Judge, 1920-04-10 · page 27 of 36
Judge — April 10, 1920 — page 27: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two distinct pieces of satire: **Top illustration**: A dream sequence mocking judicial leniency. A judge dreams of a courthouse so efficient it has no cases—then actually *fines* the remaining defendants extra money just to have something to do. The satire targets judicial corruption and judges who seem more interested in extracting fees than dispensing justice. The dream ends when a policeman rudely wakes the narrator for an illegal parking violation, suggesting ironic commentary: minor traffic enforcement is aggressively pursued while courtroom abuses go unchecked. **"The Modest House-Hunter" (poem)**: Satirizes unrealistic middle-class housing expectations. The narrator wants a fashionable residential home with impossible contradictions: near work yet far from stores/schools; quiet yet entertainment-adjacent (movie houses, theaters); luxurious (multiple baths, trees) yet affordable at under fifty dollars monthly. **"For Lying" (dialogue)**: A brief joke comparing lying—presumably about real estate—with actual real estate salesmen's deceptions, suggesting estate agents are even bigger liars than casual fibbers. All three pieces mock urban professionals' aspirations and institutional dishonesty.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
are sentenced to life imprisonment. Selah! Next “There are no more, Your Honor,” answered the clerk. “We're as clean as a whistle.” “What! Monday morning and no more cases? And I was just beginning to enjoy myself.” “Right, Your Honor.” “Well, fine all these culprits twenty-five and costs, in addition to the other sentences. We're getting too easy with these highwaymen. It’s an order. Court's adjourned.” Then I woke up. A big blue arm was leaning across the door of my car. “Say, what d’you think this is, a sleeping porch?” io, no. I guess IT dozed off,” I replied ner- vously “Well, you’ve been standing here nineteen minutes by the clock. Law only allows twenty. You have one minute to beat it.” “Thanks. Consider me gone,” I answered, as T slunk into low speed. It had been a beautiful dream while it lasted, but like all dreams, but a bubble. The Modest House-Hunter By Ricuarn Botuer Grarszex M* home must ornament some part Of town that’s residential, smart, Handy to where I work but far From stores and schools; be reached by car, Subway and El; have several baths, \ yard with trees and pebbled paths; Be warm in winter, cool in summer; Be quiet, yet a perfect hummer. The street behind it must command A movie house, a taxi stand, Ice-rink, a theatre and park hing in this home must mark Its tenant as a man of taste, Willing to spend but not to waste. Last but not least, my home, tho’ nifty, Must cost per month not more than fifty. For Lying Otis—How beautifully t and lies in that new suburb! Chester—Y es, but it can’t compare with the real estate men, comicbooks.com