Life, 1921-10-13 · page 25 of 34
Life — October 13, 1921 — page 25: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**Top Cartoon:** A comic strip showing a guest asking a host about tipping a tour guide. The host's reply—"Depends—where you hit him"—is a joke suggesting violence as an alternative to monetary payment. The humor relies on hostility toward service workers and the absurdity of the response. **"Dumb-Bells at Arms' Length":** A humorous essay mocking mandatory exercise routines. The author ridicules a friend who prescribes calisthenics, claiming to be athletic while admitting they never exercise or eat healthily. The satire targets the fitness-fad culture and absurd exercise regimens popular in the era—odd, arbitrary counts of movements ("twenty-seven knee bends"). The ironic payoff: the author skips exercises and feels better, while their exercise-obsessed friend appears exhausted. **"Puppy Love":** A brief comic poem about a wealthy woman (Mrs. Ferdinand Fogg) marrying a poor artist (Carlo MacTogg) because his name matches her dog's. The humor is dark social commentary on marriage motivated by superficial similarities rather than genuine affection.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
October 13 r Guest: FRIEND of ours de- cided recently that we were not getting enough exercise, and gave us a list of calis- thenics to follow. We insisted that we were strong enough, that we always made it a point at dinner to refuse the salad and be masculine; We proved that we were athletic by re- citing all the batting averages. He frowned and added three more counts to the stomach-bend. h morning when we awake, we are faced with the immediate prox- imity of a half-hour’s labor. There is nothing beautiful about anyone exer- cising, and if he needs exercise as badly as we seem to, there is nothing very beautiful about him anyway. We Host: Depends—where you hit him. Dumb-Bells at Arms’ Length are so sensitive that we tried exercising awhile in a bathrobe, but that tripped us. We have always admired anyone who smiled when he was taking a bath; personally we find it hetically pain- ful, and we never receive mail in our underclothes like the Underwear Lads in the advertisements. Now at dawn we raise and lower our legs and fling out our arms and try to unscrew our trunk, like a Moham- medan ritualist. The only time we get real pleasure is when our joints crack, because that shows we needed it. Our friend has spaced off our calisthenics into uneven numbers, such as five breast strokes and twenty-seven knee bends and nine stiff necks, It keeps our interest at tension, and adds an element of chance that saves it all from routine. On the other hand, if we miss count our day is spoiled. How much shall I tip that guide of mine? The saddest part is that we don’t feel half so well now as before we started, when we led a lax existence, rolling out of bed late and never getting into ice-cold water. The other morning we took a vacation from our exercises, and felt so fine all day that we began thinking. That same afternoon we met our friend. His face was drawn a little, and we asked him what we the matter. “I’m not feeling so wel he answered; “so I’m_ taking - cises.” Now we have a rather definite idea. C.F, Puppy Love HEN rich Mrs. Ferdinand Fogg Married destitute Carlo MacTogg She explained that his Art Had gone straight to her heart, And he had the same name as her dog. comicbooks.com