Laugh, You Sinners: Fun and Frolic with The Circus Saints & Sinners and their Fall guys

By Fredddie Benham

Experience some Fun and Frolic with The Circus Saints & Sinners and their Fall Guys.
LAUGH, Be happy, be gay! This is the book that will lift your spirits. YOU will never regret laying out cash money for this sprightly collection of jokes, gags and cartoons. SINNERS will particularly enjoy this volume.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frederick Fell Publishers, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780883917626

Book preview

Benham

1

SOUP TO NUTS

All You Can Eat—(and any hat that fits you)—for Four Bits.

(Sign in Bowery Cafe)

EVERYBODY EATS—except those poor slobs whose wives are always going on diets. We start life by nourishing ourselves with milk until we get teeth. Then we take on solid food until we run out of teeth and go back to milk again. But whether you start the day with coffee, toast and arguments, or with ham and eggs, orange juice, hot cakes, grits and gravy with a side order of Tums—eating is fun!

There’s something basic and natural about eating. And the best humor springs from a situation that is natural. So pass your plates, boys, we’re going to serve up some com.

EDDIE MAHAN, ex-All American halfback, in his days of glory ate at a training table. (At that time Eddie was nothing but a large piece of skin stretched over an appetite.)

Look at that guy eat, observed the assistant coach one day. Coach, if he eats any more, he won’t be just CARRYING extra weight. He’ll be DRAGGING it.

Yeah, admitted the coach. What we’ve got to do is to make Mahan go on a diet.

It’s too late for diets, said his friend. We’ve got to make Mahan stop eating altogether!

And that’s how Mahan, the fullback, was reduced to Mahan, the HALFback.

AL LIPMANN met a friend who was looking emaciated and run-down. I don’t even dare wear a black suit, said the friend, for fear some embalmer will see me and bury me!

What you need is a carrot diet, suggested Al. Nothing like a long, steady diet of carrots to make a big, strong, husky, strapping man of you…. Come on, I’ll take you to a health-food restaurant and I’ll tell the manager to keep you on a strict diet of carrots!

Two months later Al met his friend, and hardly recognized him.

How are you feeling? Al inquired.

But his friend didn’t say a word. He just stared at Al with his little pink eyes, as he wiggled his long white ears and twitched his pink nose.

GARRETT ROOSMA, JR., Passaic insurance broker, was visited by a country cousin, who greeted him with, Hi, Garrett, whur’s th’ dining-room? Evidently the farmer had been on a six-month diet, and his ambition was to eat a double order of elephant roast with ostrich eggs for dessert.

On his first night in town, Garrett took his hungry cousin to a rather formal dinner party. During the meal, Garrett whispered, Please! Try to watch your etiquette. Yeah? asked the uncouth cousin. What’s wrong with moppin’ up gravy with my bread?

What’s wrong with it? countered Garrett. You’ve been mopping up gravy from table to table!

SENATOR MARK ANTON (prexy of the Suburban Propane Gas Company when he isn’t in the Jersey Legislature) was guest speaker at a banquet once when he was interrupted by a heckler.

When I was a kid, Mark said slowly, after the heckling, "my father placed me in complete charge of an animal he prized very highly, a little donkey. I was told to see that the fine little pet received its daily ration of hay, and was curried down, bathed, watered, and bedded at the same time each day. And after caring for the little donkey, Father told me to always lock the barn door.

But once I forgot to lock that bam door. The donkey escaped, ambled over to the train track—and was killed by a train. My father looked down at the poor animal, and he told me, ‘Mark, that animal is going to haunt you for the rest of your life!’ … And, ladies and gentlemen, my father was right!

Mark paused and pointed dramatically to the heckler. there sits that jackass right there!

CHARLIE PFUHL is the big Swiss cheese of the Swiss Chalet in Ramsey, N.J. One morning he glanced over his wife’s shoulder as she was composing the menu:

How’s this, Charlie? she began. Our luscious lamb chops will melt in your mouth and make you think of the tender poetry of Shelley. Our thick, juicy steaks are a wonderful dream come true, and could be described only by a writer with the vivid imagination of Shakespeare. Our vegetables were all plucked from the gardens this morning when pink, glowing dawn was barely breaking across the eastern horizon. Crisp, dewy, sparkling with goodness and flavor—our vegetables are morsels for the gods! And our special desserts defy description. Patrons, dining on our exquisite desserts, have been known to faint from sheer ecstasy, HOW’S ZAT, CHARLIE?

That’ll do, Charlie admitted grudgingly. Just simple facts. No overstatement.

FRANK J. RADIGAN, Jersey City Commissioner, recalls the one about the attractive waitress who worked in a restaurant where the manager was a tight-fisted skinflint. One day, during an argument over back wages, she became so excited she fell over in a dead faint. The manager picked her up and carried her to his back bedroom, before calling the doctor.

The doctor arrived and felt her pulse. Then he indicated that he’d like to be left alone with the waitress.

You’re not sick, Miss, the young doctor pointed out. What’s this all about?

That miser in there owes me fifty dollars. He’s owed it to me for a month now, and he refuses to pay it, the girl told him. So I’m going to play sick right here until he pays what he owes me.

Clever idea, said the young physician. He’s owed me a hundred dollars for almost six months. Then he pulled off his coat and shoes, tossed back the sheet, and commanded, Move over, honey.

DON GAUTIER, actor and restaurateur, had a customer enter his restaurant recently. (That’s NEWS?) Don, thinking that the gentleman might like some special Jewish food, commented, Yom Kippur starts today.

Yeah? answered the customer absently. Put two bucks on his nose for me.

