Judge, 1933-08 · page 11 of 36
Judge — August 1933 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Judge Magazine Page Analysis This page contains two distinct pieces of satire from Judge magazine: **Main Story: "No Cause for Worry"** A crime story featuring "Handsome Joe Glick," a gangster boss confidently assuring his nervous lieutenant that their arrested associate "Tiny Tim Jones" won't inform on them. The joke: Joe selected Tiny Tim specifically because he was a railroad information clerk—a man whose entire job was providing information to the public. The irony is that Joe trusts a compulsive informant not to inform, despite police interrogation. **Lower Cartoon:** Shows a cop ticketing a man working in a sewer, captioned "Whatta you givin' me a ticket for—I'm workin' down here in a sewer!" The adjacent caption "Just as I thought, a woman driver" suggests the joke involves prejudice about women drivers being careless or unsafe. **Right Column: "Simile"** A collection of brief, witty comparisons satirizing everyday life—uncomfortable situations, inflation, and humorous complaints about modern conveniences and social problems. The page exemplifies Judge's mix of narrative comedy, visual gags, and observational humor targeting 1920s-era American society.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Judge No Cause for Worry \NDSOME Joe Glick ‘puffed rand elevated his feet to the polished top of the huge mahogany desk that held the center of his luxurious Broadway « Ilis narrowed eyes roved over tt sweat-jewelled face of his fat little liew- tenant. “You got something to say?" The fat man licked his lips. “L got sometl to say, yes. L Handsome, it’s Tiny Tim. “If he ta Vl go to the pen, and so will you plenty m For God's sake, Ing, C2 critically on a big black ¢ ha? Them police has had » third degree two days im under t now, and ii—. any if.” Hand snarled out the words as he drog his feet to the floor with a bang y won't talk, see? There’s nothing we can do but tight. I can't get him sprung. But am I worrying? No! ‘Tiny won't talk.” He settled back and drew appreci tively on the big cigar. The fat man mopped his streaming face. “But, Handsome, how can you be sur It’s the third degree he’s been gettin’ for two days and nights. Every- body talks sometime—just a little slip would send us through the green door. The voice was ky, whimpering. “Of course I'm sure.” Handsome Joe flicked an ash into a massive gold re- ceiver. “When I wanted a man to keep “Whatta you givin’ me a ticket for—I'’m workin’ down <us sup~ ee eed “Justas £ thought, a woman driver” books for this gang, I knew that some day the cops would put the screws on him. That's why I picked Tiny Tim. They want information, do they? Well nt going to get? At least they'll never get it from Tiny Tim Jones—he used to be a railroad information clerk!” believe me, that’s one thing they here in a sewer!” Simile A uncomiortable as a man in a white linen suit driving a used car. A fellow we know has a wife who is such a good cook that the last time they went on a picnic—the ants came home with them. And now the bakers not only have to make bread that’s already sliced, but they have to do it on sal- aries that are the same way. Another fellow who is always breaking up homes is the instalment collector. Personally, we don’t like camping trips. Every time we go on one, we wind up sleeping on the unkindest cot of all, And it’s our opinion that if the newspapers would stop printing auto maps showing the best roads to various places, these con- struction gangs wouldn't know which ones to rip up. comicbooks.com