The Era -- Day By Day

[Fading Fast]

"CAAAAAHL A ****** PLOOMAR!" blasts back Uncle Frank. "YAAAAR A BLOOODY PLOOOMAR!"

Never thought about it as I just assumed he was, but is Frank actually a plumber or is his plumbing biz just a cover for what had been his bootleg operation and now he's got the cover biz without the bootleg one hiding behind it and it turns out, in truth, Frank knows very little about plumbing?

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

If this *was* a movie, I bet Sally threw a brick thru the screen.

If she hadn't already walked out.

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

Page Four Runneth Over.

To do it right, Page 4 needs to do a separate story tomorrow on the Swanson divorce with all the proper background of the marriage, etc. I feel like I just tuned into episode seven of a show I've never seen.

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

Where does Blenda get her clothes, anyway???

You remember her name? And this couple is Blenda and Brownie? Jesus.

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

Or as Walter Winchell calls him, "Gerald Lucifer KKKodfish Smith."

A charming man. In one of the saddest examples of "nothing is new," we have the recent increase of seemingly acceptable antisemitism in politics.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I imagine Frank was a legitimate plumber back around 1915 or so, but he spent most of the time post 1920 applying his skills to the construction of distillery equipment. While he still deals in plumbing and heating supplies, it's likely he lets the boys handle whatever actual calls come in for repair jobs and the like. I think the last time we saw him do an actual plumbing-heating call was very early in the war, when he helped Krause with some problem with the boiler.

I get the sense he doesn't like the plumbing business very much. Too boring for a man of such wide-ranging interests...

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Well, Oi guess we woon't be buildin' no room farr Barbara doon heeere," declares Ma, her voice sour and her expression more so as she gazes across the dank ruin of her basement. "At least," sighs Uncle Frank, glancing at a portable pump chunking away in the corner, ******* the water up a hose and out the open cellar window into the alley behind, "we saved th' baaarler. Boot that cool's gaaat t' droy doon a bit befarr Oi c'n get rid of it." "A foine ****** mess," frowns Ma. "Wintarr'll be hear befarr ye knoo it, an' Oi want that arrrl barrner in b'farr coold witharr. An' we still gatta foind a place farr Barbara." "Tharrd floor," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Ain't noo other place." "We could stick'arr," scowls Ma, "in th' backa ye ploombin' shaaap." "All th' way oop Bedfarrd Avenarr?" dismisses Uncle Frank. "That's a laaang way t'come t'waark farr a wooman in harrr delicate ****dition." "Oi suppooose," gusts Ma. "Oi s'poose we could put t'getharr woon'a th' children's oold beds oop tharr. An' Oi prabbly have sooma tharr oool baby things, enoof t'rig oop a narrrsery." "MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA'AAAAAAAAAM," bellows a voice down the cellar stairs. "T'ezzzz no hawt waaaaaaaaawrteh!" "Nivvvar tell me," grits Ma, "Oi doon't live oop t'me r'sponsabilities.....")

("I dunno WHAT I wanna do," declares Sally. "I jus' know I wanna do SUMP'N." "You're a mother," notes Dr. Levine without looking up. "Some would say that's enough." "Maybe f'some people it is," responds Sally. "But I neveh plan't on it, I tol' you t'at befoeh. Me'n Joe said we'd t'ink about havin' a kid when we was ready, but Leonoreh had ot'eh ideehs." "Ah," smiles Dr. Levine. "Certainly, though, she did have some -- ah -- encouragement." "Yeh, whateveh," dismisses Sally. "But t' pernt is, t'at wasn' neveh t' whole plan, y'know? T'em mont's when I was carryin'eh an'ney laid me awff woik was moideh. Why y't'ink I was tr'owin' radios out't windeh? An'nen when she was ol' enough an' I went'a woik at t' plant, well, t'at was great fr'a while. But t'en I seen what t'ey done t' Alice, bustin'eh down f'rm supehviseh, an' I'm t'inkin', 'what'ta hell wazzat?' Would'ey a'done'at if she was a man? An' I seen'is t'ing inna Daily Woikeh yestehday, t'at jackass Geral' L-K Smit'. 'Get women out'a t'plants an' back inna home w'eh t'ey b'lawng!?' 'T' hell wit'choo buddy, come'n say t'at t'my face, maybe get..." "Um," ums Dr. Levine. "Maybe get tol' weh t'get awff!" finishes Sally. "What'ja T'INK I was gonna say?" "Ah," ahs Dr. Levine....)

