Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, July 1921 · page 36 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #22 — page 36: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from the satirical magazine contains three separate pieces with no visible cartoons. The opening passage uses innuendo about landscape features (hills, valleys, plains) as a euphemistic defense of depicting female figures in art—a common debate in early 20th-century art criticism about what was considered "provocative." "Be a Booster" is an inspirational poem about self-improvement and ambition, encouraging readers to excel at whatever station they occupy—a motivational piece rather than satire. The final section is a satirical "prayer" that mocks conventional morality by contrasting noble-sounding platitudes (earning honestly, treating others fairly) with cynical asides (needing guns for protection, "unholy skirts"). It's likely social commentary on hypocritical respectability or commentary on contemporary corruption and moral compromise.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
34 Captain Billy's Whiz Bang with that, incipient desire. As for the minds of wom- en, no one would insult them with the suspicion that they find anything provocative in the portrayal of figures of their own sex. In every landscape the eye notices at once and un- avoidably the hills; it finds the plains and valleys only by an effort of the will. This fact has ever been admitted by the modern stage, which is, so far as the ethics of objective morality go, more conservative than modern art in its advanced attitude. * * * Be a Booster If you can't be a pine on the top of the hill, Be a scrub in the valley, but be The best little scrub by the side of the hill, Be a bush if you can't be a tree; If you can't be the sun be a star, But the best little booster wherever you are. * * * TEACH me that 60 minutes make an hour, 16 ounces one pound and 100 cents one dollar. Help me so to live that I can lie down at night with a clear conscience, without a gun under my pillow and unhaunted by the faces of those to whom I have brought pain. Grant that I may earn my meal-ticket on the square, and that in earning it I may do unto others as I would have them do unto me. Deafen me to the jingle of tainted money and to the rustle of unholy skirts. Blind me to the faults of the other fellow but reveal to me my own. Guide me so that each night