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A lady carrying many packages
got on a Third Avenue bus.
Before
she was able to get a
seat, the
bus lurched forward.
The packages fell,
several of
them on a drunken bum
who had been muttering to
himself.
Looking up at the lady
blearily, he
said, “Whashish?”
The lady answered cheerfully,
“Those are
Christmas presents, my good man;
you know,
it’s
Christmas.”
“Hell,” he said,
“thawashlashyear.”
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