The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"SAL!" bellows Alice, flourishing her copy of the News. "LOOK!" "Eh?" moans Sally, looking up from her copy of the Worker. "Imogene? Whatuvvit?" "No, no!" sputters Alice. "Down'eeh! LOOK!" Sally glances, blinks, adjusts her glasses, and gapes. "BORSCHT FACE!" she yelps, seizing the paper. "Borscht Face, a PIN UP??? She scans the article, her eyes widening at its revelations. "'Magine'at, Sal," marvels Alice. "Awlat time woikin' right downeh onna floooeh wit' us makin' tubes. A PIN UP!" "Joe was inna Sevent' Awrmy," frowns Sally, her eyes narrowing. "An'ee neveh said a woid." "Aw, Sal," reassures Alice. "You know he ain' like..." "Borscht Face!" hisses Sally, tossing the paper back to Alice and sinking bitterly back in her seat....

Jeezuz.


Nutrition advice from D I C K Tracy.

Selling furniture doesn't look so bad now, does it?

Even Shadow's sick of this.

"HMPH! He's funny lookin', too!" -- Bink Scanlan.

Second spanking reference in a week. What's going on, Gus?


Careful, kiddo -- you don't know what you're dealing with here.

There will, however, be a small service charge.

And what is it these days with cutting off ears????

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker....

"TOL' YA!" explodes Sally, dashing her paper to the floor. "Y'know, Sal," sighs Alice. "Y'shoul'n' otta read about it if it's jus' gonna make ya mad." An unspeakable phrase escapes Sally's lips, as she sinks even further back into her seat.....

 

[Fading Fast]

"Hm," hms Ma, as her son-in-law dashes out the door. "Moosta binna moity foine suit...."

Smart woman; she knows Mr. Ginsburg did more than make him a suit.

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

In my family, we all wore yellow. Cheaper that way.

My very unsentimental parents went with cream of which the only proof I have is that my "baby blanket" made it to my adolescence and it was cream.

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

Who pays Jane's salary, anyway?

Her fur coat is really bugging you, isn't it?

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

Careful, kiddo -- you don't know what you're dealing with here.

And it's not like the Japanese soldiers aren't, well, interested too. IRL, she'd have been forced against her will right after they were captured.

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

"TOL' YA!" explodes Sally, dashing her paper to the floor. "Y'know, Sal," sighs Alice. "Y'shoul'n' otta read about it if it's jus' gonna make ya mad." An unspeakable phrase escapes Sally's lips, as she sinks even further back into her seat.....

There's something very modern about how everyone here chooses the paper he/she wants to read. Sally gets and absolutely believes everything she reads in the Daily Worker, the way everyone chooses his/her social media site or people to follow today. The human desire to have his/her beliefs confirmed is not new.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ye've ootdoon ye'self," declares Ma, as she consumes her Beefwich lunch. "It's th' best woon ye've made." "It otta be good," sighs Joe. "T'at's kosheh meat, bes' y'can get'. But y'betteh'r enjoy it, t'eh'r'ain' gonna be no moeh. An' till it runs out, it's strickly one t'wa customeh, an' none'a t'em Big Joe Specials." Joe leans against the counter, and lets out a deep breath. "Big Joe,'" he mutter. "At'sa laugh." "It woon't be a laaang stroike," assures Ma. "At's what Sal said when she wen' out. An'nit's been two weeks. We can't get alawng f'ra'not'eh two weeks." "Ye still gaaat'chee jaaahb here," assures Ma. "Ev'n withoot th' sanwiches, it's been a help havin'yee here. I doon't have t'be oot front, Oi can doo business oot back. We'll get by." "It still ain' enough, Ma," insists Joe. "Y'realize Sal was bringin' in most'a t'money while I been try'na get t'is san'wich t'ing goin'. An' we spent mosta what we had saved up on Leonoreh's docteh bills. An'nat STILL ain' finished. I gotta take'h in t'see Docteh Glass t'marra." He is silent for a long moment, staring out the front window as the grimy red trolley rumbles past. "I shoulda gone backta Sperry's when I hadda chance," he laments. "Or even'a pickle woiks. Or even...." "Even whoot?" queries Ma. "Ahhhh, nut'n," dismisses Joe. "Solly Pincus ast me 'bout sump'n once, some new stoeh he's gonna op'n. I dunno. Lawng Islan' City a' someplace." "Saaaargeant Pincus is a smart man," nods Ma. "But I do'wanna be aroun' no..." sighs Joe. "Um -- I jus' can't do it, t'at's awl." Ma regard her son-in-law carefully. "Ye oondarstand, Joseph, why Oi've nivvar asked farr ye t'help oot in -- ah -- me oothar business." "Yeh," acknowledges Joe. "An' ya prob'ly right." "It'll aaahl waaark oot soon," assures Ma. "Yeh," exhales Joe.....)

