Bill Nye and Boomerang: Or, The Tale of a Meek-Eyed Mule, and Some Other Literary Gems — John Shaqi
Bill Nye and Boomerang: Or, The Tale of a Meek-Eyed Mule, and Some Other Literary GemsNye, Bill
General
Bill Nye and Boomerang: Or, The Tale of a Meek-Eyed Mule, and Some Other Literary Gems
Nye, Bill
American wit and humor
"Another reason why I cannot laugh at it is this: I am not a very easy
and extemporaneous laughter, anyway. I am generally shrouded in gloom,
especially when I am in hot pursuit of a wild and skittish joke for my
own use. It takes a good, fair, average joke that hasn't been used much
to make me laugh easy, and besides, I have used up the fund of laugh
that I had laid aside for that particular joke. It has, in fact,
overdrawn some now, and is behind.
"I do not wish to intrench on the fund that I have concluded to offer as
a purse for young jokes that have never made it in three minutes.
"I want to encourage green jokes, too, that have never trotted in
harness before, and, besides, I must insist on using my scanty fund of
laugh on jokes of the nineteenth century. I have got to draw the line
somewhere.
"If I were making a collection of antique jokes of the vintage of 1400
years B. C., or arranging and classifying little bon-mots of the time of
Cleopatra or King Solomon, I would give you a handsome sum for this one
of yours, but I am just trying to worry along and pay expenses, and
trying to be polite to every one I meet, and laughing at lots of things
that I don't want to laugh at, and I am going to quit it.
"That is why I have met your little witticism with cold and heartless
gravity."
A HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE.
|To-day I got shaved at a barber-shop, where I begged the operator to
kill me and put me out of my misery.
I have been accustomed to gentle care and thoughtfulness at home, and
my barber at Laramie handles me with the utmost tenderness. I was,
therefore, poorly prepared to meet the man who this morning filled my
soul with woe.
I know that I have not deserved this, for while others have berated the
poor barber and swore about his bad breath and never-ending clatter
and his general heartlessness, I have never said anything that was not
filled with child-like trust and hearty good will toward him.
I have called the attention of the public to the fact that sometimes
customers had bad breath and were restless and mean while being operated
on, and then when they are all fixed up nicely, they put their hats on
and light a cigar and hold up their finger to the weary barber and tell
him that they will see him more subsequently.
Now, however, I feel differently.
This barber no doubt had never heard of me. He no doubt thought I was an
ordinary plug who didn't know anything about luxury.
I shall mark a copy of this paper and send it to him.
Then while he is reading it I will steal up behind him with a pick
handle and kill him. I want him to be reading this when I kill him,
because it will assist the coroner in arriving at the immediate cause of
his death.
The first whiff I took of this man's breath, I knew that he was rum's
maniac.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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