Wifey’s Lament
Clarence—“Do you think it will rain?”
Doris—“What?”
Clarence—“Say yes.”
Doris—“I said yes the other day and got myself in grief.”
Clarence—“When?”
Doris—“The other day.”
Questions and Answers
Dear Cap—Are we not all descendants of the monkey?
No, we are not. My folks came from Wales.
* * *
Dear Skipper—Can you tell me why a black cow gives white milk that makes yellow butter?—Helen Bach.
For the same reason that blackberries are red when they are green.
* * *
Dear Captain Bill—What do you think of a man who throws a girl a kiss?—Ima Blower.
I think he’s the laziest man in the world.
* * *
Dear Farmer Bill—How do you keep milk from souring?—Reggie.
Leave it in the cow.
* * *
Dear Cap—Why is it that professors claim touch to be the most delicate of all the senses?—Hook M. Cowe.
Well, here’s why: when you sit on a pin you can’t see it, you can’t hear it, you can’t taste it—but it is there.
* * *
Dear Captain—What is a button?—Holly Woode.
A small event that always comes off.
* * *
Dear Capt. Billy—The waiters in our city of Brainerd have just organized a union and wish you would kindly suggest some sort of a yell to hand the cooks when they raise the dickens with us.—Tillie Olson.
My feeble effort:
Grape nut, Grape nut,
Malta vita force.
Keep your trap closed.
Well, of course.
We want oysters,
Rah! Rah! Rah!
Nabisco wafers
Bah!!
* * *
Dear Capt. Billy—I am about to organize a nice little club for thirsty people. What motto should our organization adopt?—Sipper Jin.
How about this one: “If you don’t see what you want, ask for it.”
* * *
Dear Captain Billy—What were the two most popular ballads of the American doughboy in France?—Mona Long.
Before the armistice it was “I Want to Go Home.” Afterwards it was “If You Want to Go Home, Just Let Them Alone.”
* * *
Dear Captain Billy—My father is a motor-man, and my mother is a conductorette. What am I?—Enter Tainem.
A transfer.
* * *
Dear Cap’n—What is a Pomeranian Whiff Sniff?—Willack Fulish.
A Pomeranian Whiff Sniff is a species of small wooly dog with the curious habit of trying to climb telegraph poles, hind feet first.
* * *
Dear Captain—Being as you are an etiquette expert, I would like to ask if it is a gentleman’s duty to approach a young lady and tell her that her eyebrow is on crooked and that she has a speck of soot on her right ankle?—Inquisitive Andy.
A gentleman is not supposed to notice the details of a lady’s attire. He is supposed to be in a state of rapturous admiration of the tout ensemble.
* * *
Captain Billy—Is a sallow, pale skin always affected by weak people?—I. M. Payle.
Dear Payle—Not always! I know a chap that was very dark, but he found a pair of dice and right from then he began to fade, and fade and fade.
* * *
Dear Skipper Bill—Why is a ship always called “She”?—M. T. Beane.
Probably because the rigging costs more than the hull.
* * *
Dear Farmer Bill—What is the best way to make both ends meet?—Lady de Barbour.
Learn to be a contortionist.
* * *
Dear Captain Billy—What, in your opinion, does love most resemble?—Georgette.
A roast beef sandwich. Two thin slices of sentiment and the rest filled in with bull.
* * *
Dear Captain Billiam—What kind of hand does a card sharper win with?—Pokker Feene.
An I-deal hand.
* * *
Dear Cap—Why are eggs much smaller now than in the past?—Lee Way.
I suppose it’s because they’re taken out of the nest too soon.
* * *
Dear Capt. Billy—A story in a New York paper says a dancer has insured her legs for $125,000. What’s the idea?—Lew D. Fiske.
We don’t know definitely, Lew.
* * *
Dear Skipper Bill—What war material did Chili export to the Allies during the war?—Clara Voyant.
Beans.
* * *
Dear Bill—If you’re a good little astronomer I know you’ll tell me what star was recently measured, and found to be of enormous size?—May Triatit.
Fatty Arbuckle, I guess.
* * *
Dear Captain Willy—A waiter in the Waldorf Flaskoria spilled hot soup down my neck, and when I remonstrated with him, the horrid old thing only snapped his fingers at me. Have you any words to describe such creature?—Ferdie Nann.
I would say that he is too soupercillious.
* * *
Dear Farmer Bill—Why is it you farmers always dress your scarecrows in men’s clothing?—Sack Kitt.
Well, if we dressed them in women’s clothes there’d be sure to be some old birds hanging around.
* * *
A friend of the Whiz Bang who served with the British forces during the World War sends us the following, which he claims was a favorite song among the “Limies.”
When this bloody war is over
Oh, how happy we will be;
No more hiking, no more drilling,
No retreat or reville.
No more shining up brass buttons,
No more asking for a “leave,”
For we’ll tell the sergeant-major
To shove his passes in his sleeve.
* * *
I know a young woman called Kitty.
In the dance-hall she looks very pretty.
But the next day at ten,
If you saw her then—
Oh, my gawd! What a pity!
* * *