Judge, 1927-11-05 · page 31 of 36
Judge — November 5, 1927 — page 31: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains satirical humor about social conventions and excess during Prohibition-era America (the 1920s). **"The Realist"** depicts a husband who has created an absurdly uncomfortable living situation—opening all windows and running a fan while wrapped in furs and blankets, drinking from a flask—claiming he's trying to make his apartment feel like attending the live Harvard-Yale football game he's listening to on radio. His wife is exasperated by his contradictory behavior and scattered mess. The satire mocks men's obsession with sports and their use of alcohol, while highlighting the disconnect between stated goals and actual behavior. The accompanying dialogue jokes (Young Doctor/Specialist, He-She exchange) provide additional one-liners typical of Judge magazine's format. The remaining content is **commercial advertising** for cigarettes (Fatima), liquor cocktail recipes (The Cowboy), and whiskey (Holloway's), emphasizing the magazine's target demographic of adult male smokers and drinkers.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
The Realist “Richard you must be gentlema Wellington off your mind!” irate Jones, that as she entered their cozy ment one chilly afternoon, “You've turned off every radi- ator in the place and have opened all the windows so that there’s a regular gale sweeping through from the dining-room. I can’t understand why you've turned on that electric fan so that the breeze strikes the back of your neck. Instead of closing the windows and heat, you turning on the sit there on a hard wooden stool wrapped in a fur coat and blanket with a muffler around your neck. drinking too. I could smell it out in the foyer and now I see your half-drained flask protrud- ing from your coat pocket. You've scattered peanut shells all over the rug and from the looks of your hat beside you it must have been crushed or jumped on. I’m going to get an alienist. I knew working too hard!” ‘S—h, quiet,” You've been you were answered Mr. Jones, taking a nip from the flask and turning up his coat collar, “they're broadcasting the Harvard-Yale football game and since I couldn’t get away today I'm making my reception of it here as. realistic as Would you mind bedroom’ windows Thanks. possible. opening the a little wider? Kerchoo!” ALLL. Young Doctor—That patient of mine imagines he has appen- diciti alist—And imagine it is? what do you —ANswens = Ada He—Do you know, dear, that star is sixteen billion miles away! Sur—Well, I’m not! —and see the Fatima packages pop out! No gathering of the younger set, large or small, fails to extend this ex- traordinary record. Unquestionably, Fatima has pleased more smokers for more years than any other cigarette. OOK around you at the big game ‘The Cowboy. Two parts Scotch. One part cream, Cracked ice. | The above is only one of Judge Jr.'s famous new recipes. There are 54 others, not to mention the number of clever toasts. Send a same buck to Judge Jr., 627 W. 43rd Street, New York City and you will receive a copy of “Here's How!” by return mail. | Think of It! ASK YOUR GROCER NON ALCOn GK HOLLOW, comicbooks.com