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: Flee, ye assembled, from The New Pun Book, a book of infuriating conversations that unaccountably stop just before someone starts throwing punches. An unexpurgated selection:

Guest—What have you got?

Waiter—I've got liver, calf's brains, pig's feet—

Guest—Hold up there! I don't want a description of your physical peculiarities. What have you got to eat is what I want to know.

Waiter—Take that! And that!



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