They sat hunched over the dark mahogany table, each with an empty glass in his hand. Robin poured out the single malt, giving everyone a liberal tot.
Ed Norton cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “You sure it’s OK for Tonto to be drinking this stuff?”
“Fuck you, Ed,” retorted the weathered Native American. “I can hold my firewater, thank you very much. Right, Bernardo?”
Bernardo, silent as always, simply shrugged his shoulders.
Dr. Watson spoke up. “I’d like to propose a toast...
“...to the latest member of the Immortal Sidekicks and Second Bananas League: Ed McMahon.”
They all rose, holding their glasses. “Hear, hear!”
“We’re Number Two!” Their voices seemed loud in that small room, almost loud enough to be heard on the Chicago streets below.
“I just weesh ‘Number Two’ didn’t also mean ‘shit,’” said Sancho Panza to himself.
* * * * *
Ed McMahon, Johnny Carson’s inseparable TeeVee Companion, passed away early today at the age of 86. Ave atque vale, Ed – we hardly knew ye.
Ed Norton cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “You sure it’s OK for Tonto to be drinking this stuff?”
“Fuck you, Ed,” retorted the weathered Native American. “I can hold my firewater, thank you very much. Right, Bernardo?”
Bernardo, silent as always, simply shrugged his shoulders.
Dr. Watson spoke up. “I’d like to propose a toast...
“...to the latest member of the Immortal Sidekicks and Second Bananas League: Ed McMahon.”
They all rose, holding their glasses. “Hear, hear!”
“We’re Number Two!” Their voices seemed loud in that small room, almost loud enough to be heard on the Chicago streets below.
“I just weesh ‘Number Two’ didn’t also mean ‘shit,’” said Sancho Panza to himself.
Ed McMahon, Johnny Carson’s inseparable TeeVee Companion, passed away early today at the age of 86. Ave atque vale, Ed – we hardly knew ye.
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