﻿“PARA GRABHS” 
 
What’s in a name? 
Sherman without the “S” spells Herman; Herman hyphenated registers Her-man; without the “r”, Her-man spells He-man; bring back the “s” and she’s a She-man; give him both “s” and “r” and he’s Sherman. 

“The bride-elect was presented with a lovely polychrome plaque. . .” 
What’s polychrome plaque, a seamless sleeping-bag or a fluffy cur?––not fur! 

“Vulturs have the highest (up) developed sense of smell of most all birds,” some people rumor “they will scent carrion for 40 miles . . . .” 
That will do––now I know its a lie. No vultures hover over the Chicago restaurants, besides, vultures circle and circle and circle––not over one spot––until their eye lights on a carrion. They do not “trail” smells. They stumble! 

Organization will produce results! 

Some people are like blotters––they soak up “things” BACKWARDS. So do mirrors. Mebbe things are kinda AXE-END-TO? You know it! 

For instance, most all action and undertaking is impromptu–– ill-considered, considered CURSORARILY (curses-o-rar-ly)––considered, but considered not like you would consider a program from which no deviation can be tolerated––we are inclined to function in the IMMATERIALS. 
Well––guess we’ll go over to the Greek’s for a cup of coffee––I know not what he makes it from but I do know the others are trying to make it from nothing––even begrudging me the cup of “solied” water, lukewarm. They must think I’m going to wash a flannel shirt in it. Fie! 

You may laugh all you want to (for all I care) at the patches on my overalls. At least, I am in tune with the capitalist system; I can camouflage nary a gosh darn bit––or bib! 
Behold the patches IN the depot platform, Soo Line, at Garrison, N. D.; D. S. S. & A. at Newberry, Mich. 
I’m in tune! 
Behold the “patches” on capitalism: 
Republican party; 
Democratic party; 
Behold the patches on patches: 
Red Cross, Legion, Klux, etc. 
All patches! And, gentlememn, the goods in the patches is better material than the garment! Vote for patches––but darn your sox! 

OUR DAILY BREAD 
“The Lord’s Last Supper” on the wall! 
Hangs thereby too a tale–– 
It seems the food is rather small–– 
The menu rather frail. 
 
It-ill-befits that Jesus’ should 
Sit by so scant a board; 
When with His word that hombre could 
Have grabbed it by the cord. 
 
So darkling thoughts disturb me now: 
‘Tis propaganda, sure–– 
(The absence of a steaming cow) 
To reconcile the poor. 
 
“That frugal board is ordered so 
By System’s mighty voice; 
To keep the living standard low–– 
The artist had no choice?” 
 
Alas for doughnuts! And musings quaint! 
And verdicts quick and mean! 
How could the starving artist paint 
A thing he’s never seen? 

Ed.––We miss you, T-Bone Slim; and your copy isn’t “coming” like it uster––You know the story of the “Little Brown Hen?”