A young lady on whose lap a bug had just lit, exclaimed:
“Oh, look at that funny little bug; what kind of a bug is it?”
Her Escort: “That’s a lady bug.”
Young Lady: “My but you have good eyesight!”
* * *
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—