The Buffalo Popsicle Standoff: Tim Conway vs. the King
The palace gates were enormous—iron bars as thick as a man’s arm, topped with gilded spikes that caught the afternoon sun. Behind them, a cobblestone courtyard led to the grand entrance of the royal residence, where servants scurried and guards stood at attention. It was a place of power, of history, of unquestioned authority. And on this particular day, it was also the site of the most absurd standoff in the history of the monarchy.
Tim Conway stood in front of the gate. He was dressed in a guard’s uniform that was slightly too big for him, a helmet that kept slipping over his eyes, and a rifle that he held with the casual indifference of a man who had never actually fired it. His expression was one of profound seriousness, as if he were guarding the crown jewels rather than a door.
Approaching him were the King and Queen.
Harvey Korman, regal in a velvet cape and a crown that was slightly askew, strode toward the gate with the confidence of a man who had never been questioned in his life. Carol Burnett, elegant in a gown and a tiara, walked beside him, her expression one of mild impatience. They had been out for a ride. They had enjoyed the fresh air. Now they wanted to go inside, have a cup of tea, and forget about the burdens of ruling a kingdom.
The guard did not move.
“Good afternoon,” the King said. “We’re going inside.”
Conway looked at him. He looked at the Queen. He looked back at the King. He did not move.
“Password?” he asked.
The King blinked. “What?”
“Password. To enter the palace.”
The Queen stepped forward. “We live here.”
“I understand that.”
“We are the King and Queen.”
“I understand that too.”
“Then let us in.”
“Password?”
The King and Queen exchanged a look. It was the look of two people who had suddenly found themselves in a conversation they did not understand. The King took a breath.
“We don’t need a password,” he said. “We own the palace.”
“Everyone needs a password,” Conway said. “That’s the rule.”
“What rule?”
“The rule about the password.”
“We made the rules.”
“Then you should know the password.”
The Queen sighed. “This is ridiculous. We are your King and Queen. You are supposed to obey us.”
Conway considered this. He looked at the Queen. He looked at the King. He looked back at the Queen.
“Could ‘I am your Queen’ be the password?” he asked.
“No,” the Queen said. “It is not the password. It is a statement of fact.”
“Then it’s not the password.”
“There is no password!”
“Then you can’t come in.”
The King’s Grammar
The King, who had been trying to remain calm, finally lost his patience.
“This is absurd!” he shouted. “We have been outside for twenty minutes. We are cold. We are tired. And you are standing there asking for a password that does not exist!”
Conway did not flinch. He simply looked at the King with the patient expression of a man who had all the time in the world.
“I’m just doing my job,” he said.
“Your job is to guard the palace. We are the palace. Therefore, you are guarding us. Therefore, you should let us in.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“How does it work?”
“You say the password. I let you in. That’s how it works.”
The Queen turned to the King. “Did you hear that? He used the wrong tense. It should be ‘That is how it works.’”
The King nodded. “I noticed. But I was trying to focus on the larger issue.”
“Grammar is important,” the Queen said. “Even in a crisis.”
“I agree. But the larger issue is that we are locked out of our own palace.”
“Fair point.”
They turned back to Conway. He was still standing there, his rifle resting on his shoulder, his helmet slipping over his eyes.
“Let me try another approach,” the Queen said. She smiled. It was a warm, regal smile, the kind of smile that had charmed ambassadors and disarmed diplomats. “You are a very good guard. Very dedicated. We appreciate your service.”
Conway nodded. “Thank you.”
“We would like to reward you.”
“Money?”
“Yes. Money.” The King reached into his pocket. He pulled out a shiny shilling. He held it out to Conway. “Here. Take it. And let us in.”
Conway looked at the shilling. He looked at the King. He looked at the shilling again.
“I don’t want a shilling,” he said.
The King stared at him. “You don’t want money?”
“No.”
“Everyone wants money.”
“I don’t.”
“Then what do you want?”
Conway considered the question. He looked at the palace. He looked at the King. He looked at the Queen. He looked at the audience.
