The Pony is not a laughing hyena. He has a droll sense of humor. Mostly, he keeps it to himself. Every now an then, he lets it loose.
I came out of the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday with my magical elixir. The Pony had stayed in T-Hoe, munching on his Domino's pizza. He's a car-eater. Not one to wait until he gets home to strap on the old feedbag.
A new song started on the radio. I knew that opening. I'd be great on Name That Tune, if all the songs were from the 70s. Twang, twang, twangtwangtwang twa-aaa-ang!
"Ooh! I need to write that one down. I listen to it when I scratch my tickets."
"I've heard that one somewhere."
"I hear it all the time."
"You mean, like lately?"
"Yeah. But it's from the 70s. Rod Stewart. Maggie May. I've heard it every day for three or four days."
"Well. Then it's not really good luck, is it? Considering that you haven't been winning..."
I don't recall asking The Pony for his analysis.