Hey, Groucho. Whatcha doing?
“Being manhandled. At least I think they’re men. I can’t tell with the haircuts.”
Those are men, Groucho. They’re a band named Queen.
“Well, that makes sense. They’ve been nothing but princes to me.”
They’ve treated you right?
“Better than my last wife. Or the two before her. Maybe I should marry one of them.”
You could do worse.
“I have. Last wife talked so much I got her drum lessons for the quiet.”
You don’t say.
“And dumb, too. She thought grass was green because it was jealous of trees.”
“Now, what type of music do these boys play? You did say they were boys?”
They’re boys. They play rock music.
“Rock music? I bet they sound bolder every show.”
You still got it, Groucho.