Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, July 1921 · page 52 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #22 — page 52: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains a satirical love letter—a parody of overwrought romantic prose common in sentimental literature of the early 20th century. The humor relies on grotesquely mixed metaphors and bathetic (deliberately undignified) comparisons. The narrator claims undying devotion but expresses it through absurd imagery: comparing his beloved's hair to a "sorrel horse powdered with gold," her forehead to "the elbow of an old coat," and her eyes containing "legions of little Cupids bathing, like a cohort of ants in an old Army cracker." The satire mocks both the clichéd conventions of romantic poetry and rural/working-class speech patterns. References to farm life (pigs, milking herds, chanticleer) mixed with classical allusions (Aurora, Parian marble, Cupids) create comic incongruity—elevating rural domesticity to mock-heroic status. *Captain Billy's Whiz Bang* (1919-1936) specialized in irreverent humor targeting sentimental American culture, making this a typical example of the magazine's satirical approach.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
50 Captain Billy's Whiz Bang tongue refused to wag and in silent adoration I drank in the sweet infection of love as a thirsty man swal- loweth a tumbler of hot whiskey punch. Since the light of your face fell upon my life, I sometimes feel as if I could lift myself up by my boot- straps to the top of the church steeple, and pull the bell rope for singing school. Day and night you are in my thoughts. When Aurora, rising from her saffron-col- ored couch, blushing like a bride; when the jay-bird pipes his tuneful lay in the apple tree by the spring house; when the chanticleer's shrill clarion heralds the coming morn; when the awakening pig ariseth from his bed and grunteth, and goeth forth for his morning refreshments; when the drowsy beetle wheels to dron- ing flight at sultry noontide; and when the lowing herds come home at milking time, I think of thee; and, like a piece of gum elastic, my heart seems stretched clear across my bosom. Your hair is like the mane of a sorrel horse, powdered with gold, and the brass pins skewered through your water-fall fill me with unbounded awe. Your forehead is smoother than the elbow of an old coat; your eyes are glorious to behold. In their liquid depths I see legions of little Cupids bathing, like a cohort of ants in an old Army cracker. When their fire hit me upon my manly breast, it pene- trated my whole anatomy, as a load of bird shot through a rotten apple. Your nose is a chunk of Parian marble, and your mouth is puckered with sweetness. Nectar lingers on your lips, like honey on a bear's paw; and myriads of unfledged kisses are there, ready to fly out and light somewhere, like bluebirds out of their