Volume 3 — Pasture Pot Pourri
Reading edition
Come, Kiss the Heroine!
Dear Editor: While coming over to America on a steamer, the mate rushed up to me and threatened to blow up the ship if I didn’t give him a kiss.
What did I do?
I saved the lives of four hundred people.
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Lives of ’skeeters all remind us, While short skirts are all the go, That to them existence must be Just one great big burlesque show!
* * *
Yes, Gus, ’tis sad but only too true that in Georgia the peaches grow on the limbs while at the beaches—but why break the monotony?
* * *
The hired hand, Gus, went to town the other night to a dance. When he got back he said that “nothing stands between certain dancers and pneumonia but a sense of loyalty to their employers.”
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Oh, Myrt, do you know Aurora Borealis? They say she was all lit up last night.
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No, Geraldine, Sandy Hook is not a Scotchman.
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I was walking down the street the other day and on the far side was a fellow who looked familiar. “Hello, Bill,” I says. “Hello, Tom,” says he. “My name ain’t Tom,” I says. “Well, my name ain’t Bill, either,” says he. With that, I looks at him an’ he looks at me an’ sure enough, it was neither of us.
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Height of Speed
Our idea of a fast guy is one who can turn out the light and get in bed before the room gets dark.
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Why don’t girls figure that it costs money to press trousers?
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Our Book Review
When a girl reading a novel begins to wet her lips, the hero and heroine are about to meet.
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Girls will play fast and loose with men, We know; so what’s the use? So first we’ll hold the loose ones, then, We’ll turn the fast ones loose.
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The angels that fear to tread where fools rush in must miss a lot of fun.
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A woman is not a heroine, Geraldine, just because she is dying for a man.
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Ain’t It Awful, Mabel!
Our friend Hooper writes us that last fall he was in Alaska; went out to spend the evening with his best girl and didn’t come back for six months. Some night, we’d say.
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Height of Laziness
A fellow who gets up at five o’clock in the morning so that he’ll have more time to loaf.
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Har, Har, Ha!
Heard a good joke this morning.
Is it really a good one?
Must be. My stenographer laughed until she almost fell off my lap when I told it to her.
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A fast night makes a slow day. How well do I know it this morning.
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Plug it Up
He—My love for you is like a rushing brook.
She—Dam it!
* * *
Oh, for a world of equal balance. Here we find some women with no husbands atall, atall, while others have husbands and assistant husbands.
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Women are like automobiles. Some are chummy roadsters and some are merely runabouts.
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A New Melody
One of the latest song hits in Southern California is “And we will get a little bungalow in Hollywood and live our own sweet way.”
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Indeed, Aloysius, you’re right—socks are the most frugal things in the world. They wouldn’t think of dropping a scent until they’re washed. Hoping you are the same, I am,
Antiseptically speaking,
Yours for safety first,
Bilious Billy.
* * *
Do you need any typewriter supplies? Yes, send me two pounds of candy and a box of chewing gum.
* * *
About the only amusement women appear to have nowadays is smoking cigarettes, shaking the shimmy, and shooting their husbands.
* * *
We wonder where the pictures that used to hang in the bar rooms are now?
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Here It Is Again
Don’t bother bringing in the firewood, Mother. Father will be home with a load.
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Me friend Mulligan says wan time whin two heads are not better than wan is whin you wake up the morning after the night before.
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Said our pet pole cat to his pretty pal: “Now, dearie, do not be so high toned that you can’t use common sense.”
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Talk about your nice dispositions—we have a man in our town who retires early rather than keep the bedbugs waiting for supper.
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Has anyone heard that little ballad entitled “Who shot Nellie in the freckle?”
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What could be sweeter than the rib music of choir-practors.
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Fair Dancer—Say, walk over your own feet!
He—What do you think I am, a cross-country runner?
* * *
Button up your mouth, boys, you’ve ingrown heels.
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Today in History
They were married and lived snappily ever after.
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It takes a tough bird to eat currents off a live wire.
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A North Pole Ad
(From Charlotte, N. C., Paper)
To Sublet—Heated apartment for July and August.
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“So you’ve been to Paris? How did you like the Eifel Tower?”
“Eifel Tower? Huh, I didn’t have my eyes more than two feet off the ground all the time I was there.”
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In Our Barn Yard
In she came; Down she sot; Laid a little egg, And up she got.
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“The MISERY of a CHILD—is interesting to a MOTHER!
“The MISERY of a YOUNG MAN—is interesting to a YOUNG WOMAN!
“The MISERY of an OLD MAN—is interesting to NOBODY!”
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Roses are rare, Violets are few, I sure picked a lemon, When I got you.
* * *
Joe’s a Gentleman
“Yes,” remarked the stout lady in the private bar of the Helping Hand, “my Joe give me a ruddy good leatherin’ larst night. You oughter see my shoulders! They’re black and blue. But,” she added proudly,“’e never ’its me on the face, where it’ll show. My Joe’s too much of a gentleman for that.”
* * *
Reverting to the subject of colored babies, George Washington Jackson, informs us that his wife presented him with one last week that weighed only two pounds. Now he wants to know if this isn’t the first time a colored baby was born so light.
* * *
Yes, Alfred, the ambitious girl is ambitious to make a name for herself, but she usually ends by accepting some man’s.
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Lost, Almost
A pacifist orator in Hyde Park, London, was declaiming against war. Seeing a returned soldier listening on the edge of the crowd, he roared out: “See that man! He is garbed in the uniform of war. But I belong to the army of heaven.” The “Tommy,” leisurely removing his pipe from his mouth, dryly replied: “You’re a ’ell of a way from your barracks, then.”
* * *
The height of Sir Walter Raleighism was observed at a bathing beach last month, when a young man carried a bathing suit clad girl from boat to shore through six inches of water so the poor dear would not get her feet wet.
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Blessed are the orphan children, for they have no mothers to spank them.
Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed.
* * *
All we have to do in Robbinsdale to feel the spirit of the good old days is to eat an ear of corn and drink a pint of water.
* * *
Since the country is dry why manufacture umbrellas with crooked handles to hang over bars?
* * *
If a woman can’t break some man’s heart she gets reckless and breaks her own.
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Wise men never borrow trouble when they can borrow money instead.
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One swallow doesn’t make a summer, But one frog can make a spring.
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The other day I was riding in the street car. I had my eye on a seat, but a woman sat on it.
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A chilly reception doesn’t cool one off on a hot day.
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Men fight with their fists, women with their tears.
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When spinsterhood is bliss, ’tis folly to be wives.
* * *
We will now sing that touching little ballad, entitled, “Girls, don’t put make-up on your eyes, I’ll blacken ’em for you,” by the writers of “Naughty Nellie.”
* * *
First I gave her peaches, Then I gave her pears Then I gave her fifty cents And kissed her on the stairs.
* * *
What we would like to know is what part of a woman’s anatomy are the stairs. The author evidently received his training from the late Quenton, who reported that a South St. Paul woman was shot in the boiler room. Well, well, I must pull another cork now. Reminds me of the time I was half shot in the Islands.
* * *
Her’s
Bachelor—“Do you suffer from cold feet?”
Newlywed—“Yes, but they aren’t mine.”