Australia's funniest book Cyril Pearl one of the world's best humorists Daily Telegraph On Stanley I would rather rear a platypus than a boy. On Love I explained to him that, if ever he found himself getting serious with a woman, if he bashed his head against a nearby wall for about ten minutes instead, he'd feel better in the long run. On Marriage I explained to him about women. I showed him a portrait of his mother as she was when I married her and left the rest to his imagination. On Tidiness One thing about Stanley, he is a methodical boy and pitches his clothes on the floor in symmetrical heaps where they can be easily turned over with the foot when anything is required. On Lying That's the trouble with me. When I get started on a lie I must carry it on. Artistic pride, I suppose. The creative instinct. I keep on adding little adornments here and refinements there until I stand on a motley but magnificent mound of pure fiction; from which nine times out of ten, my wife will pick the keystone, so to speak, and bring me swooping to earth with a smothered but undeniable crash. On Hair of the Dog A foaming pint-pot thumped wetly on the bar as I spoke and I clasped it by its big friendly handle, raised it, and the stuff swooped down my throat bearing a message of hope to my dejected internals. I replaced the pot, empty, on the bar and sighed - one of those deep, satisfactory sighs that seem to start from one's boots, gather all the little cares and troubles on the way, and from the mouth dissipate in the air. On Women I know women. Know one of them and you know all of them. Of course, there are remarkable differences in women, but they can be likened to motor-cars. Different models, different qualities, but they all work by means of internal combustion. On Bookmakers I fully realize, as a good citizen, that private property is sacred and that no man should be robbed except by proper business methods, but somehow the sporting malefactors of this world appeal to me more than people like my rotten landlord, who goes to church on Sunday and has the damned hide to call for rent on Monday. On Parties It is my opinion that if there is no fight at a party, the party isn't a success. Parties have degenerated these days. The old time shivoos and picnics where there was tea and scandal for the women, and ginger-beer and sticky toffee for the kids, and beer and fights for the men, were better than the modern version. A fight livens up the evening and weeds out the undesirables, and if modern hostesses only had the enterprise to arrange a brawl among the guests, the present boredom of the social round would not exist.
