The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

Oh, and censoring a r s e nic proves that the Word Censoring Robot is British. Given the current state of the green-and-pleasant-land, I'm not surprised.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Nope," sighs Joe, returning to the apartment as Sally deploys a bowl of oatmeal for a disapproving Leonora. "No sign'v'im. Dooeh's locked, no ans'eh when I knocked." "'He do'wanno loose ends,'" frowns Sally. "Ain'at what'cha said? So'ee goes awff runnin' t' Joisey chasin' aft'eh t'is hood, wouldn' say what'ee was gonna do awr how'ee was gonna do it." "T'at's what Uncle Frank said," shrugs Joe. "An' Bink Scanlan too. Bot'uvv'm says 'ee was tawkin' like'at befoeh'ree took awff. He's been hangin' 'roun' bawrs at night, lookin' f't'guy." "Does it even MATTEH?" snaps Sally. "Sammy's inna cleeh, Flannehry's gonna do a stretch --" "Loose ends," sighs Joe. "T' wawr's made'a mess'a ev'rybody," exhales Sally. "Oh." she blurts, noting the wounded look on her husband's face. "I'm sawry, Joe, I din' mean..." "Skip it," dismisses Joe. "I mean, I guess ya right, ain'cha? I know what hapn'ta me. But Solly, I mean, he was neveh like 'tis befo'eh. I jus'..." But his interruption is cut short by a loud voice ringing up the dumbwaiter. Sally rushes over and throws up the door. "SAL!" echoes the voice of Alice. "GIDDOWN'EEEH! BRING JOE! RIGHT NOW!!!" They exchange looks, Sally slams down the dumbwaiter, and they race for the door. "You," commands Sally in passing, "finish y' oatmeal." "Hmph," hmphs Leonora, as her parents exit...)

("Jus' hol'at onneh," directs Alice, presenting Solly Pincus with a chunk of ice wrapped on a dishtowel. Solly nods, pressing the compress to a fearsome bruise on the side of his forehead. Alice flicks her eyes toward her son, staring with astonishment as Solly slumps on the couch. "Willie," she commands. "Go check t' berleh wit' ya pap. T'em dampehs need adjustin'. An'nen go t'school." "Yeh," agrees Krause, steering the boy out of the room. "So he jus' shows up 'eeh?" marvels Sally. "Jus' now, yeh," nods Alice. "He stawrted t'tell us what happ'nt, but t'at egg on 'is head..." "He ain' got amnesia?" gapes Sally. "T'is ain'a comic strip," frowns Joe. "Looks like somebody pist'l-whipped 'im. Look, I'm gonna run oveh t' Schreibstein's, cawl'a docteh." "We ain' hadda chance," nods Alice. Joe exits, as Solly emits a tortured groan...)

("Thaaaat was Joseph," announces Ma, returning to the apartment kitchen. "Mistarr Pincus has coom home." "T'flap-eehed bum," sneers Bink, with a slurp of orange juice. "See'f I care. Two nights'na row'ee stood me up." "He nivvar d'livered thim boxes t' Inky Quinlan loikee said ''ee would," frowns Uncle Frank, picking at his eggs. "He's haaaart," declares Ma. "Soombody whaled 'im t'within 'n incha'v'is loife." "Oh," gapes Uncle Frank. "Oh," gasps Bink...)

(The dinosaurs lacked the awareness necessary to understand their approaching extinction...)

(No more Frenchy? The least they could have done is use the picture of him with the moustache. Look what it does for Trost.)

("Maybe we'll have you get handcuffed to a college boy. Or is that too much?")

("We run into this all the time with dukes and marquises, but she's our first countess...")

("You're the reporter. YOU find out!" Hey, just like Joan Blondell!)

(I wonder if Sandy knows anything about leather jackets?)

("Into traffic? Can we lure him into traffic? I'm good at that!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...


"Shacking up with the lush thrush who shakes the maraccas..." A lead like that and they don't even get a byline.

You know you've been wondering.

Point of order: How did Tracy know where he was being taken?

Math was never Harold's strong point.

Yee haw.

Navy training is highly specialized, and this guy was a machinists' mate.

And you won't be getting a Christmas card either!

That barrel in the corner is the one Avery's got you over.

"Hey, I've got 85 points, I'm not even supposed to be here!"

