Judge, 1925-04-04 · page 12 of 36
Judge — April 4, 1925 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Explanation for Modern Readers This Judge magazine page contains three satirical pieces: **"George Washington, Jr."** mocks confession magazines (popular periodicals where people admitted secrets). The joke plays on Washington's famous cherry-tree legend about honesty—the father rejects his son's confession because confession magazines reject poorly-written submissions. **"Position Is Everything"** is a golf joke where a caddie has been sold to another golfer for four cents, treating him as disposable labor—satire on working-class treatment. **"The Call of Culture"** satirizes fraudulent fitness advertising. A copywriter, described as weak and out-of-shape, writes insulting ads for a "Physical Culture School" (gyms promising body transformation). The humor: he's selling false promises of transformation while embodying failure himself. His inflammatory ad copy ("you poor nut," "you boob") is actually advertising, not criticism—mocking the absurdity of aggressive fitness marketing that insults potential customers. All three target hypocrisy and commercial deception in early 20th-century America.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
George Washington, Jr.—Father, I i | cannot tell a lie. ; Father—No wonder the confession magazines send back your contribu. tions tae In view of recent developments, | it’s a good thing for the American | public that one governor cannot par- don another. “Lord lore me! You gare mea start!” Funnybones/ Uf only some one would now invent Crackge will pay 85 for Gach one prosted Position Is Everything Blink—Gi a word in three aning “an inebriate.” Blank—Vertical or horizontal? Cappie—I'm afraid I can’t caddie for yer to-day, sir. Gotrer—Why not? “T've sold yer to Bobby for four cents!” The Call of Culture T 11.50 a.m. he came in to work. T at while the » was on him, he started Es ing off his ¢ inspirat furiously to write: This means you—you poor nut you mush-headed ‘sap—you pale. anemic, dried-up | mummy—you pigeon-tocd, knock-kneed nincom- poop—you flat-chested, bulging-bel- lied boob—you white sepulchre— you tottering ruin—you walking advertisement for the gi rd sir, I'm talking to you, mister hausted by his initial effort, he leaned bi nd with a “Whi deye think o’ this for a. start read the screed to one of his co- workers, ine,” said the co-worker: “But what is it going to be—one of those vilifying pntines for next year’s postal trade?” “Not at all,” cried the indignant author, “It’s an ad for a Physical Culture School. Wait till you see the blurb when it’s finished; it'll pull ‘em in by the thousands!” Whereupon the weak- or. muscled, backed copywriter for the College of Dumb-bellers & Barbenders, called it a morning, put on his hat, and taxied two blocks to lunch. Cyril B. Egan chicken-breasted, comicbooks.com — oe