Thursday, June 19, 2008

Heavily Handicapped


A certain old Yankee had been hobnobbing with congenial companions at a favorite little barroom during a blizzard, and the hour was late when he donned his wraps and started for home. His gait was unsteady, and he was scarcely well out of the door before he stumbled and fell on a pile of lumber in such a manner that, with the load of liquor which burdened his powers, he could not get up.

Jonathan Hardbutton — that is his name — succeeded in raising himself to a sitting posture, but could not regain his feet, in spite of every effort. Being at length exhausted, he sat still and waited until he should recover enough strength to extricate himself from his predicament. And while thus waiting his trousers froze stiff and fast to the lumber. Then his trouble increased, but luckily a belated friend passing that way noticed him.

"Say, Jonathan, you old fool," he drawled out, " why don't you git up and go home? What are you sitting there for such a night as this?"

"Well, how be I a-goin to git up," bawled Jonathan, "when all uv the Lord's creation is fruz fast to my pantaloons?" — Utica Observer.

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