The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

Leave me to the arrangements, I will go across to Schreibstein's and make a call." He gives Joe another careful look. "And after I am calling," he continues, "I will make another call to Miss Scanlan, Bink, you might say, and I will tell her she should cook the sandwiches today." "Yeh," exhales Joe, a trickle of sweat running down his forehead. "But foist, Yussel," nods Mr. Ginsburg, "back up the stairs I will help..."

There aren't many Mr. Gs left in the world.

*********************************************************

If I am reading Mr. Holmes's column the way that I think I'm reading it, it appears evident that the sort of people who aren't too keen on playing on the same field as Jackie Robinson are similarly unenthusiastic about athletes of Latin ancestry. Which, of course, should come as no surprise....

Yes, there appears to be, not shockingly, a common thread.

*********************************************************

Y'know, Jess, the Methodists cut "obey" from the wedding vows in 1864. Get with the times, kid.

Other than Lowenstein being a bit of a smarty pants, it's a pretty nice commentary on marriage (even the failed one) overall.

*********************************************************

"Shot while trying to escape. All right then, who's ready for lunch."

If only.

 

[Harp]

The Feldman murder trial judge's sage remarks are prescient but all Grand Jury procedures should have already
occurred; also, the prosecution contradicted itself as to defendant relatives relevance.

I have Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade hour-long YouTube version playing, and caught a short gallery that featured
lovely Ann Blyth as she appeared in the film, Mildred Pierce. A homicide trial with these in ear & mind while still on
my first cup of morning joe is impossible to focus. My first college sweetheart was a gorgeous Ann Blyth lookalike....
Luckily, I'm on track hiatus this week, so no horses for courses today.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whas'seze pills Docteh Katzman give ya again?" questions Sally. "I neveh hoid'v it," shrugs Joe. "Demehrawl. S'posta be real strawng stuff. But'ee says should on'y take'm when I'm 'bouta go t' bed, so t'pain don' wake me up." "Huh," huhs Sally. "He says if I take'm durin'a day," continues Joe, "t'ey'll make me dopey. Not dopey like stupid, but dopey like -- I'm awn, you know, dope." "Like smokin' dope?" queries Sally. "Like Gene Krupa? Soun's like it's t'awpposite 'a t'em pills Mildred Kelly gimme t'at time, t'em benzedrines. You sueh t'at's a good ideeh? What'd'ee say's wrawng witcha?" "He says I prob'ly gotta slipped disc," sighs Joe. "In my backbone, y'see. He says it happn's t'people sometimes when'ey get oldeh." "You ain' old!" denies Sally. "Ya ain' even t'oity-t'ree yet. I mean, Dixie Wawkeh's t'oity-six an'ee's still playin' basebawl." "T"at's 'zackly what I said!" nods Joe. "An' ya know what'ee says t'me? 'You ain' Dixie Wawkeh!;'" "No," agrees Sally. "F'one t'ing, yaw'ra betteh danceh...")

("I don' even wanna LOOK at no moeh hamboigeh," protests Bink Scanlan. "It's noo mattar,' declares Ma. "As long as Joseph can't waaark, it's oopta you t' cook thim sandwiches. Yarr th' oonly woon aroond'ere knows how t'do it." "T'smell is makin' me sick," declares Bink. "Ye ain't paid t'sniff," snorts Ma. "Ya daughteh is right," frowns Bink. "Some day t' woikehs 'a t' woil' is gonna rise up." "An' whin they do," nods Ma, "tharrr goin' t'need a good loonch...")

("Oi can't hilp boot nootice," observes Uncle Frank, "that ye doon't seem soo keen aahn gooin' t' th' pictcharrs as ye used tarr." "Who hazza time?" scoffs Solly Pincus. "I got Lowrey scout'n aroun' f' stoeh sites in St. Looey. Sal left t'at Red papeh she reads onna coun'eh nex' dooeh, an' I seen a letteh in'eh. Gimme t' ideeh. Hey, maybe we oughta run an ad innat papeh." "Joost what we need," eyerolls Uncle Frank. "Oi still ain't got me foinal paparrs far citizenship, ye knoo. Oi doon't waanna end oop gettin' depaaarted on no boat." "Which remin's me," declares Solly. "I gotta lead on a one'a t'em amphibious landin' craf' t'ings." "IVVVRYBODY is troyin'," explodes Uncle Frank, "t'get me t' get ridda me troock!!")

