“Speak, I command you,” said the Caliph, drawing nearer. “You need not mind me. I have read Laura Lean Jibbey and Isben. Go on with 288.”
“I have said it, oh, Caliph. It is too gross.”
The Caliph made a sign: Mesrour, the executioner, whirled his scimeter through the air and the head of Scheherezade rolled upon the floor. The Caliph pulled his beard and muttered softly to himself:
“I knew all the time that 288 is two gross, but puns don’t go anywhere in my jurisdiction at present.”
(Houston Daily Post, Friday morning, November 8, 1895.)
Sufficient Provocation
“He hit me fust.”
“He gimme de probumcation, judge.”
“Nebber touched dat nigger tell he up en hit me wid er cheer.”
They were two Houston negroes, and they were up before the recorder for fighting.