The Only Cure For A Real Hangover

I Don't Want To Be An Alarmist, But I Think That The Younger Generation Is Up To Something.... I Base My Apprehension On Nothing More Definite Than The Fact That They Are Always Coming In And Going Out Of The House, Without Any Apparent Reason.

A Man Of Forty Today Has Nothing To Worry Him But Falling Hair, Inability To Button The Top Button, Failing Vision, Shortness Of Breath, A Tendency Of The Collar To Shut Off All Breathing, Trembling Of The Kidneys To Whatever Tune The Orchestra Is Playing, And A General Sense Of Giddiness When The Matter Of Rent Is Brought Up. Forty Is Life's Golden Age.

I Do Most Of My Work Sitting Down; That's Where I Shine.

But Ice-crunching And Loud Gum-chewing, Together With Drumming On Tables, And Whistling The Same Tune 70 Times In Succession, Because They Indicate An Indifference On The Part Of The Perpetrator To The Rest Of The World In General, Are Not Only Registered On The Delicate Surfaces Of The Brain But Eat Little Holes In It Until It Finally Collapses Or Blows Up.

I Know I'm Drinking Myself To A Slow Death, But Then I'm In No Hurry.