Volume 2 — Pasture Pot Pourri
Reading edition
Oh, boys! What wouldn’t I give for just an acre of Cuba in the center of the Whiz Bang farm.
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The reason why Dan Cupid makes so many bad shots is because he aims at the heart while looking at the hosiery.
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Gi’mea Jane wit alit’l eye an’ a nose so very long, Two lips dat qiv’er an’ make u’ giv’ er a sam’pell ove yoh ’tong.
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I got a gal she’s neat Sweet as turkey meat With a great big leg And toot’ie woot’ie feet.
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Our Latest Song Success
Never Mind the Bread, Mother—Father will soon be Home with a Bun.
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It makes no difference what you are, Or what you might have been; But if you want a drink that’s fast, Get a quart of old sloe gin.
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Love Croon of a Gambler
Dearie, oh, dearie! If I could have held a hand like this years ago, who knows but what I might have had a full house now.
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Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder; Also makes the poor brain wander.
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Eczema, you can’t belong to our union. You’re too much of a scab.
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Mamma loves papa, and papa loves women.
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A He-Vamp’s Motto
If you want one Thin or fat Get her address From my flat.
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Latest reports from Cork, Ireland, indicate that the Sinn Fein have taken Pluto, but cannot hold it.
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A girl may drive a coach, Or even a motor car, But the girl who rides a-horseback Is stretching things too far.
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Brethren and sistern, our text fo’ today will be taken from the book of Whiz Bang, chapta fo’ ’leven fo’ty fo’, verse seben ’leben: “He who sitteth on a red hot stove shall rise again.”
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Good Advice
“Mother, may I go out to skate?” “Yes, my darling Julia, But don’t you try the figure 8, For it will surely fool ya! Just as you make a fancy whirl To show your springy muscle, The boys will see a foolish girl, Sleigh-riding on her bustle.” —Brutus.
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Sign in Natchez
Patrons depositing in this bank are respectfully requested not to leave any small change on the counter.
Natchez must indeed be careless.
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Latest Ballad
We will now sing: “The Liveryman’s Sweet Daughter; All But Me Knew Her.”
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“Sweet Patootie!” gasped the bee, as he pushed his head high enough to get a breath of fresh air, “Bees may come and bees may go, but the Bull goes on forever.”
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“Batter up for the wheatcakes,” shouted the cook in the beanery, who was an ex-umpire.
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A successful magazine cover is one that has very little cover for the girl.
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“Poor Fish!”
I wish I was a fish, A-frozen in the ice; Then I could watch the girlies skate; Oh, wouldn’t that be nice!
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Am I Right or Am I Wrong?
Pure water is the best of gifts, That man to man can bring; But who am I that I should have The best of anything? Let princes revel at the pump, Peers with the pond make free, But old time bourbon, wine, or beer Are good enough for me.
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“Here’s to the short skirt and the low waist. May they never meet.”
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Speaking of Hosiery
Most of us keep at least one eye on the temptation we pray not to be led into.
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No, Aloysius, Easter Sunday is not related to Billy Sunday.
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Sweetheart Blues
I got a man, Won’t tell you his name, Cause your man And my man May be the same.
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Solomon’s interpretation of the white slave law:
Love them where you find them and leave them where you love them.
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Pat’s Narrow Escape
Pat and Mike, working on a night shift in a mill, decide that their work can be done by one, and arranged that they would alternate on the job after the boss went home at midnight.
The first night it was Pat’s turn to go home. A half hour later he surprised Mike by rushing into the mill and hurrying into his overalls.
“Mike,” he exclaimed, “I nearly got caught. I was just about to walk into my home when I saw, through the window, the boss eating a midnight supper with my wife.”
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Here’s to Gretchen in the kitchen Frying doughnuts in the grease, With her lover bending o’er her, Coaxing, begging for a piece Of the doughnuts in the grease.
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Little Miss Muffet, who sat on a tuffet, Eating her lunch one day, When a speeder espied her and drew up beside her, And both of ’em beat it away.
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Foolish Bunk
We cannot see any head or tail to this story, but as my good friend Neely sent it in, I’ll publish it for his benefit.—CAPTAIN BILLY.
A young man had an appointment for a lesson in phrenology and also an appointment to meet his sweetheart. He was undecided which to keep, when the girl telephoned. Learning of his difficulties, she asked him if he had a coin in his pocket. He replied affirmatively.
“Well, flip it,” she said.
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Not a Scotch Soldier!
Scene: Hotel verandah in Rhodesia. Time, 8:30 a. m., early 1919.
Personae: A South African Scottish N. C. O. in the garb of old Gael, and civilian, to whom the former is telling the war tale.
Enter Indian waiter, who breathlessly addresses the soldier:
“You are wanted, sir, at once, at Room 23, and the lady says she feels bad this morning.”
“Great Scot! What lady? Excuse me, you fellows.” Precedes his hasty flight upstairs, where he had already noted that morning the presence of a very dainty pair of lady’s shoes outside the door of No. 23.
Knocking at the door, it was partially opened, and the fair unknown, peeping through the crack, no sooner caught sight of the kiltie than she exclaimed:
“My God! What do you want here?”
Soldier: “The coolie waiter said you wanted me badly.”
Lady: “The ⸺ fool! Why, I sent him for a Scotch and soda!”
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I was born in Kentucky, Raised in Tennessee. If you don’t like my peaches, Don’t shake my tree. Oh, tell me how long Must I have to wait, Will you jazz with me now Or must I hesitate.