Judge, 1928-09-01 · page 19 of 36
Judge — September 1, 1928 — page 19: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains two satirical pieces from Judge magazine about taxi drivers. **Top cartoon:** Shows Satan annoyed by six taxi drivers sent to Hell. The joke plays on a common urban complaint: taxi drivers who continuously honk their horns in traffic jams. Satan, even in the underworld, finds them so unbearable that he demands a "new and particularly horrible fate" for them—suggesting these drivers are worse than typical sinners. **Bottom cartoon:** Depicts a museum expedition in Nyanza (a region in Africa) where someone's brain misfired, sending a message to the wrong body part, creating chaos. The caption implies bumbling incompetence. **Context:** Both pieces mock taxi drivers as persistently annoying urban figures, likely reflecting 1920s-30s complaints about noisy city traffic and aggressive cab drivers. The satire uses absurdist humor—even Hell's torments pale compared to taxi driver behavior—to comment on everyday urban frustrations that readers would recognize.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE “Goo’ lord! Honkers in Hades 1 Three knocks sou don the private entrance to Satan's inner sanctum, a most unusual proce- dure, for Mephistopheles had left strict orders that he was not to be disturbed in the unholy of un- Lolies. “What is it?” asked the vexed Ruler of the Underworld, sitting The museum expedition into Nyanza came to a up for a moment in his asbestos bed and playfully toying with a few liv “Six taxi drivers, Your High- ness,” said a minion, “How many times have I told you not to bother me with taxi drivers!” roared them Torture coals, 38 for taxi drivers and be done with it.” “But these six are the kind of taxi drivers who steadily honk close today owing to the fact that a brain, in try- ing to send an important message to some leg muscles, got the wrong number. ALA NTO NON NECN EEL C ET SOMO ASS Ss Am I going to last all night?” their horns and continuously sound their klaxons when stuck in a traffic jam ona rainy day,” per- sisted the underling. “Oh, the Satan. Executive Staff at onc devise a new and particu rible fate for these Heat the irons. Boil the * roared of the —Artier L. Lippmann 17 comicbooks.com