Meta issues, near miss

Soup nearly sank us off Crete. Our cook had made too much of it, and it rose up past the hatches. We bailed with spoons. At last we all sat down, tied on bibs, and ate the ship dry. No crew was ever so full or so brave.

Stars fall, as we all know, but few men catch one. I held out my dinner plate over Vienna and took a bright one on the rim. It hissed, it rolled, and it cooked my egg. I ate the egg and threw the star back before anyone could notice.

Trumpets are dangerous in the wrong lungs, and mine are the wrong lungs. I blew a single note near Jericho, just for fun. Some old stones shifted. A goat fell over. A man in Damascus dropped his lunch. I put the horn away and have since kept it under lock.

Onions won me a wife. I peeled one in front of her father, and the old miser wept for the first time in his life. He gave me her hand, her dowry, and the key to the pantry. I still keep the onion in a velvet box.

Comets are simply horses with good lungs. I roped one over Sweden and rode it bareback past Saturn. The tail singed my.