I rate myself a 10 out of 10 at

I rate myself a 10 out of 10 at

counting to 10 in an orderly manner. I rarely mix the numbers up, freeze or burst into tears. I rattle those little beauties off rat tat tat: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10. See? Top that!

A kindergartner approached. "Oh yeah? Well ! know the pythagorean theorem, and i have memorised various works, including War and Peace, The U.S. Constitution and The Very Hungry

Caterpillar. I have an IQ of 160, buckaroo." Cowboy Bob winced inwardly gave the kid a pat and turned to the camera. "How sweet, stay tuned for Bob's Cartoon Barn after this."

As soon as they cut to a commercial, Cowboy Bob whipped off his 10-gallon hat & screamed at the producer, "OK! Who set me up with this punk kid?! He's making me look like an idiot!

Hey Eisenberg, I bet it was you!" The producer turned purple, stood, and shook an outstretched fist. "My name's not Eisenberg. And you're an anti-Semite!" Cowboy Bob gripped his

horn, which is the thing that pokes out on the saddle. But Cowboy Bob twisted it, his horse transformed into a battle bot. "YEEEEEEHAAAAAWWW!" he said to the Producer.

Mr. Ed the talking horse was ready take the place of the battle Bohn, who grew wings and flew away, carrying a small rucksack. Cowboy Bob said that was not part of the script.

"Sometimes," said Mr. Ed, cocking the shotgun, "you have to go off script to survive." Having said that he galloped under the portcullis firing the shotgun up at the embankment.

The bullet caught Wilbur in the left forearm, right where a blood clot had been forming over the years. Mr. Ed had saved Wilbur's life, by accident. He'd meant to kill him.