Magic Beans.

I am the first person in line when a disreputable character asks if anybody wants to buy some magic beans.

I do not mind stretching language to its limits of credulity, but, even I find it difficult to call watching sea monkeys “mesmerizing.” They are not very easy to see, not because they are tiny but because they are translucent.

I have given up my chickens. A neighbor complained. I got tired of talking about them. Now that they are gone, the other neighbors ask where they are. The chickens are missed. My days as an urban poultry farmer are over. With all this free time on my hands, I need some other livestock to tend. Mrs. King is against goats in our yard.

I have always wanted to have a goat companion. I would call him Billy. I would feed him tin cans. I would be full of beans.

I once had an ant farm. It turned grim. Imagine being able to see inside all the tombs in St. Louis Cemetery No. 2, like you are wearing X-Ray Specs. Now do it with ants.

I was once the king of a sea monkey kingdom. O! Those were the days when I lorded it over merry troops of sea monkeys. They more fun than an ocean of seals. I abdicated in order to become a Lord of Sealand. E Mare Libertas.

I rode herd with a gaggle of Mexican jumping beans once. They are not real beans. They are larval bugs inside shells that look like dried garbanzos. They jump when warm in the palm of your hand. They are much beans as sea monkeys are simian. It was easy work and the money reflected it. Jumping beans are no way to strike it rich.

Aquaculture is a matter best left to amateurs. It doesn’t take any special skills to harvest sea life. St. Peter was a fisherman. It takes 150,000 brine shrimp (artemia salina) to make up a pound. They are edible. It only takes two minutes to steam a pound.

Cajuns will eat anything wherever they can find it.