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.
* * *