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Show More Hard Luck. "Wish I could think of one more joke," says the plodding humorist. "WThy?" asks the friend, who cannot can-not understand why the p. h. should try to think of any jokes at all. "Because I have only been able to grind out thirteen, and that seems like a hoodoo." "If you can't think of a joke, try a quatrain or a limerick. That's the same thing, isn't it?" The plodding humorist brightens up. "Let's see," he muses. Then he writes: "There are thirteen jokes in the bunch It's the thirteenth day of the month " "Hold on!" cries the friend who has been looking over his shoulder. " TBunch' and 'month' don't rhyme." "More of my dodgasted hard luck!" moans the plodding humorist, tearing: up his manuscript. |