Judge, 1919-12-13 · page 8 of 36
Judge — December 13, 1919 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Judge Magazine Page This page contains two satirical pieces: **Upper section:** A cynical commentary on advertising and marketing tactics. The unnamed author boasts of manipulating consumers—particularly children—through deceptive "Sweetie-Sweeties" candy advertising, then cynically reveals how he exploits salesmen and middlemen ("jobbers") with motivational rhetoric about profits. The satire targets predatory advertising practices and the hollow salesmanship of the era, mocking both advertisers' manipulation and their own delusions about success. **Lower section ("A Fashion Note for Men"):** A humorous sketch by P.D. Johnson about a shabby tramp whose comically oversized trousers become the subject of a farmwoman's moral judgment. The joke hinges on the tramp reinterpreting her criticism of his "morals" as commentary on his ill-fitting clothes—a clever verbal deflection. The cartoon mocks both the woman's sanctimoniousness and class-based assumptions about poverty and appearance. Both pieces reflect early 20th-century satirical humor targeting commercialism, hypocrisy, and social pretension.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ind come over the top with Gehenna Radiators—They Could Melt The North Pole. I have donned the fal whiskers of imitation typewnun; nd whispered in honied ents to candy-jobbers that the gripping Sweetie-Sweetie advertising was telling every one of nd befuddle their 2,000,000 American kiddies to peste parents into making instantly for the Store That Sells Sweetie-Sweeties, the Candy of Yearning Delight. With a mourning border and what is known as “ree-fined” type, my fiery words brought a thousand undertakers’ jobbers to stock their entire trade with Stylestuff Coffins —Buy One and Die Like A Gentleman. I know the deepest secrets of the jobber’s soul—I have told him why nine-tenths of him will die in the poorhouse un- less he follows my advi and how his straight-from- the-shoulder, man-to-man «cooperation will keep the Snowball of Profits rolling, for him, for us, for Chew- ever, the Gum Eternal. No longer can I dream of jobber in a djibbah, jabbering and gibbering, perhaps, at the great purple sunset over Gib. From a unicorn, he has become a porcupine—from a magnificent and mysterious muffin-bird, an everyday English sparrow ch time I shout to him, “Wake Up, Mr. Jobber! Your Profits Are Trickling Away!" [ mourn the ruin Drawn by P. D. Jouxson 10 hoo! Everybody is playing with my ne And when the ‘copy chief’ talks of “those dam jobbers!” my echo of his words is heart- felt—but a mild and perfect sadness steals over me all the while, at the breaking up of another of Life’s gen- tlest and most treasured delusions. A Fashion Note for Men By Howarp Greene HE tramp was a long, skinny individual with a particularly villainous cast of countenance, and he wore a pair of trousers that had been designed for a man of at least three times his diameter. His rap on the farmhouse door brought out a sour, hard-faced puritani- cal woman who froze him with one glance and then pro- ceeded to eye him up and down—especially down, “You needn't ask me for anything,” she said, harshly. “I can sce that your morals are of the loosest kind and that you deserve nothing.” ““Well, mum,” replied the tramp, glancing down at his nether garments, “mebbe so, though I ain’t never heard ‘em called that name before. Prob'ly me tailor ain't jes’ up to , but if you won't give me somethin’ to help fill ‘em out mebbe you'd spare me a bit of rope to hold ’e~. up with.” of a pinnacled dream. toys and I haven't any to play with myself!”