I got to watch the process. I'd make a snarky quip on a current event to him, he'd laugh, then he'd make his rounds of the school. I trailed behind as he swished his black trench coat and marched to the far corners of the school, royalty visiting the courtiers and peasants. At each stop, he'd make conversation, work the line in, get his laugh, and ponce off. I heard my quip five times a day. It stopped sounding so fresh after the third time. He was careful to not repeat the line to the same group of people. I don't know how he kept track of it.
He told me that we made a great team. I had the gift of words, to come up with these lines, and he had the comedic timing, to pull them off.
I still have my words, and I'm sure he still has his timing.
Happy Birthday, Fuzzy Modem.