Open Wide

You might recall that my neighbor, Crazy Emory, doesn't play with a full deck; or, as the locals around Seine like to say, he can't tell a beet from a squash. Well, we were chatting about our old-age aches and pains when he said that a couple of days ago he confused his Preparation H with his Poligrip.

"Jeez louise," I said (I kinda like expressions from the '20s), "that must've caused some unpleasantness."

"Naw," said Emory, "now I talk like a butthole, but at least my gums don't itch."