"Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. Give us that brisket off the hook. Plup. Rawhead and bloody bones. Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their haunches, sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust. Top and lashers going out. Don't maul them pieces, young one." (U8.725)
"Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline. Blood always needed. Insidious. Lick it up smoking hot, thick sugary. Famished ghosts.
Ah, I'm hungry.
He entered Davy Byrne's. Moral pub. He doesn't chat. Stands a drink now and then. But in leapyear once in four. Cashed a cheque for me once." (U8.729)
"What will I take now? He drew his watch. Let me see now. Shandygaff?
- Hello, Bloom, Nosey Flynn said from his nook.
- Hello, Flynn.
- How's things?
- Tiptop... Let me see. I'll take a glass of burgundy and... let me see.
Sardines on the shelves. Almost taste them by looking." (U8.735)
"Sandwich? Ham and his descendants mustered and bred there. Potted meats. What is home without Plumtree's potted meat? Incomplete. What a stupid ad!" (U8.741)
"Under the obituary notices they stuck it. All up a plumtree." (U8.744)

The front page of The Freeman's Journal carries Births, Marriages & Deaths.
"Dignam's potted meat. Cannibals would with lemon and rice. White missionary too salty. Like pickled pork. Expect the chief consumes the parts of honor. Ought to be tough from exercise. His wives in a row to watch the effect. There was a right royal old nigger. Who ate or something the somethings of the reverend Mr MacTrigger. With it an abode of bliss. Lord knows what concoction. Cauls mouldy tripes windpipes faked and minced up." (U8.744)
"Puzzle find the meat. Kosher. No meat and milk together. Hygiene that was what they call now. Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside. Peace and war depend on some fellow's digestion. Religions." (U8.750)

Puzzles were popular at the turn of the century, and commonly found in magazines. A classical format was 'Find the [hidden picture]'. This one states: 'Puzzle, find the Rabbit'. Others formats were ciphers, hidden messages etc.
"Christmas turkeys and geese. Slaughter of innocents. Eat, drink and be merry. Then casual wards full after. Heads bandaged." (U8.753)
"Cheese digests all but itself. Mity cheese.
- Have you a cheese sandwich?
- Yes, sir.
Like a few olives too if they had them. Italian I prefer. Good glass of burgundy: take away that. Lubricate." (U8.755)
"A nice salad, cool as a cucumber. Tom Kernan can dress. Puts gusto into it. Pure olive oil. Milly served me that cutlet with a sprig of parsley. Take one Spanish onion. God made food, the devil the cooks. Devilled crab." (U8.759)
"- Wife well?
- Quite well, thanks... A cheese sandwich, then. Gorgonzola, have you?
- Yes, sir." (U8.763)
"Nosey Flynn sipped his grog.
- Doing any singing those times?
Look at his mouth. Could whistle in his own ear. Flap ears to match. Music. Knows as much about it as my coachman. Still better tell him. Does no harm. Free ad.
- She's engaged for a big tour end of this month. You may have heard perhaps.
- No. O, that's the style. Who's getting it up?" (U8.766)

A little coachman from Belfast...
"The curate served.
- How much is that?
- Seven d, sir... Thank you, sir.
Mr Bloom cut his sandwich into slender strips. Mr MacTrigger. Easier than the dreamy creamy stuff. His five hundred wives. Had the time of their lives." (U8.774)
"— Mustard, sir?
— Thank you.
He studded under each lifted strip yellow blobs. Their lives. I have it. It grew bigger and bigger and bigger.
— Getting it up? he said. Well, it's like a company idea, you see. Part shares and part profits.
— Ay, now I remember, Nosey Flynn said, putting his hand in his pocket to scratch his groin. Who is this was telling me? Isn't Blazes Boylan mixed up in it?" (U8.780)
"A warm shock of air heat of mustard hanched on Mr Bloom's heart. He raised his eyes and met the stare of a bilious clock. Two. Pub clock five minutes fast. Time going on. Hands moving. Two. Not yet.
His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, yearned more longly, longingly.
Wine.
He smellsipped the cordial juice and, bidding his throat strongly to speed it, set his wineglass delicately down.
— Yes, he said. He's the organiser in point of fact." (U8.789)
"No fear: no brains.
Nosey Flynn snuffled and scratched. Flea having a good square meal.
— He had a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me, over that boxing match Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the Portobello barracks. By God, he had the little kipper down in the county Carlow he was telling me... " (U8.798)
Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into his glass. No, snuffled it up.
— For near a month, man, before it came off. Sucking duck eggs by God till urther orders. Keep him off the boose, see? O, by God, Blazes is a hairy chap.
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