(Born sixty years too soon.)

(Hey Vic, ever play any volleyball?)

("Oh, I'm supposed to have one? Oops...")

("You know, dear, there are treatments you could take that would do wonders for that receding hairline...")

("Arthur Murray Taught Me Dancing In A Hurry!")

("And-the-company-square-dance-classes-have-been-dis-con-tin-ued...")

("Does this mean I don't have to pay that $2 a year anymore???")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News..

"The big nugget king." That's what they all say.

They play baseball in Barcelona? Things I never knew till now!

You get what you pay for...

"Five pounds of lithium. And have you got any of that potato salad?"

All in a day's jerk.

"The idea, giving the rotten little brat an A in deportment!"

Every road goes someplace, but who wants to go there?

There are so many options for bright young businessmen.

And to think Normandie married this.

But in the comics, all roads lead to Page Four...

 

[Fading Fast]

"F'one t'ing, yaw'ra betteh danceh..."

Unfortunately, those days are over with a slipped disc.

**********************************************************

"IVVVRYBODY is troyin'," explodes Uncle Frank, "t'get me t' get ridda me troock!!"

You should! It's a big rolling piece of garbage. Buy a new one, or a new used one - but something better than what you have.

BTW, "Tomorrow Is Forever" is a giant ball of melodrama, but a good one. My comments on it here: #32,177

**********************************************************

Hey Vic, ever play any volleyball?

He's one solid looking dude.

And that this, "... were, to put it gently, on the pansy side," was once acceptable seems foreign to our modern world. Where are Sally's red friends on h o m o s*xual rights in the 1940s? They were ahead of the curve on racism and s*xism, in theory anyway.

**********************************************************

"Arthur Murray Taught Me Dancing In A Hurry!"

I wonder if she keeps the fur at her desk when she's working as she probably can't trust the communal company closet.

**********************************************************

They play baseball in Barcelona? Things I never knew till now!

Seriously.

Good question and good answers all around.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And that this, "... were, to put it gently, on the pansy side," was once acceptable seems foreign to our modern world. Where are Sally's red friends on h o m o s*xual rights in the 1940s? They were ahead of the curve on racism and s*xism, in theory anyway.

Generally, alas, not too far ahead of anybody else in 1946, and some are decidedly hostile. The most progressive people on that particular issue are found, not in the political sphere, but in show business, where: (A) many people are, and (B) few people care. Except, of course, for studio, network, and ad agency executives, who can be ruthless.

 

[Harp]

Skipped over Feldman this morning. A good murder trial needs to stew back burner. And truthfully, the Grahame-
McMartin divorce is more appealing, though evidently a prenuptial contract exists. So much for Vegas-other than
taxable refuge away from the Big Apple and California. And, being British, Ms Grahame needs Nevada locus hocus
pocus marital settlement outside the Exchequer radar scope. I would have advised post breakup indemnification
be posted Nevada with Chicago real estate property title subject trust and future equity hypothecation.

Stowaway Johnny Camera's successful plea to remain Stateside is good news; however, he qualifies as an
emancipated minor for legal majority.

Those of you residing in New York and New England, good luck with today's Nor'easter which looks packing a punch.

 

[ryanthompson]

Ever wonder what it might be like to have the Era unfold for you day by day, in real time? It's possible, thanks to the online availability of long continuous runs of daily newspapers. If you're a paid subscriber to Newspapers.com you can have your choice of dailies, but there's a wonderful free resource right here, thanks to the Brooklyn Public Library -- which has made available the full run of the Brooklyn Eagle, from 1841 until the paper folded in January 1955.

The Eagle was as close to a "typical American newspaper" as you could get during the Era -- despite its role as the voice of a borough of 3 million people, it reads like a small-town paper, without any of the portentious historicity of the New York Times, the hysterical political slanting of the Chicago Tribune, or the yellow sensationalism of a Hearst sheet. That being so, you get a real sense of what mattered, not to the movers and shakers of the world, but to Joe Dinnerpail and Sally Punchclock and all the rest of the ordinary workaday people of the time. It's relentlessly middlebrow in its style, completely unremarkable in its politics, and if it has a point of view at all, it's one of local boosterism. It won't challenge you in any way, no matter what your point of view, but it'll give you a real feel for the baseline mood of the time.

