The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"What's going on in there??" puzzles Mr. Parrott, cocking an ear toward the door of the inner sanctum, as a thunderous, uncontrolled laughter penetrates into the reception room. "I have no idea," replies Miss Jones, her face a complete blank...

Yeah, well, everybody knows the kind of thing goes on in Astoria.

"One for you, one for me. Two for you, one-two for me..."

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life..."

Put on a little weight in the service, didn't you son?

"Great, let me go borrow ten dollars from Uncle Bim!"

Hey Warbucks, he's working your side of the street!

Just what are the breach-of-promise laws on this island?

"Ever hear of Horn & Hardart?"

How does he balance on the bannister like that?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Getting a little warm for you, Johnny?

 

[Fading Fast]

"HAH!" yelps Sally, bouncing up and down on her seat. "MACPHAIL GAWT ARRESTED! F' sluggin' a guy! HAH! Soives'a bum right! Who'see t'ink'ee is, Durocheh???" "Yawr in a betteh mood'n'ya was t'is mawrnin'," chuckles Alice. "Ahhhh, I ain' worried 'bout'tat strike mess," scoffs Sally. "Ain' gonna be no vote f'two weeks, you hoid what'ey said. An' by t'en t' NLRB willa tol'at buncha fakehs t'get lawst an' we'll get t' CIO inneh." "I dunno, Sal," warns Alice. "T'em comp'ny guys din' soun' like..." "HAH!" roars Sally, slapping the newspaper against the back of the seat ahead, startling a soporific World-Telegram reader. "HAH!" repeats Sally, her pupils dilating into wide black dots. "An' t't'ink t'at bum useta hang up awn me aft'ree traded Petey! HAH!" "Hah," sighs Alice, as the train rolls on toward home....

Sounds like a first-class roaring *ss-hole move by McPhail. He's got the money and connections to get off, but he shouldn't.

BTW, Henry Schloss and Jack Parness own a a fur shop together and live at the same address.

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"Now, your keys please, and security will ****** you out."

That's one of Lichty's better jokes.

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Whadja expect, it's FALL.

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"It's not just us, this work-from-home trend is killing the value of office buildings everywhere."

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Yeah, well, everybody knows the kind of thing goes on in Astoria.

A touch on the tame side, but two very Page Four stories today.

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"Great, let me go borrow ten dollars from Uncle Bim!"

So true.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Stealin' from a choich!' gasps Alice. "Y'c'n get struck dead f't'at!" "T'is guy didn'," shrugs Sally. "I mean, I wrote 'Free Sacco an' Vanzetti' awna side'a t' choich when I was eleven, an' nut'n hapn'ta me." "T'at ain'a way I hoid it," snickers Alice. "Doyle t' cawp don' count f' Gawd," sneers Sally. "An'nee din' strike me dead, he jus' took me home an' -- well, OK, Ma come pretty closet'a strikin' me dead, I guess. BUT IT DID'N TAKE!")

("That's joost in Harlem," sniffs Ma. "They aaalways make a big shoo'a things oop thar, boot they doon't boothar noon with Brooklyn." "Three million boocks," whistles Uncle Frank. "How'dye s'poose they manage THAT." "Fr'm th' looks'v'it," snorts Ma, "naaaaaht very well." The conversation pauses as the door jingles open to admit Bink Scanlan, her eyes darting furtively as she approaches the counter, clutching her jacket tight. She steps quietly to the counter, places the canvas bag on the counter without a word, and disappears posthaste up the rear stairs. "Nooo whaaat," frowns Ma, "d'ye s'poose gaaaht inta her? What did Alice say t'w'er?" "Oi doon't know," admits Uncle Frank. "But she saaaartainly seems t'w'v said it....")

(Mustard pickles are banned by the Geneva Convention! STRANGE AS IT SEEMS!)

(I still don't understand why Tommy the baseball player Holmes, born and bred in Brooklyn, is not a Dodger. Get going on that, Mr. RIckey!)

