Judge, 1911-10-07 · page 8 of 24
Judge — October 7, 1911 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page combines folksy rural humor with two distinct cartoons. The top illustration shows crowded passengers on public transportation with the caption "Tackle him, someone! He's going to make a touchdown"—likely satirizing the chaos of urban mass transit, where aggressive passengers jostle for space like football players. The middle cartoon depicts a strange bird being fed, with the caption "That's a queer-looking bird. I wonder what they feed it?"—the joke's meaning is unclear without additional context, though it may reference contemporary events or public figures. The text consists of "Uncle Ezra" musings—homespun observations in rural dialect about small-town life: barber shops, grocery store gossip, marriage, and social pretension. The humor relies on contrarian folk wisdom and mild social critique (for instance, that neckties have become unnecessarily important to "polite society"). This was typical Judge magazine fare: satirizing both urban sophistication and rural ignorance through a supposedly wise country perspective.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“TACKLE HIM, SOMEONE ! REFLECTIONS OF UNCLE EZRA. Mo LISA is the greatest movin’ pitcher in the world. There’s many a ‘‘good feller’? whose wife has never had occasion to find it out. Sob poetry is all right in its place, which is on a tombstun. Playin’ the bass drum in the band wouldn't be such a very difficult musical feat if it wasn’t fer carryin’ the drum. There never was a time in histo- ry when the gang around the stove down to the gruc’ry store didn’t think the country was goin’ to the bow-wows at lightnin’ speed. Some fellers kin remember back as fur as the photograph albums and plush furniture, but most peo- ple pass away when they git to be eighty or ninety. The barber shop is the great musical center of this country. I never yet see a barber who didn’t play something, even if it was only tunk. Lafe Peters says he ain't satis- fied with his lot in life. Lafe’s lot is right between the glue fac- tory and the tannery. Uncle Rod Skibbs, of our town, has received word that his brother, By ROY K, MOULTON out in Wyoming, has had another narrow escape from death. The State board of pardons got busy on his case just in time. Old Man Skibbs drove in from the country the other day with a oad of hogs. One was a particularly large “THAT'S A QUEER-LOOKING BIRD. THEY PEED IT?” 1 WONDER WHAT HE'S GOING TO MAKE A TOUCHDOWN.” specimen and almost as prominent in the load as an end-seat hog on a street car. After the old man had sold his hogs he was comin’ up the street, and I asked him how much the big hog weighed. “Well, I'll tell you confidentially,’’ he said, “that big hog didn’t weigh as much as I thought he would, and, by jing! I didn’t think he would.’’ The Silver Cornet band advertised a piece by a feller named B, Toven, but the public was disappointed, as Mr. Toven didn’t show up to play, it and there was nobody there but the regular members. I never knowed any two women who made veg’table soup the same way or any two men who had the same way of eatin’ it. I was just thinkin’ what an aw- ful rassle George Washington would have with the truth if he was runnin’ a garage in our town. It beats all how fast time goes when a feller’s wife is waitin’ for him and how slow it goes when he’s waitin’ for his wife. It’s gittin’ so nowdays that a feller that don’t wear a nechtie don’t cut much of a figger in polite society around these parts. comicbooks.com