NED: I have a knocker on my house door.
ED: Really. You have a knocker.
NED: Does that impress you?
ED: Yes. You deserve the No Bell prize.
housing
Bedouin nomads are known for their rooflessness.
The Founding Fathers approved of suburban spawl. When I gaze upon the endless tracts of houses in cookie-cutter subdivisions, I am reminded of their words, that “all manor created equal.“
I got kicked out of my yacht. It doesn’t boat dwell.
I said to an Evangelical friend with a leaky roof, “I have a problem with Je-hoval’s wetnesses!’
The government built a cattle barn for the poor. It was afford a bull housing.
My new landlady made a pass at me. I declined, because I didn’t want a Hi, mate tenants, relationship.
The carpenter’s house was his pride and joist. He said that building it was a sawdust-flying endeavour. Have you ever beam to saw it? Truss me, it’s worth it. It’s in Bevelry Hills, in a dark wood.
I bought a house next to a Portapottie. Ah, leakfront property!
I live in a leaky German submarine. It’s my humble uboat.

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