Volume 2 — Jest Jokes and Jingles
Reading edition
The Wrong Husband
A lady boarded a crowded train and rushing up behind a bald-headed man, kissed him on the top of his head. He turned to look at her, and in an embarrassed and flustrated tone, she said: “I—I beg your pardon. I thought you were my husband. Your head behind looks just like his behind.”
* * *
The nice things of life are not always naughty, but the naughty things are invariably nice.
* * *
In the Garden of Eden Adam slept; Into his arms a chicken crept. A voice said to Adam: “This is Eve”— And Adam replied: “I’ve got you, Steve.”
* * *
When we hear a woman say that all men are alike we wonder how she found it out.
* * *
Little drops of water, That we used to think Were simply made for chasers, Are now the whole damn drink.
* * *
Did You Ever?
A furrier was selling a coat to a woman customer. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, “I guarantee this to be genuine skunk fur that will wear for years.”
“But suppose I get it wet in the rain?” asked the woman. “What effect will the water have on it? What will happen to it then? Won’t it spoil?”
“Madam,” answered the furrier, “I have only one answer: Did you ever hear of a skunk carrying an umbrella?”
* * *
“So you deceived your husband,” said the judge gravely.
“On the contrary, my lord, he deceived me. He said he was going out of town and he didn’t go.”
* * *
He was a rather feminine young man, but he got into an argument with his male companion. Said the other fellow:
“Do you know, a company in Cincinnati named a soap after you?”
“No, is that right?” asked the feminine youth, in a high-pitched voice, “What is it called?”
“Fairy-soap,” was the reply.
* * *
A young lady on whose lap a bug had just lit, exclaimed:
“Oh, look at that funny little bug; what kind of a bug is it?”
Her Escort: “That’s a lady bug.”
Young Lady: “My but you have good eyesight!”
* * *
Oh, Tempore, Oh H——
Wouldn’t Omar Khayam be sore if he was here. He’d change his immortal “Rubiyait” to this:
Beneath a bough, a can of near beer, And thou—
* * *
Here’s another ditty from the Jazz Review:
Coffee in the Pantry, Sugar in the Bowl, Mother’s Down Town Dancing Jellyroll.
* * *
She came down to breakfast very late and her mother scanned her severely.
“Did that man kiss you last night?” she asked.
“Now, mother,” said the sweet young thing, blushing, “do you suppose he came all the way from the Great Lakes to hear me sing?”
* * *
If the ocean was beer and I was a duck, I’d dive to the bottom and never come up.
* * *
Negro Woman to Drug Clerk: “Misto drug clerk, do you all exchange things here?”
Drug Clerk: “Why, yes madam, we do.”
Negro Woman: “Well I was jist wonderin’ if yo’ would take back this here good fer nuffin rubber thing an’ give me a bottle of Mellen’s food instead.”
* * *
A girl’s heart is like her vanity bag—overflowing with tender little souvenirs of love; a man’s is like his pipe—carefully emptied after each “flame” has gone out.
* * *
Second Spasm
Said the big red rooster to the little brown hen: “Meet me at the smoke-house at half past ten”; Said the little brown hen to the big red rooster: “I’ll not be there—in fact, I refuster”; Said the big red rooster with a smirk of pride: “Huh! I should worry, I’ll go outside”; Said the little brown hen as she left on a run: “So will I, too, you son of a gun.”
* * *
Footman: “My lord, a lady waits without.”
Lord Wunckleberry: “Without what?”
“Without food or clothing, your lordship.”
“Well, give her some food and send her in.”
* * *
Those Kilkenny Kats
A story is told of an agent who accompanied a prospective buyer to the vast granite quarries south of St. Cloud, Minn. While there a cat passed them and seemed to be in a hurry. The P. B. noticed it, but said nothing. In a few moments another cat appeared and ran in the same direction. The P. B. looked at the agent, but he seemed to be paying no attention to the cats. When the third cat finally flew by and vanished in the distance, the P. B. could no longer withhold his curiosity.
“What in the world is the matter with those cats?” he asked.
“Nothing the matter with the cats,” answered the agent, unconcernedly, “but it’s nine miles to dirt.”
* * *
Most women are pure and chaste—the less pure the more chased.