Morells are found in some parts of England in such abundance as to make their collection for the oilmen worth notice, and even to afford large supplies of an excellent katsup.

Mother actually turned her back on that sheep and began dabbling her hand in the milk, saying, “Sook, calfy, sook, calfy!” seductively while the calf gave her the evil eue and walked backward.

Since first tossing its cartoonish, good-time cock-rock to the masses in the early ’00s, The Darkness has always fallen back on this defense: The band is a joke, but hey, it’s a good joke. With Hot Cakes—the group’s third album, and first since reforming last year—the laughter has died. In its place is the sad wheeze of the last surviving party balloon slowly, listlessly deflating.

My handheld ringtoned “Happy Days are Here Again.” I withdrew into a quieter corner of Mahogany Bar and stuck a finger in my other ear.