“A popsicle,” he said.
The Popsicle
The King blinked. “A what?”
“A popsicle. Frozen. On a stick.”
“You want a popsicle?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“We’re standing outside a palace. In the middle of the afternoon. And you want a popsicle?”
“Yes.”
The Queen stepped forward. “What flavor?”
“Buffalo.”
The King closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He opened his eyes. Conway was still there, still waiting, still completely serious.
“Buffalo?” the King repeated.
“Yes.”
“There is no such thing as a buffalo popsicle.”
“There could be.”
“No, there couldn’t. It doesn’t exist.”
“Then I’ll take something else.”
“What else?”
“A double-decker ice-cream cone.”
“Fine. A double-decker ice-cream cone. We can get you one. What flavors?”
“Antelope sherbet. Goat-hoof ice cream.”
The King threw his hands in the air. “Those aren’t flavors! Antelope is not a flavor! Goat hoof is not a flavor! Ice cream has real flavors! Chocolate! Vanilla! Strawberry!”
Conway corrected him. “Antelope is the sherbet. Goat hoof is the ice cream. You mixed them up.”
“I don’t care which is which! Neither of them exists!”
“They could.”
“They don’t!”
The Queen placed a hand on the King’s arm. “Darling. Calm down.”
“I am calm! I am perfectly calm! I am just trying to explain to this man that he cannot stand outside our palace demanding frozen desserts that do not exist!”
“I understand that. But shouting is not going to help.”
The King took another deep breath. He turned back to Conway. “Fine. We’ll get you a popsicle. A regular popsicle. Any flavor you want. But first, you have to let us inside.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. The password first. Then the popsicle.”
“But there is no password!”
“Then there is no entry.”
The Buffalo Popsicle
The Queen disappeared for a moment. She returned a few minutes later, slightly out of breath, holding something behind her back.
“We found one,” she said.
The King stared at her. “Found what?”
“A buffalo popsicle.”
“You found a buffalo popsicle?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“It’s not important.”
She produced the popsicle. It was a strange, lumpy thing, brown and frozen, with a stick sticking out of the bottom. It did not look appetizing. It did not look like anything that should be eaten.
Conway looked at it. His eyes lit up.
“Is that a buffalo popsicle?” he asked.
“Yes,” the Queen said.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He reached for it. She pulled it back.
“Password first,” she said.
Conway thought about it. He looked at the popsicle. He looked at the King and Queen. He looked at the audience. He shrugged.
“Okay,” he said. “The password is ‘buffalo.’”
The King threw his hands in the air. “The password was buffalo the whole time?”
“I didn’t know. I just made it up.”
“You just made it up?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you tell us?”
“You didn’t ask.”
The Queen handed him the popsicle. He took it. He examined it. He took a bite. His face contorted. He chewed. He swallowed. He nodded.
“That’s terrible,” he said.
He handed it back to the Queen. He stepped aside. He gestured toward the gate.
“You can go in now,” he said.
The King and Queen walked through the gate. They did not look back. They did not say thank you. They simply walked toward the palace, their heads held high, their dignity slightly bruised, their afternoon completely ruined.
Conway watched them go. He picked up his rifle. He resumed his position. He looked at the audience.
“Nice people,” he said.
The audience roared. The curtain fell.
The Lesson
The genius of the sketch was not the password. It was the waiting.
Tim Conway understood something that few comedians ever master. He understood that anticipation can be funnier than the punchline. He understood that a pause can be a joke. He understood that the slowest man in the room can be the funniest man in the room.
Harvey Korman and Carol Burnett understood something too. They understood that the hardest job in comedy is not making the audience laugh. It is keeping a straight face while someone else makes them laugh.
Together, they created something unforgettable.
One guard. One King. One Queen. One impossible buffalo popsicle.
And a doorway that no one could pass through until the guard got what he wanted.
That was Tim Conway. And that was the magic of The Carol Burnett Show.
The End
