Judge, 1925-09-19 · page 10 of 36
Judge — September 19, 1925 — page 10: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Explanation for Modern Readers This page contains satirical content targeting early 20th-century American institutions and bureaucracy. **The top section** features paper cutouts mocking "W----t" (likely William Randolph Hearst), a powerful newspaper publisher criticized for sensationalism and papers for unsophisticated readers. **"Vicious Funnybones"** is a brief joke about New York City corruption: having twenty vice-presidents suggests widespread official misconduct. **"Safety in Numbers?"** is the main satire—a darkly comic critique of telephone system inefficiency. A caller reporting a house fire gets repeatedly transferred between departments (wire department, operator) over eight minutes while the fire spreads. The bureaucratic runaround and confused questioning ("Did you get a wrong number?") highlight how institutional red tape can be dangerous and absurd. **Bottom illustration** shows a man's exhausted vacation feelings in September—likely satirizing the brevity of working-class leisure time. The page mocks early 1900s institutional incompetence and bureaucratic frustration.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
CUT-OUTS FOR THE KIDDERS This, Little Kiddies, is W h H----t, the Great Publisher of Papers for People Who Think They Think. Vicious Funnybones Safety in Numbers? Silas—I read here that one of them “CN an emergency say to the there places in New York City hez The best man is not always at operator » ‘I want to Teport a got twenty vice-presidents. fire! —Telephone Directory Samanthy—What a wicked city it The house was on fire. ‘Two of the ‘Tudge will pay 85 for cach one printed children had started to burn. I rushed to the telephone, “I want to report a fire!” I cried. “What number please?” asked the voice. “The fire department!” I shouted in duet, for I was beside myself in a frenzy that had also started to burn. “Just a moment, please,” said the voice. Passed eight minutes, each of them bursting into flames as it went. Then, “Wire department speaking. What seems to be the trouble? Did you get the operator? What num- ber were you trying to get? What’s your number. Shall we send up a man? What’s your address?” “I want the fire department!” I screamed, as the fire began to spread over two pieces of bread hastily dropped on the floor. “Just a minute. I'll have you oan connected with the operator.” Feelings of the man who takes a vacation in September. “Did you get a wrong number?” comicbooks.com