After pouring himself the last cup of coffee . . .

"Nice job, pal, can't even get a hot cuppa 'round here no more," Mickey shouted from across the room, swatting at the thick cigar smoke that made a beeline for his eyes. "Goddamit Pluto, wouldja cut it out already? Gimme a card."

"Okay, who has the bloody TV remote!?"

Pluto just panted and kept on puffing his cigar. Mickey rose to his feet.

Does Mickey have feet or paws?

No matter how ferocious Mickey tried to look, those red hotpants and white gloves were always going to spoil the effect.

they say flatulence can be a problem-Christ I wish it was one I had right now-where's the damn prunes?