Josh Billings - The Complete Works of Josh Billings

The man who iz anxious tew git before an aujience, with what he calls a comik lektur, ought tew be put immediately in the stocks, so that he kant do it, for he iz a dangerous person tew git loose, and will do sum damage.

It iz a very pleazant bizzness tew make people laff, but thare iz mutch odds whether they laff at you , or laff at what yu say .

When a man laffs at yu , he duz it because it makes him feel superior to you, but when yu pleaze him with what yu have uttered, he admits that yu are superior tew him.

The only reazon whi a monkey alwus kreates a sensashun whareever he goes, is simply bekauze – he is a monkey.

Everyboddy feels az tho they had a right tew criticize a comik lectur, and most ov them do it jist az a mule criticizes things, by shutting up both eyes and letting drive with hiz two behind leggs.

Humor haz but phew rules tew be judged by, and they are so delikate that none but the most delikate kan define them.

It is dredful arbitrary tew ask a man tew laff who don’t feel the itch ov it.

One ov the meanest things in the comik lektring employment that a man haz to do, iz tew try and make that large class ov hiz aujience laff whom the Lord never intended should laff.

Thare iz sum who laff az eazy and az natral az the birds do, but most ov mankind laff like a hand organ – if yu expect tew git a lively tune out ov it yu hav got tew grind for it.

In delivering a comik lektur it iz a good general rule to stop sudden, sometime before yu git through. This enables the aujience, if they hav had enuff, tew be satisfied with what they hav had, and if they want enny more, it enables them to hanker for it.

I know it iz dredful tuff, when a man iz on one end ov a stick ov molasses kandy, tew quit till he gits clean through; but he musn’t forgit that hiz aujience may not be so sweet on molassiss kandy az he iz.

I hav got a very lonesum opinyun ov the comik lektring bizziness, and if I waz well shut ov it, and knu how tew git an honest living at ennything else, (except opening clams, and keeping a districkt skool,) i would quit tommorrow, and either trade oph mi liktur for a grindstone, or sell it to the proprietors ov sum insane hospital, to quiet their pashunts with.

I dont urge ennyboddy tew cultivate the comik lektring, but if they feel phull ov something, they kan’t tell what, that bites, and makes them feel ridikilous, so that they kan’t even saw wood without laffing tew themselfs all the time, i suppose they hav got the fun ailment in their bones, and had better let it leak out in the shape ov a lektur.

But i advise all such persons to pitty themselfs, and when they lay a warm joke, not tew akt az a hen doth when she haz uttered an egg, but look sorry, and let sum one else do the cackling.

If i had a boy who showed enny strong marks ov being a comik critter, if i couldn’t get it out ov him enny other way, i would jine him to the Shakers, and make him weed onions for three years, just for fun.

Fashion is a goddess.

She iz ov the maskuline, feminine and nuter gender.

Men worship her in her maskuline form – wimmin in her feminine form, and the excentricks in her nuter gender.

She rules the world with a straw, and makes all her suppliants.

She enslaves the poor az well az the ritch, she kneels in sanktuarys, pomps in cabins, and leers at the street korners.

She fits man’s foot with a pinching boot, throttles him with a stubborn collar, and dies his mustash with darkness.

She trails the ritch silks ov wimmin along the filthy sidewalks, leads sore-eyed lap-dogs with a string, and banishes helpless children to murky nurserys, in the kare ov faithless hirelings.

She cheats the excentric with the clap-trap of fredom, and makes him serve her in the habiliments ov the harlequin.

Yea, verily.

Fun is the soul’s vent.

Fun iz whare the kruditys eskape, where she kiks up her heels, and runs snorting around the lot, unhaltered, and az eager az an eskaped konvikt.

Fun iz a safety-valve that lets the steam preshure oph from the biler, and keeps things from bussting.

Fun iz the dansing particles, which fli oph from the surface ov unbottled cider, it iz the senseless frolik ov the spring lam in the clover, it iz the merry twinkle that kreeps down tew the korner ov the parson’s eye, to stand in the sunlite, and see what’s going on.

Fun iz az karliss az a kolt, az happy az a bridegroom, and az silly az a luv-sik skool-girl.

Fun iz the holy day wisdum ov the sage, the phools pholly, and everyboddys puppet.

Next tew the virtew in this world, the fun in it iz what we kan least spare.

Truly! O! truly!

Fret iz a kanker, a gangreene, a blister, a bile, salt on a sore place, and a sliver everywhare.

Fret iz frickshun, a dull lancet, a gimblet.

Fret makes a yung man ackt like an old one, and an old man ackt like a yung one.

Fret iz a grind stun, whare he holds hiz noze on, haz tew do hiz own turning.

Fret haz burnt more holes thru a man’s koppers that all the other hot things, it haz killed az often az the doktors hav, and iz az lawless, and senseless, az a goose.

Fret makes the husband a tyrant, the wife a plague, the child a nuisance, an old maid terrible, and a bachelor disgusting.

Fret makes home a prizon, and puts teeth into the gums ov all life’s misfortunes.

I bet! thou bet! he, she, or it, bets!

Fury iz the tornado ov the inner man, a thunder shower, a blak kloud phull ov litening, a tiger out ov hiz kage, a maniak armed, a bull in fli time.

Fury knows no law only its strength, like a rocket, it whizzes till it busts, and when it haz bust, like a rocket, it iz but a senseless and burnt reed.

Fury iz the argument ov tyrants, and the revenge ov the embecile, the courage ov the kat, and the glowing embers ov dispair.

Fury makes the hornet respektabel, and the pissmire a laffing stok, it makes the eagle allmoste human, and clothes the little wren, battling for her brood, with a halo sublime.

Indeed! indeed!

Fits are the moral tumblings ov man’s natur, the bak summersets ov hiz disposishun, the flying trapez ov the kritter himself.

Fits prompt him tew klimb a greast pole, tew fite a wind mill at short range, to go too near a mule’s heels, and to make a kussid phool ov himself generally.

Fits taketh a man bi the end ov hiz noze, and leadeth him into bak lots.

Fits hav no conshience, and no judgment.

Fits jerk a man from the path ov duty, they knok him krazy at noontime, they seize him at twilite, and twist him arly in the morning.

Sum men, and sum wimmen, are good only in fits, and bad only in fits, when they haint got a fit they are unfit for ennything.

Yes, i think so.

Fuss iz like an old setting hen when she cums oph from her nest.

Fuss iz like kold water dropt into hot grease – it sputters, and sputters, and then sputters agin.

Fuss iz haff-sister to Hurry, and neither ov them kant do enny thing without gitting in their own way and stepping on themselfs.

Thare iz more fuss in this world than thare iz hurry, and thare iz a thousand times more ov either ov them than thare iz ov dispatch.

Fuss works hard all day, and don’t do enny thing, goes to bed tired at night, then gits up next morning, and begins agin whare she left oph.

Oh, dear! whi iz this sutch.

A fellow iz like a bottle ov ginger pop that haz stood six hours with the kork out, in a warm room – it ain’t ginger nor it ain’t pop.