Judge, 1928-11-24 · page 26 of 36
Judge — November 24, 1928 — page 26: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page collects humorous submissions from college students, circa 1929-1931. The satire centers on **generational and collegiate humor** rather than politics. The jokes target familiar college-era situations: poor dining hall food ("cook killed the cow"), clothing mishaps (a haberdasher's absurd shirt measurements), and military training (ROTC drills with ill-fitting uniforms). "Waldemar, the Frosh, Writes Home" parodies the earnest letters new college students send parents—boasting about campus life while revealing naïveté. References to ROTC (Reserve Officers' Training Corps), campus hospitals, and homesickness were standard college experiences. The humor lies in Waldemar's innocence about army uniforms and his father's apparent incompetence (writing checks illegibly, hiding things in a shaving mug). The Harvard dialogue about moving rocks is absurdist physical comedy requiring no context. Overall, this reflects **1920s-30s college culture**: mandatory military training, distinctive fashion, and the universal experience of young men away from home for the first time.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“Ey Phra threat “Waiter, hasn't the cook killed the cow for my steak yet?” “No, sir; but he's tossed off a couple of horns.” —Pintie T. Farxswortu, California ’29 Synopsis Our hero, Jerome — Spilteh, walked into a haberdashery sto bent upon the purchase of shirt. The clerk, Ashur Me- Shultz, received him cordially and inquired as to his wants. Jerome stated that he wished a shirt with a 14 collar sleeves. mea college man at last! “Your error, lady; these are d 34 my father's trousers.” —Jor Stren, U. of Texas 29 go on with the story: s it for,” asked the clerk with a leer, “a centipede?” THE END —Gurnxey WittiaMs, U. of Mich. ’31 Waldemar, the Frosh, Writes Home it’s all over now, I “Papa deer, why did you spend — mean my army. suit. know all that doe?” we have to e drill here in the “Oh, just for fawn.” R, O. T. nd get furnished —Tyson ALLEN, uniforms, ete. T went up to get Ga, Te mine and the Sgt. says. “What dentaynen Harvarp Maxn—IWhatcha doing? Sreconn Drunx—Gotta get these rocks together. H. M.—Why don’tcha push the little one to the big one? S. D.—Naw, the big one’s closer to the little one. —Danrayaan, Williams '29 [bene Docton—You should go out to the country where you can smell flowers all day long. Think you can manage it? Patient—IJ guess not, Doc. You see, I'm a Florist and this is my busy season. —Sipxey Gorpnera, | N.Y. U. '31 vant, one too big or one too and [ say one too small ives me one too big. Hon- est, it fits like Pa’s Sunday suit. A guy could have won the war in a suit like this and never have known a thing about it. I was gonna take a look around at drill and see if I couldn't trade with somebody who had one too small, but I couldn't even see out with it on. The cap fits my shoulders | swell. I got your letter, Ma, and the cheek. The bank wouldn't cash the check beeause they couldn't tell whether it was for 88 dollars or 95c. Tell Pa to take his mit- tens off when he writes. This is a great place down here. I find out somethin’ new every day. They got a hospital | right here on the campus and Doctors to take care of you. Not | that I'm plannin’ on gettin’ sick or anything, but it would sure be a cinch for a guy like Pa, who knows for sure that he will have ' m as soon as 7 ther sets in. ad to hear you got some new shoes, but be careful of the sear- | let fever. | As ever, your son, Waldemar. P. S.—I don't know a thing about Pa’s knife. Tell him to look in his shavin’ mug. —Rvss Kina, Minnesota, indefinit comicbooks.com