(The Dodgers are clearly out of it, but any season where the Yankees finish behind the Senators AND the Browns is a pretty fine season. Pity the A's aren't up there too..)

(Tsk, Red, with the "little girl" stuff. Y'd think he'd have learned by now!)

(Comic Strip Elmer has a far higher winning percentage than Movie Elmer ever did.)

(Phil is such a piece of work. Sit right down and read the paper why don'cha...)

(I've enjoyed Ann Dvorak in everything I've ever seen her in and I haven't seen her in anywhere near enough. There's a 1935 Fox comedy-musical, "Thanks a Million," where she and Patsy Kelly do an innuendo-filled song called "Sugar Plum" with expressions on their faces that totally sell the idiocy of it all. Just sublime.)

("Great. Just a reminder, we haven't been paid for two weeks.")

(How 'bout a stamp for Frankie Germano?)

(I hope a bear comes and eats you both.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Jeez, Lilibet, maybe you better just stick to jeeps.

Clip and save.

I have nothing to say here except that a paper snake is very easy to make if you know how.

Itchy and Shaky were pals? Of course they were.

He doesn't like the funnies? NO WONDER HE GOT FIRED. And I wonder if Joe knows anybody who makes good pies?

Point of Order: Watermelons are more than 90 percent water, and are an excellent choice for a weight-loss diet. And other than Nick Neanderthal in the front seat there, those guys don't look very muscular to me.

Pop has reached that stage of life where trolling is all that's left.

For someone who was never a ten year old girl, Mr. King displays a deep understanding of what it's like.


Look, April -- a new friend!

 

[Fading Fast]

"Certainly, though, she did have some -- ah -- encouragement."

Good one, Doc.

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

I've enjoyed Ann Dvorak in everything I've ever seen her in and I haven't seen her in anywhere near enough. There's a 1935 Fox comedy-musical, "Thanks a Million," where she and Patsy Kelly do an innuendo-filled song called "Sugar Plum" with expressions on their faces that totally sell the idiocy of it all. Just sublime.

Agreed - an underrated and all but forgotten actress. Some personal favorites of mine: "Three on a Match," "Heat Lightening," "Cafe Hostess," and "I Was an American Spy." They are not all great movies, but her performances in them are outstanding.

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

He doesn't like the funnies? NO WONDER HE GOT FIRED.

It's sad that Annie won't get a chance to even say hello to Punjab and the Asp.

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

Look, April -- a new friend!

Charles is congenitally wired to brag. He would be unable to talk if he couldn't brag.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("You eveh t'ink about t'at, Sal?" muses Alice. "T' woil' comin'tw'n end, I mean?" "Ehhh," ehhs Sally. "If t'woil's eveh gonna come t'w'n end, it'll be us t'at end it." "I remembeh somebody gimme a papeh onna street oncet," recalls Alice. "Said t'woil' was gonna come t'w'n end in 1925. Had it awl figyehed right out wit' awl kin'sa chawrts n' figyehs n' awlat. Made a lawtta sense." "Did it?" scoffs Sally. "Did what?" puzzles Alice. "Did t'woil' end," sighs Sally. "In 1925?" "Well, no," admits Alice. "It coulda. T'at was a bad yeeh. I awrmos' -- well, t'at was a bad yeeh. But I guess it didn' comet'w'n end a'nut'n." "See t'eh?" sighs Sally, resting her head against the back of the seat. "I wondeh, t'ough," ponders Alice. "What if t'ey gawtt'eh addin' wrawng. What if t'ey really mean' 1945?" "Still gawt t'ree mont's,"' exhales Sally. "I hope nawt," mutters Alice. "I gawt Chris'mas presents awn layaway....")

