Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, June 1922 · page 42 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #34 — page 42: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page collects brief satirical bits targeting domestic life and wartime bureaucracy: **"When Wifie Kisses Me, Hide My Pocketbook"** is a joke about wives as spendthrifts—a common domestic stereotype of the era. **The Deacon Miller / hen joke** appears to be a mild double entendre about the deacon's reputation. **The lawyer epitaph** is straightforward cynicism about the legal profession. **"Echoes From Wartime Days"** is the substantial piece—a humorous letter from Mrs. Paul Quinn to Army headquarters. The humor derives from her malapropisms and confusions ("elopement" for allowance, "kneed" for need, "spittoon" duty). She's a genuinely struggling wife seeking support for her infant while her husband serves, but her fractured English and muddled descriptions make her plight comedic rather than sympathetic—reflecting how *Whiz Bang* treated serious topics with irreverent humor. The P.S. about him playing piano at the Y.M.C.A. adds to the absurdity.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
40 Captain Billy's Whiz Bang Our Whiz Bang Song Hit “When Wifie Kisses Me, Hide My Pocket-book.” * * * “That’s the guy I’m laying for,” said the hen as Deacon Miller crossed the barnyard. * * * Suggested Barrister Epitaph Here lies a lawyer—for the last time. * * * Echoes From Wartime Days Mr. Headquarters, U. S. Armory. Dear Mr. Headquarters—My husband was induced into the surface long months ago, and I aint received no pay from him since he was gone. Please send me my elopement, as I have a four months old baby and he is my only support. And I kneed it every day to buy food and keep up enclosed. I am a poor woman, and all I have is gone to the front. Both sides of my parents are very old, and I cant suspect anything from them, as my mother has been in bed with the same doctor for thirteen years, and she won’t take another. My husband is in charge of a spittoon. Do I get any more than I am going to get? Please send me a letter and tell me if my husband has made application for a wife and child, and please send me a wife’s form to fill out. I have already written to Mr. Wilson and get no answer and if I do not hear from you I will write to Uncle Sam about you and him. Yours truly, MRS. PAUL QUINN. P. S.—My husband says that he sets in the Y. M. C. A. with a piano playing in his uniform. I think you can find him there. * * * Now let us all join in that good old darky song, “My Dixie Pair-o-dice.”