Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, October 1921 · page 44 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #25 — page 44: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from *Captain Billy's Whiz Bang* (a 1920s humor magazine) contains three separate pieces: **"Oh! You City Slickers"**: A poem mocking rural vs. urban class differences. A working-class waiter from Pennsylvania's Lehigh Valley loses his beloved to a slick city man and vows revenge. The satire targets "city slickers"—sophisticated urbanites seen as seducers and threats to rural virtue. **"Our Paris Letter"**: A dark WWI joke set in trench warfare. Two Irish soldiers (Pat and Mike) experience the absurdity of combat: Pat claims he's shot in the foot, but actually has his head blown off. The humor derives from the grotesque gap between what soldiers say and the horrific reality—a gallows humor response to wartime casualties. **"Oh, Pickle My Bones"**: A short joke about medical fraud. A doctor demands advance payment from a patient with memory loss, exploiting the patient's condition for profit. These reflect post-WWI American humor: rural-urban tensions, the trauma of recent war, and skepticism toward professionals.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
42 Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang Oh! You City Slickers By Gordon Campbell. ’Twas down in the Lehigh Valley That me and my pal, Lou, Was workin’ in a hash house, An’ a pretty good one too. It was there that I met Gonzola; She was the village belle, Now I was only a waiter, But I loved that gal like everything. Then along come a city feller, A slick haired son of the idle, An’ stole my darling little Lou To slip on the marriage bridle. So fill up the glasses, stranger, An’ I’ll be on my way; I’ll get the guy that stole my gal, If it takes till the judgment day. * * * Our Paris Letter A Jack Johnson burst over the shell hole into which Pat and Mike had crawled. “Oi’ve been shot in the foot,” said Pat. Mike imme- diately placed Pat on his shoulder and started for the hospital. On his way there another shell took off Pat’s head. Arriving at the first aid station, the sentry hailed Mike. “No use bringing any dead men in here,” he said. “That fellow’s head has been shot off” “Why, the son-of-a-gun,” exclaimed Mike, “he told me it was his foot.” * * * Oh, Pickle My Bones Pat—“Well, Mike, I just saw a doctor about my loss of memory.” Mike—“What did he do?” Pat—“He made me pay in advance.”