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?
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Button up your mouth, boys, you’ve ingrown heels.
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