(Well, he's got to do something for the winter.)

(Well, you know, those midtown wind currents do funny things.)

(AND I MEAN IT THIS TIME.)

(A crooked radio salesman? How can they tell?)

(C'mon, kid, didn't you see the robot at the World's Fair? He could smoke too!)

(Together forever!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And that's why Ma keeps all her records in her head.

"I neveh t'ought'v'it t'at way." -- Expectant Pickpocket.

"War Surplus, then."

Tsk, Flippo. Don't flatter yourself.

"FINE dog."

"Hey, I'm just a kid tryin' to get by. They've warned me about you!"

All right, quit clowning and give the poor guy a pair of Walt's pants.

Why do henchmen ever think they're going to get a fair count?

Trolling the troll.

"I mean, think of the campus hijinks!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"HAH!!!!" -- Sally.

 

[Fading Fast]

Mustard pickles are banned by the Geneva Convention! STRANGE AS IT SEEMS!

That couldn't, in some crazy way, be related to mustard gas and WWI, could it?

What I learned from the book and movie "State Fair" was that the way to win at preserve contests was to put a good amount of booze in your preserves.

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

Well, you know, those midtown wind currents do funny things.

Superman?

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

And that's why Ma keeps all her records in her head.

And we now know who gets paid protection money to "look the other way" and why it didn't work yesterday. Ma's big risk is when Doyle or his boss is taken out of the loop.

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"FINE dog."

"Fly in experts from Vienna if necessary – spare no expense."

 

[LizzieMaine]

(In the rectory at St. Dominic's Church on 20th Avenue, Father Kelleher sits with an unexpected evening visitor. "Yeh," says Alice, "I know it's kin'a late, but I wawned t' wait'll Willie wenta bed befoeh'r I come oveh." "Ah," nods the priest. "And what, Mrs. Krause, did you wish to..." "It's about awlese boiglehries 'roun'eeh," explains Alice. "T'is guy t'eh cawlin'a cat boigleh t'at's hitt'n awla choiches. He ain' hit heeh yet, has 'e?" "No, no," shrugs the Father, "so far we've been.." "Well, see," contiues Alice, "I mean, you still gawt'at -- um -- bag I give ya coup'la mont's back? T'at one come outa Missis Nucci's place, wit' -- um -- you know.." "The gold coins,' nods the Father. "I have them in a safe place until we can figure out what to..." "Well, I dowancha t'get in no trouble," continues Alice. "If ya get boigled an' ya hafta tell t' cawps y'had foeh gran' woit'a gol' pieces, I mean, ain'nat gonna getcha in dutch wit' t' T-Men awr t' Secret Soivice awr Mawrgentaw awr somebody? So I was t'inkin' I could tell ya some t'ings about boiglehs..." "Ah," ahs the Father. "I mean," stumbles Alice, "I ain' no boigleh meself, but -- um -- I useta know -- um -- you know..." The Father leans back in his chair and regards his visitor. "You're a good woman, Mrs. Krause," he chuckles. "I am?" replies Alice. "Well -- um -- I'm tryin'...")

("Six mont's," sighs Sally, leaning over the counter as she sips her Coke. "Roosevelt's been gawn f'six mont's, t'wawr's oveh, an'na whole woil's goin nuts." Joe looks up from behind his grill, and Sally immediately regrets bringing it all up. "Sawry," she shrugs. "I know you don' like'ta..." "T'ese hamboigehs is comin' alawng," Joe deflects. "T'em las' ones was too sawlty." "Ain' sawlty good, t'ough?" challenges Sally. "Makes ya wanna drink sump'n. Like a Coke, awr'n egg cream a' sump'n." "I wawn'cha should tas'e t' meat," declares Joe. "Nawt t' sawlt. Heeh, try t'is one." With a deft stroke of his spatula he slides a patty off the grill and onto a toasted bun. "Aincha gonna put nut'n else onneh?" questions Sally. "Ketchup a' sumpn?" "No," insists Joe. "Jus' t'meat. I wawnch'a should tas'e t' meat." He places the finished sandwich on a square of wax paper and slides it across the counter. With a skeptical frown, Sally takes a bite. "Hey!" she reacts. "T'at's pretty good! I neveh had a hamboigeh like t'at befoeh! Wha'ja do t'wit?" "Good meat," explains Joe. "A lit'l butteh awna grill, an' a lit'l bitta sawlt'n peppeh, an' nut'n else. Cook it jus' lawng'anuf, neveh too lawng. Y'see t'at san'glass t'eh? T'at's t' secret! T'at san' runs down ya flip oveh t' meat. San' runs down again, it's done!" "T'is is great," enthuses Sally, munching thru the sandwich. "You really gawt sump'n'eeh." "Le's hope so,"n exhales Joe, contemplatively wiping his hands on his apron as Sally polishes off the final crumb...)

