Life, 1908-11-05 · page 15 of 48
Life — November 5, 1908 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page combines two distinct satirical pieces from an early 20th-century American humor magazine. **"Strange Historical Fact"** mocks male cynicism about women through a generational dialogue: an older man insists all women are alike and untrustworthy, claiming the specific women change but the type remains constant—a dig at misogynistic attitudes. **"I Beg You to Bant"** (by Rupert Hughes) is extended satire on the obsessive dieting culture and body-shaming of the era. "Banting" was a popular weight-loss method. The poem relentlessly mocks a woman named Phyllis, pressuring her not to gain weight through increasingly absurd demands—no automobiles, no starches, constant exercise. The satire targets how society (and men especially) police women's bodies, with the humor pointing at the *ridiculousness of these expectations* rather than at Phyllis herself. The accompanying turkey and Native American illustrations likely reference Thanksgiving, connecting the food-focused satire to seasonal context.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Strange Historical Fact “MY boy, all women are alike. Don't trust any one of them.” “ But father, things are different from when you were a boy. All the women you knew are passed.”” “Certainly, my son, but when you are as old as I am, you will find that they've all come back again."* No, darling. I lost all feeling long ago. I Beg You ON'T you get fat, Phyllis, Don’t you do that! Live on a crust, Phyllis, Starve if you must, Phyllis, But let us trust, Phyllis, You won't get fat. Oh, don’t do that! Once you were trim, Phyllis, Art's paradigm ner than fine, Phyllis, Each gracile line, Phyllis Limned you divine, Phyllis. Now your clothes—brim! Oh, please keep slim! Automobiles, Phy Shun their appeals. Miles you must march, Phyllis; Quite eschew starch, Phyllis; And though you parch, Phyllis, Don’t drink at meals Be like the cels Chins in a throng, Phyllis? Back like a gong? Gown like a tent, Phyllis?— Never consent, Phyllis! Lengthen your Lent, Phyllis Oh, don't go wrong On Ong-bong-pwong. INDIAN SUMMER to Bant Wait not for weight, Phyllis, Then it’s too late. Dumbells acquire, Phyllis; Massage, perspire, Phyllis; Shun sweets like fire, Phyllis. ht off your fate, Carry no freight You're getting plump, Phyllis, Just see that hump! Five pounds misplaced, Phyilis, And you're disgraced, Phyllis. Leisure makes waist, Phyllis. Don’t be a gump, Pummel and thump. It’s hard, I grant, Phyllis, But your time's scant, Soon stays won't stay, Phyllis, You'll wear a bay-( Phyllis!) Window each way, Phyllis, Waddle and pant— Brace up and bant! Better a slat, Phyllis, han a flesh-vat, Would you look trussed, Phyllis? You just must frust- (Phyllis) Rate hips and bust, Phyllis. Oh, don't get fat, Oh, ob, not that! Rupert Hughes. comicbooks.com