Life, 1920-11-25 · page 32 of 45
Life — November 25, 1920 — page 32: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page is explicitly labeled as containing rejected submissions to Life magazine. The satirical content illustrates why these pieces didn't make the cut: **Top cartoon**: Shows a chaotic "rejection" process with overflowing baskets of submissions and a frantic editor, humorously depicting the volume of material Life receives. **Content examples**: The rejected pieces include: - A laborious alliterative piece about sausages (excessive wordplay) - A tired joke about women's suffrage ("Will men then be de-voted?") - Weak punchlines and contrived setups throughout - Stories undermined by obvious twists (the "fierce lion" is caged; the dangerous plane fall is only four feet) **The point**: Life is satirizing bad amateur humor—overwrought writing, predictable jokes, and stories that undercut their own drama with parenthetical "gotchas." The explanatory box clarifies that rejection doesn't mean the material is valueless, just that editors deemed it unsuitable, acknowledging subjective judgment and occasional missteps.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
(Note Sausages, Scrapple or Saveloys I Manhattan on Saturdays, sundry smart siburban snuggeries, salubriously situ- ated, send streetwards soaring, strange se- ductive sage-seasoned savours, seemingly slaughtered silently, speckley spots, same sticking spitefully, s substance slowly, sautéing swine simmering sizzling seared xesting symmetrically systematized saus: lis stimulate snufiling, sniffing sounds slim sentimental satin-suited satisfied satellites, supporting shimmering scintillat- ing sunshades, stationwards —sauntering, salute sky-searchingly, slyly steadfastly seek- scenting somewhere, scrapple, saveloys or sausages, from Staten Island or South Beach. And Pity "Tis "Tis True Un re the Staff) 'O tHe Epitor or Lire: Last year when the price of bread became higher and the size of the loaf smaller, the baker who came to my door in the morning answered mie just this way: “Your bread seems to be getting smaller every few days?” I asked him. “Oh, yes,” he answered, “Pretty soon I will not leave any bread at all—just col- lect fifteen cents.” This is a true story. source,* surely A Reaper. Farmer: MUCM OBLIGED, MISTER, 1 COULDN'T bubGE TH’ CRiTrer! Rejection Page The contributions on this page have been rejected) Now, Now—Please HERE'S a phase of the suffrage question Which no one seems to have noted Now that women have the vote, Will men then be de-voted ? Favorite Species AYBUCK the birds this year? Gavwov: Well, I'm going to Cuba, where the swallows are. Are you going South with Uh! “PM having a heap of trouble with my ife.” “Well, who isn’t?” Nice Weather We're Having— the olden days a bow-legged girl could hide— If We Left “Them” Untold The Italics Are “ Them” “T RUSHED right up to the mouth of the cannon! But it wasn't loaded.” “T gently slipped my arm about her slen- der waist and pressed my lips to her velvety cheel But she was my sister.” “Not once did I flinch as I faced the roaring lion, even though there was a bare ten feet between us. He was in a cage,” “The airplane swerved, dipped and made a peculiar spiral, and I realized that the ma- chine was beyond my control. However, I never once lost my nerve. [ was watching it from the ground.” “She was at the door, bag in hand, de- fiance in every line of her features. After one agonizing moment she turned the knob and passed out, and, with a sinking of the heart, I realized that she had gone from me forever. She was our cook.” “T had slept soundly, and the building was a seething furnace when I staggered to ‘Jump! Jump!’ voices shouted, and I felt a thousand eyes focused upon-me. Mounting the sill, I closed my eves and leaped far out. It twas only four feet to the ground.” the window. He replied, Lot's wife, long since, was a female s ment to let a man pass with a in} HY do you keep shouti As to This Page Lire has received inquiries as to whether the material in this page has actually been rejected by the Ors oF not. The answer is: Yes—with cer qualifications. There is often a difference of opinion among readers as to what constitutes a joke or as to the value of a particul idea. A manuscript is often “ funy when lacking in literary techniqu it may be amusing and yet h other defects. twithou that all this rejes material is paid for, and that there is not nece: any measure of ignominy attac its inclusion here. Indeed, som Lire’s most highly valued contribu have thus honored us. “Well, I Guess” TRANGER (viewing sion); Who's dead? Wruuie: Why, the guy funeral what's coffin. But who is it? It’s the mayor So the mayor is dead, is he? Well, I guess. Do you think Strancer: Witte STRANGER: Witte he’s havin’ a rehearsal? Lot's Wife “ LADY sailor; perhaps,” said she, “ First case in the annals of history.” Unless my mind’s at fault, HE village boys were playing ball in the street after supper. They paused a 1 ail of k. 7 count of rain,” shout Game called on a ed the local wit. UERY from a friend: Wouldn't a “Chicago” Number be a good one? (But we would have to put something in it about Chicago.) ‘Oh, clee- tricity 12" “T want to say something shocking.” comicbooks.com