I was walking through the park one day, enjoying the cool, fragrant breezes and the song of the meadowlark and all that stuff, when suddenly Arnold Schwarzenegger fell out of a tree and landed on a little old lady who was feeding some squirrels.

At first I thought he was wearing a loin cloth, but it turned out to be a pair of leopard print boxer shorts. He sprang to his feet and tried to help the little old lady up. She was out cold, so he propped her against a tree and pinned her coat collar over the protruding nub of a broken branch so that she would remain upright.

“Dere!” Arnold said with a huge gap-toothed smile. “Now she stands up until she no longer is unconscious, ha ha ha!” He noticed me watching and did a double bicep pose. “Look at dese biceps! I am pretending to be Tarzan off da apes, ha ha ha!”

It turned out that Arnold was enjoying a day off from being Governor of California and had decided to spend it romping around in the park in his underwear. I didn’t see anything wrong with that, but I thought he should try to be more careful. “You might have badly injured that old lady with your carelessness,” I scolded.

“MY carelessness?” Arnold responded, shocked. “Vat about HER carelessness? Why vass she feeding dose squirrels dat vere right underneet a big strong man in a tree? Huh, you?”

But the defiant tone in his voice was betrayed by the guilty look on his face. “Uh-huh…you feel bad now, don’t you?” I chided. “You didn’t watch where you were going, and you fell on a little old lady and knocked her out. Go on…admit it.”

Arnold frowned and lowered his head. “You are right, mister. I feel bad. Really bad.” He started to cry. “I vas only playing!”

“I realize that, Arnold,” I said, patting his shoulder. “And I’m proud of you for admitting that you acted carelessly, and for being sorry.”

Arnold brightened immediately, the huge grin returning in full force. “Hooray!” he screamed, jumping up and down and waving his massive arms. “Happy Tarzan! Happy Tarzan off da apes!” He sprang forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Hey, you come and play ‘Tarzan’ wit me! You can be Cheetah!”

“But, I don’t want–” I started to say, but Arnold had already scooped me up over his shoulder and whisked me into the trees. Before I knew it we were swinging from vine to vine high over the ground. I was terrified, but Arnold laughed and screamed like a raging dynamo of pure childlike glee. “I AM TARZAN OFF DA APES!!! HERE I COME, READY OR NOT, EVERYBODDY!!!” Then he tried to do a Tarzan yell. It sounded like elephants being boiled alive like lobsters.

Some children far below spotted us swinging around and pointed excitedly. “Look!” said a little girl with an ice cream cone. “It’s Arnold Schwarzenegger! Do a crab pose, Arnold!”

Arnold was overjoyed. “Yah, I do a crab pose for you!” he cried, releasing the vine and contorting his body into a rock-hard mass of intensely flexed muscles in midair. Suddenly we were both plummeting toward the ground through a dizzying onrush of leafy branches. Finally realizing that he had thoughtlessly let go of the vine in order to perform his crab pose, Arnold began to scream. “YAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

I landed in a duck pond, while Arnold fell squarely on the entire group of children who had been cheering for him only seconds before, knocking them all unconscious. He staggered dizzily to his feet and looked around.

“Vat…vat haff I done?” Arnold said with growing dismay, his eyes bulging. “I haff killed all off dese chillduns! I…I haff to get out off here!” He grabbed me by the collar and hauled me out of the duck pond. “VE haff to get out of here! Ve boat are FUGITIVES now!”

Dragging me along behind him, Arnold ran into the parking lot just as a large, leather-clad man with long hair and a beard was getting off his Harley. He froze when he saw Arnold quickly approaching in his leopard print underwear with me trailing from his arm. “I need your clothes, your boots, and your motorcycle!” Arnold cried.

The frightened man hastily complied, and soon Arnold was dressed in the man’s clothes and starting his motorcycle. He found some sunglasses in the breast pocket of the jacket and put them on. “Dese I vill need for a disguise!” he said breathlessly. “Hurry! Get on!”

Well, I’d had enough. “No, Arnold,” I said resolutely.

“Come wit me iff you vant to live!” Arnold persisted.

“NO! I refuse to be a part of these foolish shenanigans a second longer.”

Arnold sat still for a moment, thinking it over. Then he smiled his huge gap-toothed smile. “Okay! Den let’s play Tarzan off da apes some moah!”

Shucking his stolen clothes, Arnold hoisted me over his shoulder and headed off for the trees again as I screamed for help. The little children were regaining consciousness and rising unsteadily to their feet, so Arnold stopped, put me down, did a quick crab pose for them, and then scooped me up and ascended into the treetops. Before long we were swinging around from vine to vine again.

“Let me go, DAMMIT!” I roared.

“Stop talking!” said Arnold, the wind racing through his hair. “Cheetah da monkey cannot talk!”

The next day, as I lay in bed recovering from my traumatic experience, I saw Arnold on the news. He was at a press conference, smartly-dressed and looking bright and refreshed from his day off. I sneered at the TV screen and was about to change the channel, when suddenly Arnold looked right at me and pointed.

“Hey, look everybody–dere’s porfle!” he said to the crowd of puzzled reporters. “Hi, porfle, ha ha ha!”

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