After using this resource for years as a research tool, I decided to try something different. I read one full issue every day, front to back, corresponding to today's date eighty years ago. Front page, editorials, features, sports section, comics. It's a fascinating window into daily life -- not just the unfolding of the War In Europe or the "National Whirligig" but the story of the unknown little girl found strangled to death on the roof of an apartment house on Ocean Avenue, or the Dodgers demolishing the Phillies 22 to 4 -- Lavagetto went 6 for 7! -- or the funeral of a World's Fair employee trampled to death by a cart horse at the "Little Old New York" exhibit, to the latest doings of The ****le Family. All the little fragments of the Era playing out as they happened -- without the corrupting filter of nostalgia.

Anyone else ever try anything like this? If you haven't I strongly recommend it. Pick a year, and start in.

i miss the golden era really

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'at's awrful, what hap'n'teh," sighs Alice. "Foeh blocks oveh fr'm Ma," nods Sally. "An' he's a plumbeh too. I bet Ma an' Uncle Frank know 'em." The train carrying our friends toward picket duty rolls on with no further conversation for a time, until Alice breaks the silence. "Is Joe's back any betteh?" she ventures. "No," notes Sally. "He's gott'ese pills t'take at night, an'nis mawrnin' I about hadda take a derrick t'wim to get 'im outta bed. Docteh Katzman says it might get betteh awn its own in six weeks a' so, if 'e's lucky, maybe foeh'ra five MONT'S if'e ain'." "Can'tey do anyti'ing?" wonders Alice. "T'ez opehrations," shrugs Sally. "But who's got'tat kinda money? I'll tell ya one t'ing, O'Dwyeh oughta do pay fawr it!" "How ya figyeh?" replies Alice. "T'ez no reason Joe shoulda hadda be out'eh shovelin' snow," fumes Sally. "T' City oughta dot'at. An' I'm gonna make sueh O'Dwyeh knows it!" "Oh," ohs Alice, her eyes widening. "Yeh!" emphasizes Sally. "An'ee OWES us. Afteh'rawl, wit'out t' us A L P's, he woul'n even BE mayeh! Who wazzit put up postehs, who was it wen' dooeh t' dooeh, handin' out soiculehs, get'n out t' vote....?" "T' Communiss," shrugs Alice. "But whassat got t'do wit' Joe's back?" argues Alice. "We'eh gonna get O'Dwyeh t' come acrawst," vows Sally. "He's gonna pay f' Joe's back opehration." "He is?" gapes Alice. "He jus' don' KNOW it yet," insists Sally, as the train rolls into Newark...)

("Joseph!" gasps Ma, as her son-in-law winces into the store. "Ye should be hoom in bed!" "I had awla bed," sighs Joe, "I could handle." "Ye rood ahhl th' way ovarr here," gapes Ma, "aaahn that blooody subway?" "Y'know how it hits'at toin right befoeh comin' inta DeKalb Aveneh?" grits Joe? " "Afteh I s'vived t'at, t'eh ain' nut'n moeh can hoit me....")

("I met Bilbo. Some honor.")

(Point of Order: Olmo has no current contract with the Dodgers. He never signed for 1946. What he's jumping is the Reserve Clause, which binds a player to his last team even after the contract expires. And such a can of worms that is.)

(Just be glad you didn't move in next door to George Bu ngle.)

("A cheap aluminum cigarette case? At least you're not a gigolo!"

("He -- waddles?? Hmmm, I haven't seen Tubby in a while...")

(I've worked in a place like this, except Von Stroheim here was more pleasant than my own nemesis.)

(YOU SEE FOR YOURSELF AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG IS JUST TOO NOBLE!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The one story you can read is the one you wish you couldn't.

Coming events....

The swindling racket requires close attention to detail.

Most realistic married couple in the funnies.

Supply and demand.

"I can't hear a word you're saying with all that noise she's making in there..."

For years he concealed his hoarder ways...

The sun is never shining in Harold Gray's world.

**gag**

Surgery can fix your vision problems, but when you get the bill you'll wish you couldn't see it...

 

[Fading Fast]

"T' Communiss," shrugs Alice. "But whassat got t'do wit' Joe's back?" argues Alice. "We'eh gonna get O'Dwyeh t' come acrawst," vows Sally. "He's gonna pay f' Joe's back opehration." "He is?" gapes Alice. "He jus' don' KNOW it yet," insists Sally, as the train rolls into Newark...)

