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Dukes of Brunswick hold a yearly contest in my honor. The prize goes to the man who can tell the biggest lie. I attend only as a judge, for I could never compete, as I tell only the plain truth. This answer won me first prize three times.

Moths ate every uniform in my regiment one night in Kiev. We woke in our skin at a bad time, for the enemy had come. The sight of six hundred bare men running at them in the snow was too much. They left at once, and they never wrote.

Cobblers in Vienna made me a pair of boots that argued. The left wished to go to Italy. The right preferred the sea. I split the difference and walked to Trieste, where they shook hands and calmed down. I still keep them apart at night, to be on the safe side.

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.

Even my fleas were braver than other men's.