You heard it here first, speaking in 1920's speak is officially the bee's knees. Yup, this is the real McCoy and I know my onions, so let's get spifflicated, canned, corked, tanked, primed, scrooched, jazzed, zozzled, owled, embalmed, lit, potted, ossified and fried to the hat tonight and upchuck on Mrs. Grundy. Attaboy, now you're on the trolley!

It might take some getting used to, but don't take any wooden nickels if you wanna be the cat's pajamas. So if you want to bump those rag-a-muffins and futz some hotsy totsy sheba's bubs in the struggle buggy of a jitney, everything'll be jake. Just don't razz some ritzy flapper's dapper if you hate to be left holding the bag. And don't be grummy if you're balled up, just practice punching the bag and you'll be hip to the jive in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

Whites only!