If text counts then
There's this penguin, driving through the South, the Deep South... late August. The hot months. "Ew! But it sure is hot!" the penguin lisped from behind the wheel of his choking jalopy.
Suddenly! The jalopy fails the penguin and he has to push it down a bumpy road to the next small town. He got out, and with all his strength in his weak flippers, he pushed the car over hill and dale.
"Whew!" he sighed.
As luck would have it, there was a mechanic in town, and he told the penguin that he'd have to spend some time with the car. "Why don't you come back in an hour or so?"
Wiping the sweat from his brow, the penguin espied an ice cream shoppe! "Hurray and yippy!" he cried! "I'll be back, toot sweet!" he said.
He ordered the tallest vanilla ice cream he could hold between his vestigial wings... those miserable fins could barely manage the scoops upon scoops of creamy goodness. The cone was so tall that more of it ended up on the penguin than in him!
"Yummy! That was very very good!" the penguin said, smacking his lips.
He waddled back to the mechanic who was ready to give the little fellow an update. The mechanic looked at the penguin sternly. The gaskets and seals on the engine were severely damaged after years of driving without a routine check, and it was certainly going to be expensive.
"Well, it looks like you blew a seal."
"Oh no, that's just ice cream!" the penguin said, wiping the ice cream from his chin.
