Judge, 1929-08-31 · page 9 of 36
Judge — August 31, 1929 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Understanding This Judge Magazine Page This page contains two distinct satirical pieces from Judge, an American humor magazine. **Top cartoon** ("The ideal nursery to keep baby contented"): A chaotic domestic scene mocking overwrought literary pretension and absurd parenting. The accompanying text is a rambling, nonsensical memoir-style narrative that satirizes affectation—referencing "Point Counterpoint" (likely Aldous Huxley's novel), elite women's colleges like Bryn Mawr, Greek sororities, and romantic melodrama. The humor comes from the narrator's increasingly absurd experiences (room-mates who are chickens, a ship disaster interrupting a college dance, casual cruelty presented as whimsy). **Bottom cartoon** ("Dangers of motoring in the great southwest"): An illustration of a vehicle precariously perched on a tall saguaro cactus in the Arizona desert. This appears to be straightforward satirical commentary on the hazards and absurdities of early automobile travel in America's remote southwestern regions. Both pieces reflect Judge's satirical approach: mocking contemporary social trends, literary culture, and modern conveniences through exaggeration and surrealism.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE The ideal nursery to keep baby contented through her tears and she would hum the theme song from “Point Counterpoint.” “Point Counter- point, I Love You Mother has been chicken pie and fricassee these twelve years, but 1 still think of her. When the time came for me to enter Bryn Mawr, my brothers and sisters, who were at Wit's End, N. J., home, handsome traveling case, and three days later I arrived collect at the office of Dean Goossens. She introduced me to Irma, Birma, Firma, and Mirma, my new room-mates, five of the love- liest Buff Orpingtons I had « seen. In a few hours I was e crusted with Epsilon salts and had become member of the Kappa Epsilon sorority. ing week we held a big dance in E Pound, to which even our Kafr servants were invited. It was a wonderful moonlit night and the garden, with its myriad twinkling lan- terns, was a magic isle set apart for me and my gigolo, Balthazar Siegel. As Balthazar held me in his arms and made proposals, I thought that I) would swoon. Suddenly I heard Mate rbuck cry out from the ship's waist. “Stern all for your lives!” shouted Starbuck. “The dam is broken and the waters are coming down from Lahore! In the confusion that followed, their sent me a Balthazar and I slipped from the rds into the captain's jolly- t and cast adrift the painter. gave him brushes, a palette, and turpentine, and today that little boy is Maxfield Parrishberg. Sometimes I wish we had not been so liberal with our art ma- terials. After three days of frightful starvation—have you ever been idrift in an open beat without fresh water and inhibitions with a white woman2?—we were begin to despair of our. lives. Sharks were following our craft and offering to loan us money at 200 per cent. An albatross hung around our neck like a choker. Would the Great Spirit never send down the blessed rain? Then came the day later we Avenue Loes Washingstein ning monsoon, and a sighted a Lenox bound for Port with a cargo of nougats and hard centers. Memories, memories! How they recall themselves in this dim attic faintly perfumed with lavender! With fluttering hands I place the beribboned letters back the drawer and hobble downstairs. For Balthazar is calling me from the apiary, and it is time for tiffin. Au revoir, but not good-bye, my cute little goslings. —S. J. Penenaan Dangers of motoring in the great southwest