JAMES F. KING, of Whippany, N.J., was sitting in Sardi’s restaurant when he noticed a hillbilly couple enter. They looked around the well-appointed restaurant and appeared to be confused.

Looks kinda expensive, said Paw, but you must be hankerin’ a powerful heap fer some vittuls, Maw, so order somethin’ cheap.

Their waiter brought the hill woman’s order, and as she ate it, the old man sat drumming his fingers.

I beg your pardon, sir, but don’t you want something to eat, too? asked the waiter.

Why, shore, son, the old man drawled. I aims to eat a bait of grub that would choke a plow mule jist as soon as Maw gits through usin’ th’ teeth.

PAUL ROTHMAN has a restaurant in East Norwich, Long Island. Recently a customer came in and ordered a sardine sandwich.

Do you want domestic or imported sardines? asked the waitress.

Domestic or imported? repeated the customer. What’s the difference?

The imported sardines cost sixty cents more, the girl explained.

In that case, bring me the domestic, snorted the customer. A guy’s gotta be nuts to pay passage money to the United States for a lousy sardine!

HENRY CASTELLO is the only man in the world who can eat spaghetti with a pair of greased chopsticks. Henry owns the Press Box restaurant in Manhattan, a favorite hangout of the writing fraternity. One night a newspaperman, notorious for his drinking habits, entered with his wife. After a pleasant dinner and a few drinks, the wife saw a friend and went over to her table for a chat. When she returned to her table she noticed that not only was her husband missing, but also her gloves. She looked under the table, then got down on her hands and knees beneath the table to try to feel around for the gloves.

Madam, she heard a solemn-looking waiter whisper hoarsely, if you’re looking for your husband, he isn’t under there tonight. He’s in the rest room.

LINDSLEY MC CHESNEY, of Troy, N.Y., while dining at the Stork Club, noticed a family at a nearby table. The husband was washing his spoon in his finger bowl. Then he dried it very carefully. Next, he washed his wife’s spoon in the finger bowl and dried it. Then he repeated the process with his son’s spoon.

May I ask, Sherman Billingsley inquired, why you are washing our spoons?

We all got on our Sunday clothes, maaan, the diner answered in a thick western twang. We sho’ don’t wanna git scrambled aigs all over our pockets!

SARDI’S RESTAURANT and Lindy’s restaurant compete for popularity among the Times Square habitues. But when Leo Lindy meets Vincent Sardi, they invariably enjoy their ribs and roasts.

You’ve got the slowest waiters on the face of the earth, ribbed Leo. I was in your trap today—just to get out of the rain—and I must’ve been out of my mind. I actually gave a waiter an order. Fresh trout. I waited, and waited, and waited. After two hours, I called the waiter and said, ‘Where’s my trout?’ He said, ‘I gotta wait till it stops raining so I can go dig bait.’

Strange you should mention that waiter, Sardi observed dryly. He used to work for you. I was in Lindy’s once—during an air raid alert—and this waiter was just standing there, smoking a cigar. Dozens of patrons were calling him, but he merely shrugged and continued smoking, lazily. Suddenly a hot ash set his collar on fire! And as it burned, he merely closed his eyes. ‘Hey, your collar’s on fire!’ I told him. ‘I know,’ he mumbled. ‘Can’t you see I’m praying for rain?’

JOHN W. REAGAN, of the Fern Line Steamship Company, likes to eat at a southern restaurant in midtown Manhattan where the food and service are exceptional. He has eaten there for years and always leaves a handsome tip.

One night he noticed that a new waiter was serving him.

Hey, you’re new, aren’t you? John inquired. Where’s my regular waiter?

He ain’t yo’ reg’lah waituh no mo’, Mistuh Reagan, the waiter answered with pride. Las’ night I won you fum him in a crap game.

CHARLEY SCHWEFEL, owner-manager of the Gramercy Park Hotel, hired a rather clumsy waitress once. And once was enough. Now his waitresses are hand-picked for skill, courtesy, and looks.

Nevertheless, the waitress in question dropped a tray of dishes and they broke all over the floor. Charley, an even-tempered man, made no comment for fear of embarrassing the poor girl. A half-hour later she dropped and broke a second tray of dishes. Charley merely lifted a tactful eyebrow. But about an hour later—crash!!

Marie, Charley said softly, more dishes?

Looking at him ruefully, she responded, Less.

WILLIAM J. BARKLEY, New York businessman, claims he saw an obvious hypochondriac enter a restaurant, polish the plate with his napkin, shine the silverware by dipping it into the glass of water and drying it on the tablecloth. Then he ordered a clean, sanitary ashtray.

Now, waiter, I want some of those VITAMINS I’ve been reading about. Bring me a plate of those—VITAMINS, he said importantly. I’m anxious to see what they look like.

Well, I can’t describe ‘em, stated the waiter. But I heard somewhere that there’s vitamins in soup. You wanna try some soup?

Yes, if it’s pure and contains vitamins, he replied.

Soon the waiter returned with a bowl of soup. But— LAWKS!—there was a fly in it.

horrors! exclaimed the patron. There’s a FLY in that soup!

A fly? repeated the waiter, thinking fast. No, sir, that ain’t a fly. That’s a VITAMIN BEE!

CHALMERS LOWELL PANCOAST has lent his name to many a project. (In fact, his name is a project.) By trade, Chalmers is an outstanding public relations man, and among other projects, he has publicized the Lexington Hotel from coast to—uh—Pancoast.

Being at an age where a cup of tea rests him, he recently dropped into one of those little side-street Tea Shoppe places and ordered a cup of tea. The waitress brought out a cup of hot water and