Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, October 1921 · page 48 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #25 — page 48: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humor column from *Captain Billy's Whiz Bang*, a popular American satirical magazine known for bawdy jokes and social commentary. The page contains brief, disconnected gags rather than formal cartoons. The humor targets several 1920s concerns: women's changing social roles (short skirts, independent behavior at dances), modern dating conventions (the ship mate's kiss demand), and linguistic/logical absurdities (the confused stranger exchange). The references to "skeeters" (mosquitoes), pneumonia from dancing, and the Aurora Borealis pun reflect contemporary anxieties about new freedoms and their perceived health consequences. The column's title suggests miscellaneous commentary—a "pot pourri" of rural ("pasture") observations. The tone is lighthearted small-town gossip mixed with double-entendre, typical of the magazine's irreverent approach to post-WWI American social change.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
46 Captain Billy's Whiz Bang Pasture Pot Pourri Come, Kiss the Heroine! Dear Editor: While coming over to America on a steamer, the mate rushed up to me and threatened to blow up the ship if I didn't give him a kiss. What did I do? . I saved the lives of four hundred people. * * * Lives of 'skeeters all remind us, While short skirts are all the go, That to them existence must be Just one great big burlesque show! * * * Yes, Gus, 'tis sad but only too true that in Georgia the peaches grow on the limbs while at the beaches—but why break the monotony? * * * The hired hand, Gus, went to town the other night to a dance. When he got back he said that “nothing stands between certain dancers and pneumonia but a sense of loyalty to their employers.” * * * Oh, Myrt, do you know Aurora Borealis? They say she was all lit up last night. * * * No, Geraldine, Sandy Hook is not a Scotchman. * * * I was walking down the street the other day and on the far side was a fellow who looked familiar. “Hello, Bill,” I says. “Hello, Tom,” says he. “My name ain't Tom,” I says. “Well, my name ain't Bill, either,” says he. With that, I looks at him an' he looks at me an' sure enough, it was neither of us.