Love Alice, "T' Communiss."

And dear God, not another Sally campaign that will land her in jail – it is the mayor after all.

**********************************************************

The one story you can read is the one you wish you couldn't.

No kidding – that one is brutal. And all I wanted to do was read about the war brides (and their complaints about the food ).

**********************************************************

The sun is never shining in Harold Gray's world.

Looks as if they might meet a cowardly lion along the way, just sayin'.

 

[Harp]

Feldman is being rushed; unnecessarily so. As Aristotle stated in his Nicomachean Ethics, justice concerns
both just and unjust, and strychnine poisoning within communal environ requires more than superficial
assumption. Defense will voice repeated objection, lining up appellate recourse based judicial error.

Couldn't read about the British brides' culinary complaints; nor the overly critical husband, which first glance
looked lucrative divorce proceedings requiring of counsel legal fiscal expertise. Eschewed all homicide this morning, with the arrival brides smiles more uplifting.

Snow day today in New York. How anybody can move about Manhattan anyway, so decided. A Chicago
parochial school system alum, had the Russkies nuked Chicago, the nuns would still hold court and there would damn well be no canceled school.

 

[Harp]

...Nota bene: forgot to remark the photo captioned Germany's WWII-era leader portrait silver frame liberated by a 101st Airborne/
Under Justinian code law of the tribes, American soldiers were authorized confiscatory capture adversarial possession artifacts. When I was a kid, all our dads had been in the war and school playgrounds were swap meets for Germany's WWII-era leadership decorations. Iron Crosses galore. Some Japanese medals, occasional wrist watches, rings and things popped up. But Iron Crosses were de riguer necessary accoutrement attached jacket, pencil bag zippers, notebook rings. Brings back memories.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(Deep in a Demerol sleep, Joe snaps upright -- and then falls back, as the pain sears down the back of his leg. "Well now, son," drawls a soft Southern voice from the shadows. "Looks like you done got yo'self a red-hot case 'a lumbago. Happn's a lot when yuh gett'n on in yeeuhs." "Whoozat?" whispers Joe. "Call me Dix," chuckles the voice, as its owner steps forward to reveal a smiling long-faced gentleman in grass-stained Dodger flannels with SPERRY GYROSCOPE CO SQUARE DANCE TEAM scripted across the front. "I sho' can sympathize, son," he nods. "Ah got mah own aches an' pains. But thet's what happn's when yo' gett'n old." The figure chuckles again, pushing back his blue cap to reveal a balding forehead. "Sho' is a whoool' lotta things get t' happenin' when yo' get old." Joe involuntarily feels his own forehead, and sweeps his hand back over an expanse of skin. "Annnnd that ain't ahhhl," adds a familiar Irish brogue. Uncle Frank emerges from the gloom, his vest tight across the expanse of his belly. "Th' oooooool' bay windooow," he laughs, as Dix grins in agreement with a pat at his own expanding middle. Joe looks down across the blankets swelling across his own paunch. "You don't see too good maybe," inserts Mr. Ginsburg. "But glasses you get used to, three pairs even. Until when you lose them and you can't see to look!" Joe squints at the blurry image of Leonora, saying something that he cannot hear. "But I ain't old!" pleads Joe. "I'm on'y t'oity-t'ree!" "A hunnet'n foehty in cat yeehs," observes Stella, looking up from the foot of the bed. "Past your prime! Past your prime!" adds Zippy the parakeet. "Don' lissen't'a none'a t'em!" crackles the voice of Sally. "You ain' old!! Y'r as young as ya feel!" She grabs him by the hand, jerking him onto the floor at Roseland. The band swings into "Sing Sing Sing," as Gene Krupa, reefer clutched between his teeth, pounds out a driving solo. "Le's DANCE!" commands Sally, as Joe moves into position for a majestic aerial, only to crash violently to the floor. "Hey," heys Sally, leaning over the edge of the bed. "Whassamatteh wit'choo? Heeh, gimme ya han'." She helps her husband back into bed. "You betteh go easy onnem pills," she sighs, as the fog once more closes in...)