("Eatcharr food, Barbara," cajoles Ma. "Faaars roast we've had in three years, an' Oi'll naaaht see it goo t'waste." "Yes'm," murmurs Bink, poking at her plate. Uncle Frank glances at Ma, who shakes her head in reply. "Fatty," begins Bink. "Um. Sawry, I mean -- um -- Uncle Frank, I guess -- um -- c'n I ask ya sump'n?" "Saaartainly," nods Uncle Frank, sopping up a pool of gravy with a chunk of bread. "D'you eveh know anybody," ventures Bink, "t'at's been'ta -- um -- prison? Nawt jail a' nut'n, I mean, real prison. Like, y'know, um -- upstate." "Ahhhhh," exhales Uncle Frank, "well -- ah -- that is, Oi have naaaht been aaahn -- ah -- intimate taaaarms with sooch paaarsons, boot -- ah -- well, Oi moit have knoon woon arr two..." "Is what -- um -- t'ey - say," questions Bink, "true? 'Bout prison, I mean? I hoid some stawries lately, an'ney din' soun' like nut'n -- well, it wasn' like y'see inna movies, y'know?" "Moothar'a marrcy," mutters Ma. "Oi have noo --aah -- paaarsoonal experience, ye oondarssan'," exhales Uncle Frank."Boot neither do Oi caaare t' foind oot. Ye oondarstand?" "I guess," sighs Bink. "I was -- um -- jus' wondrin'..." "Eat'chee food, Barbara," directs Ma. "Yes'm," nods Bink...)

(And this isn't even a exaggeration.)

(Twenty-one weeks till spring training...)

(It's quicker than the stairs!)

(Yes, this is certainly a good idea.)

(Former head buyer for Davega!)

(Check the subway.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG takes on a dogfighting ring.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The most 1945 Page Four ever.

Let's see now: FRANCIS XAVIER LEARY 1883-19** "An Honest Plumber." -- NORA KATHERINE LEARY 1889-19** "Watch Your Nickels." -- ALICE D. KRAUSE 1905-19** "Did I Do All Right?" -- SIDNEY R. KRAUSE 1901-19** "Yeh." -- SOLOMON JACOB PINCUS T/SGT WORLD WAR II OCT 18 1912 - *** ** 19** BRONZE STAR PURPLE HEART -- JOSEPH PETRAUSKAS JUNE 6, 1913 - *** ** 19** "He Did His Best." -- SALLY A. PETRAUSKAS APRIL 13, 1913 -*** ** 20** "I ASK YA."

"Nah, I got a whole year of veteran's unemployment checks comin'!"

"No, I'm afraid I've never been to the circus."

"Pardon me, your milk bath is ready."

Um.

Isn't it time we met one of those Japanese stragglers who doesn't know the war is over?

Don't worry, son, in a few years you'll get your chance.

"At last we can resume our dysfunctional co-dependent relationship!"

Don't worry, Mr. Truman is hard at work on a universal health care plan.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Well this is an unexpected plot twist.

