The other day I was riding on a street car in Minneapolis. Sitting opposite me was a very pretty young lady who had a poodle dog in her lap. Bluenose lady sitting next to the girl addressed her thusly: “My, what a nasty little dog. Don’t you think, my young lady, it would look much nicer if you had a little baby in your lap?”
“No,” the pretty one replied in calm even tones, “it wouldn’t. You see I’m not married.”
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Chief Bloberger surveyed a party of hoboes coming down the Great Northern tracks.
“Here they come, hog fat and crummy, short pipes and red noses. Won’t work, ain’t allowed to shoot ’em, and if you don’t feed ’em they’ll burn your barn daown.”
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Extra! Extra!
Ladies and gentlemen: Don’t fail to be in Robbinsdale next Tuesday at four o’clock A. M. to witness the daring feat of Peter, our hired man. This brave snoose-grinding son of toil will endeavor to dive off the top of the highest building in Robbinsdale into a six-foot tank of solid concrete, playing the ukelele, eating raw liver and keeping perfect time. The spectacular dive by Pete will be for a worthy cause. All proceeds from the entertainment will be donated to the starving plumbers of Chicago. Admission free.
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Took my wife into a store to assist her in buying a new hat. Like all women, she tried on nearly every hat in the store. In desperation the salesman appealed to me with this remark: “How would you like me to try a sailor for your wife?” Having been in the army for many years, I felt like suggesting a soldier, for this insulting salesman. Needless to say, the sale was not made.