John Wayne was sitting under the desert sun.
'Why am I sitting under the desert fucking sun?' he snapped at the lackey holding his sunshade.
'That shade's about as useful as an ice sculpture of my ass.'
Blushing, the lackey -- who had been transfixed by the sight of John Wayne shucking slivers of skin from the soles of his feet with a fruit knife -- re-angled the parasol.
'Actually,' mused John Wayne, 'an ice sculpture of my ass could be interesting.'
'CLAUDITA!' he screamed.