 

[Fading Fast]

In the rectory at St. Dominic's Church on 20th Avenue, Father Kelleher sits with an unexpected evening visitor. "Yeh," says Alice, "I know it's kin'a late, but I wawned t' wait'll Willie wenta bed befoeh'r I come oveh." "Ah," nods the priest. "And what, Mrs. Krause, did you wish to..." "It's about awlese boiglehries 'roun'eeh," explains Alice. "T'is guy t'eh cawlin'a cat boigleh t'at's hitt'n awla choiches. He ain' hit heeh yet, has 'e?" "No, no," shrugs the Father, "so far we've been.." "Well, see," contiues Alice, "I mean, you still gawt'at -- um -- bag I give ya coup'la mont's back? T'at one come outa Missis Nucci's place, wit' -- um -- you know.." "The gold coins,' nods the Father. "I have them in a safe place until we can figure out what to..." "Well, I dowancha t'get in no trouble," continues Alice. "If ya get boigled an' ya hafta tell t' cawps y'had foeh gran' woit'a gol' pieces, I mean, ain'nat gonna getcha in dutch wit' t' T-Men awr t' Secret Soivice awr Mawrgentaw awr somebody? So I was t'inkin' I could tell ya some t'ings about boiglehs..." "Ah," ahs the Father. "I mean," stumbles Alice, "I ain' no boigleh meself, but -- um -- I useta know -- um -- you know..." The Father leans back in his chair and regards his visitor. "You're a good woman, Mrs. Krause," he chuckles. "I am?" replies Alice. "Well -- um -- I'm tryin'..."

One, you have to love that the term "cat burglar" is being used seriously and, two, whether you are religious or not, robbing only churches takes some metaphysical courage. It's the atheist-in-the-foxhole thing — do you really, truly, and deeply in your heart absolutely know for sure?

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Twenty-one weeks till spring training...

Excellent pictures of the game.

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The most 1945 Page Four ever.

The mental gear shifting required is dramatic.

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"Pardon me, your milk bath is ready."

"Finally, the script I've been waiting for. Could someone please fluff up these pillows a bit."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Aaaaahl roit," sighs Uncle Frank, grimy with soot. "We gaaaht th' aaaahrl baaarner set oop. An' Mistarr Krause and Oi reached an arrangement aahn th' cool we had in th' bin. Th' boys are gooin' t'haul it oovar t' Bensonharrst t'marra." "With whoot?" snorts Ma. "A coostar waagon?" "They'll use th' troock," sighs Uncle Frank. "Oi finally got thim springs fixed, tharr was soom springs froom soom koinda machine gon trailaaar oovar in th' saaarploos warehoose we was able t' coot down t' fit." "An' Saaargeant Pincus," frowns Ma, "letchee do that, did'ee." "I poot a ticket," declares Uncle Frank, "in th' till. Me Oi-O-U. It's good anywharr in this toon." "It ain't good," scowls Ma, "at th' Brooklyn Troost....")

("Do'worry," sighs Joe, trying to manipulate the paper as Stella the Cat slumbers on his lap. "Anybody tries t'viviseck YOU, t'ey won' hafta wait f' Sal t'hit'm wit' a brick. T'ey'll get one from ME!" Stella acknowledges this reassurance by sinking her claws into her human's thigh. "Neveh min'a brick," winces Joe. "You c'n take caehr'v'm yaself!")

("Now t'at's my kin'a pitcheh," declares Solly Pincus, exiting the Patio. "Jimmy Cagney! 'F'give ya enemies -- but fois', get even!'" "Eh," ehs Bink Scanlan. "I liked'at ot'eh one, wit' t' boilesque danceh. I coulda done'at, y'know, I useta dance a bit. But I gawt scruples." "Y'don' say," chuckles Solly. "Well, I do," frowns Bink. "Like jus' now. Ya stan'in'eh light'n a cig'rette. I coulda dipped ya right t'en an' y'd neveh know I done it. But I didn' do it." Solly twitches and gives himself a quick frisk. "Huh," huhs Solly, examining his intact wallet. "Well, I'll be damned." "Probl'y," scowls Bink...)

