Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, March 1921 · page 29 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #18 — page 29: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humor advice column from *Captain Billy's Whiz Bang*, a post-WWI satirical magazine. The format mimics serious advice columns but delivers crude jokes instead. The satire targets 1920s social issues: Prohibition (home beer-making, moonshine), domestic violence (treated as joke fodder), courtship rituals, and sexual double standards. The pun-based names ("Ann Arbor," "Adam Sapple," "L. E. Phant") are typical period wordplay humor. The jokes are deliberately offensive by modern standards—mocking spousal abuse, implying coercion in romance, and treating assault as comedic. The "Captain" persona adopts a faux-authority voice to undercut earnest advice-giving itself. The magazine catered to soldiers and working-class men, using irreverence as post-war rebellion against Victorian propriety. What's notable is how casually violence and consent violations are presented as entertainment—reflecting period attitudes rather than endorsing them.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang 27 Dear Farmer Billy—As an honest tiller of the soil, perhaps you can tell me the difference between an apple and a girl?—**Ann Arbor.** Sure, you have to squeeze an apple before you can get cider. But with a girl, you have to get "side" 'er before you can squeeze her. * * * Dear Captain Bill—I live in Milwaukee and a neighbor of mine is always making home beer. Who should I report it to?—**Adam Sapple.** Notify the American consul. * * * Dear Sir and Captain—My husband, whenever he comes home intoxicated from moonshine liquor, kicks me in the stomach. What would you advise me to do?—**Abused Wife.** Turn your back on the brute. * * * Dear Skipper—Could you tell me who is the inventor of the loose leaf system?—**L. E. Phant.** * * * Dear Captain Jazzbo—I have a sweet girlie, with teeth quite pearly. I took her in my arms one night. She scratched and giggled and tried to bite. Can you guess what's worrying me?—**Hymanjasus.** Your poetry is punk, old trapper, and I'll answer you, the same—You like to love but you hate to fight with a dirty neck when you monkey-bite.