Dong-Chee needs a liquor box to prop his feet on

1967 is the year I saw god, Jack. That was when the solid gold dancer, who died, dumped me for a Korean soap star. Her dance I scorned was a jig. Not my fault. Had I invented electricity, I wouldn't be a thug for hire. My dancer didn't like the pretty flowers, but the nature boy did. The planets shined in her eyes. Gonna shine in her eyes now, planets?

When the aliens land, that'll show him.