("H'lo?" greets Joe, leaning into the telephone while balancing the classified directory over his free arm. "Izzis -- ah -- Active Pr'vision Comp'ny? Yeh, my name is Joe Petrauskas, an' I'm op'nin' a lunch counteh in Eas' Flatbush, an' -- y'ain't takin' new accounts till'a meat sitchiation stabilizes. Oh. Well t'anks anyways. Yeh. Bye." Joe holds down the hook, fumbles in his pocket for another nickel, and dings it down the slot. He dials another EVergreen number, down there in the meatpacking district. "H'lo," he resumes. "Izzis -- ah -- Albrecht, Kolbeh, an' -- um -- Boigdolt? My name is -- Oh. No new accounts till'a meat sitchiation -- yeh. Awright, g'bye." "Heeere noo, Joseph," interrupts Ma. "Stoop spendin' yarrr oon nickels. Oi got this jar 'a slick nickels Barbara broong in on th' roonds. Use thim." "Slick nickels?" repeats Joe. "Ain'nat illegal? I dowanna cheat t' phone compn'y. I mean, Sal woiks f't'phone compn'y! Wouldn' be right." Ma shakes her head with amazement. "Joseph me boy," she chuckles, "hoooo did'jee evaaar end oop in this family....")

(Doc Brady is absolutely terrified of Mary Haworth.)

(Coming Events...)

(So they're twelve games out. Where were they a year ago, huh???)

(For that matter, what would Mary Haworth say about this??)

(I hope you both get trichiniosis.)

(Fish in a barrel.)

(And, ew, they never clean their rugs...)

("Hello, police? There's a creepy man in pajamas loose in my neighborhood!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Imogene! "Do we have to do this today???"

Coming events....

"Ye wasn't sooo snooty," sneers Shaughnessy the Butcher, "whin ye neeeded that paaaht rooost!" "That," huffs Mrs. Doyle, "was THEN."

You know you've arrived as a crime boss when you have a lackey standing ready to scrach your back.


Without a reliable distribution chain, production is to no avail.

Blenda is the best-dressed woman in the funnies.

Editors leaning on you again, Mr. Gray?

Once a rattle-brained hepcat...


April needs to go home.

Mooch money? That's about right.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker...

If you've heard one radio kiddie show, you've heard them all, forever.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Joseph me boy," she chuckles, "hoooo did'jee evaaar end oop in this family...."



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

Fish in a barrel.

Somebody was in the mood to draw a bunch of loud sport coats.

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

Coming events....

"Mastic Acres," not quite the bucolic name these post-war development would soon be known for.

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

You know you've arrived as a crime boss when you have a lackey standing ready to scrach your back.

And literally, not idiomatically.

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

If you've heard one radio kiddie show, you've heard them all, forever.

He'd love social media. The tossed-in, "...ever knifed a workingman on a dark rainy Monday..." was a bit jarring, but certainly on brand.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ma," queries Leonora. "Do we know t'at lit'l goil?" ""Huh," replies Sally. "Nah, she lives in -- t'at'd be up'n Pawrk Slope, I t'ink. T'at's -- well, when we go t'ya granma's, y'know weh we get awff t' Brighton trolley downa bawttom'a Prawspec' Pawrk? It's about a mile away f'm neh." "Oh," ohs Leonora. She returns to the newspaper laid out on the floor, and shoos away an interfering Stella the Cat, who never met a front page she didn't want to chew. "Ma," repeats Leonora. "We still gawt'tat strolleh we had when I was a kid?" "When I was a kid," chuckles Joe, putting away the evening dishes. "I t'ink it's downa basemen'," shrugs Sally. "Y'can ask Krause nex' time y'see 'im." "Can we give it," suggests Leonora, "t'tat lit'l goil? I ain' gawt no monkey, but she c'n have my strolleh. I don't t'ink i'm gonna use it no moeh." "I dunno," replies Sally. "Din'ney say inneh it needs t'be a special kin'a strolleh?" "Oh," sighs Leonora. "Ma, what kin'a rat would steal'em t'ings?" "T'woise kind," exhales Sally...")