(Peaked at 22.)

("As you know," intones Mr. Rickey, "it is my custom to observe the Sabbath by absenting myself from the ballpark." "Yeh," smirks Chuck Dressen. "Y'c'n always count th' take on Monday." "So it is," the Mahatma continues, "that I will not be present for Sunday's activities. But I should like, I should like very much for you to make certain observations for me." "Sure," nods the crafty little coach, his squinty eyes fixed on his employer. "Certain of your opponents are of interest," continues Mr. Rickey. "The --ah -- Brown Dodgers will require fresh talent to compete in 1946." "Surre," grins Mr. Dressen. "Th' Brown Dodgers..." "Excuse me, sir," buzzes Jane Ann on the intercom. "Mr. Racine again for you, about your trip to..." "Very good, Miss Jones," interrupts Mr. Rickey. "You may go, Mr. Dressen. Your silence of course is obligatory." "What," snickers Mr. Dressen, as he reaches for the door. "Me, gab?")

(OK, that line tops mine.)

(Some men look rugged and manly with a scruff like that. Garry just looks like an armpit.)

(This is just the kind of strip Allen Jenkins would agree to do. See if you can get McHugh next.)

(I dunno, windowpane checks are just so overdone right now. How about something in a nice sharkskin?)

(Cue the WACKY music.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Jeezuz.

There are times when I'm very glad that I'm descended from Celtic Loyalists.

Good thing Tracy signed up for Blue Cross.

Well, at least it's not windowpane checks.

And just think of the campus hi-jinx!

Bet they've got a lovely basement.

One thing Terry knows how to do is gape.

Yeh, yeh, whatever. I just wanna know what's going on in that painting.

"I mean, they sure don't taste good on bagels!"

All the great street artists start out this way.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.....

 

[Fading Fast]

"An' Saaargeant Pincus," frowns Ma, "letchee do that, did'ee."

She can be quietly brutal. '

Separately, it's fascinating to read about Japan's postwar transition in real time, especially knowing how well it all turned out.

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

"Brings that ride in the black limousine."

Wow, they just kinda tucked that hard right in there, didn't they?

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

I dunno, windowpane checks are just so overdone right now. How about something in a nice sharkskin?

Back when suits mattered, I always thought a charcoal grey was the first suit to get, but the conventional wisdom says a blue serge is where you start; regardless, patterns should only come later.

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Jeezuz.

Professional hit sounded right until they acting like scared children after they pulled it off.

Separately, perhaps "señor" should look up the meaning of the words "give" and "present."

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

Well, at least it's not windowpane checks.

Blue serge or charcoal grey for the win again. BTW, that looks like a Donegal tweed.

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Yeh, yeh, whatever. I just wanna know what's going on in that painting.

"Where is that paw masseuse, my paws are killing me and I called for her ten minutes ago?"

 

[LizzieMaine]

("C'mon," urges Joe. "Try t'is one, I put a lit'l moeh peppeh." ""Joe," sighs Sally, pushing back from the counter, "I ate six of'm awready." She inhales, and a button pops off her dress, soaring over the counter and ricocheting off the backsplash. "Hey." Joe calls, spotting Bink Scanlan rearranging the magazine rack. "C'moveh'n try t'is." "Ain' bad," nods Bink, taking a bite. "Too much peppeh." Joe exhales, tapping his spatula against the edge of the grill as he ponders. "I'm gonna open up on Monday," he declares, "hell 'a high wawteh. But I gotta get t'is recipe right." "Leave awff t' peppeh," suggests Sally. "Y'said y'wawned people t' taste t' meat, right? So don' mess aroun' wit' no peppeh. Jus'a lit'l bitta sawlt." "Y't'ink?" nods Joe, eyeing his sandglass. "Awright," he continues, sliding another patty onto a toasted bun. "Heeh," he directs, presenting the sandwich to Bink. "Try t'is." "Hm," hms Bink. "Jus' a lit'l peppeh maybe." Joe rolls his eyes as she finishes the hamburger. "Awright," he sighs. "Try t'is..." "No," interrupts Sally. "She's had enough." "Huh?" huhs Bink. "Fawr be it fr'm me t'say," side-eyes Sally, "but..." "Oh," ohs Bink, noting that her sweater visibly doesn't fit like it used to. "Ya gonna make pigs'a awluvus," snickers Sally. "Um..." ums Joe...)

