Life — November 13, 1924 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

12 : I hate College Boys; They get under my feet. 'HERE are the Boy Butterflies ; The Haberdashers’ Livelihood. Society would be on the rocks without them; They are as much a part of every tea As the watercress sandwiches. They list all the débutantes In Grades A, B, and C, And proceed accordingly. Once they get into their stride, The Opposite Sex hasn't a prayer, They are great boys in the moonlight, And if there were ever a contest in sitting out dances They could enter at scratch. They are always dropping lavender envelopes, Or returning photographs, Or leaving word that they are not at home In case a woman's voice asks for them on the telephone. They wish to God the girls would leave them alone,— That falls right in with my plans. HEN there are the Athletes; All Full of Red Blood, or What Have You? They eat their meat just this side of raw, They are constantly flinging windows open, And they can hardly wrench themselves out of their cold showers. They may be the Biceps Kings, But if you sneak up on them suddenly, And ask them who discovered America, They have to rack their memories. They are all due to make a big name in the business world; Look at the way they can tear telephone books in half, And bend silver quarters, And chin themselves seventy-five con- secutive times. When football comes into the conver- sation, It turns out that they are the boys who wrote the rules. They are always doing something help- ful,— You find them on bathing-beaches Forming human pyramids; Or on country club verandas Holding rocking-chairs out at arm's length; Or standing on their hands In some lucky girl's parlor. It’s rough that they have to be cramped up in cities; Way up in the clean, cold, silent out- of-doors, That's where they ought to be,— And now! LIFE - Hymn of Hate - * By Dorothy Parker "THERE are the Hot Puppies; The High-Place Hitters. They may be young as years go, But they are old in night life. You would never dream of the wicked things that go on If they didn’t take pity And clear it all up for you. They have piled up a nasty record for themselves ; Try and hear it without blushing. They tear the town wide open Until nearly eleven o'clock at night, They talk right back to policemen, And when it comes to alcohol, They imply that they can take it or let it alone,— Reading from left to right. They concede that they are just about as scarlet as they come, And they perform a mean laugh, And say that terrible isn't the word for them,— I heard different. ND there are the Heavy Thinkers; The Boys That Know the Answers. Bring up any subject at all And they'll be glad to set you right on it. I forget what they go to college for: It can’t be education, Because they had all that under control years ago. They don’t go so big on a dance floor, But when the party gets loose, And Greek irregular verbs are being bandied about, They are the hit of the evening. They can hold their audiences spell- bound ; If it isn’t the latest trigonometry prob- lem that’s going the rounds, Then it's the good one the boys are telling About the advantages of the parliamen- tary form of government. If they were to appear in public Without a book under their arm They would feel as if they had come out without their socks. They seldom hear, when they are spoken to; It's because their heads are so full Of little gems of old-world philos- ophy,— You know the old crack: Nietzsche abhors a vacuum. I hate College Boys; They get under my feet.