Judge — August 2, 1919 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AWIFE = DOMESTICS + BUTCHER+GROCER + COAL + MILK + THE DocTOR + EFC. ETC. ETC. Drawn by Ne B. Wat crn Matrimony Anthropology a la Carte By Wares Wooorcrr Lewis when wan- N_ the days Papa Adam dered around minus his fig leaf, somebody yelled “soak him!” and ever since then man’s been two laps behind in the marathon for existence. This rude state of affairs has persisted since Adam buried his upper lip in a hand-picked Green- There are many who think it was a crab apple Anthropology is an expensive sounding title. You won't find it on the menu of a side-arm lunchroom. But boiled down and served in lunchroom portions we find that it’s man’s struggle for air. And a lot of other flavors come from the same tap Take, for instance, this bunk Webster mentions about man’s agreement with the animals. He bor- rowed that stuff from the classics; but even at that, a man’s got to get something to agree with him. If near-be woman and ing. Loox Berore You Lear! It was one of those Alpha Omega philosophers who invented the science of anthropology. Dividends were scarce in the hat cleaning business, so the a. o. p. tucked his beard in his collar and bought a ticket for Monsieur Brocca’s race. He must have picked a day when there was a slow track. Maybe he hit the county fair, or a shore resort. Anyhow, he loaded up on a lot of bull about man’s agreement with the animals, but he probably took that excursion before they raised the ante on hot dogs. When he returned, there were none to sprinkle mustard before his path; still, for showing hardly less intelligence, they used to decorate the brows of his ancestors with soup greens. It’s fair enough to be classed with the animals, but men must admit that somebody's been a traitor to the sex. Any library will check you out three volumes on man’s relation to the brute creation, but there’s a time in every man’s life when friend wife puts him down for an insect. Insects are bugs, and most bugs are brutal. If you do a little nut cracking on your own account you'll discover plenty of song won't, maybe ani mals will Imagine the ecstasy of our old friend Mr. Dubb, when somebody slips him an S. R. O. for one of those high-brow talk fests. He needs both hands to hold up his lower jaw when the bawler-out opens his gas attack. But, when the chief spieler touches on the contribution of sci- ences which have man for their object, you can’t see him for a cloud of dust Mr. Dubb’s been the ob- ject of the landlord and the ice-man too long to require further informa- tion. However, as my old pal, M. Brocca, chor- tles, anthropology is the biology of the human race. That's all right, M. Broc- ca, but the undertaker is the only bookie that will tahe a bet. Draws by Acwe: Lee “Sister, do y« with a peanut? believe such 12 bug species among the hu- man race. A bug isa thing with a low clearance, and anything low is awful. Most bugs ‘are low they would have to crawl on a soap box to throw something at an anima eye. There were enough bugs on soap boxes last year to fill the Federal prisons, and some of them got there. Anthropology is a sort of mental vivisection of man, from the way I dope it, and an anthropologist is a gink who does the apologizing. I have a hunch that most of these anthropologists are like the lilies in the field; only they aren’t the same color. They toil not much, as you know, and the only thing they spin is twisted bunk about my brothers. Wehe- men must stick together. so rge animal could be satisfied comicbooks.com