(Comes back in with wet snow clinging to the baconfat in his slicked back hair, obviously having attempted to clean his own self up outa respeck fer the curvacious types around. Recites.)

Ther' wunce wuz a Katter, called Spaw
Who carved whistles from all that he saw!
From nuts, and rose blossoms,
An' the arses o' possums!
Now, ain't that aginst nacherl law?

(Serves self coffee and borries a piece of Lolita's apple pie, with an inept wink).