Henny Youngman by Telephone

Henny Youngman jokes after 10 consecutive translations:

A man goes to a psychiatrist. “Nobody listens to me!” The doctor says, “Next!”
A man enters siquiatra felt “Nobody me!” They are indicated with respect to him of the doctor, “Next!”

The horse I bet on was so slow, the jockey kept a diary of the trip.
The horse, that one that I bet, were, the pulley of tenditrice arrested for him therefore diem of a slow illuminated course.

Is that your hat or are you wearing a cabana?
Are you he your protection that protects or takes a hut?

My wife will buy anything marked down. Last year she bought an escalator.
The purchase of the moglie of the mine everything, of that the deep one for if it indicates. Slipping the scale it bought last year one.

I just finished my income tax forms. Who says you can’t get wounded by a blank?
I exactly finished to my forms they imposed them on the rent. Who visualizes that you cannot be the damages you of a white man?

If my mother knew I did this for a living, she’d kill me. She thinks I’m selling dope.
If the mine to nut/mother that he knew, I did this for a duration, he I I would destroy it. You think about that sells the representative in the painting.

The Platypus

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Gould_John_Duckbilled_Platypus_1845-1863.png

The Platypus

My child, the Duck-billed Platypus
A sad example sets for us:
From him we learn how Indecision
Of character provokes Derision.
This vacillating Thing, you see,
Could not decide which he would be,
Fish, Flesh or Fowl, and chose all three.
The scientists were sorely vexed
To classify him; so perplexed
Their brains, that they, with Rage at bay,
Call him a horrid name one day,–
A name that baffles, frights and shocks us,
Ornithorhynchus paradoxus.

— Oliver Herford

Unquote

“Winfield goes back to the wall. He hits his head on the wall and it rolls off! It’s rolling all the way back to second base! This is a terrible thing for the Padres!” — Sportscaster Jerry Coleman

Poem

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea,
And love is a thing that can never go wrong,
And I am Marie of Roumania.

— Dorothy Parker