("Y'ain' sayin' much t'day," observes Sergeant Doyle, biting off a chunk of donut and taking a puff from his cigarette in a single languid motion. "Oi ain't feelin' any too caaaahnvarsational," replies Uncle Frank. "Oi'd loike t'joost go hoom t'bed." "Whassamatteh?" inquires Doyle. "Y'got'ta flu?" "I got a bad case a' -- well, Oi don'waanna discoos it," dismisses Uncle Frank. He takes a sip of his tepid coffee, and makes a foul face in response. "Tell me, Thomas," he resumes, having finished choking. "Haaaave they had any luuuck -- ahhh -- ovaaaar in Jaaaarsey, did'jee hear?" "Joisey?" puzzles Doyle. "Whattabout Joisey?" "Ohhh," deflects Uncle Frank, "Oi was joost woooondarrin', ooooh, f'rexample. that fellar -- oooh, whatr was his name, Willits? Wilentz, that's it. Did they ivvvar foind out who -- ahh -- poot'im in th' rivaaar?" "How'dw I know?" shrugs Doyle. "An' who caehs anyways? An'oteh hood gets dumped inna drink in Joisey. Stop t' presses! You t'ink t'ey give a damn oveh t'eh? Arways plenny moeh wheh he come from." "Ah," considers Uncle Frank. "Ah.")

(Who needs the sun when you've got General Electric?)

("Stadium fans are not bleacher crowds." WELL LAAAAAH DEE DAAAAAAH)

("Can y'b'lieve it?" snorts Solly Pincus. "I get back las' night an' I go inna stoeh t'see who lef' t' lights awn, an' Frank an'nat woimy pal 'a his wit' t' hokey moustache is inna back lookin' at doity pitchehs! Soon's I wawk inneh t'eh shovin'm inna envelope, an'nat Inky guy's shovin' it undeh'ris coat. Sweahtagawd!" "T'is is a good show we'eh gonna see," ignores Bink Scanlan. "Rosa seen it. A moideh myst'ry. I loved a good moideh myst'ry." "I don't," scoffs Solly. "Lotta bunk." "Fatty lookin' at goily pitchehs," snickers Bink. "I won'eh what he'd do if t' ol' lady foun' out." "Don' stawrt trouble," recommends Solly, as they approach the Patio's ticket window. "He's awready in trouble enough wit' me...")

(Uneasy lies the head...)

(Should we care? Did I miss something already?)

(It's probably not even real mink.)

(Well, this seems unnecessarily complicated...)

(Whenever someone tells you there's nothing to worry about, there's everything to worry about.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Meanwhile, Imogene looks into ships bound for Rio...

You gotta be kiddin'.

Someday, Greasy, somebody's gonna have a knife.


*Sniff sniff* "I THOUGHT something was in the air!"

Handsome's been waiting for this.

You do have to admire their follow-thru.

Somebody recently said the wrong thing to Mr. Clark.

It's a nice trick to pronounce punctuation out loud, and in dialect. Too bad Victor Borge did it first.

Laundries are hiring. Just a hint, boys.

"Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

You tell 'em, Hamp.

 

[Fading Fast]

"It'll aaahl waaark oot soon," assures Ma. "Yeh," exhales Joe.....

I know it has to be finessed around face saving and all that, but Ma has got to funnel some money to Joe and soon.

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

"An' who caehs anyways? An'oteh hood gets croaked in Joisey. Stop t' presses! You t'ink t'ey give a damn oveh t'eh? Arways plenny moeh wheh he come from."

Having grown up in the 1970s not far from the northern swamps of NJ, what Doyle says is true – the cops couldn't have cared less about another dead hood.

As Dylan wrote in "Tweeter and the Monkey Man,"

Jan had told him many times "It was you to me who taught
In Jersey, anything's legal as long as you don't get caught"

I don't think the cops are going to try to find Solly as he didn't get caught at the time of the crime. It's over and done.

