Wrong content type, near miss

Kites run in my family. At age six I built one from a bedsheet and flew it in a Hanover gale. It pulled me up past the church, over the river, and into a bishop's soup. He blessed me, gave me the spoon, and asked me to please go away.

On clear nights the Moon used to sag over my estate. It scraped the chimneys and upset the hens. I climbed up with a hammer and a sack of nails. Six good blows fixed it to the sky. You may still see the dents, though astronomers call them craters to save face.

Pistols need no powder if you load them with insults. I proved this in a duel at Dresden. I aimed and then I called him a turnip. He fell to the grass in a dead faint. His seconds took it up with me, but I had a spare insult for each.

Trout leap into my hat when I whistle. In Scotland I proved it before an earl and a crowd of doubting anglers. Nine fish came at the first note. At the second, a small pike, two boots, and a rowboat followed. The earl gave up fishing and took up prayer.

Even my fleas were braver than other men's soldiers. A.