Missing social, no open graph

Goats in Albania climb better than any sailor, and I once hired a few for my navy. They went up the masts and ate the rigging. Then they ate the flag. We lost the ship but won the respect of the enemy, who laughed so hard they forgot to shoot.

Barbers wept at the sight of my mustache. One side grew so long that I used it to moor a small boat in Naples. The other side I lent to a Greek fisherman for his nets. He caught tuna for a whole summer and returned it washed, combed, and slightly salty.

Sleep came hard to a Carpathian bear I met, so I read him my poems. He was out by the second page. He slept all winter, and I took his cave. In April he rose, thanked me kindly, and asked for the rest, and I ran for my life.

A Dutch cheese as wide as a town square rolled down a hill toward Utrecht. Citizens screamed and hid their children. I leaped on top and ran backward, like a circus bear on a ball. The cheese stopped at the gates. The mayor has paid me in crackers for forty years.

Bathing is dangerous at my size and strength. I sat.