Christmas Is At Our Throats Again.

Of Course, The Age-old Tradition That A Star Must Appear Even If He Or She Is Practically Dying Is An Excellent One, But It Can Be Carried Too Far. I One Played A Performance Of The Knight Of The Burning Pestle With A Temperature Of 103 And Gave Sixteen Members Of The Company Mumps, Thereby Closing The Play And Throwing Everybody Out Of Work. There May Be A Moral Lurking Somewhere In This, But I Cannot For The Life Of Me Discover What It Is.

Though The Fact That They Have To Be Rebuilt And Frequently Mortgaged To The Hilt Is Inclined To Take The Gilt Off The Gingerbread, And Certainly Damps The Fun Of The Eldest Son.

Dear 338171 (may I Call You 338?)

I See Her As One Great Stampede Of Lips Directed At The Nearest Derriere.

My Body Has Certainly Wandered A Good Deal, But I Have An Uneasy Suspicion That My Mind Has Not Wandered Enough.