04-02-2016, 02:22
In the 18th-century a vagabond in England, exhausted and famished, came to a roadside Inn with a sign reading: "George and the Dragon."
He knocked. The Innkeepers wife stuck her head out a window.
"Could ye spare some victuals?"
The woman glanced at his shabby, dirty clothes. "No!" she shouted.
"Could I have a pint of ale?"
"No!" she shouted.
"Could I at least use your privvy?"
"No!" she shouted again.
The vagabond said, "Might I please ...?"
"What now?" the woman screeched, not allowing him to finish.
"D`ye suppose," he asked, "that I might have a word with George?"
DD
He knocked. The Innkeepers wife stuck her head out a window.
"Could ye spare some victuals?"
The woman glanced at his shabby, dirty clothes. "No!" she shouted.
"Could I have a pint of ale?"
"No!" she shouted.
"Could I at least use your privvy?"
"No!" she shouted again.
The vagabond said, "Might I please ...?"
"What now?" the woman screeched, not allowing him to finish.
"D`ye suppose," he asked, "that I might have a word with George?"
DD


Ubique.