Noah was building the ark. A gang of “drys” hung around criticizing the job.
“Ever built an ark before?” asked the leader of the gang.
“Nope,” replied Noah, pounding away.
“By what right do you assume that this boat will be a success?” asked the other. “This has always been a dry country and there has never been any need for a so-called ark. What experience have you had with your so-called ark upon which to base so absurd a claim as that it will float? Don’t you know that umbrellas and gaiters have gotten us through the thunderstorms for the last forty years? There can be no hope of success for your so-called ark.”
But Noah kept on building away. Then came the Deluge, and for once in history, the knockers got what was coming to them.
Smokehouse Poetry
Smokehouse Poetry will lead the February issue readers through a variety of red-blooded gems, including, for instance, a bright little jingle from the pen of a new Kipling. His name is Carl M. Higdon and his first offering is “The Shimmy Shaker,” and what it lacks in veteran polish is made up in breezy sway. Such as thus:
She could shimmy on a mountain,