Waste Josephus (Softie) Foley: "Hotcha-cha! What you need is the old softening influence of a woman!" I snort! Brain-softening, says I. Stubby Gray: "Not tight, just snug!" Charles (Summation) Osmond: "An erg is not hte Brooklyn specie of hen-fruit!" Al (Skippy) Scoville: "But Steve, the summation of these triple integrations will give but one-third the volume of the first quadrant section of this hyberbolic paraboloid, etc. etc." P. S. It used to go on for days - way, way up in the clouds. Coed's expression when at a loss for words: "Oh yeah?" I have not time for softie blokes To whom self-pity is a clock. If a man be only what he be, Then strive to be a better be! Russel (Gable) Farr: "I wonder if it's the beast in me that causes my irresistibility to the fair sex?" And the prize for the niftiest comeback this annum is given to a certain young gentleman, who, upon being upraided by the librarian for his verbal disturbances, replied, when he was asked if he made all the noise: "Not I said the cow - moo! moo! Such a thing I'd never do." Vella (Wallpaper) Phillips: "I don't like your attitude." You all kow Mr. Foley, eh, wot? My, what a mouth. Believe you me, that's no button hole under his nose. Not to mention the hideous sounds that usher from that cavern. Imagine him pulling that sour stuff on anyone but a High School dame. Just an echo from "Up East." Someday Mr. Foley is going to meet a dame that can really think. And then what is he going to do. My! My! My! Oh! Yes! Frank Rounds has it too! And Russ Farr! And Harm Williams! What is it now, children, Drop the Handkerchief or Post Office, "Yes, but High School dames have bliss", say the boys. Ah, but they never bloom. Remember, those who follow such chitterers, the glowing flower is much prettier than the "green" bud. And who hasn't made a crack about Cecil Tucker's short pants? Who knows, maybe he's a golfer - or a cowboy. Anyway, his vocabularly isn't short; just lacks a collaborator. Come down to earth, Mr. Tucker, when a man eats too much, the best remedy is a laxative. In your case, we suggest a grammar book to relieve the agony. All I got to say about Chuck Peterson is that if he had his nose full of nickels, his life's aim would be accomplished. (An old crack, but not bad.) As a bit of warning, I advise the possessor of such excess "nosey-ness" to keep their distance in the tennis court. A net and such noses are bound to tangle. The feet are another problem. Mr. Corey should top off this year's Devontional with a speech on "Windmills" - and how many of his reformatory talks it takes to run one. Yet, he did crack a few wise smirches during his "reign". I say "smirches" - Mr. Foley, does that go over your head, or not? Room 18. Why pass up Doe Bramwell? He's about as worthy of mention as anyone of the other aforesaid wags. Pretty, isn't he? About as nice a bit of human endeavor one could ask for. His Peacock strut and Duck waddle are bound to make him an ideal "Ladies Hoe Companion." YEAH!!! (Said disgustingly, Mr. Foley) Signed "Two of the Boys!"