Judge — May 8, 1926 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

6 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST NUMBER OF JUDGE SHORT TURNS AND ENNUI T seems there was a colored gentleman and like most of his race he had a weakness for chickens. One night he was caught inadvert- ently in a chicken coop and the owner of this receptacle for fowls yelled, ‘“‘Who’s in there!” The old darky replied quickly, ‘Fo’ de lawd, Boss, dey ain’t nobody here but us chickens!” T seems a man wanted to buy his wife a birthday present. He thought of every- thing—a watch, a ring, a car, a necklace, a dress, a vanity case, earrings, a dog, a cat, a bird cage, a goldfish bowl, a pair of rubbers, a hat, a pair of shoes, lingerie, a bridge lamp, a chair and a table, a desk sct, a pair of silk stockings, a comb, a brush, a shoe horn, manicure scissors, a lead pencil, a fountain pen, a bottle of ink, a brooch, a pair of garters, an ankle bracelet, a dozen oranges, a radio set, a victrola, an umbrella, a subscription to the Saturday Evening Post, a ticket to Europe, an ice cream freezer, a stove, a flat iron, a vacuum cleancr, a kitchen cabinet, an ice cream soda, a bottle of gin and a dirty look. A friend of his suggested a book, “No,” said the man, “she’s got a book.” “POST” MORTEMS “All is not gold that glitters.” “There’s no fool like an old fool.” “A fool and his money are soon parted.” “It’s a long lane that has no turning.” wif tertaini: Noy not very, Me. Beef, Corned Beef and Cabbage Pork and Beans “‘Who was that lady I seen you with, Mr. Beans?” “That wasn’t no lady, that was your wife.” Bunkery 1. The Climate Glorifiers N™ hail to our glorious climate +N That gave this great city renown. Along the Pacific the heat is terrific Except in Los Angeles town! In Oakland the weather is rotten, In Frisco it’s perfectly punk! And lest you repent, oh, lay off Sacra- mento— The rainfall they claim is the bunk! But here in this garden of beauty Where mankind has proven its worth, The balmiest breezes (in spite of the sneezes) Can cure all the ills of the earth! So come to the land of the sunshine, The home of the purified air. The lot-selling soakers and real cstate brokers Will tell you some more when you're there! (Continued on page 29) Ham and idn’t I see you in Yonkers last week, en in Yonke: My Civic “Vac T° PuriFy the universe and clear the present mess, I'd start within a radius of fifty miles or less; When I have done a thor- ough job An inter- county- borough job, There’s time enough, if all is well, to sweep another State; So here’s a list of human junk Familiar man and woman junk For me to expurgate. No one would weep, this side of life, if he were forced to part. With hobohemians who prate about the cause of art: The beetle-browed secessionists, The hyper-souled impressionists, The connoisseurs whose theories are ultra- ultra-blah, The deeply analytical, The circumspectly critical Intelligentsia. I'd whisk away the black face boys who bleat of Mammy days, The radio enthusiasts who overdo the craze, The super-impresarios, Who fashion fool scenarios And all those milk-fed heroines whose tears are glycerine; With faces glum and woe-begone, (Continued on page 13) Eggs Mr. Hai