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Please begin with an informative title:

Smarg Binkleflop was a historian.  He was a historian of all things Binkleflopian.  He was thrilling in his total recall of all the trivial and not so trivial, some even momentous, sayings of the great Binkleflopian Orator and Statesman, Ronald Binkleflop.  He amazed large rooms of other Binkleflops with tales and anecdotes of Ronald Binkleflops cherished idiosyncrasies, wry Binkleflopian humor and his tremendously admired bathing habits.  He was a one man Ronald Binkleflopian band.  He traveled far and wide recruiting and preaching the gospel of Ronald Binkleflop.  He was loved by multitudes for his work.  


You must enter an Intro for your Diary Entry between 300 and 1150 characters long (that's approximately 50-175 words without any html or formatting markup).

One crisp fall day Smarg was distractedly walking the mall of the Binkleflopian capital, with his “Ronald Binkleflopian” hat and coat on, composing an ode to the great man when he tripped over a bump in the path, causing him to spill the contents of his briefcase and lose his hat to the reflecting pond.  Regaining his footing he quickly moved to gather up the spilled documents, fountain pens, ham sandwich and official Ronald Binkleflopian slingshot he had purchased for his nephew's birthday on Saturday.                                  

As he was scooping up the scattered pages his eye caught something in a slightly crumpled document that confused his incredibly quick Binkleflopian brain.  It was a story related to a prairie newspaper man about Ronald Binklflopian’s early bathing habits, by a valet in a small town hotel were the great man stayed, quite frequently, as a young man while traveling the back roads of Binkleflop pursuing his dreams of statesmanship.  

The sentence in question read, “Young Ronald always requested a soft terry cloth washcloth with which to wash his backside.”  This couldn’t be!  This was heresy!  Everyone knew that Ronald Binkleflop would never, ever use a soft terry cloth washcloth to clean his backside!  No, everyone knew…he himself always said that his gifted right hand was “more than sufficient.”  Smarg Binkleflop could not believe his eyes.  He, the foremost authority on all things Binkleflopian had read everything ever written about the great man – how did he miss this?

Well…it simply must not be true.  Smarg quickly regained his composure, fished his hat out of the reflecting pond and phoned his wife, telling her that he would not be home for dinner – he was going immediately to speak with, “a dire, confused, erroneous prairie newspaper man, if I can find him.”  His wife told him to be careful, replaced the phone on the receiver and moved back to her comfortable chair by the fire where she persistently knitted, polyester blend, Ronald Binkleflopian caftans and Tam o’ Shanters.

Well, to make a long story short:  Smarg found the prairie newspaperman; the aged, but feisty, journalist authenticated the story with an old terry cloth washcloth that he had saved all these years, which was tested and did indeed contain the DNA of Ronald Binkleflop.  Smarg Binkleflop cried for three days, dressed in one of his wife’s polyester blend Ronald Binkleflop caftans and Tam O’ Shanter.  Then the seasonal calls started coming in requesting that Smarg talk to Unversity crowds, women’s clubs, thinktanks, boyscout troops…all manner of Binkleflop organizations and groups.  

The washcloth was put in a bulletproof glass case for all to see and the government was shut down.

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