Judge — September 27, 1930 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

es Do You Stuff Turkeys, Mister? By S. J. Perelman Axovt October 15th the moon will 4% be in Virgo, Uranus will be in the ascendant, Sagittarius will be well on the wane from looking thru too many keyholes, and Mrs. Feinberg, in the apartment below, will have finished hammering in nails with her husband's best military hair-brushes. Between then and January Ist) (when Mrs. Feinberg will open the winter season by hammering nails in her husband) ail you little leeches will be very, very busy indeed getting ready for Thanks- giving. I have been running around, like a head with its chicken cut off, JUDGE making lists of things you'll need for Thanksgiving dinner. | Well, sir, it's finally finished and drawn up by Fitz and Stotz, my attorneys, in collabora- tion with Mr. Ford Madox Hoofer, the English tap-dancer, and here it is. Sorry you had to wait so long for it. First, of course, comes the question of wiring the turkey. No, no, not wir- ing the turkey to come to the dinner; plenty of turkeys will come without being wired. I mean fixing the time bomb inside him, so that when you throw the switch under the table he can explode right in yout Uncle Prouty’s face. This is something of an art. Take last year’s dinner, for instance; the damn_ thing exploded IM UP A GREEK WITHOUT A PADDLE FLUTTERED THE PHONEY BOLONEY Meet our two best basketball players, girls, Red House and Swollen Glantz, a couple of hard centers from Maillard Prep. I'm a Rutgers man, “Well, go upstairs and sleep it off,” b pouted the prom trotter. trotter. “Who are you, mugg? y,” mumbled the pig’s Thirty-Per-Cent- Off-for-Pash. Hang up your clothes in the stevedore, gob; you're in the navvy now. without even singeing Uncle Prouty’s beard. All you did was throw a hor rible fright into the poor fowl and a gravy-spoon into Aunt Sigrid’s décol A handful of ground glass in dressing, plenty of nitro glycerine around the roast potat, and leave the rest to you see those internes gi: brush Uncle’s chestnut into a galvanized pail, y you took all that-tr Not to men tion Saint Peter's chuckles when le enters “Thursday—one named Prouty with cranberry sauce” mealy gent in his ledger. Come clean, now: how many times has Mamma asked you o he nice to Uncle Prouty? Be nice te him Why, you'll send him home in stitches! What are you mumbling there in the corner? Oh, so that’s it, hey? You haven't an Uncle Prouty! Well, what have you done with him? Speak up! a did he? ... Well, all ht, I'M let you go this time, but I ought to search you just the same. at comes of letting boys 1 bib and play with teddy-bears saw any of MY young ‘uns turn into mealy-mouthed cheats, I wager! No, suh, To send ‘em off to Peddic when they're eleven, suh; teach ‘em bracing manly games! Make ‘em sturdy little beggars, suh, that’s: the old Army rule, let ‘em ride without blanket and surcingle, without even horse! Two sons in the Coast Artil lery, suh, and one old Fort Jona than Warde, guarding their F And when that blood-red sun- sinks over the ramparts, suh, with the | playing Reveil r and the wind so ing in the pines, suh, and the reg mental band p! “LT Scream— You Scream—We All Scream for Lev Cream,” well, suh, I just want to say you can have all your French sauces and your peppery curries, but just give me a dish of good old marinierte herring with cold boiled — potatoe wrapped up in the Flag, and if thos: dirty Bolsheviks want to tear down our institutions and ideals they can go right back where they came fron Yes, siree, the right from their old tob: *, whittlin’. no-account Uncle Jonathan, by gum ase when a Cape Codder’s said . bor, it's said. We gave boneless codfish cakes and Coolidge to the nation, mister, and they can't laugh that off, I reckon. We may look hard as flint on the surface, Miste: New York City Slicker, but daown deep we's jest chillun, jest as tender as a blacksnake whip. Only not so beautiful. comicbooks.com