("What's 'apat'y?'" wonders Alice. "Means y'don caeh," explains Sally. "Anyways, lookit t'is. It's a letteh I wrote t' O'Dwyeh. Lemme read it to ya." "Ah," ahs Alice, gnawing at her lower lip. "Stawrts off, 'Deeh Misteh Mayeh.' See, I'm bein' r'spec'ful. T'at's how ya gotta be wit'tese fatheads." "Yeh," nods Alice. "No doubt it will in'nehres' you t'know...'" reads Sally. "See, t'at's how ya catch t'eh notice, see? Y'r appealin' t' t'eh sensa self. We wen' awl oveh t'at in sociology class. T'is is real scientific writin' here." "Oh," nods Alice. "Like in a soap ad." "Ain't nut'n like no soap ad," snaps Sally. "I'm tawkin' t' O'Dwyeh heeh, not Kay an' Mae. Anyways, I go on, "it will in'nehres' you t'know t'at right now in Bensonhoist a Poiple Hawrt vet'ran of t' recent wawr, wounded in combat..." "I t'ought Joe got shawt inna back'va truck," interrupts Alice. "A b ullet's a bu llet," retorts Sally. "Shattup an' liss'n. 'A Poiple Hawrt vet'ran'a t' recent wawr, wounded in combat, an' married to a proud membeh of t' American Labeh Pawrty t'at got you, incident'ly, ya jawb, lies t'day awna bedda pain as a result'a yawr administration lett'n'ose Sanitation guys wit' t' snowplows t'row awlat snow'n ice awnna sidewawlk. T' question is, Misteh Mayeh, is what will you do about t'is. We t' undehsigned feel t'at t' City a' New Yawrk otta make good f't'is man so t'at he may retoin to woik makin' Brooklyn's fines' beef san'wiches. Do you really wanna be known awl oveh town as t' man t'at would not stan' up fawr Big Joe. Sinceehly,' an'nen down'eeh is a place t' sign'a petition." "Ah," sighs Alice, as Sally hands her a pen...)

(I mean, wouldn't you think a man named Jean Pierre Roy would prefer Montreal to Vera Cruz?)

(Yeah, well, SHE didn't tie him up and not see the guy with the knife, now did she???)

(My bank doesn't even give out free pens.)

(Mass produced non conformity? It's the American way!)

(Did Linkletter paint that GE logo on the curtain? Is that in his contract???)

(Mr. Stamm prepares for his work day by carefully studying the lingerie section of the Sears catalog.)

(C'mon, equal time here. Let's see Thornton Wilder in his underwear.)

("Rodgers and Hammerstein's attorneys will see you now...")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ew.

And for the next two weeks you find half-empty glasses tucked behind curtains, on windowsills, and in the bathroom...

D i c k Tracy is summoned before the Rankin Committee...

"MMMMM Farm cooking! Toss me the last hamburger while we wait!"

Some executive. He doesn't even have any little doodads to play with on his desk.

"Protigoy?" "Gopiroty?" "Pigrooyt?"

Hey, lay off the cat.

I thought we were done with this.

Somewhere, Hu Shee is sighing...

That's the way, kid. Aim high.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Whassamatteh wit'choo? Heeh, gimme ya han'." She helps her husband back into bed. "You betteh go easy onnem pills," she sighs, as the fog once more closes in...

He'll need to go back to work to get some rest from his sleep.

*********************************************************

"Oh," nods Alice. "Like in a soap ad."

This is why I love her.

*********************************************************

Half the time I watch her I think she has no talent and the other half I think she's outstanding. She's definitely different.

*********************************************************

C'mon, equal time here. Let's see Thornton Wilder in his underwear.

You did not think this through.

*********************************************************

Somewhere, Hu Shee is sighing...

She could do so much better, but she never understood her own value.

Wow, bitter much?

 

[Harp]

Feldman needs downshift to first gear. And this trial is off track, though defendant has onus
squarely placed mortar and pestle.
Weber looks open n' shut except defendant husband's nervous breakdown raises psychological impairment issues that probably will find trial foreclose circa 1946 for male gender defense.
Lowe is an assault by defendant Mahoney.

Haven't seen Nuremberg, Crowe's latest incarnation. Goering's cross by Jackson had some critical analysis, with Britain's Shawcross considered better Grand Inquisitor in Dostoyevsky mold. Defense lead chair Stahmer's equivocal ploy aimed at RAF chief ''Bomber'' Harris' raised rubble saturation strikes against Germany with high civil populace consequence. A not entirely implausible trial counter, but comparable during Nuremberg with anodyne application against the utmost demonstrative moral deprivation. What snips I've seen across YouTube, Crowe has bagged another Oscar.

