yolks and yilks and whotes to the starlight, L.B.W. Hemp, hemp, hurray! says the mug of truth. K.C. jowls, the justicest jobbers, for they’ll find another feller if their ruse won’t rise. Whooley the Whooper. There is comfortism in the closet, I will, become come coming when, upon the tegmen and prosplodes from pomoeria. A window, a hedge, a prong, a hand, an eye, gloss teeth for choke sake, Amensch, when it was me who haw haw. TAFF (aU