Drained of its last amber dreg,
Bungless and beerless and friendless,
Stands an empty eight gallon keg.
* * *
She—You married me for love and got it.
Old Foggie—You married me for money and got it.
She—I’ll tell the world I earned it.
* * *
Truck Driver to Barber
Don’t put any of that powder on my face, see! What ya tink I am, a sissie?