A lesson in grammar, by way of impotency and medicine men:
An older businessman receives a gift certificate as a present which entitles him to one session of treatment by a legendary Native American medicine man rumored able to cure erectile dysfunction. The businessman drives to the reservation where the medicine man lives and finds him sitting alone on top of a hill, smoking a pipe. The businessman explains his troubles to the shaman, who hands him a small bottle with one teaspoon of liquid in it and says, “Take this teaspoon right before activity, then say one, two, three. You’ll instantly become the manliest of men, able to satisfy any woman.”
“Thank you,” the businessman says, “but what do I do when I’m finished and I want it to wear off?” “Then,” says the medicine man, “just say one, two, three, four. Instantly, all effects will be gone.”
The businessman drives home and takes the teaspoon of medicine just as his wife is coming into their bedroom. He undresses and says, “One, two, three.” Instantly, the medicine takes hold. When his wife sees what’s happened, she undresses and throws herself on him and pushes him to the bed. As they fall into bed, she breathlessly says, “This is wonderful… but what was the ‘one, two, three’ for?”
That’s why we never end sentences with prepositions… often, we’re left with just a dangling participle.