Alpo

One chilly evening in the early part of March the sheriff entered the county jail and addressing the prisoner who occupied the strongest cell, said: “Gabe, you know that under the law my duty requires me to take you out of here to-morrow and hang you. So I’ve come to tell you that I want to make your final hours on earth as easy as possible. For your last breakfast you can have anything to eat that you want and as much of it as you want. What do you think you’d like to have?” The condemned man studied for a minute. “Mr. Lukins,” he said, “I b’lieves I’d lak to have a nice wortermelon.” “But watermelons won’t be ripe for four or five months yet,” said the sheriff. “Well, suh,” said Gabe, “I kin wait

The time was in the early hours of a new day; the place was the lobby of a hotel; the principal character was a well-dressed gentleman in an alcoholic fog, who had come in and registered for the night a few minutes earlier. Now, half dressed, he descended the stairway from the second floor and stood swaying slightly in front of the desk. “Mish’ Night Clerk,” he said politely but thickly, “I’ll ’ave requesh you gimme ’nozzer room.” “Well, sir,” stated the clerk, “we’re a little bit crowded. I don’t know whether I could shift you immediately. It’s pretty late, you know.” “Mish’ Night Clerk,” said the guest in a courteous but firm voice, “I repeat—mush gimme ’nozzer room.” “Isn’t the room I gave you comfortable?” parleyed the functionary. “Sheems be perf’ly so,” admitted the transient. “Nev’less, mush ash be moved ’mediately.” “Well, what’s the matter with your room?” demanded the pestered clerk. The stranger bent forward, and with the air of one imparting a secret addressed the clerk in a husky half whisper: “If you mush know, my room’s on fire!”

Sagas

Mounds

Jim Jones

Live aid

Summer

Owie

Frosty the snowman

Mr. Ranger, Sir

Remember Nikolai, miles to go before you sleep

Yogi

George Burns

Faker

Fiddle

Witch doctor

Goat

Field

Bumbles

Twaaaaannnnnnnggg

Catapult

Spiegel

donnybrooks