Tag Archives: humor


I  cracked open the paperback.

“Chapter 1, The Case Of The Salve A Door, Dolly.

When I walked through the revolting door of the Hotel Ballfour, I spied a couple punts playing catch in the lobby.

There was a maid giving French lessons to a show fur salesman by the lemonzine stand in the corner.

I figured my client, Stir Reel, was the old party staggering out of the bar with a fishy barracuda in a candy striper outfit on one arm and the phoney inventor, Macaroni, at his elbow.

I saddled up to my nurse-wild employer and snorted: ‘Its like the stockman said to the C.E.O., People know you by the company you keep.’

‘Mr. Friday?’, he asked.

‘Yes, Phillip Friday.’

‘The Gasman?’

‘Yes’ I belched.

Then I told him we should go.

‘Every lobby has chairs’ I said “but these chairs have more than their quota of bums.'”






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Sea Czar City: From Here To Infirmary, Page 38

I yelled “FIRE!”

(fear does that to me sometimes.)

Rascal turned his head just long enough for me to elect him chairman with mine.

Scoop let Zippo burp in  the face of danger, which set the curtains alight.

Scoop with the boy and I and the waiter Old Darrel Lick beat a hasty  pudding out the door and into the street.

Old Darrel Lick And The Pudding


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Sea Czar City: From Here To Infirmary, Page 37

Rascal pulled his blade and pointed it at my shirt.

“Well that tears it!”, I said.

Scoop had the boy.

Darkening the galley entrance was Woof Larson.

He looked like a fit bull at a meat and eat.

“Let loose my crew!”, cut Woof’s bark.

We five froze a cemetery moment, trying to figure out the plot.

The boy didn’t look eager to return to Pap’s vice grip.

Scoop looked like he wished he’d taken matador lessons.

Rascal looked at me as though my name was Robert and it was shiskabob time.

Larson looked like his mind was crackling and his fists were hurry canes.




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