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

"Stadium fans are not bleacher crowds." WELL LAAAAAH DEE DAAAAAAH

Over to you Mike Gold.

Re Joseph Lopatka, hard to believe there was a time when professional baseball players truly needed off-season jobs.

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

It's probably not even real mink.

Oh, it's real, and from a Manhattan not [said dripping with disdain] a Brooklyn furrier.

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

Meanwhile, Imogene looks into ships bound for Rio...

I don't know if she needs to, she seems to be teflon. Guilty as sin, but it looks like she's going to get away with it.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("We ain' picketin' today," shrugs Alice, sitting at the kitchen table behind a cup of Sanka, "so howcome *you* din' take Leonoreh t't' docteh?" "Joe t'ought it'd go betteh if he took 'eh," grumbles Sally. "I got a few t'ings t'say t' t'at Docteh Glass, but he don' t'ink I oughta say'm. Anyt'ing t' keep t' peace. B'sides, I got sump'n I wanna tawk t' *you* about." "Oh," ohs Alice, her eyes twitching. "Don' lookit me like'at," frowns Sally. "Y'awrways lookit me like t'at." "Sawry," exhales Alice, turning her cup nervously. "We gotta help Joe wit't'is meat t'ing," continues Sally. "I hoid'about a place t'at's got awlis frozen meat, y'know? An'ney ain' limitin'. Now. if we c'n get somea't'at, an' put it awn ice..." Alice glances over at the Petrauskas icebox. "InNEH?" she gapes. "You baehly gawt room inneh f'r'a bot'l a' milk. You ain' gettin' no side a' meat inneh." "No, no," dismisses Sally. "We'eh gonna build a big ice box up onna roof'a Ma's place, an' we'eh gonna lay it out inneh. An' we'eh gonna get a whole lawtta ice, an' we'eh gonna put it inneh, an' t'eh ya go. We got anot'eh, what, six, eight weeks till spring stawrts comin' awn, right? T'strike'll be oveh by t'en, an' inna meantime Joe jus' goes up t'eh, sawrs awff t'meat he needs, an' takes it down an' grinds it up. "N'eh ya go." "How ya gonna build an icebox?" challenges Alice. "I don' mean you an' me is gonna build it," retorts Sally. "Krause is gonna build it. He knows how t'do t'at stuff, don'ee? He c'n scrounge up some wood awr some met'l awr whateveh, an' knock it t'ge'teh." "Wheh ya gonna get awla ice?" demands Alice. "T'at much meat ain' gonna take no fifty pounds. Y'wanna keep sump'n froze, y' gonna need a LOTTA ice." "I got'tat covehed," insists Sally. "T'at friend'a Joe's, t'at Mozelewski. Joe tol' e t'at befoeh t'wawr, he woiked f'ran ice comp'ny. He'll know who t'tawk to. We'eh goin' oveh t'marra, an' we'eh gonna have a tawk wit'im." "I dunno, Sal," warns Alice. "T'at gal woiks oveh t'eh, t'at Miss Koitzman, she don' like you." "She's nuts," scoffs Sally. "Oh," sighs Alice...)

("Hmm," hms Uncle Frank, glancing down at the Eagle. "Whot d'ye thinka this, Nora?" "Oi think we could do withoot any maaar'a thim atomic whotsits," comments Ma. "No," continues Uncle Frank. "This woon here. Frooozen beef. All ye waaant. We could lood oop th' troock an' take care'a aaaahl th' meat Joe needs till this stroike bloos oovar." "Whar ye goin' t'poot it?" challenges Ma. "We oonly gaaaht that little freezaaar there in th' foontain faaaar th' oice cream. And it'll oonly keep faar a few days in that refrigaarataaar." "Oi gaaaht it figured," declares Uncle Frank. "Th' taaaahpa that refrigerataaar thar, with th' coil aaahn thaar, that joost lifts aaahf, am Oi roit? Well, what if Oi have Jimmy an' Danny take sooma that coorugated metal Oi got at the ploombin' shaap an' make a big box with a hool in th' toop, an' we take that machinery off tharr and stick it in the big box, an' use THAT farr a freezar?" "What'd we doo far a refrigaaaaratar doon here?" argues Ma. "We joost poot oice in it loike we usta doon," concludes Uncle Frank. "Ye ain't messin' with me refrigerataaar," scowls Ma. "Maybe ye partnaaar the Saaaaaargeant can get'chee a freezarrr." "Oi feel th' coold," sighs Uncle Frank, "ivvvry toime'ee walks in th' room....")

