Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, May 1922 · page 7 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #33 — page 7: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page from the satirical magazine features a humorous letter-column piece rather than a cartoon. The unnamed writer (signed "Adam Sourguy") complains about his office porter who became useless after reading *Whiz Bang* itself—the magazine's self-referential humor about its own popularity and corrupting influence. The satire mocks the porter's sudden literary pretensions: the writer resorts to physical violence to force him to work, then discovers him writing amateurish poetry. The included sample poem, "Hot Corn Kid," is intentionally crude doggerel about a girl named Dorothy who loves hot corn bread. The joke targets working-class aspiration and the magazine's own appeal: reading *Whiz Bang* transforms a practical laborer into a would-be poet, rendering him useless. The postscript references Prohibition-era difficulty obtaining alcohol, adding topical humor. The tone is rough, self-deprecating comedy typical of 1920s working-class satirical magazines.
📄 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 5 darn good porter until he got to reading the “Whiz Bang.” I just can’t do anything with him. The only way I can get him to manicure the office is to bat him over the head with something and steal his little bull. The other day he sure got my goatee, whiskers and all. I couldn’t find him for over an hour. At last I discovered him sitting behind a door busily scribbling on a piece of old wrapping paper. I was so mad I didn’t wait for any- thing, I just knocked him for a goal. While he was quiet and peaceful I picked up the paper that flew out of his hand when I winged him and I’m a son-of-a-sea- sucker if he wasn’t writing poetry—here below is a sample of what he calls Hot Corn Kid I know a girl named Dorothy, For short I call her Dot, She only likes her “Cone Pones” And always wants them hot. She likes them fat and greasy, She likes them large or small, For that girl sure likes her hot corn; She eats them cobs and all. Now that you’ve read it, do you, or do you not think that I was right for treating him as I did? Kindly advise me if it is within your power to suggest some method of which I may break him of this habit. Now don’t sug- gest cutting his hands off, because as I said before, he’s a dang good porter and he’ll need his hands to manicure the office with. Now that I’ve got this mess off or my chest, here’s hoping you dug your cellar deep enough be- fore it went into effect. I am as ever, Yours Boozologically, Adam Sourguy. P. S.—If you ever come to New York, look me up. I know where I can get a good drink for two-bits yet. It’s a long walk, but I can get it. D. R. Murray.