With all the splashing we get in this house, I bet the floor in that bathroom is rotted right thru.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Mr. Bramham is the gentleman who, you will recall, mocked Mr. Rickey not so many weeks ago as "Father Divine." How doth the tides of history flow...

 

[Fading Fast]

It's nice to see Herb Cohn back.

*******************************************************

"We run into this all the time with dukes and marquises, but she's our first countess..."

They've solved these problems today with credit cards in advance. You can't buy a stick of gum without proving you can pay for it first and without the merchant having your card number.

*******************************************************

Point of order: How did Tracy know where he was being taken?

Excellent point, Lizzie. Was there an opportunity for him to overhear it? I don't remember that he did, but I'm also too busy (and lazy) to go back and search for it.

******************************************************

And you won't be getting a Christmas card either!

At first the "you're our guests" charade made sense, but why bother with it now? Just lock 'em in a room and throw some food and water in now and then.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Anoothar blooody amatchoor!" sneers Ma. A subdued snicker from Bink Scanlan raises a response. "An' you keept'ye sweepin'," she frowns, just as the door jingles open to admit Uncle Frank. "Solly's ahhl roit," he announces, stomping snow off his galoshes. "Mrs. Ginsbaarg's lookin' aftarr 'im, an' she's makin' 'im stay t'bed till th' swellin' goos doon." "What happn't?" demands Bink, her broom clattering to the floor. "Did'ee tell ya? Huh? What happn't??" "Man's a damfool," scowls Ma. "Roonin' aaff loike that. Whoy didn'chee insist 'ee take woon'a th' boys? I thought he had some sense in 'im, but..." "Woon at a toime," sighs Uncle Frank. "Froom what'ee told me, he foond th' place wharr this man WIlentz was hooled oop, but Oi guess soombody seen'im skoolkin' aroound, an' they conked 'im woon with a blackjack arr soomthin'. He come to doomped by th' soide'a th' rood soomplace. Noo soin'a me troock. He had t' hitchhoike home with that great bleed'n loomp on 'is head. Soom troock droiver picked 'im oop an' wrapped a rag aroond 'is head arr soomthin', an' let'im aaahf soomplace aroon' Tharrd Avenue in th' City. He rood home aaahn th' soobway, head all bandaged oop..." "Did 'ee get a seat?" gapes Bink. "Did 'ee get a seat?'" eyerolls Ma. "An' noo soin 'a th' troock. Well isn't that joost..." "Ahh," dismisses Uncle Frank. "They woon't get faaar with it." "Did it ivvar occur t'ye," exhales Ma, "that it's gahht'chee name aahn th' soide oov'it in whackin' big lettarrrs? An' now tharr's soom gamboon roonin' arround Jarrsey figyarrin' YOU sent woona yarr boys aftarr'im? Who knoos who this man Wilentz is toied oop with? Moit as well be nineteen-twenny-foive aaahl ooovar again!" "Oi need," sighs Uncle Frank, sinking to a stool, "t' doo soom thinkin'..." "Cloos th' baaarn door," mutters Ma, "th' haaarse is ahlready gone...")

("Whatta mess," fumes Sally, slumping back in her seat as the train rumbles thru the snowstorm. "I like it," shrugs Alice. "'Slike t'at sawng bout'cha white Chris'mas, wheh t'tree tawps glis'en. Huh. You eveh see a tree tawp glis'en? I neveh did. Maybe t'ey don' glis'en aroun'eeh. Mus' be a out'na country t'ing. Like awn Staten Islan'. Coue'se I ain' neveh been t' Staten Islan' neit'eh. Y'evveh wondeh what's out'eh?" Sally shoots her a look. "You done?" she queries. "I guess," nods Alice. "I was tawkin'," Sally resumes, "about Solly. Get'n beat up by t'at guy Wilentz a'whateveh'ris name is. Somebody's gotta do sump'n'a'bout't'at." "Oh, Sal..." gasps Alice. "I don' mean us," denies Sally. "At leas' not us poissonal. But t'ez ways t'..." "Whateveh ya t'inkin'," declares Alice, "do me a faveh -- an' don' t'ink about it no moeh. Some t'ings -- Sal, we jus' can't." "Hmph," hmphs Sally. "How bout'is Sunday,' ventures Alice, "le's go out t'Staten Islan' an' see if t' tree tawps glis'en....")

(Clip and save.)

(No money down!)

(Horse doping? Isn't this point-shaving season?)

(Those cabinets are the place to be on a cold winter morning...)

