“Watts is a new town, as I have said before, and the most popular man in town is Reverund Ismus. He always is invited to every wedding and funeral.
“I went to a home brew party the other night, but before I got there the party was dead and Reverund Ismus eridicated the burial service, thusly:
“‘Brethren and Sistern, we must now bid a fond farewell to Deacon Jones (here someone in the audience remarked “What farewell could be sweeter”), who now lies uninterrupted. We must benefit by the Deacon’s calamity and teach our children to read and write, that they may be able to discern the difference between ‘Malt and Hops’ and ‘Rough on Rats.’ The choir will now sing ‘Awaken Sleeping Angels’ for Brother Deacon Jones is now entering the gates of Heaven.’
“We have a wonderful barber shop in town. He isn’t doing much business now and when I stepped in for a shave the other day he was asleep in the chair. I coughed a couple of times. He awoke, jumped up quick, and shouted,
“‘Next!’
“They also have a police force in Watts. Yesterday I saw him arrest a fellow in an auto. The fellow wanted to know what he was pinched for.
“‘Fer not sticking out yer hand when turning a busy corner.’
“‘Well, I couldn’t very well let go of the wheel to stick out my hand, could I?’
“‘Where was yer other hand?’