LAST LAUGH: COLD ROAST BOSTON

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"I attended the theatre the other night. Saw Shakespeare's Hamlet."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Quite remarkable. There aren't a dozen men in Boston who could have written that play."
"I hear that young upstart Brand Collins is gaining quite a reputation."
"Only nationally."
"Did you hear the Herald may fold?"
"No! What will the country do for a newspaper?"
Ott Bartlett and Mr. Stilwett were having their own active interchange. Ott had been carrying on about the glories of Plumtree Crossing awhile when Lewis interrupted, "Yes, people from out your way can be brag garts, but they can never be snobs."

"Why, all the Bostonians I've met have been real warm and friendly," Ott said sarcastically.
"You just haven't met the right people," Lewis replied.

"Watch out, you perpendicular coffin," Ott snapped. "I can be ornerier than you and all your tea-party pals."

"My boy, true disagreeableness is inherited. Still, perhaps if I gave you lessons—"
"That does it, I'm gonna skin you and your genealogy!" Ott shouted so loudly even Hiram got concerned. "Ott, you better hold it down."

"Heck, I'll cuss him loud enough to chase his grandmother off the John!" Ott opened up both barrels. "Stillborn, I'm gonna teach you petrified pilgrims a thing or two! I'll bust your family tree into toothpicks! I'll chop your stiff neck and that mildewed smirk—"

Just then, a grande old Boston dame, jewelry jangling, came right between the dueling duo. "Oh, Lewis," she broke in, "you simply must introduce me to your friend." She then quickly shook Ott's hand and said with a cheerful smile, "You make this Plum Tea Croissant home of yours sound ever so pleasant."

Ott bowed graciously to this obviously sound-minded woman and said, "Ma'am, Plumtree Crossing's so nice that heavenly angels have tried to get weekend passes to come and visit."
"Oh, that's wonderful," the lady replied. "You know, I had a dear friend who went to heaven." Ott smiled sympathetically. "Her husband was so upset over losing her. He just had to talk to her one more time. After a bit of effort he finally got a phone call through to heaven. 'Hello, Abigail?' he called out.

'Henry, dear, is that you?'
'Yes, my love. How do you like it up there?'
'Oh, it's very nice,' she replied, 'but of course, it isn't Boston.' "

Editor's Note: Do you have a distinctive bit of regional American humor you think the Plumtree boys should hear on their travels? If so, send it to Last Laugh, MOTHER EARTH NEWS, P.O. Box 70, Hendersonville, NC 28793. We'll pay $10 for any joke we publish (that the fellas didn't know already!).

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