As for our boy, Terry is dragging like Hector. Milt needs to shuffle this deck and land our lad
in Hong Kong for a real lash on the town and a Macao casino swing, Burma in tow.
Or, Susan Hayword---yes, I'm thinking Soldier of Fortune with Clark Gable. Suzie-Q absolutely knocked it out of the park with her grace, elegance, and beauty.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I'm tellin' ya, it'll help!" declares Sally. "Ya been pressin' awnat spot on ya back, an' y' say it makes it hoit less -- well, t'is'll help. It'll press on'neh awla time so you don' hafta do it, an' at leas' y'can woik wit'out killin' yaself!" Joe frowns, holding up the garment his wife has handed him. "A goidle," he sighs. "What if somebody fin's out?" "You take ya pants awff much in public?" snorts Sally. "Well, I s'pose it couldn' hoit t'try," sighs Joe. "Awright. Um -- how's it go awn?" "T'ese hooks onna side 'eeh," demonstrates Sally, 'y'bring it aroun' like t'is an'nen hook it up t' side. An'nen y'pull up t'is zippeh like t'is. You seen me do it." "Well, what about t'ese heeh?" queries Joe. "You ain' gonna be weahrin' no stockins," snickers Sally. "Less'ya want some'a t'em rayons. Keep ya wawrm." 'An' whas'sis t'ing?" flushes Joe, indicating a small fabric loop at the top of the garment. "T'at's w'eh ya hook on ya brawr," snorts Sally. "AWRIGHT," explodes Joe. "Neveh min'!!!!!!!" "Suit'cha self," shrugs Sally. "But I heeh Cary Grant weahs one....")

("I'm glad'ja back," announces Heckie Capiello, as Joe ties on his apron. "'T'at Bink don' make 'm right. She cooks'm too lawng, t'grease don' run down ya awrm." "Yeh," sighs Joe, scraping the grill. "Which remoinds me, Hector," calls Ma, looking up from her ledger. "Ye still owe thaaaarty cents fr'm yistarday. But doon't waaary, Oi already docked it oota yarr pay." "Hmph," hmphs Heckie, taking the canvas bag and exiting to make his rounds. "Oi'm glad yarr feelin' bettar, Joseph," continues Ma. "Ye seem t'be moovin' around bettar, an' -- if ye don't moind me sayin', Oi think yar postcharrr is improved. Ye'rr standin' oop straightarr." "Yeh," flushes Joe, his grip tightening on his spatula. "And Oi moit also say," adds Ma, "ye look loike ye lost soom weight..." "AWRIGHT!" explodes Joe. "I'M WEAHRIN' A GOIDLE! IT HELPS WIT' T" PAIN! AWRIGHT!" "Ah," ahs Ma, stifling a chuckle. "Well, whativvar suits'ye.....")

(Coming Events...)

(Be careful where you park that trailer, it might roll away...)

(Hey you wanted to be in show business.)

(Write what you know.)

(Please welcome our guest star, Sidney Greenstreet...)

(This is how it starts, and there's only one way it ever ends.)

(Status, meet Quo.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

No words.

"Why do you think I'm doing Broadway?? FOR THE BEER!"

"Yes, I'm a cattle dog. An Australian cattle dog! Croooooiikey!"

"A ship? T'ey let'm have a SHIP?" -- Sergeant Solly.

Wise beyond her years.

War changes a man.

Well then you've certainly come to the right place.


Only five years old and already he's got a press agent.

Ahhh, you don't want to do a double act anyway.

Eh, not so you'd notice.

 

[Fading Fast]

"AWRIGHT!" explodes Joe. "I'M WEAHRIN' A GOIDLE! IT HELPS WIT' T" PAIN! AWRIGHT!" "Ah," ahs Ma, stifling a chuckle. "Well, whativvar suits'ye....."

Bink is the one who will really enjoy this.

***********************************************************

Wise beyond her years.

He had him on the phone, he still should have asked for the other smaller jobs. After they turn you down on the big one, they often want to throw smaller work your way.

***********************************************************

Ahhh, you don't want to do a double act anyway.

Terry might, but he sure doesn't know it yet. Now, if Pat were around...