Judge, 1921-08-13 · page 10 of 36
Judge — August 13, 1921 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Explanation of Judge Magazine Page Content This page contains several satirical pieces typical of early 20th-century humor: **"Wail of a Misogynist"** presents a poem by a man claiming complete indifference to women's physical attributes—legs, clothing, faces, bosoms—framed as a virtue. The satire mocks misogynistic attitudes by having the speaker boast about his inability to appreciate or be affected by feminine appeal, suggesting such indifference is actually a character flaw dressed up as principle. **"The Good Ship Honeymoon"** depicts newlyweds observing an elderly couple on a ship and asking if they'll remain happy after decades of marriage. The joke's punchline—the old couple reveals they're also newlyweds—subverts expectations while gently suggesting marriage's honeymoon phase is brief. **"A Puckery Probability"** offers humorous theories about the forbidden fruit from Genesis, concluding it was likely a "green persimmon" (an astringent, unpleasant fruit), playing on the idea that sin tastes bitter. The page also includes brief comic exchanges about mosquitoes, colds, traffic violations, and shy romance—typical light social satire of the era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Drawn by CALE! “IN your ‘AD’ YOU SAID THERE WERE NO MOSQUITOES HERE!” “WALL! Wail of a Misogynist By RIcHARD LE GALLIENNE [X vain for me The daintiest leg Reveals. . . . In vain for me The daintiest pair Of heels Touches the sky! I have no eye— This is no lie— To see Chiffon-erie. At frills 1 feel no thrills. Socks Give no shocks, Nor shocking Bare leg or stocking, Wear all or none— To me ’tis one. Are bosoms high or low? I never know— Waists peek-a-boo, If see I must, With deep disgust I view, And foamy laces; A skirt may short or lengthy be, Tis but a petticoat to me. For female faces I have a curious insensitiveness. However fair I have no care: However plain, I feel no pain; And I may add, to end this ditty, For female names, however pretty, I have a most fortunate unretentive- ness. Sweet Hopefulness “That’s a bad cold you’ve got, old man. Are you doing anything for it?” “Not yet. I’m in hopes that it will get bad enough to be good for a prescription.” THERE AIN’T—IN TH’ WINTER!” The Good Ship Honey- moon By HERBERT HoosE I? was the first day out. The ocean liner was cutting smoothly through the waves, with Europe as its destination. Being a bright, balmy afternoon, with an invigorat- ing air circling about the decks, many of the passengers lounged in the com- fortably blanketed chairs. The upper deck totaled about fifty- two people. Among them were the usual jokers, and queens and Jacks and Harrys and so on down the list. One old couple—they looked to be about fifty-five—attracted a good share of the attention. Everybody usually surveys everybody else the first day, in order to determine if they are being followed, or if an acquaintance happens to be aboard. A particular young man and a pretty young woman watched the old couple with fixed gaze. The matured pair were very assiduous for their age. When the old lady dropped her magazine, the young man picked it up for her. The result was that the quartette entered into a conversation. “I just remarked to my husband how attentive you are to each other,” spoke the young wife sweetly; “I wonder if we'll be as happy as you are after we’ve bcen married so long? We were just married yesterday.” The old gentleman wrinkled his nose all up and smiled. “So were we,” he replied. A Puckery Probability By SOPHIE E. REDFORD THOUSAND theories have been— “ For everybody’s had ’em— About the fruit that made us sin, Because of Eve and Adam. The more we try to think it out, The more it brings confusion, We only reach at last about The very same conclusion. But since I’ve had my bitter bite, Like other men and women, I think that fruit most likely might Have been a green persimmon! Round About Trafic Cop—Hey, there! Don’t you know you can’t turn around on this street? Barney—I think I can make it all right, sor. So Shy Mabel—Are you interested in art? Florence (blushing)—Well, I do know him, but not well enough to call him by his first name. Drawn by W. G. Farr. Stowaways. 10