("Yeh," answers Solly. "Izzis t' Wawr Assets? T'is is Sergeant Solomon Pincus of Sergeant Solly's Soiplus of Brooklyn an' Chicageh. Lissen, I'm lookin' f'some refrigehratin' equipmen'. Yeh, like in a camp kitchen. No, I do'wanna buy no paint. Yeh, you go ask ya bawss. I'll wait...")

(The Sycophant's Guild, not affiliated with the CIO.)

(Don't look at me, I got a D in math.)

(Yeah, Jeff darling, you've got it real tough.)


(NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW.)


("We're done here. C'mon, Sandy, let's eat.")

(There's one in every office.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

"Original in the extreme." Well, c'mon, who wants to keep hearing the same old routines?


Coming events...

Drowning his sorrows in Coke and Royal Lunch Biscuits? He's beyond help.

If we spend the next two weeks seeing Slimehurst repeatedly hit in the head, I think I'm OK with that.


Didn't know when he was well off...

"No use turning it over to Skeezix, he'd never understand..."

At least Andy changed back into evening wear for the occasion...


Smile, boys!

Tomorrow: Harold joins a motorcycle gang.

Hey, you can settle your back rent!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Casey has "gained much weight in the Army." Hemingway better watch out.


See, that's why they should have found a part for Gyps.

And that's why Sally and Alice have time to build an ice chest.

 

[Fading Fast]

"T'at much meat ain' gonna take no fifty pounds. Y'wanna keep sump'n froze, y' gonna need a LOTTA ice." "I got'tat covehed," insists Sally. "T'at friend'a Joe's, t'at Mozelewski. Joe tol' e t'at befoeh t'wawr, he woiked f'ran ice comp'ny. He'll know who t'tawk to. We'eh goin' oveh t'marra, an' we'eh gonna have a tawk wit'im."

It's January in New York, how effin' hard could it be to get ice? Can't they just put water outside and make it?


"I dunno, Sal," warns Alice. "T'at gal woiks oveh t'eh, t'at Miss Koitzman, she don' like you." "She's nuts," scoffs Sally. "Oh," sighs Alice...

I love Alice.

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

"Yeh," answers Solly. "Izzis t' Wawr Assets? T'is is Sergeant Solomon Pincus of Sergeant Solly's Soiplus of Brooklyn an' Chicageh. Lissen, I'm lookin' f'some refrigehratin' equipmen'. Yeh, like in a camp kitchen. No, I do'wanna buy no paint. Yeh, you go ask ya bawss. I'll wait..."

It's a good idea, but I bet Krause can build one on the fly if this falls through. (And I wouldn't mess with Ma's refrigerator.)

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

There's one in every office.

At least one.

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

"Original in the extreme." Well, c'mon, who wants to keep hearing the same old routines?

"He divorced her first and then died." That was so inconvenient for her.

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

Coming events...

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

If we spend the next two weeks seeing Slimehurst repeatedly hit in the head, I think I'm OK with that.

Agreed.

Also:

Good one.

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

"No use turning it over to Skeezix, he'd never understand..."

It's a version of Joe and Solly.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("We gotta close up!" panics Miss Kaplan, dashing in the front door of Mozelewski's of Brooklyn, her eyes wide with terror. "Lock t' dooeh! Pull downa blinds!" "I beg your pardon, my dear," purrs Mr. Quinlan, his face quizzical. "Don't jus' stann'eh like a wax mannekin!" gapes Miss Kaplan. "LOCK T' DOOEH! I seen'eh gett'n awff t' subway at Prospeck Pawrk! An' she's got'teh goon wit't'eh, t'at Misses Gargantua wit' t' red haieh! I run awlaway back'eeh! T'eh right behin' me!" "Whass goin' awn out'eeh?" demands Mozelewski, emerging from his studio. "She's COMIN'!" gasps Miss Kaplan. "T'at crazy woman! Joe's wife! She must'a foun' out!" "What??" blurts Mozelewski. Miss Kaplan whirls to confront Inky. "AN' YOU TAWKED ME INT"WIT! AN' NOW SHE'S COMIN'AFTEH'RAWL'UVVUS!" "What?" repeats Mozelewski, as the door opens. Miss Kaplan freezes, her face white with fear. "Mrs. Petrauskas," gleams Inky. "And Mrs. Krause. How delightful to see you today. How may we be of service? May I call your attention to our new spring collection..." "I'M SAWRY!" bellows Miss Kaplan. "IT GAWT OUTA HAN'!" "What?" blurts Sally. "Yeh," agrees Mozelewski. "Ah," shimmers Inky. "Hey," wonders Alice. "Y' gawt t'eese gloves in size 8?")