(You really didn't think this plan thru, did you?)

(This gal might not be a moral paragon, but you gotta love her facial expressions.)

("That's a big help." C'mon, Scar, no need to be sarcastic.)

("He must get it from his mother!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

With a strike going on, I'm sure Mr. Engine Charlie Wilson's annual income will be viewed with great interest.

Well, it's nice to see somebody in the mainstream press take note of MacPhail's legal difficulties, even if it's buried. And sorry, Jimmy, but Greenberg would absolutely hate playing half his games in Yankee Stadium with that monster left field. The Red Sox, however, would love to have him.

Odds that Junior is about to go on a turnip diet....

Some people were never meant for the outdoor life...

There is such a thing as too much confidence.

You know, now that the war's over, you can have those packages delivered.

"I wonder what's keeping those boxes?" -- Inky Quinlan.

"Maybe we could buy them off with food or money." Spoken like a true diplomat.

You know, kid, you should start wearing hats with a chinstrap.

Oh well, he used a slug anyway.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Called it.

The New World isn't just Coming, it's rushing for the yardage.

 

[Fading Fast]

"...Moit as well be nineteen-twenny-foive aaahl ooovar again!""

Looks like a good old-fashioned pre-war-style gang war could be in the offing. I see Edward G. Robinson playing Frank in the movie version.

Separately, it would be interesting to see what Fanny P. Dudgeon does when she gets out. It is hard to believe she can restart her life in Locus Valley in 1945, but I'll bet she has some second act somewhere – she's a doer (for better or worse).

And much more separately, no matter what you think of the N*zis, you don't think badly enough.

********************************************************

"You done?" she queries. "I guess," nods Alice.

Poor Alice.

********************************************************

With a strike going on, I'm sure Mr. Engine Charlie Wilson's annual income will be viewed with great interest.

It's really amazing how much the postwar 1940s reminds me of the 1970s when there were strikes everywhere.

Separately, if I was Bill Smith, I wouldn't be to sure that the baby was mine.

********************************************************

"Maybe we could buy them off with food or money." Spoken like a true diplomat.

"Or a pretty young girl."

Fob: "What?!!!!"

*******************************************************

Called it.

You did indeed. Kudos. And it's an argument that is still used today.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Yeh," nods Sergeant Doyle thru a mouthful of donut, "t'is Joisey troopeh says'ee foun' it awffa doit road outside'a Metutchen. T'back en' was blown out, y'know, t' diffehrential. T'ey looked it oveh, says it looked like it was leakin' wawteh mixed in wit' t' erl. Looked liked somebody filled up t' backa t' t'ing wit' wawteh. C'n ya beat t'at?" "Mmmmgrfph," mumbles Uncle Frank, gazing into his cold coffee. 'Did they," he sighs, "foind -- ah --a coopla boxes, big caaaardbaaard boxes, in th' back?" "Wasn' nut'n inneh," shrugs Doyle, "but stink." Doyle glances over at his dining companion. "Come clean, Frank," he snickers. "Whatcha runnin' now? Nylons?" "Nooooo," declares Uncle Frank, "Oi c'n truthfully tell ye..." "Well look,' interrupts Doyle. "What'choo do in Joisey ain' no business'a mine. But I hoid what hapn't'cha buddy Pincus. An' as, y'know, 'n ol' frien' -- wawtch ya step, huh?" "Thank'ee, Thomas," exhales Uncle Frank, tapping his cup against the saucer. "Oi appreciatee yarr consaaaarn...')

("Sueh," sighs Sally, staring up at the bedroom ceiling, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. "I t'ought about lookin' f'ra'not'eh jawb. But -- see -- t't'ing is, even wit' t'at hokey comp'ny union, it's still a good place t'woik, 'specially f'ra woman. I eveh tell ya 'bout Bea Hicks?" "No," admits Joe, glancing at the luminous hands of the alarm clock as they approach 2 AM. "Who's she?" "She's 'n engineeh," continues Sally. "Woiks at Koiney jus' like me. She stawrted out onna line, an' now she's a reg'leh engineeh, buncha men repawrt'n to 'eh. Did I eveh telll ya 'bout Betty Bawrkeh? She useta woik right'eh onna tube line a few benches down fr'm me. An' now she's 'n engineeh too, out'n Ohio someplace!" "I t'ought you wanned to be a -- socialis'?" replies Joe. "Sociologis'," corrects Sally. "But I dunno, maybe I could be 'n engineeh. I jus' dunno. But I ain' gonna be nut'n if I haftra go back t', y'know, woikin' in Woolwoit's a'sump'n..." "You in Woolwoit's," sighs Joe, "an' me inna pickle woiks." "An' we neveh had no money," continues Sally. "We had fun t'ough," shrugs Joe. "Yeh," admits Sally. "We was too young an' too dumb t'know t'diff'nce, I guess." "I wasn'," replies Joe. "Yeh," sighs Sally. "Neit'eh was I....")

