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Array
(
[sid] => 27858
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Pocketbook
[time] => 2003-11-24 19:33:07
[hometext] => Ladies, ladies, please
[bodytext] => My wife was driving south on Jog and I was at her side, She's heading down to Sample road and I went for the ride. We're coming to a place where quarters feed into a slot, She handed me her bag and said, "Darling, get out a lot." I reached into her bag and wondered where the quarters hid, Two shades of lipstick tumbled out, one without a lid, Her comb was lying underneath a compact made of glass, A piece of hardened candy with a wrapper, Sassafras. A thimble and a spool of thread, a ribbon blue and red, A license for the autocar, a tiara for her head. A file for her longish nails, emery to smoothe them out, Polish to keep them tango red, a pill to cure the gout. A letter from her sister Jane, who's coming for a while, Carter's little liver pills to vanquish too much bile, A tablet that will fizz a glass so you can burp up heat, A safety and a bobby pin to keep her hair quite neat. I finally found the quarters, they were strewn about the bag, The dust that flew an upward arc, could really make you gag, "My dear wife, my darling wife, I really must protest, Why not straighten out this bag", I'm sure you know the rest. She flew at me like queenie bee, I didn't have a chance, "I merely ask for quarters, not a sermon at a glance, There's no reason for your dialogue, you leave me quite bereft, Besides, I straightened out the bag, my dear, just before we left." [comments] => 6 [counter] => 150 [topic] => 7 [informant] => norm [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => HumorPoetry )
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