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(From "Target Comics" number 2, 1940.)
With luck like that, he really should dream bigger.
“Beautiful naked big-titted women just don’t fall outta the sky you know!”
Damn it! He beat me to it. Now what am I going to do for a lark?
It’s clearly a lightning rod. Or was it a stationary lure for thunder god fishing?
“Five number-two pencils stuck in a bowl of day-old Hungarian goulash? Just what I need!” I’m sure there’s a point to this, but…
The White Streak (this guy’s name, apparently) walked into a bar. “Ouch!” he said.