The Charlotte News
Saturday, November 8, 1941
Site Ed. Note: As to the first letter to the editor of the day, finding the British nobility overly supercilious for the author's tastes and wishing Mr. Churchill to replace them with more average folk for purposes of stimulating good will and aid with which to fight Hitler, although it would take Mr. Churchill another 22 years to do, it would be so done, right-right, right here on our stage: "Here they are..."
"Jupe has missed his tip very often lately... Offered at the garters four times last night, and never done 'em once."
"The Garter (but more properly the Coller)+is the round Hoop incompassing the flat Grove or Neck in the Shank of the Spindle."
"Iron Garters, a cant word for bilboes, or fetters."
There you are now, three for the price of one. 'ave a go.
Shackles, tape, and records,
With common shapes of blackguards,
Drain water off your roof
As tankard dancers prance aloof
Playing dozens by the cozen
While a hoof o' horse kicks out your tooth.
A sand in can shake shaver
Pours sawdust on your floor,
Puts tickle dressers in yer pavers,
While addressing mummy at the door,
A pillow soft as diamond lead
In Lot's used cars from which Slyman bled,
His custom's agents, farmer's aces,
Placed porters on the call's charm embraces'
Flaming toast came out the toaster
As it was for him an edlen boaster.
Two times ten is thirty-one,
If the sense of season subtracts the price,
And gives you buns worth thirty-two,
Which is ample times eight plus thrice
The o substituting for the r in rue,
For when you've chicken, you need rice,
But when diamonds are hope
And hope is bought,
Then leaping gazelles do lope and float;
And bezoars tell what tout the goat,
The salty loop coughs out the throat.
A miserable twist, tautologically,
Unsound, unwise, proto-droit's il seize
In kepper's crippled rites of quoit alised.
At Munich they did exchange some kisses,
With crumpled fists and outward blisses,
Then they went home to their fireplaces,
Until there was stoked the pyre's phlegmed maces.
Then the canary sang its song in trees
E'er so the night was long in frieze,
Caesar's rights in Greece to be,
Eleusinians freight the lease of seas,
And then the carrion beast did come across
Affrighting then the tempest toss'd.
For all has been, and all will be,
To swine we cast but yet in jest,
Our souls are driven to be blest,
If sound and lost, amuse Jack Frost,
Whose blues abound, froust, flack tross'd,
And yet set abreast the strides of mounds
For often still we sing adown,
And then go up the scale, a rill by flowers,
Until Azores make us stand and mill in towers.
Well, we could go on quite like this all night
Rhyming this, rhyming that wrong and right,
But then despite it, you'd no doubt gib us
Or bow us down in arching rebus,
And so we shall draw this in keep to close
And roll over bee's toven sheep who count our toes
That froze in the icy mist in ever-rist's throes.
Thank you. Thank you very much.
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