(Wouldn't you be happier working in aerospace?)

("Ephedrine." What a great name for a horse.)

("No," stammers Bink, steadying the tea cup against her knee. "We jus' go t' t' pitchehs t'get'eh once't'n'a while. I jus' t'ought I'd come oveh'r'n say hi." "It is good for the boy," nods Mrs. Ginsburg, "to seeing friends." She smiles nervously at her guest. "I am sorry," she continues, "I did not a chance to say before, about your husband." "Who?" whos Bink. "In the war," replies Mrs. GInsburg. "Your husband -- how he -- so sorry, truly. A trial it must be, and you with a child to come..." "Oh," chokes Bink. "Yeh, um, it's -- um --" "Forgive, please," apologizes Mrs. G. "I should not have brought up." "Um," ums Bink, feeling the temperature in the room rising, "it's -- um -- awright, I guess...")

(Of course.)

(Something always turns up...)

("Excuuuuse me, Miss OPA!")

(All private eyes are bashful, don't you watch the movies?)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE INSTIGATOR DOG goes into action!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Fanny Dudgeon" sounds like a character in a Restoration comedy. And she acts like one too.

"D E A r SanTA CLA U S," types Leonora, hunched over the Corona portable. "Who DO YoU Th i n k y OU ar e k i D di n g?"

"Et tu, Stardust?"

"Besides, it's fun to torture him. You know he hates when I listen to the Milkman's Matinee!"

Parenting is a zero-sum game.

Hey, he's pretty good at this after all.

Movies on paper! Caniff seems finally to be getting his zing back.

Even a ghost is entitled to vacation time. It's right there in his contract.

How's THIS guy getting jeeps???

You know those society dames and their Rough Bits on The Side...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"Hmmmm," hmms Billy Wilder....

 

[Fading Fast]

An' as, y'know, 'n ol' frien' -- wawtch ya step, huh?"

Take him seriously, Uncle Frank, hard-core mobsters in Northern NJ is not a made-up thing.

*********************************************************

"Sociologis'," corrects Sally. "But I dunno, maybe I could be 'n engineeh.

Sally could be either, but an engineer might be the better choice as it would keep the, umm, challenging parts of her personality out of her job.

*********************************************************

"I did not a chance to say before, about your husband." "Who?" whos Bink.

Perfect, just perfect.

*********************************************************

"Fanny Dudgeon" sounds like a character in a Restoration comedy. And she acts like one too.

Has a foreshadowing of the Martha Stewart legal event.

Paris closed its houses of prostitution for collaborating with the Germans during the occupation.

The girls: "'Collaborating?! We were just doing our jobs."

*********************************************************

"Hmmmm," hmms Billy Wilder....

Cute. Wilder at least saw the hypocrisy and greed in both systems. I couldn't invent a Mike Gold as I wouldn't believe in him. I'm also suspicious of all his "I just ran into so and so" stories as they are quite convenient ones. But maybe it's all on me as I can't stand this arrogant, sanctimonious man one bit.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whoot's that??" demands Uncle Frank, his eyes snapping open at a clatter from the store downstairs. "Goo back t'sleep," murmurs Ma, yanking at the comforter. "Oi haaard soomthin' doonstairs," insists Uncle Frank, reaching toward the nightstand drawer. Ma sits up in bed and listens. "It's noothin'," she declares. "Joost Barbara fixin'aaarself soom oice cream. She's been cravin' it. Oi told'arr t'help'arrself an' poot a ticket in th' drawer, an' Oi'd deduct it oota'err wages. Noo goo back t'sleep." Uncle Frank sighs and pushes the drawer closed. But no sooner does his head lower to the pillow than he is jarred upright by an explosive crash followed by a screeching of tires and a piercing scream. Yanking open the drawer, he seizes his revolver and, with Ma close behind, races to the stairs. They collide with Bink, her face white with terror. "T' w-windeh..." she stammers, as they push her aside and plunge down the stairway into the store. A cold winter wind whips thru the shattered plate glass, its fragments scattered across the tile floor. A brick lies in the middle of the carnage, atop the toppled cardboard figure of the Philip Morris bellhop. As Uncle Frank snaps on the light and scans the room, his weapon in hand, Ma races forward and picks up the brick. She squints at the projectile, and her jaw sets. She passes the brick to her husband, and gestures to a penciled scrawl. "Nex' toime," reads Uncle Frank, "It woon't be a brick...")

