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next high school-ite who visits the newspaper office to teasel
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Sentiments on election postmortems: _ I wish I was a widdle egg Away up in a tree, I wish I was a widdle egg As twotten as could be— So when a mean old man Hollers weal woud at me I’d smash me wotten widdle self And spwatter me on he.
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The fellow from the city went out on a hunting trip and as he had never hunted before, he didn’t know' exactly what he’d killed when he felled a mountain goat. Nevertheless, he loaded the hairy creature into the trunk of his car and headed back for town. A few minutes later, he stopped at an isolated farmhouse to get a cup of water, and the farmer asked him if he had any luck hunting.
“I got something, all right, but can’t rightly say what it is,” the hunter said. “It has long shaggy hair, smells bad, and it put up a helluva squawk before I shot it— sort of a mumbling sound, like it was begging for something.”
The farmer’s face turned white. He exclaimed: “You dern fool— I bet you’ve shot my wife!”
A hamlet is a village without a church.
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