While the urbanites lolled deeper in their leather chairs in front of a crackling fire, playing a gentle game of "Can You Top This"? by quoting old dead Greek and Roman dudes; out in the sticks, the gentlefolk were creating their own sayings.
"Butter My Butt and Call Me a Biscuit" by Allan Zullo and Gene Cheek Andrew MeMeel Publishing 198 pages $6.75
The authors divided the sayings and labeled them, but I don't think we need that sort of hand fed treatment. To amuse you on this gloomy Sunday -
My piggy bank is as useful as an ashtray on a motorcycle.
We can't all be big shots. Someone has to sit on the curb and wave at'em as they go by.
He's so rich, he buys a new boat every time his old one gets wet.
Money thinks I'm dead.
He's so lucky, he could sit on a fence and the birds would feed him.
If times get any better, I'll have to hire somebody to help me enjoy them.
One day you're drinking wine; the next, you're picking grapes.
One day you're the peacock, the next day you're the feather duster.
I'm so poor I had to fry up my nest egg.
The new broom might sweep clean, but the old broom knows the corners.
He's been chased through the forest of mean and hit every tree trunk.
A woman is wearing a tight-fitting, low-cut dress and a man asks her, "Are you outside trying to get in or inside trying to get out?"
I'd have to get better just to die.
Who licked all of the red off your candy?
Fine dining: Let's go get greasy 'round the mouth.
And in loving tribute to the late Lucille Mericle -
Disbelief - Well f--k me runnin'! Housework: Ah gotta douche this place out.
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