Hu Flung Huey Flings 'Em
"I'm sort of Ross-ty at this sort of of thing," muttered the Sage of the Age, as he Felt for his typewriter. "The Rodis narrow and I'm on the Brink of becoming Mroz about Boston."
"It's a Feinberg," said his disciple, Fuller enthusiasm. "Fans are Cummings in Noonan night, and some are Forster Chernoff to Wellesley to find shelter."
"If you don't want to lose every Dropo your blood, you'd better leave the puns to me," warned the Sage, with a Glynn-t in his eye. "As I see it, we Cowen't lose. They mon't put any Florentino Harvard team, so there is no Hauptfeuhrer Connecticut."