("Yeh," agrees Mozelewski. "Kaplan t'inks we oughta have a flooehwawkeh, an' I agree. I'm awrways inna back t'eh drawrin' an' cutt'n an' sewin', an' she can't be evrywhez out'eeh at oncet." "If I'm gonna do t'woik'a five people," inserts Miss Kaplan from across the store, "I wanna PAY of five people." "We'eh jus' gettn' t'wheh t'ezza lawtta people comin' in'eeh," Mozelewski continues. "We been stayin' open Friday an' Satehday nights, an' people comin' outa t' Patio afteh t' oily show look in'na windeh, come in an' lookit t'stuff. But we gotta lay on some extra help. T'at one goil come in'eeh boosted a paier'a gloves, 'at's justa tippa t'iceboig." "I seen'eh plain as day," hastens Miss Kaplan, rushing up to the conference. "Brown haeih brushed back witta koichief awn, awright? She had dungarees awn, an' a green sweateh, one'a t'em kind fits tight acrost t'ese 'eeh, awright? An' a checkehed jacket awn toppa t'at, wit' t' cuffs unbuttoned. I bet she shoved'em gloves right up'tem sleeves is what I betcha." "Ahhhhhh," ahs Uncle Frank, closing his eyes against the image. "A floooorwaaalkarr ye want? Oi'll see what Oi can do." "T'is is a high class jernt," insists Miss Kaplan, her arms sternly folded. "We don't need no charactehs." "Oh," nods Uncle Frank. "To be sure.....")

(The calm before the storm.)

("A t'eateh wheh y'sit inna cawr?" marvels Bink Scanlan. "I neveh hoida t'at." "Yeh," nods Solly Pincus. " 'S out'n Valley Stream. I wenneh a few times befoe'h t'wawr. T'is guy at t' pickle woiks loaned me a cawr. T' pitchehs stunk butcha couldn' beat t' atmospheeh." "Oh," nods Bink, her face blank. "T'at's a joke," eyerolls Solly. "Jeez, Stovelid, y'know what? You ain' gawt no sense'a humeh." "I go out witchoo, don' I?" scoffs Bink. "You do?" puzzles Solly....)

(Augie Galan has an elephant ***? And here Rickey finally got rid of the moosehead.)

(You know, somebody ought to introduce him to Mary Worth. She needs something to keep her busy in her retirement...)

(I hope he gets bit by a tick.)

(You know, Inspector, Valentine didn't get a 50-grand-a-year radio job sitting around reading the Racing Form...)

(Fortunately, Margie came armed with an industrial-grade hatpin.)

(Wait'll the patrol cars show up...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"What happend to my MAYOR car? Hmmm???" -- Butch.

Only 21, and he's already an "old drinking pal." You've got a bright future, kid.

Coming Events...

You're playing a dangerous game when you play games with a carny.

Wearing the Uniform...

Wahhhhh wahhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhh......

You Can't Go Home Again.

Another outstanding business plan.

This will certainly end well for all involved.

The world's only 35-year-old 6 year old.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Ahhhhhh," ahs Uncle Frank, closing his eyes against the image.

LOL.

The Miss Kaplans of the world can be annoying as hell, but the skill that makes them so, can sometimes come in quite handy.

The irony about Frank's two new businesses is that he can have the success he's always wanted from a not-plumbing and honest business, he just has to not let his ego get in the way. He'll be a rich man in five years if he can do that.

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

"A t'eateh wheh y'sit inna cawr?" marvels Bink Scanlan. "I neveh hoida t'at." "Yeh," nods Solly Pincus. " 'S out'n Valley Stream.

Of course it's in Valley Stream.