("It's bloooody freezin' oop'eer," shivers Uncle Frank. "Looks like we awl come up wit' t' same ideeh," observes Solly, gazing at the group gathered on the roof of 503 Rogers Avenue. "So we mize well woik t'gett'eh an' get t'is done." "Yeh," nods Krause, resting his tool box against the chimney. "Now," continues Solly, "I got t'is compresseh down in me shop. It oughteh be big enough. You two monkeys go down an' lug it up'eeh, an'nen get t'woik riggin'a pipes." "Who you cawlin' a monkey," scowls Jimmy. "Wit t'em eehs," adds Danny. "Neveh moind'at," dismisses Uncle Frank. "Do as th' sergeant says. Mistaaar Krause an' meself, we'll set t'waaark poot'n this baax t'gethar." "I got a guy comin' oveh," continues Solly, "wit'a barrel a' ammonia. I got t'is book 'eeh says how t' rig it up t'make it woik. Jus' make sueh t'em valves is good, an'nat coppeh tubin' ain' got no leaks." He glances at Uncle Frank. "An' make sueh y'got awla -- residue -- outt'a t'eh." "Hmph," hmphs Uncle Frank. "Stawrt bendin'em pipes aroun'," directs Solly. "T'at's gonna be t' condenseh." "Oi know," miffs Uncle Frank, "hoo t' make a cooil. Oi was makin' cooils when ye was stealin' apples aaahf fruit wagons....")

("Aaaaaahl Oi knoo is," disdains Ma, "whin I was in me confoinement wi' Michael an' Sally, Oi didn't think noothin' a' flooncin' aroon noitcloobs." "T'ey din' have night clubs 't'en," scoffs Bink, scanning the ads. "I'm sicka movies. I'm sicka Flappy. Me an' Rosa's goin' out t'night an' weeh gonna look oveh t' prospecks." "Yaaar sivin moonths gaaahn," points out Ma, her arms folded in disapproval. "With me graaan'choild." Bink gives her a long slow look. "Hmph," she hmphs, returning to the ads. "Fr'a minnit'eh, I t'ought you was worried 'bout ME." Ma returns her look. "Hmph," she replies....")

("Well, he passed out in the waiting room, and I had to put him somewhere!")

(I don't remember Hig ever throwing a knuckleball before. Amazing what they can learn in the Army.)

("Well, I wasn't here in September! What happened then?")

("WELL MAYBE I JUST LIKE 'EM THAT WAY")

(Hmph, $29.50 at Namm's Basement.)

("And that's what he WAS too, the SOB!")

(Does that really count as a "system?")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Good thing he didn't lose his wallet in a cab.

So now it's a TWO hundred thousand seat stadium. But what about the dome?

Um.

Tungsten! WE CAN CORNER THE LIGHT BULB MARKET!

This could be the end of a dubious friendship.

"Besides, it's almost time for 'Ma Perkins.'"

And that's how theatres stay in business.

"Only difference is, I've still got ten years left on the mortgage."

Somebody better get out and push.

And what a gimmick for your wrestling career!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

We can't all be Miss Rheingold.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Hey," wonders Alice. "Y' gawt t'eese gloves in size 8?"

She's the best.

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

He glances at Uncle Frank. "An' make sueh y'got awla -- residue -- outt'a t'eh."



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

Hmph, $29.50 at Namm's Basement.

We all tell ourselves whatever we have to tell ourselves to make it through the day. At least $500 at Bonwit Teller on 5th.

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

Good thing he didn't lose his wallet in a cab.

Reading the newspapers, it's easy to forget there are good people in the world.

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

Tungsten! WE CAN CORNER THE LIGHT BULB MARKET!

Tungsten must have been having a moment; wasn't it the metal at the center of the plot in "Gilda" (1946) too?

