Life, 1928-01-05 · page 7 of 34
Life — January 5, 1928 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
The top illustration depicts seals performing in a circus or zoo setting, with human onlookers above. The title suggests satire about an animal trained in urban environments returning to its natural habitat. Below are three separate humor pieces: 1. **"Home Training Disguised"**: A joke about a dancer with thirty-eight "turns-of-all" who doesn't know basic domestic skills like cooking dinner. 2. **"I Sing the Grouch"**: A poem by Arthur L. Lippmann celebrating complaint and negativity as a survival strategy in city life—praising the "grumbler" and "Yelp" (likely referring to vocal complaint) over optimism. 3. **"Disabused"**: A short joke mocking a "modern flapper" for being physically damaged and not meeting romantic expectations. These pieces satirize modern urban life, gender roles, and social changes of the era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
% The Trained Seal Comes Back from the Big City Home Training Disguised f \ DANCER spun round on her toe thirty-eight times—of all the useless stunts!" “Oh, I don’t know. It would come in handy if she ever had to get the dinner in a kitchenette.” Nurse (to vaudeville agent): Sir, your wife has presented you with twin girls, Vaupevitte Acent: Hurray! At last, a Sister Act! I Sing the Grouch O% I always will vouch for the man with a grouch, And I never will flout him or snicker! With a chuckle I'll mect every sore-headed bleat* From the chronic and que: rulous k r. Let him storm, let him swear, let him tear out his hair, Let him rage in a passion terrific— I shall never wax sore, and his resonant roar I shall greet with a grin beatific. Though the optimists help, it's the man with The Yelp, Or the grumbler whose outbursts are hateful, Who is helping me live and buy gas, for the fliv, So, of course, to the grouches I'm grateful. Gentle reader or friend, as you come to the end Of my song don’t regard me with pity— I'm not one of the saints—I just handle complaints For a prominent store in this city. Arthur L. Lippmann, Disabused OSH,” moaned the fellow who arose grogzily from the divan with a badly damaged eye and three teeth missing, “the modern flapper is not what she’s wisecracked up to be!" comicbooks.com