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Updated: May 26, 2025
I am a early riser, but my wife is a Presbyterian. I may add that I am also bald-heded. I keep two cows. I live in Baldinsville, Indiany. My next door naber is Old Steve Billins. I'll tell you a little story about Old Steve that will make you larf.
My wife stood before the lookin-glass, a fussin up her hair. "What you doin, Betsy?" I inquired. "Doin up my back hair," she replied. "Betsy," said I, with a stern air, "Betsy, you're too old to think about such frivolities as back hair." "Too old? TOO OLD?" she screamed, "too old, you bald-heded idiot! You ain't got hair enuff onto YOUR hed to make a decent wig for a single-brested grasshopper!"
Folks in these parts will not soon forgit how he used up the "Eagle of Freedom," a family journal published at Snootville, near here. The controversy was about a plank road. "The road may be, as our cotemporary says, a humbug; but OUR aunt isn't bald-heded, and WE haven't got a one-eyed sister Sal!
I say to that gifted but bald-heded Prooshun, Bismarck, be good and gentle in your hour of triump. I always am.
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