Horace Jokes

Once Horace Gold [my editor] went too far. He rejected a story of mine which he called "meretricious." The word is from the Latin meretrix, meaning "prostitute," so that the implication was that I was prostituting my talent and was writing a bad story that would get by on my name alone because I was too lazy to write a good one. (This was not true, by the way. This particular story was sold elsewhere and received considerable acclaim.)
Swallowing my annoyance, I said mildly, "What was that word you used?"
Obviously proud at knowing a word he felt I didn't know, Horace enunciated carefully, "Meretricious!"
Whereupon I said, "And a Happy New Year to you."

Knock Knock
Who's there!
Horace!
Horace who?
Horace-scopes can be fun!

Much to his Mum and Dad's dismay,
Horace ate himself one day.
He didn't stop to say his grace.
He just sat down and ate his face.
"We can't have this," his dad declared.
"If that lad's ate, he should be shared!"
But even as he spoke, they saw
Horace eating more and more.
First his legs and then his thighs;
His hair, his arms, his nose, his eyes.
"Stop him, someone!" Mother cried,
"Those eyeballs would be better fried!"
But all too late, for they were gone,
And he had started on his dong.
"Oh foolish child, " his father mourned,
"We could have deep-fried that with prawns,
"Some parsley, and some tartar sauce."
But H. was on his second course.
His liver and his lights and lung,
His ear, his neck, his chin, his tongue.
"To think we raised him from the cot,
"And now he's going to scoff the lot!"
His mother cried, "What more...

Much to his Mum and Dad's dismay,
Horace ate himself one day.
He didn't stop to say his grace.
He just sat down and ate his face.
"We can't have this," his dad declared.
"If that lad's ate, he should be shared!"
But even as he spoke, they saw
Horace eating more and more.
First his legs and then his thighs;
His hair, his arms, his nose, his eyes.
"Stop him, someone!" Mother cried,
"Those eyeballs would be better fried!"
But all too late, for they were gone,
And he had started on his dong.
"Oh foolish child, " his father mourned,
"We could have deep-fried that with prawns,
"Some parsley, and some tartar sauce."
But H. was on his second course.
His liver and his lights and lung,
His ear, his neck, his chin, his tongue.
"To think we raised him from the cot,
"And now he's going to scoff the lot!"
His more...