("Whassatcha readin'?" frowns Alice. "Comic book," shrugs Willie, kicking his feet over the arm of the chair. "Crime Does Nawt Pay," reads Alice. "Lemme see t'at." She plucks the magazine from her son's grasp and grimly regards the cover, where a grimacing bandit, his revolvers blazing, has just been grazed in the head by a shot, as the shadow of the electric chair looms ominously on the chipped brick wall behind. "Ya ott'n be read'n'is kinda junk," she admonishes as she riffles thru the pages. "'Million Dolleh Boigleh,'" she reads. "Lennid Kamici, Killeh f' Hieh' T'is is rotten stuff! I do'wancha read'ni'is kinda gawbage, y'heeh me? What'cha t'ink ya fawt'eh'd say if 'e seen'is?" "I dunno," shrugs Willie. Alice's eyes narrow. "Whe'd'ju get'tis?" "I traded f'rit," admits Willie. "I give 'eh'ra piece'a good brick. "Who???" demands Alice. "Leonoreh," huffs Willie. "Ohhhhhhhh," exhales Alice....)

(If it wasn't for alcohol and gambling, there would be no reason for football to exist.)

(The "Boston Yanks?" Isn't that like saying "the Roman Greeks?")

(Triskaidekaphobia!)

(Finally!)

(Even burglars have to specialize.)

(Good clothes give anyone confidence.)

("Well, lucky for me, I guess...")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Well, it seemed like a sure thing at the time..."

And the tea was weak too.

"That's right, let's not be hasty..." -- Sandy.

My my my.

PLUNK

"Yeah, that'd work. Do you aim for the head or the back?"

CHOLERA EPIDEMIC DEVASTATES COVINA

"But you're a gynecologist."

No, let Min do that. She's been planning it for years.

How these people stay off Page Four is beyond me.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Sachs' cancelled its advertising? THAT will get attention.

Oh, and we can't let this DAR situation pass without sharing one of my favorite paintings, done in 1932 by Grant Wood. Here is "Daughters of Revolution."

 

[Fading Fast]

Even burglars have to specialize.

It's different today, but in the '80 and even into the '90s, there was an active market for stolen electronics in NYC. Beside the obvious truck parked on the side of the street hawking stuff off the back, there were stores that were clearly not legitimate dealers selling all sorts of things - TVs, radios, stereos (there was a massive market for stolen stereo goods back then), etc. Looking back, it's kind of amazing it existed as it was out in the open and obvious that it was all stolen merchandise.

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

"Well, lucky for me, I guess..."

I don't even know what the point of this storyline is anymore.

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

And the tea was weak too.

I'm not arguing one bit – not one bit – about the right or wrong of what's happening today, but you can't help seeing the parallels to some of the arguments being made today about gov't funding for colleges. It really is amazing how so little it truly new.

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

"That's right, let's not be hasty..." -- Sandy.

It some ways, life is always a prison to him, so why not choose the nicest cage?

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

My my my.

Did not see this coming at all.

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

Sachs' cancelled its advertising? THAT will get attention.

