Judge, 1921-02-12 · page 10 of 32
Judge — February 12, 1921 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Judge Magazine Page This page contains three distinct satirical pieces from an American satirical magazine: **"The Pessimistic Primer"** mocks women's heavy makeup use, presenting it as a primer lesson for children. The joke is that a girl's face is so caked with cosmetics that her "real face" is invisible—you'd need the D.S.C. (likely "Detective Service" or similar authority) to find it. The satire critiques excessive makeup as deceptive artifice. **"A Paradox"** is a brief joke about Prohibition: crime increased after alcohol bans began, yet the liquor jug remains full—suggesting bootleggers and illegal drinking thrived under the law. **"The Dear Girls"** presents a humorous double entendre: a woman orders a man to look away while adjusting her garter (a suggestive undergarment), yet he responds with complete indifference ("Not a peep"). The **"Buried Treasure"** comic strip (illustrated by R.B. Fuller) shows a man finding and digging up treasure, which the next day attracts crowds of diggers—implying widespread imitation or theft.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
The Pessimistic Primer By Grecory Hagrswick S SE the girl, children. . She is all dressed up. Yes, that is herdress. [tis a pret-ty dress, what there is of it. Yes, that white thing with the red spots is her face. No, it is not her real face. I have never seen her real face. Phe on-ly way you could sce her real face is to get the D. S.C. on the job. [am not using the term D. 5. C. in its mar-tial sig-nif-i- cance, ei-ther. Does she think it makes her more at-trac-tive? I sup-pose she does. Who told her it did? Ido not know, but [ will bet a do-zen eggs that it was not her mo-ther. A Paradox Statistics show that crime has been on the increase since prohibition came in. The cup is empty, but the jug is full. The Dear Girls I ordered him to turn his head while I was adjusting my garter.” And what was forthcoming from him?" Not a peep” French Pastry By Grace McKinstay I WAS a sponge-drop, worth perhaps a cent Until the baker—may he ever thrive!— Topped me with frosted dabs of ornament, Then I was sold for five. I was a nickel sponge-drop, that is all, Until I reached a certain cake-shop, when A soft red cherry on me made them call My market-value ten. I was no more a sponge-drop; I was called “French pastry,” and I felt of consequence When, in frilled paper, at the Hotel Wald My price was thirty cents. Far from a sponge-drop now in my carcer I enter with a costly pot of tea; -room that has “atmosphere,” cents” for me. I was a sponge-drop, I have traveled far, Yet, not content, my aim is ever high; I long to be on sale at a bs r Whose limit is the sk Drown by KR. B. Pou Burieo Treasure 1 comicbooks:com