(xx) Smelly Clark's Christmas Presents

Now, and here in the living room we find Mrs. Victor Cook and young Mr. Rush Cook. They deseed him the easy chair beneath the floor lamp, darning sock. While her son, flying shoelessly on the Davenport, stares at the ceiling and thinks, thought.

These thoughts of crystallized into words now, apparently, for we hear the young man say, Remember the other day me saying I thought I could reasonably expect to receive 20 present this Christmas I was found out, but you happened to be in the room. I guess that wasn't listening Well, that was the figure I arrived at after long study. I estimate I'll receive in the close neighborhood of 20 years

Quite a few. Yes, it is. 20 is a good round figure Well, he starts. Oh, it's gonna make me look like a plug nickel. He's gonna get Christmas presents. So who laid that job? What? I wouldn't be one bit surprised if that guy received 120 Christmas presents.

Man? He might even receive 220 Christmas presents. I never knew Smelly was a popularist all last. Well, it ain't that he's so popular that he's smart. But you know how he spent last Saturday? No.

Smelly Clark spent last Saturday sitting in the reading room with a butlerhouse hotel writing letters. Writing letters to who? Everybody. Everybody. See, in the read room with a butthole hotel, a person can sit down as one of the little desks and help their self-depresationary. Hopefully you get the free use of our fountain

pin on that chain. Well, he went in the hotel at nine o'clock in the morning and wrote letters till three o'clock in the afternoon. He'd have stayed till six o'clock if the management hadn't kicked him out. He wrote two dozen letters. Who would he write him to? Fans, acquaintances, Neighbors, cousins, second cousins, third cousins, uncles, aunts, gradients, everybody.