It was April the Forty-first, being a quadruple leapyear;
I was driving in downtown Atlantis.
My Barracuda was in the shop, so I was in a rented Stingray,
and it was overheating.
So I pulled into a Shell station; they said I'd blown a seal.
I said, "Fix the damn thing and leave my private life out of it, okay, pal?"
While he was doing that, I walked over to a place called the Oyster Bar.
A real dive. But I knew the owner; he used to play for the dolphins.
I said, "HI GILL!" (You have to yell, he's hard of herring.)
Puns are the lowest form of tuna.