 

[LizzieMaine]

("T'em acktehs got nut'n onnat crazy Kaplan dame," marvels Sally. "An' I STILL dunno what she was goin' awn about. DIdja see how Mozelewski pul't 'eh'rawff when she grabbed aawnta me? I hope 'e took'eh'r'inna back an' tied'eh'rup wit'a tape measueh a' sump'n, people like t'at ought'na be in Bellevue. An' look, stawp messin' aroun' wit' t'em gloves." "T'eh tight," winces Alice. "New gloves awrways tight," dismisses Sally. "Y'gotta break'm in. Besides, how' c'n you spen' t'ree bucks awna paiehr'a gloves?" "Well," shrugs Alice, tugging at the cuffs, "it ain' pl'ite t'go inna stoeh an' nawt buy nut'n." "Waste'a time, anyways," sighs Sally. "T'ey ain' gonna need no ice afteh'rawl, t'at t'ing t'ey built onna roof. Joe could put a whole cow inneh." "I hope nawt," frowns Alice. "I seena pitche'ra Elsie, t'at one was at t' Woil's Faieh. She din' look too happy. I 'magine she really woul'n like bein' locked up in no icebox onna roof." "Awl'ee gotta do now is get t' meat," shrugs Sally. "An'nat'll be one less t'ing t'worry 'bout." "Hey," heys Alice, jamming her thumb down the side of the glove in a futile attempt to stretch the leather. "I mean' t' ask. How'd Leonoreh toin out wit' Docteh Glass?" "Hmph," hmphs Sally, scowling out the train window. "He says if she don' improve in anot'eh mont', we gotta take 'eh t'wa audiologis'. T'at's like 'n eye docteh f' y' eehs, 'ney'll figyeh out what t'do nex'. An'' we gotta be caehful she don' get no infection inna ot'eh eeh." "Jeez, Sal," offers Alice. "T'at's rough." "Yeh," nods Sally. They ride on in silence for an interval. "Hey," resumes Sally. "T'em awr nice gloves." "Yeh," sighs Alice. "Lit'l tight....")

("This coal shortage I'm reading," questions Mr. Ginsburg. "Yeh," sighs Krause. "We manage," adds Mrs. Ginsburg, "We stay warm. In the kitchen the range, it helps. Of course, we are careful since that leak, since that time..." "Yeh," nods Krause, remembering that incident all too well. "Perhaps, though, Mr. Krause," injects Mr. Ginsburg. "You should once more inspect. To be safe, Esther, just to be safe." "Yeh." reassures Krause....)

(It's nice when you can get everything in one box like that. As long as you're not getting it at Davega.)

("Valley Stream's gift to boxing?" HA! I DON'T THINK SO! He's got trunks on!)

(Equity is often an important part of high-tier executive compensation.)

(We haven't had a good quintuplet story.)

(You know, Janie, a disguise doesn't work if you take it off.)

(And remember, NO DISCOUNTS.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG always chooses the moral high ground. Too bad he still doesn't know how to get home.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

He wanted to leave in a taxi, but all he could get was a huff.

At least get a new picture. You look guilty as hell in this one.

You might as well learn what the world is like now, when you're just starting out...

Ahhh, you shoulda seen that mimeograph whirl...

"Hmmm. I know, Arion, blessed steed of Adrastus! No? How about the Man-Eating Mares of Diomedes? HMMMMM?"

As it must to all children...

"Ohhhhh, I guess I'd better change myyyy plaaaan -- I should have re-al-ized there'd be another maaan...or two."

"All YOU'LL have to do is complain about the spots and streaks!"

Of course, the probate lawyer will require a small fee....

Either way, at least open a window or turn on a fan or something...

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

"For the sitter with a fat seat."

 

[Fading Fast]

"it ain' pl'ite t'go inna stoeh an' nawt buy nut'n."

"I hope nawt," frowns Alice. "I seena pitche'ra Elsie, t'at one was at t' Woil's Faieh. She din' look too happy. I 'magine she really woul'n like bein' locked up in no icebox onna roof."

"Hey," resumes Sally. "T'em awr nice gloves." "Yeh," sighs Alice. "Lit'l tight...."

Alice is just the best.

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

"Valley Stream's gift to boxing?" HA! I DON'T THINK SO! He's got trunks on!



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

You know, Janie, a disguise doesn't work if you take it off.

Seriously, WTF, Jane. What's the point of creating one if you aren't going to use it. That was just stupid.