This is all fun and games until Ms. Bink Scanlan starts showing. If Solly doesn't run then – sorry, but few young men want to date a pregnant woman, then marry her, and then raise another man's baby (there are a lot of hurdles there) – then he'll be saddled with her forever or pay a lot to unsaddle himself later.

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

You know, somebody ought to introduce him to Mary Worth. She needs something to keep her busy in her retirement...

Do we know how this idiot made his money? I'm thinking second-generation wealth.

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

Only 21, and he's already an "old drinking pal." You've got a bright future, kid.

The editor was clearly too tired to clean up that mess of a story, but the other standout line: "...whom police describe as an overage *** girl..."

Imogene better enjoy her summer of freedom now, as this will probably be her last one. That said, the in-laws have money, so she will have good councel.

Separately, "Sworn perfect diamond rings." What an awful ad.

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

Wahhhhh wahhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhh......

Walt deserves this – his actions were obnoxious. Nothing is going to really happen to him, but he's earned some embarrassment.

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

This will certainly end well for all involved.

Agreed. General ****** understood that the basic needs of his men had to be met. April's playing with fire.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("These arre difficoolt toimes," declares Uncle Frank, looking across the Toomey's booth at his lunch companion. "I quite agree," nods Ignatius J. Quinlan, despite his moustache showing not the slightest sign of postwar uncertainty as it reclines astride his gleaming smile. "The cessation of gasoline rationing alone caused me a great deal of unexpected loss." "Oi toold'jee," reminds Uncle Frank, "not to print soo ****** many'a thim things." "I had the paper," shrugs Inky, "quite unsuited as it was for any other purpose. Forecasts of the war lasting into 1946..." "Nivvar lissen," warns Uncle Frank, "t'thim bloohards aaahn th' raddio." "To think," exhales Mr. Quinlan with definite dismay, "that Mr. Kaltenborn should lead me into such a frustrating disappointment." "Well, it's th' same thing with me an' th' liquor trade," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Twilve daaalaars a quarrt yistarday, floosh it doon th' drain t'marra. That's whoy Oi'm movin' intarr new loines a' business. Legitimate business, Oi moit add, soo Oi ain't gaaat'a keep payin' off that ****** parasite Doyle." "Isn't he in jail yet?" chortles Inky. "Such a dreadful man." "Ye moit'a seen me new waaar saaarploos business," continues Uncle Frank, "Sergeant Solly's Sarrploos, Oi call it. We got a stoor down on Rogarrs next t' Nora's place, an' anoothar roon boy me partnarr Lowrey in Chicagarr. An' warr lookin' at oopenin' in Queens soon, got me oye aaahn a soite in Flooshin'." "Who," frowns Inky, "is Sergeant Solly?" "Joost soom charactarr faar th' advertoisin'," dismisses Uncle Frank. "Loike Mistarr Peanut aarr Miss Rheingoold. And Oi'm alsoo branchin' inta foine ladies' fashions.." "Phfffffffrrrtt!!!" snorts Inky, nearly disarranging his moustache with spewed coffeee. "It's very hoi-claaaass establishment featurin' th' original desoins of Mistarr Emil Moozelewski. Noo doot ye've haard oov'im." "Oh, indubitably," chuckles Inky, blotting up the coffee drips with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Which brings me t'wa -- praaaaphasition," unveils Uncle Frank. "Oi have a place in me ooorganization farr a man of ye -- ah -- talents, and..." "Oh, really Frank," scoffs Inky. "Forging dress labels is hardly my..." "Oi had a mooch maaaar d'irect rool in moind faaar ye," interrupts Uncle Frank. "Oi b'lieve you would be joost th' man faaar th' poosition ooov -- flooorwaaalkarr." "Oh," ohs Inky from behind a moustache displaying just the slightest twitch...)

