• Author: Unknown
• Editor:
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume V
• Page Number:
• Date: 5 29 1918
• Tags:
• joke
• inside joke
• gossip
• ESP news

LET’S ALL BE GLAD

Maybe its “Beans’’ today!

Our Stenog’ says that a reel test of one’s fitness for the Aviation Service, is the ability to remain calm with five Inspectors loeking you in the eye.

What is it that were waiting for? Pardon? A chance to go to war? Parole? Nothing sosmall as that. We’re waiting for the first tomat’.

Fritz—‘‘The Germans have a gun that will kill you 75 miles away.’’ Sammy— ‘‘That’s nothing. All our gunners need is your post office address.’’

Hubby— ‘‘One night while you were away, I heard a burglar. You should have seen me going down stairs three steps at a time.” Wifey—‘‘Where was he on the roof?”

It is reported that ‘‘Bob’’ and “Joe’’ each kept a protecting hand glued to their scalp lock during their stay in Omaha, but were fortunate enough to escape without meeting a single Indian.

Dusty Rhodes—“What’s a bath robe, Weary?’’ Weary Willie—‘‘I ’tink it’s a water-proof something you’s wear so’s you won't get wet when you’s take a bath.”

One of Curly’s radishes sickened and died the other day under very suspicious circumstances, but a post-mortem showed that an Australian rabbit had merely been staying his hunger with its succulent roots; but Curly’s sympathies are all with the Allies and no international complications are expected to result therefrom.

It saddens us to think that so long as there are onions, people will probably persist in the reprehensible practice of eating them. We met a War Gardeuner friend of ours the other day, and his breath smelled like the Reedy Island Flats of an August merning when the tide’s out, and when we begged him to tell us if the Doc. had given him up he wearily remarked, ‘‘Spring onions,” and left us.

With all due respect to Mr. Bonsal, we’re going to report—literally—the following as overheard in the yard: “H’lo Bill! Wharju go jus’ now? “Noplace. Wuz lookin’ aloverferyu.” “Whad ju going t’do now?” "Nuthin. Jus’ stickaroun’.” “Aint that pitcher a bum?” "Uhuh. Djever see a wurcewun?” "Nkuh. Lesgwin. Heeza dead one.” “Nope. Gotta staynsee a guy.