Volume 2 — Pasture Pot Pourri
Reading edition
Brevity is the sole of wit, and the sole charm of a maiden’s skirt.
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It’s the first straw hat which shows how the wind blows.
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I suppose the maid does all the hard work?
No, my wife still makes the biscuits.
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“Do you like music?”
“Yep.”
“Then listen to the band around my hat.”
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If you want to see something swell, put a sponge in water.
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Did you ever catch your wife flirting?
Yes, that’s the way I caught her.
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If you were with me in my new Cadillac On a road with no trolley about it, A long way from town, would you start to walk back? Maybe you would—but I doubt it.
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While we live, let’s live in clover, For when we’re dead, we’re dead all over.
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Business as Usual
(From the Tryon, N. C. News.)
Wallace Jackson called on Miss Jennie Barnett as usual.
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It is refreshing to know that the woman who was brought up for biting a man in self defense has been bound over to keep the piece.
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Washington woman wants the Congress to impose a tax upon bachelors varying from one dollar a year for men from 21 to 24 to $5 for men of 65 or over. She should reverse her scale and tax the bachelors while they are useful. A bachelor of 65 is not worth taxing—from a woman’s standpoint.
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Here’s to the girl that’s strictly in it, Who holds her head for every minute, Plays well the game and knows her limit And still gets all the fun there’s in it.
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Dode Leonard tells us that near beer is like looking through a keyhole with a glass eye.
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Missouri is noted for three things: Raising democrats, mules and hell.
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You say “Bye, bye,” To some sweet little blonde, And she says: “Sweet Daddy, Get bottled in bond.”
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Our Latest Song Success
The only rings I ever gave her were the rings beneath her eyes.
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Probably Still Together
(From the Cornell, Ill., Journal.)
Joseph Highland and Miss Zelma Gourley left together, Monday, to get married. At time of going to press we have not heard any further particulars.
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Oh, Geraldine, are the seams of my stockings on straight?
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We will now sing: “He Asked For Bread,” and the curtain came down with a roll.
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Ah-h! How would ze mamma like to kees ze papa?
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Better to have loved and lost than to have been divorced and alimonied.
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A remarkable man is the Hindoo. He wears no clothes—makes his skindoo.
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Who’s your new girl, Sam?
She’s not a new girl. She’s only my old one painted over.
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Here’s to the happiest days of my life, Spent in the arms of another mans wife. My mother.
* * *
Here’s to the glass we so love to sip, It dries many a pensive tear; ’Tis not so sweet as a woman’s lip, But a danged sight more sincere.
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Perfection at the Start
The first real talking machine, in which no improvement has ever been made, was made out of a rib.
* * *
John Barleycorn may have been officially dead for a number of years, but his funeral expenses still keep piling up.
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Grandpa says that “skirt dances” never will be as popular as the shimmy until the girls start wearing skirts again.
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Lips that touch a cigaroot will never park beneath my snoot.—Ethel Worrymore.
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“That can be seen from both sides,” said the fly as he left his mark on a hall of pane.
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Our Old One Revamped
Since prohibition came, my wife made me likker.
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Jack—Can you keep a secret?
Jim—I should say so—I have one in the St. Paul Hotel now.
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Purely Political Pot Pourri
“Should Mr. Noble, who sits for this constituency, consent to stand again and run he will in all probability have a walkaway.”