Title truncated mobile, near miss

A hurricane off Jamaica tried to take my hat. I held on to the brim. The storm pulled, I pulled, and we spun around the island for three days. At last the wind gave up and begged for terms. We signed a treaty, and it has gone around my hats ever since.

Octopus ink wrote my finest letters. I kept one as a clerk on a voyage to Macao. He could write with eight pens at the same time. He kept the log, did the sums, and drew the charts. When he blushed, the whole page turned pink, and I knew he had lied.

Vesuvius sneezed while I stood on the rim, and up I went with my picnic. I came down near Capri, still holding a chicken leg. My friends thought I had died. I walked into my own funeral, ate the cake, and gave a rather fine speech about myself.

Geese fly south because I told them to. Before my day they wandered about in circles and froze. I drew a map on a barn door and gave a short lecture. They took careful notes. Every fall a few of them still honk my name as they.