
clean, "Canapes: appetisers!"

"Oh, canapes!" I exclaimed, dumbfounded at my density. "What kind do you
serve?"

"Oh, an amazing variety," and he enumerated as examples: "Peas Rockefeller,
Peas Porridge (hot and cold), Peas Under Glass, and Peas Surprise'."

"Oh - um - all using LeSeur's Canned Peas, then?" I asked, crestfallen.

"Certainment!" he confirmed, gallically, "but this is no cuisine ordinare
and we always serve le portion grande: a full can."

"You serve," I observed carefully, "a can o'peas canapes".

"Yes," he drawled doubtfully, "you must come down to the restaurant and see
for yourself - off Bacon Street."

"How will I know it?" I asked.

"We have a very distinctive façade, very continental," he said. "We have
many windows in front and each has an awning with the restaurant name on
it."

"Then these are Can o'Peas Canapes Canopies," I said puckishly.

"Well, yes," he frowned . . . .

"And you have a lot of them, so they are a panoply of Can o'Peas Canapes
Canopies!"

"Well, yes," he tried to interject with narrowing eyes, but now I was on a
roll. . . .

"And you have the franchise, so you have a Monopoly on the Panoply of Can
o'Peas Canapes Canopies!"

"Well, yes," he began again, now with wall-eyed consternation. . . .

"And since it is so tres chic, you have the Hippity-Hoppity Monopoly on the
Panoply of Can o'Peas Canapes Canopies, don't you?" And off I went down the
street, singing: "Hippity-Hoppity Monopoly on the Panoply of Can o'Peas
Canapes Canopies, Hippity-Hoppity Monopoly on the Panoply of Can o'Peas
Canapes Canopies, Hippity-Hoppity Monopoly on the Panoply of Can o'Peas
Canapes Canopies . . . ."

"Don't come to my restaurant," he screamed down the street. "I withdraw my
invitation! Do you hear me? I withdraw my invitation!"