("They gaaaht me ploombin' shaap too," declares Uncle Frank, as Sergeant Doyle and a patrolman examine the brick. "Danny caaahld me roit aftarrr it happend here. They moosta tarrned oonta Bedfard Avenaar and gone boi thaaar doin' faaarty moiles 'n hoor. Praaaably went roit boi ye precinct hoose," he adds with a bitter scowl. "One side," interrupts Joe, as he and Heckie Capiello emerge from the basement carrying a large sheet of dirty plywood pried from the side of the coal bin. "We'eh gonna put'is up 'leas till we c'n get t' glass guy in," sighs Joe, as they lean the panel against the magazine rack. "Heckie, go back down 'n get t'stepladdeh an' I'll fin' t' tool box." He emits a deeper sigh. "Jus' had'em new signs put onna windeh," he laments. "An'now t'is." "Juvenile d'linquents," shrugs Doyle, casting a squint at Heckie. Joe scowls. "You know," he challenges, "s'well as I do t'is wasn' no kids." Doyle glances at Uncle Frank for direction, and receives a nod. "Yeh," acknowledges Doyle. "Oi s'pose," growls Ma, "tharrr's noothin' ye c'n do aboot it." "Did anybody," queries Doyle, "get a license plate?" "Barbara was doon here whin it happn't," replies Ma. "I din' see nut'n," declares Bink. "I was sitt'n onna stool, had my back t't' windeh. I hoidda cawr drivin' up, toin't aroun jus in' time t'see windeh smash, an'ney wen' tearin' up t'street. I jus' run f't'staiehs, I neveh seen nut'n. Ce'p -- well, it looked like a sedan. Maybe a black one, I dunno." "Get busy," commands Ma, "an' clean this mess oop." She looks thru the gaping empty window and sees the Eagle truck toss off a bundle of papers. "We aahlready laaast th' marrnin, but we can still be oop'n farr th' aftarnoon...")

(Don't worry, in a few years he'll be in Korea.)

(If only Wendell Willkie had lived....)

(Kurowski? I won't believe it until the check clears. And what does Leo have against Coooooooookie???)

(Come now, dear, you've been around movie people before...)

(Well, back to work..)

(The folks at 1762 63rd Street would never stand for a landlord like this.)

(Isn't this covered in the Private Eye Code of Ethics? Oh wait...)

(Earl's mother taught him to stay away from creepy kids who want to show him something up the street, but alas, she said nothing about dogfights.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

I bet the bum was NOT even English!

Kids Today.

"We got Spam. You like Spam?" "MORE YANKEE TORTURE!"

Better use two coats of paint on the roof.

"Children learn what they live."

Later?

"It's a good thing we're way out here in the desert where we won't bother anybody..."

"It's all right, this is the week my number will hit..."

But Punjab and the Asp can show up anytime...

So what do you think you're going to do about it?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

The New World is Coming, but not without resistance. Oh, and trust me, a vacuum cleaner does not make an ideal Christmas gift.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Jus' had'em new signs put onna windeh," he laments.

Get used to it Joe, owning a small business is nonstop challenges, nonstop. Being the boss is great until you're actually the boss.

***********************************************************

I bet the bum was NOT even English!

"Prompted by a slip of her husband's tongue..."

"I have a wife."
"What!?"
"I like life."
"Oh. Hmm."

**********************************************************

Kids today.

It kinda is. To be fair, though, they were still working through the "how to use it effectively" part.

**********************************************************

But Punjab and the Asp can show up anytime...