("Whatta you lookin' at?" puzzles Alice, as Sally stumbles down the stairs into the foyer, with her eyes strangely popped. "I dunNO," frowns Sally, groping for the bannister as she descends. "I can't find my glasses! I took'm awff las' night an' putt'm awnna nightstan'. An' I gawt up an' couln' fin'm. I roont my eyes at t'at damn plant, y'know, putt'n't'gett'eh awlem cat'odes. I'm blin' as a bat wit'out t'em glasses! I dunno how I'm gonna.." She trails off, as from the Ginsburgs' apartment, Leonora bursts out into the foyer. "Hey," demands Sally, "shouln' you be onna train t't' clinic wit' Misteh GInsboig?" "We'eh leavin' inn a minute," dismisses Leonora. "I jus' gotta get..." "Hey, wait a minute," interrupts Alice. "Lookit, Sal -- tez'ya glasses! She's wearin' 'em!" "What?" blurts Sally. "Heeh, gimme t'em back!" "I need 'm, Ma," argues Lenora. "We'eh doin' a play at t' Clinic, an' we'eh awl sposta come dressed up azza most impoehten' poisson we know. An'nat's you!" "Awww," melts Sally. "Well, when'ya putt'it t'at..." "Yeh," nods Leonora, pushing the glasses up onto her forehead. "Now lemme go upstaiehs, I fa'gawt t'mos' impoeten' t'ing." "Whassat?" asks Sally as her daughter races upstairs. "A brick!" comes the reply, as Alice collapses against the newel post in laughter...)

(Mr. Schroth could have just reprinted his editorial from 1941, but where's the fun in that?)

(You're going to use up every last one of these gags, aren't you?)

(Of course he's mellowed. Did he even once mention Magerkurth??)


(Is this guy supposed to be Bogart or Jimmy Durante? It could really go either way.)

(I hope this is the world's only shark-infested fresh-water lake.)

("Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now let me call my bookie.")

("Quick, into the -- um, refrigerator!")

(Kitty lives for these moments.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

An officer and a gentleman.

Yeah, a change of venue would be terrible for everyone, especially the Fairfield County Chamber of Commerce.

Didn't we just do this story?

Thirteen weeks of this? Oh my.

Avast, ya swabs!

"A peddler's permit? A health certificate? What ever became of Free Enterprise??"

"They must be in on it together! Oh Brownie, what'll we do?"

"But the price was right, and they even threw in the matching top!"

Them's the breaks, toots.

Direct marketing always pays.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Flame Darcy's really let herself go.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Isn't he in jail yet?" chortles Inky. "Such a dreadful man."

One of my favorite things is when crooks take (in their minds) genuine offense at other crooks.

I could see this job working out for Inky. He could be (his favorite thing) supercilious and effective at the same time.

Ma might want to close up the "back room" shop again for a bit until LaGuardia's latest anti-gambling huff is over.

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

"A brick!" comes the reply, as Alice collapses against the newel post in laughter...



I don't remember Russel's making our department store list from last month – is it a department or specialty store?

Is the (in very fine print) "Subject to a 20% excise tax" because it's fur?

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

You're going to use up every last one of these gags, aren't you?

I thought for sure you were going to write, "Coming Events..." here.

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

Is this guy supposed to be Bogart or Jimmy Durante? It could really go either way.

At the right angle, he's got some Allen Jenkins in him too.

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

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now let me call my bookie."

"Let's see, the number for Lieb's is..."

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

Flame Darcy's really let herself go.

I had the same thought, it's like looking into her future.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Russek's is a higher-end store on about the level of Oppenheim-Collins, but with a heavy emphasis on furs. And the tax is exactly that, a luxury tax on fur goods.

Mavis Doyle wears a fur she got in an end-of-season sale at Abraham & Strauss, but she tells everyone it's from Russeks.

