Some 1500 miles west of the Big Apple we find the Minneapple, a
haven of tranquility in troubled times. It's a good town, a civilized town.
A town where they still know how to get your shirts back by Thursday. Let
the Big Apple have the feats of "Broadway Joe" Namath. We have known the
stolid but steady Killebrew. Listening to Cole Porter over a dry martini
may well suit those unlucky enough never to have heard the Whoopee John Polka
Band and never to have shared a pitcher of 3.2 Grain Belt Beer. The loss is
theirs. And the Big Apple has yet to bake the bagel that can match peanut
butter on lefse. Here is a town where the major urban problem is dutch elm
disease and the number one crime is overtime parking. We boast more theater
per capita than the Big Apple. We go to see, not to be seen. We go even
when we must shovel ten inches of snow from the driveway to get there. Indeed
the winters are fierce. But then comes the marvel of the Minneapple summer.
People flock to the city's lakes to frolic and rejoice at the sight of so
much happy humanity free from the bonds of the traditional down-filled parka.
Here's to the Minneapple. And to its people. Our flair for style is balanced
by a healthy respect for wind chill factors.
And we always, always eat our vegetables.
This is the Minneapple.