Her Sprinkling System
The architect was standing before one of his newly completed creations. Its mistress, plentifully sprinkled with diamonds at eleven in the morning, turned to him and said:
“It’s grand, and I’ve just decided not to employ a landscape gardener. I know just what I want myself. Banked up right against the porch there I want a real thick border—now what is that name? You know; those bright red flowers that look so dressy—yes; now I have it—saliva.”
The architect was staggered for a moment, but soon recovered and came back enthusiastically.
“The very thing,” he agreed. “And right in front a nice row of spitunians.”
* * *
Dark—Going to the dance tonight, Sam?
Darker—Naw, I ain’t got any razor.
* * *