If other stores follow, it certainly will. Conversely, if no one does, it's possible in six months or more, Sachs quietly returns. We've seen both happen in similar situations.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I mean, jeez, Sal," argues Alice. "Don' it worry ya, Leonoreh read'nat kinda stuff?" "Eh," shrugs Sally, riffling thru the comic book. "'S'just a funny book. She reads ot'eh stuff, she was inneh t'is mawrnin' look'n at t' New Masses." "Masses?" stares Alice. "I t'ought you din' wan' nut'n t'do wit' t' choich." "Not t'at kinda masses," replies Sally. "Ahh, skip it. Anyways, it's like t'is. When I was lit'l, awla time Ma was tellin' me 'don' read t'at, don' read t'is, don' read'em doity papehs.' So I done like any kid woulda done, I wen' right out an' done it anyway. I ain' gonna do t'at t' Leonoreh. She'c'n read whateveh she wanna, an' I ain' gonna yell at'eh." "What if," postulates Alice, "she brung home one'a t'em Hoist papehs. T' Mirreh. T" Joinal-American. Huh?" "Oh," ohs Sally, realizing she is backing into a contradiction. "Well," she sighs, "as lawng as she don' read Kilgallen..." "Look," insists Alice, "jus' tell'eh t'keep t'ese kin'a books t'wehself. I do'wan Willie read'nat kin'a stuff." "He's gonna see it one way'arranot'eh," protests Sally. "It's t'real woil'! Look 'eeh, t'ezza stawry 'bouta phony count. Y'can't tell me t'at ain' f' real." "Look,"exhales Alice. "Jus' do me a faveh, awright? Keep t'at stuff outa my house, OK? You raise yawr kid t'way you wanna, an' lemme raise mine t'way I wanna." Sally looks at her friend for a long moment. "Sueh," she concedes. "Whateveh ya wawnt." "Good," nods Alice. "It's a pretty stupid book at t'at," acknowledges Sally. "T'ey gawt a phony count an' no Indian chief...")

("Dawgs takin' oveh Camp Kilmeh," snickers Solly Pincus. "T'at place went t''t dawgs a lawng time a go, huh?" "Huh?" huhs Joe, staring at his sputtering grill. "Oh. Yeh, yeh, guess so." "Hey," heys Solly, "whassat y'got' back teh? A toasteh?" "Yeh," nods Joe. "I gawt t' meat like I wawn'it, so now I'm tryin' out diffen't t'ings t'put it awn, y'know? T'em rolls is expensive." "G'woveh t't' Wawrd's bak'ry t'eh," suggests Solly. "T'ey gawt t' day ol' rolls t'eh, an' ones t'at come out t' wrawng coleh'ra sump'n. Sell'm cheap, an' ya toast'm t'ey ac'hlly woik betteh cause t'ey don' get so crummy." "I tried'at," admits Joe. "T'ey don' soak up t' juice right. So I'm tryin' out slices'a diff'nt kindsa bread." "Y'really takin'is serious, ain'cha?" observes Solly. "I am," nods Joe. Solly watches him slide a patty between two thick slices of toast. "Does it help?" he asks. Joe slices the sandwich in two, and hands Solly half. "Yeh," he nods," thru a mouthful. "It does...")

("This is a relaxing time of year,' sighs Mr. Parrott, as he leans against Miss Jones's desk. "The season's over, football's taking everybody's attention, and we get a month or so to take things easy before the Winter Meetings. And not a thing going on, not a thing to worry about..." As he exhales with relaxation, the telephone rings. "Brooklyn National League Baseball Club," greets Miss Jones. "One moment please." She clicks the intercom. "I have Mr. Racine for you," she reports. There is an indistinguishable harumph on the other end of the speaker, and Miss Jones returns the telephone to its cradle. "He's really going to do it, isn't he?" whispers Mr. Parrott. "Yes, this time of year is very relaxing..." agrees Miss Jones...)

(Never play cards with a man who never takes the cigar out of his mouth.)

(If there's anyone who shouldn't be in a service-desk job, it's Bugs Bunny.)

(Best to find it out now, before things go too far...)

(Royal pageantry is pretty dumb, especially since they've given up on the wigs.)

(Astral projection? That's a new super power!)

(I have a cup of cold tea for breakfast, and I let it steep for a full hour. Try THAT sometime!)

(Go home, Mary, Bill and the kids miss you, and who knows, maybe you'll run into Leona and the Governor.)