Life — January 5, 1911 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

‘LUPE An Imaginary Chairman ADIES AND GENTLEMEN: Our annual dinner has been very poorly served, and while we may pass over the hiatus between fish and entrée when many of us were wishing we had stayed at home and had our regular evening meal at the regu lar hour with our regular wives, still it would be difficult to for- give the rock salt in the ice- cream. For the simple reason that the really good speakers and entertainers had more important engagements, this evening we must start the obsequies with a second-rate grafter, who is too lacking in dignity to refuse our invitation to be with us to-night. His entire career has been one of petty self-advancement; he has lost no opportunity to blackmail the rich ostensibly to benefit the poor, whom he really despises. He would undoubtedly call what he is about to say to us an address; beyond all doubt, if one can judge by past performances, it will be merely a string of stale and profitless stories strung to- gether on the rotton cord of bad taste. in presenting the Hon. (God save the mark!) Timothy Me- I take no real pleasure “THE HON, TIMOTHY M"CORKADALE.” This will make the next number especially disa- greeable, because the per- son who calls himself a cartoonist who is to occu- py the platform for the next few awful moments —we can at least pray for the ossification of his right hand—has a certain small talent I must admit; but this tiny spark from the forge of genius is so shrouded in the murky and nauseous gases of malig- nity and viciousness that his caricatures will shock the most thick-skinned. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Sidney Wormshape! . . . ° . Have you ever heard a woman sing a song that made you feel very un- comfortable— made you look about you furtively to see if others felt the qualms you felt—a song “MR. AJAX BULLSNoRTER.” that had not the saving grace of wit, but was built on a sug- gestive refrain and would probably be called quite coarse by Corkadale! ser. Now that your perfunctory applause has died away I have something perhaps a little worse in store for you. Most of us here to-night are fond of good music and appreciate a first-class performance of a gifted musician. The finished ex- pression of well-trained and unusual WILL C. POUNDOWSKI.” talent, the combination of deft fingers, an inspired soul and a per- fect piano is indeed a spiritual treat Therefore, I am deeply sorry to in- troduce to you one of our guests, Mr. Will C. Poundowski, who will be evenly matched with this punk piano the manage- ment of this restaurant allows us. I am ashamed that any of our members had the rank taste to encore Mr. Pound- owski’s rotten — effrontery. Sky-terricr hair and well-bit- ten finger-rails do not spell virtuoso. Tam sure that a clever and kindly caricature is enjoyed by most people with the slightest swelling where the bump of humor is supposed to grow. any gathering except, perhaps, a men’s smoker? Tf not, then perhaps you would like to have that experience — whether or no this woman whom I am about to present to you (there she is at the table to the left) has a face of vitrified brick and a mouth like a letter box —Madame Aiglio! While the drama of to- day is commercialized and sodden and saccha- rine and salacious, yet we are not without our bless- ings. There are few, very few, of the old-time nters and roaring trage- dians that seemed to satis- fy our esteemed forebears. We are spared the mouth- ings and throat raspings and mock heroics and ab- surdly unnatural bombast of the Virginius type, the fine frenzy, the flapping foot, the leatheroid lungs, the buzzard shoulders and damp black locks. All are “SR, SIDNEY WORMSHAPE.” comicbooks.com