The Ballad of George Harrison's Tonsils
by Charles Nevsimal
Here at the ranch, we like to fancy ourselves music aficionados. We can blow a pretty mean harmonica under these sleepy Wisconsin stars. Back during the Panic of 1819, our uncle taught us how to play the spoons using forks, because we were too poor to afford spoons. Lately, we have been appreciating a good jazz accordion.
Anyhoo, when Charles approached us with this poem about some hippie, we were, needless to say, reluctant at first. We looked at Charles all squinty-eyed. But then he said that George Harrison was the 1960's answer to Stephen Foster. A man who is willing to assert such a claim is a brave man indeed. We kept one hand on our revolver and one on Charles's whiskey-stained onionskin paper.
Upon reading the poem, we took our hand off of our revolver and instead offered it to Charles to shake. We were convinced the poem was better than Foster and Harrison combined. And far better than that one Gershwin brother, you know, the lazy one.
So now we're publishing Nevsimal's psychedelic broadside The Ballad of George Harrison's Tonsils on honest-to-goodness Yellow Submarine electric-yellow cardstock. For only $3, you too can imagine the duet that Nevsimal and Harrison might sing.
Friends, allow me to be certainly the first person in our country's altogether-fascinating history to state that the times, they are a-changin'. Don't stand in the doorway. Don't block up the hall.