Legacy image format, near miss

Goats in Albania climb better than any sailor, and I once hired a few for my navy. They went up the masts and ate the rigging. Then they ate the flag. We lost the ship but won the respect of the enemy, who laughed so hard they forgot to shoot.

Pepper won the war for us at Ochakov. I loaded a mortar with a single sack and fired it at the wind. Ten thousand Turks sneezed at the same time. Their tents blew down, and their horses fled in panic. Our drummers then marched in without waking the cook.

Tailors measure me with a ship's chain, as a matter of honor. One poor man in Bruges needed three weeks to go around my chest. He married along the way. His children helped him hold the tape, and the suit they made still fits me, provided I skip lunch.

During the siege of Belgrade I played the violin so sadly that the enemy began to cry. Their powder got wet. Their cannons would not fire. Their general came to my tent with a hanky and gave up the whole campaign, on the sole condition that I stop.

My sword was so sharp that I had to keep it in a jar. I shaved with it.