 

[Farace]

The Stevens case has me slightly concerned; lots of George Stevenses in my genealogy, with some of them living just a bit east of where the case is taking place. I need to do more digging and make sure there is no connection. Definitely not my great-grandfather George, or his son George, but there could be cousins involved.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Sal-ly t' Freshman, t' freshes' kid in town..." sings Joe, as Sally straggles in at quarter of ten, her arms laden with books. "Funny man," eyerolls Sally, offloading the books to the kitchen table and hanging her jacket on the peg by the door. They exchange the customary greeting, and Sally inhales deeply. "Koldunnies?" she guesses, spotting a covered dish on the stove. "Yeh," nods Joe. "Misses Ginsboig had some soueh cream she gimme, so I figyehed why nawt? T'at's p'tatehs inn'm, an' I used up t'at ol' cheese we had." "Heh," hehs Sally, dishing herself a serving and taking a seat. "You gonna sell'ese innat lunchroom ya gonna op'n?" "Nah," admits Joe. "Too much woik. On'y way t'make money awnis is keep it simple. How'sya fois' night in collitch?" "Awrientation," replies Sally. "Lawta people tawkin'. I was hopin' Gideonse was gonna be t'eh so I could tell'im we'ht'a get awff, but he din' show. T' Dean a' Women wazzeh t'ough. Did'jeh know she's a colehed lady?" "Huh," huhs Joe. "Wha'd she have t'say?" "Eh," ehs Sally. "Jus' 'welcome t' Brooklyn Collitch, as y' begin a new chapteh in ya life, t'at kin'a stuff. It'uz a betteh speech'n'a one'ney give us when I went'a woik at t' plant, but a speech is a speech. Ain't gawt much t'do wit' loinin' 'bout sociology." "Maybe jus' goin'neh." observes Joe, "will loin ya 'bout sociology." "I hope I do get t'meet Gideonse," muses Sally. "It's too good of a collitch t'be run by a bum. Hey, y'gawt any moeh'ra t'at soueh cream...?")


("Yes, Mr. Leary sent me to assume the position of floorwalker," gleams Inky. "Ignatius J. Quinlan at your service, sir." "Emil Mozelewski," nods the proprietor, extending a hand. "Glad t' know ya, Iggy. Cawl me Moze." "Very good, sir," glistens Inky. "You may call me 'Mr. Quinlan.' And might you perhaps introduce me to your good lady?" "Who?" puzzles Mozelewski. "Oh, no, no, we ain't -- she ain't -- um, t'is is Miss Kaplan, she's me cloik." "And his model," injects Miss Kaplan. "Ahh," oozes Inky, taking the extended Kaplan hand, inverting it, and kissing it in the approved manner. "Whatta ya?" snorts Miss Kaplan. "One a t'em Page Foeh counts?" "Ah," ahs Inky, his sang-froid undisturbed. "Lemme show ya w'eh t' putcha hat," sighs Mozelewski. "Very good, sir," nods Inky. "Might I trouble you for a fresh carnation for my lapel ? I had meant to purchase one from a local vendor, but when I stopped to do so after alighting from my conveyance, I found that I had somehow become separated from my billfold..." "T'em trolleys," sighs Mozelewski. "Infested wit' dips." "Dreadful," agrees Inky...)

(All together now, folks -- WAIT TILL NEXT YEEEH!)


(The newest incarnation of the Brooklyn Football Dodgers.)

(A walk is as good as a hit. Remember that.)

("Sorry, not taking new patients."-- Dr. Levine.)

(I hope they are both sucked into an undertow.)

(Jeez, Janie, don't you have a deadline to meet?)

(All in a night's work for AMERICA'S MOST NEGLECTED HERO CAT.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Tarzan? Where's my royalties?" -- E. R. Burroughs.

Ehh. I slept thru the whole thing.

"Is that why you never miss 'It Pays To Be Ignorant?'"

In the offices of the News Syndicate Company, the comics editor sits with his head sunken to his desk and wonders if it's too late to find another line of work...

Limeade? Maybe you're allergic to citrus.

Leave the wise guy stuff to actual wise guys.

Two years in the Army certainly does beef up a man.

It's not too late, *****, to disappear again...

Flip has had just about enough of this. ISNT THAT RIGHT LIEUTENANT CHARLES?

Now that's style.