Gray does have a built-in deus ex machina for any plot dead end with those guys.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I jus' dunno," sighs Joe. "I guess I jus' don' unnehstan' it." "You aren't the first one," admits Dr. Levine, "to ask these questions." "I mean," Joe continues, "Sal 'n I was layin' awake t'ot'eh night tawkin'. 'Bout awl kin'sa t'ings, y'know. 'Bout how much fun we useta have, b'foeh t'wawr. 'N I ain' been able t'stawp t'inkin' 'bout how -- well, t' whole woil' feels diff'nt since I come home fr'm t' Awrmy. I mean, t'ez awrways been, I dunno, joiks 'n crooks 'n bums. But -- I mean, don' it seem like now it's jus' -- I dunno -- meaneh? Take t'at guy Flannehry. He din' hafta beat Sammy awl t' hell like he done. But he done it. T'ese guys t'at beat up Solly. Same t'ing. An' now t'eh chuckin' bricks t'ru windehs, an' t'reat'n'in t' do woise? T'ey ain' jus' tryin' t' cheat'cha awr swindle yeh, t'ey're out t' HOIT'cha. It's like t' hoit'n is t' pernt. I know Uncle Frank's mixed up inna buncha shady stuff, an' so is Ma -- but t'ey neveh tried t' hoit nobody. I know Sal's chucked a brick 'a two -- but she neveh wanned t' really HOIT nobody. She's like a cat, try'nta scaeh ya awff by showin'eh clawrs. Y'know? She'd neveh hoit nobody. But now, like I say, wit' t'ese people, t' hoit'n is t' whole pernt. What kin'a people's even like t'at? How'tey get'tat way? Ain' people had enougha t'at durin'a wawr?" Dr. Levine taps her notebook with her pencil, and regards her patient. "You're an unusual man, Joe," she acknowledges. "Sal says so too," sighs Joe. "I dunno how t' take t'at." "You're doing just fine," reassures the Doctor....)

("P-Ns," frowns Sally. "T'at's what'ey cawl'm now, y'know. T'at's what'ey cawl guys like Joe." "Don' let it eatcha, Sal," consoles Alice. "You know he ain' no -- whassis -- PS-ycho." "Sometimes I t'ink," sighs Sally, "he'sa on'y one inna woil' t'at ain't. He's takin'is business wit' t' broken windehs pretty hawrd, y'know. Why would somebody DO t'at? Ma says it'zem juvenile d'linquents. But what kin'a kid t'rows a brick inna windehr'va canny stoeh at two inna mawrnin'? He's oveh t'eh woikin' ten houehs a day sometimes, sellin'em san'wiches, doin'a best'ee can, an'now t'is. I wisht we could do sump'n." She glances at Alice, who is eyeing her as if she were a ticking bomb. "I mean," continues Sally, "do sump'n t' help 'im wit' sellin' san'wiches." "Oh," ohs Alice. "Well," she declares, squaring her shoulders, "who says we can't?")

(I had no idea football ground crews engaged in such elaborate precautions. I thought they just kicked the snow aside and let the players kinda tramp it down.)

(If you don't have a cheap tin file box for your secret papers, a mysterious tunnel is the next best thing.)

(Mr. Bushmiller is what you get if you cross a surrealist with a draftsman.)

(She quoted every bit of that dialogue from "Mary Noble, Backstage Wife.")

(Don't tell us Harry draws caricatures, SHOW US the caricatures!!!)

(Where do you get curare, anyway? Do they have it at the Rexall?)

(Mr. Lantz also faces litigation from Mr. Anderson Panda, Mr. Osvaldo D. Rabbit, and Mr. Wallace Walrus.)

(Bugs is obviously not a snowshoe hare.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

And that, Mr. Schmuckler, is why you should consider changing to bow ties.

We all miss you, Mr. Barrymore. It just hasn't been the same since you left us.

"I'm ready when you awr..." -- Stella the Cat.

In the nine months I've spent in my new job, I've met every one of these folks.

Itchy catches up on the latest issue of "Journal of Dermatology."

You know, Annie, most of those stores carry firearms, knives, and heavy objects that make fine bludgeons. And now that Terry's in command I'm sure we have nothing to worry about.

If Moon's fellow passenger wasn't baldheaded, he'd look exactly like Mr. Rickey. And Josie really needs to have a strip of her own.

Yes, Handsome Harry. That's his legal name. You ought to meet his brothers, Lugubrious Louis, Saturnine Sam, and Ugly Ulrich.

Jack survives an atomic explosion, and lah de dah, he's already off on another job? You're out of your league, Cind.

In the pantheon of a nine-month-old child's fears, Santa stands second only to clowns.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

The cigarette business has always been hazardous to your health.