howz about dem goils ey?

And so in the year that followed, Mr. Forkwinkle decided he needed a change of pace. So he glanced through a couple of magazines imploring one to come to one of the "picturesque wonders" that are featured in their pages. Travelogues, I think they are called. Or travelzines.... Whatever. Such as it was, it did not occur to Mr. Forkwinkle that such travelzines or travelogues were of course, actually paid by most of their featured "picturesque wonders" to actually feature them.... the picturesque wonders. And so he packed his suitcase with his best suits (never having been anywhere near a picturesque wonder and not knowing what one wears to such locations, Mr. Forkwinkle of course, overpacked) took a trolley and a taxi and a plane and a boat and a somewhat shaky three-wheeled vehicle that the locals called a tricycle and finally arrived in what the tavelzine described as a "quiet, refreshing and heavenly picturesque wonder." Of course the scene that greeted him was altogether not as quiet or as refreshing or as heavenly as the travelzine decided it would be. If anything, it wasn't even a "picturesque wonder." And as he gazed in utter disappointment at his predicament, he noted the fact that the other Mr. Forkwinkles were there as well. "Avast! We have been duped by the magic of photogpraphy and the lure of shiny words!" shouted they. Gone were the blueness of sky and sea, to be replaced by the reds and whites and pinks and polkadots of thousands of Mr. Whittlebottoms and Mrs. Loppletops. Gone were the genetically gifted bodies of beauty and grace, to be replaced by the gelatinous form of the Mr. Finklewhites and the Mrs. Gundlebeys. Such was the scene that greeeted Mr. Forkwinkle. And greet him it did. It said "Why hello Mistuh Foikwinkle suh! Howz about dem goils ey?"