Ai bots blocked, header

His Majesty the Sultan bet me his beard that no man could count the sand in his garden. I asked for a spoon and one afternoon. At sundown I gave him a number so long it took two clerks to say it. He checked none of it, shaved at once, and wept.

Comets are simply horses with good lungs. I roped one over Sweden and rode it bareback past Saturn. The tail singed my britches. At the far turn I jumped off and landed in a haystack near Malmo, just in time for a rather dull wedding.

The Turkish bean I kept in my vest pocket grew restless one night. By morning it had burst my coat, lifted my bed, and carried me over Smyrna. I ate my way down, pod by pod. It took me one month, and I have not cared for beans since.

Portraits of me must be painted in two parts, as no canvas is large enough for my good qualities. The artist in Florence worked nine years. He got to my left ear before he ran out of blue. The finished ear hangs in a fine palace, and people bow to it.

My best hen laid a square egg near Innsbruck. It stacked well. Builders came.