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

He wanted to leave in a taxi, but all he could get was a huff.

The Balles should never breathe free air again, but my God, did the parents do any due diligence on where they were sending their children?

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

At least get a new picture. You look guilty as hell in this one.

"G*n-toting Texas beauty." Also not seeing it in this pic.

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

Ahhh, you shoulda seen that mimeograph whirl...

Caniff can write any outcome he wants, but this plan does seem quite complicated and too dependent on Japanese actions for what they are looking to do.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whatta we gonna do," ponders Sally, "if t'eh subway goes awn strike? An' we can't get t't'a train inna city t'go t' Joisey? How we gonna picket?" "I don' t'ink we oughta wawk, Sal," warns Alice. "Y'know how fawr t'at is?" "No," admids Sally. "D'you?" "It's a lawt," declares Alice. "Gotta be at leas' ten miles jus' t' get t' t' bridge fr'm'eeh." "It ain' neiteh!" scoffs Sally. "Well," huffs Alice, "how'da YOU know it ain'? You jus' SAID y'don't know, so t'eh!" "It CAN't be no ten miles fr'm 'eeh t't' bridge," insists Sally. "I'll prove it. Gimme a map." "I ain' got a map," admits Alice. "F'Chris'mas, t'ough, Willie got a globe. Willat woik?" "I know who we can ask," declares Sally. "LEONOREH!" When there is no response, Sally closes her eyes for a moment, and then gets up and walks thru the kitchen door into the living room, where her daughter is sprawled on the floor, reading a volume from her encyclopedia. "Leonoreh," repeats Sally, careful to direct her voice into her daughter's good ear. "Leemee lone," replies Leonora without looking up. "How fawr is it," Sally continues, "If ya wanna wawk fr'm Bensonhoist t't' Brooklyn Bridge?" Leonora rolls her eyes and glares at her mother. "Hmph," she hmphs. "Y'll neveh make it." Sally acknowledges defeat and returns to the kitchen. "It ain' ten miles," she declares. "Tol' ya. Anyways, I gotta betteh ideeh. We'll take t' truck." "Oh," ohs Alice. "Y'know, ten miles ain' really t'at fawr.....")

("Hoo mooch meat d'ye think ye have?" queries Ma. "Francis toold me he broong back as mooch as 'ee could get, but it didn't seem loike..." "It ain' as much as I hoped," shrugs Joe. "But maybe it'll get us t'ru t' week, at leas'. I dunno 'bout t'at t'ing t'ey put t'get'eh awna roof, t'at compresseh looks like sump'n out'va gas station. An' I ain' gonna ask wheh t'em pipes was a yeeh'rago. But as lawng as it don' wawrm up too much outside, I guess it oughta hold." "Ye can't roon froozen meat thru that grindarr, thoo," observes Ma. "We'll hafta t'aw it t' night befoeh," sighs Joe. "An' that means soombody's gotta go up aaaahn th' roof e'vry noit," notes Ma, "an' goo in that thing an' bring it oot." "I s'pose I c'n do it," eyerolls Bink. "Oi should say ye woont," declares Ma. "Thim steps, narrow as they is? An' you, in yaaaar c'ndition?" "If I'da known ev'rybody was gonna treat me like I'm crippl't," fumes Bink, "I neveh woulda..." Joe turns away, to hide his flush. "Oi'll get Francis to do it," declares Ma. "He'll get stuck innat staiehway," snorts Bink. "Moind ye toong," growls Ma. "Well, he will," snips Bink, tossing her head in triumph. "I dunno what we'eh gonna do when it runs out," concludes Joe. "Well," counters Ma, "you won' have noo trouble sellin'..." As if by cue, the door jingles open. "Hey," heys Heckie Capiello. "Rosa hoid you gawt meat. Gimme two poun's. T'ey run out downa stoeh." "Um," ums Joe....)

(What kind of mother lets her seventeen-year-old son go to the South Pacific with Chuck Dressen?)

(I mean, it really is an ingenious plot.)

(Movie Bugs would have done this same bit, but dressed as Sonja Henie.)

(Once again, a reminder that Phil is Ernie Bushmiller's personal avatar.)

(And that's why Victorian plumbers made such a good living.)

(A basement lair? Of course.)

(And that's why Dean Acheson doesn't have any friends.)

(Oh, when you see her, ask her if she's heard anything from Denny and Sunny lately?)