Long ago, I worked in the vault room of a large retail store. A secure, windowless room, the vault's daily sameness was driving me nuts. In a feeble bid for some entertainment, I began collecting defaced one-dollar bills.
Artist: "George, you're too uptight and clean-shaven, has anybody ever told you that?"
George: "As a matter of fact, yes. John Adams once had the temerity to slap me on the back and tell me that, the impudent little squeaker."
Artist: "That's pretty funny. Did you knock him out?"
George: "Of course not. I froze him with an icy stare until he cleared his throat and excused himself to obtain another sugared rum."
Artist: "You do have the icy stare down pat. Lucky you didn't have big funky eyeglasses like these!"
George: "Arrghhh!"
Artist: "I always wondered what was up with the white wigs. What if you wore a black wig, wouldn't that have been more impressive?"
George: "That was not a wig! I abhor wigs!"
Artist: "Looks like a wig to me. Look, the black wig makes your head look bigger."
George: "Bigger? I look like a vile species of toadstool!"
Artist: "It's the clean-shaven thing again. You got to have a balanced 'do. There, moustache ... not enough. Sideburns make your chin look wimpy, so let's add a little more here ... Wow, George, you look like you could be Groucho's twin."
George: "I cannot even recognize myself."
Artist: "Maybe not, but you're not as scary looking. In fact, you look like you like it."
George: "If I had looked like this, I could have surprised Aaron Burr in the parlor and made him spill his drink down the front of his stuffed shirt."
Artist: "What? Are you trying to get me to read some history?"
George: "Would I do that?"
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