A noted humorist once spent a few weeks with a tribe of western Indians. On his return, he was asked concerning his experiences. One question was:
“Did you ever taste any dog-feast stew?”
“Yes,” was the melancholy reply. “I tasted it twice—once when it went down, and once when it came up.”
* * *
It’s all a matter of taste, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow.
* * *
The master of the house was hungry at breakfast, and swallowed a good part of his bacon before he tasted it. Then he took time to protest violently to his wife against the flavor of the food. The good lady offered no apology, but rang for the servant. When the latter appeared, the mistress asked a question that was little calculated to soothe her husband.
“Maggie,” she inquired serenely, “what did you do with the bacon we poisoned for the rats?”