Judge — June 30, 1928 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE OHMR. DISMUKES COME AND WATCH ME FLOAT ON MY BACK! WANTED WILHELMINA Get @ load on this very bad joke about a barber who'd been out on a bender one night and nest day was slicing an old gents face to ribbons. “Now, my man, I hope you see what comes of drinking,” said old Pettijohn. “Yeh, it certainly makes the skin tender,” snapped the barber. and a facial. Carmencita and Amanda Grace Amanda Spencer Hol- mes, author of “Young Peoples’ Pomes,” read through countless weighty tomes. Spent her time tently praising books that dealt with children raising: how to dress them and caress them, how to breed them, how to feed them, how to lecture, love and lead them—how to get them, how to pet them, how to scold them, how to hold them, how to manage, train and mould them. All this training should be good, Gracie thought, for motherhood. Carmencita Tillie Coates (all her fancy name connotes) sowed a healthy crop of oats. Did the things a young girl shouldn't, didn’t read because she couldn't, didn’t learn because she wouldn't. Duties of a loving wife? What were they in Carmen's life? Preparation for her marriage? “Me! Behind a baby carriage! Ain't it silly!" chuckled Tillie. So the hoyden willy-nilly golfed with Eddie, danced with Teddy, played around with no one steady. (Like in any swell the- ayter. Second scene is ten years later) What this gag needs is a singe Now Kraus. Miss Coates is Mrs. Eight bambinoes grace her house: Adolph, Alfred, Rob- ert, Reggie, Olive, Olga, Pearl and Peggy. Eight young angels cute and gay, all cugenically okay. Proudly ma keeps on dis- play badges, ribbons, cups and bows that they won at baby shows. Re: Miss Holmes—I weep to state she’s well over forty-eight— hasn't found herself a mate » late! —Antice L. Lirpaann Fate I can't stand it any longer. ll go out of my mind if this woman stays in the house another minute. This house—my house, mind you —hasn’t room in it for me any more. She's always around some- whe straightening things up. Putting my papers, my shoes, my pipe away where I can't find them. do soher clothes! Her clothes are everywhere... falling out of closets... cluttering up the rooms. And her dog! Almost the final blow, that dog. I find it every night, nasty little Pekinese, sitting on my pillow, growling at me. Her admirers are alway here, too. I know they're her ad- mirers—the way they look at her, talk to her. drink my liq- uor, smoke my cigarettes, drive my car. And flirt with her out- rageously right under my nose. And, confound it all, I'm pow- erl My hands are tied. I C out of it. I can’t divorce her. She's my daughter. “Fitzsimmons has just knocked out Corbett with a punch in ” the solar plerus! “1 think you have forgotten that there are ladies present.” comicbooks.com