Ulysses, the 20th-century masterpiece by James Joyce (whose favorite cricket player was Arthur Shrewsbury, who had a striking resemblance, Joyce thought, to his Zurich-based artistic confidant, Frank Budgen), turns 90 today—if my (Evander’s) math is anywhere close to correct. Although Groucho Marx was Joyce’s favorite comedian, and cricket was Joyce’s game (not to mention the favorite sport of his almost-son-in-law [yikes!], Samuel Beckett), if he had lived long enough (today would have been Joyce’s 130th birthday), he probably would have gotten a charge out of the following bit of word-lunacy via Abbott and Costello.
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