>A flea had oiled up his little flea legs and his little flea arms, had
>spread out his blanket, and was proceeding to soak up the Miami sun
>when who should stumble by on the beach but an old flea friend of his.
>
>"Oscar, what happened to you?", asked the flea, because Oscar looked
>terrible, wrapped up in a blanket, his nose running, his eyes red, and
>his teeth chattering.
>
>"I got a ride down here in some guy's mustache and he came down here
>by motorcycle. I nearly froze my nuts off," wheezed Oscar.
>
>"Let me give you a tip, old pal," said the first flea, spreading some
>more suntan oil on his shoulders. "You go to the stewardess lounge at
>the airport, see, and you get up on the toilet seat, and when an Air
>Florida stewardess comes in to take a leak, you hop on for a nice warm
>ride. Got it?"
>
>So you can imagine the flea's surprise when, a month or so later,
>while stretched out all warm and comfortable on the beach, who should
>he see but Oscar - looking more chilled and miserable than before.
>
>"Listen," said Oscar, "I did everything you said. I made it to the
>stewardess lounge and waited till a really cute one came in, and made
>a perfect landing and got so warm and cozy that I dozed right off."
>
>"And so?" asked the first flea.
>
>"And so the next thing I know, I'm on this guy's mustache again!"
>
>
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