Judge, 1926-08-21 · page 22 of 36
Judge — August 21, 1926 — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two satirical pieces from *Judge* magazine: **"Letters from a Boob Abroad"** is a humorous letter from a naïve traveler aboard a ship (the "Good Ship Whooperup"). The joke centers on the writer's confusion about maritime terminology and shipboard amenities. He mistakes the ship's dining room for a "saloon" (expecting a bar), misunderstands "harbor bar" as a drinking establishment, and confuses "buffet" with furniture. The satire targets unsophisticated American travelers abroad and their comical misunderstandings of unfamiliar terms and customs. The accompanying cartoon shows a man in formal dress demonstrating exercise routines with absurd logic—training with a tennis ball to prepare for shot-put competition—mocking impractical preparation methods. The signature "Nate Collier" appears to be the author. The overall tone satirizes both provincial American attitudes and the pretensions of leisure travel during what appears to be the early 20th century.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE said, “Yes, sir.” “Well,” says I, “if this is a saloon, I’m a hurdle jumper! Where’s th’ bar?” I inquires. “The harbor bar,” says he, “is about two miles out.” Now, what he meant by that I haven't the least idea. Come to find out this here saloon is nothing but an ordinary dining- room like they have at the Mills Hotel or the Plaza, or any of those hotels back home. I asked the steward, he’s the guy who looks after the stews you know, why they called a dining-room a saloon, an’ he says, “Because it’s the place you go to eat.” Imagine that! None of our friends ever used to go to saloons to eat, did they, Jupce, hey? But I overlooked his ignorance. I said, “All right, old timer, I'll take your word for it, but where do I go to get adrink?” “In the buffay,” he says. “The what?” I lisps. You see I thought a buffay was some sort of dining-room furniture, but, JupGE, I guess we better draw the curtain about here, as they say on Broadway. What followed the aforementioned conversation, ain’t nobody’s busi- ness. “What now, Admetus?” You'll hear from me again, JupGE, “T’'m going in for the sixteen-pound shot-put. The trainer told me to when I get over there where they start in with a tennis ball and work up.” used to behead people for writing editorials like yours. Hoping you are the same, Affectionately, Letters from a Boob Abroad Nate Collier Aboard the Good Ship Whooperup, Somewhere on the Atlantic EAR JupGE: Well, Jupce, I sup- pose you've been wondering if I got on the boat and sailed away across the pond like the way I told you I was going to or not. Yes, JupGE, as we old ocean voyagers say we cast off at midnight. I don’t know just what it was we cast off, but I noticed two or three tourists were missing. The chauffeur of the boat put itinto reverse and with tail-light gleaming we backed out into the Hudson. Then we headed down the bay and out to the open sea. I went downstairs to the saloon and, Jupce, would you believe it, they didn’t even have a bar in it, no mirrors, no brass rails or nuthin’; just a lot of tables screwed to the floor with some stationary office chairs. I thought I was_in the wrong room, so I asked a sort of a drum major standing there in uni- form, “Was this the saloon?” He “Ours not to reason why.” comicbooks.com