dissabte, 16 de maig de 2015

the popularity of the short skirt becomes evident. Lady Diana Manners sums up the same skirt controversy in the Winning Post (London) in one deathless sentence: "If you ask me what should be the length of the skirt, you must first tell me what you are going to do in itIt was either Olaf or Aristophanes who once said: "No one ever reads a preface." So, this must not be construed as a preface — merely a beginning on Whiz Bang's August eruption of farmyard fun and foolishness. Someone pointed to the corrugations on my brow the other day and asked me how it was possible for me to sit down and pound out "phunney" stuff when I seemed to be so busy starting my new magazine, "True Confessions," be- sides attending to all the multitudinous details of running a modern farm. It is, indeed, a bold thing for a backward hayseed to sit down in the midst of statistics on hog cholera, spavin and asparagus beetles and try to '?&n a humor publication. But my friend is mistaken when he thinks that the rollicking, rosy-cheeked, happy-go-lucky fellow knows more of the deepest depths of humor than any other type of human. Usually the antithesis is true. A gloomy looking man once called upon a doctor friend of mine for treatment.. After an examination the doctor said: "You are suffering from Hypochondria. You need someone to make you laugh. Go and hear Fogarty at the Orpheum tonight." "I am Fogarty," replied his gloomy looking visitor. No matter what the filosophy of the matter is, the fact remains that the men of the most delicious wit ofttimes have the most pronounced tinge of seriousness. It is a strange alliance — yea, a paradoxical one — and leads me to express the hope that my Whiz Bang friends will find this August periodical of fun just as piquant and zippy as its prede- cessors even though Captain Billy h-as been suffering from temporary spare-time dyspepsia. — Skipper Bill, HUMOR is a peculiar life's potion. It is the relaxing of the nervous sys- tem; the bright sunlight into which folk may escape when the sweet singers of calamity begin yodeling and when profession "l mourners start shedding borrowed tears. It is an invaluable ingredient in the dish of friendship. Switching the metaphor, it is the grease that keeps the wheels of companionship from creaking. Every once in a while I hear from some sec- tion of the country that someone is objecting to several pocket-sized publications and invariably Whiz Bang is included in them. That is be- cause Whiz Bang is the best known. No fanatic ever ha^ 1 a sense of humor. It is the man 03 woman who cannot see a joke and who has nq humor in his makeup who is so apt to make a mountain out of a mole-hill and push a principle to the verge of idiocy. Whiz Bang is not in the world to hurt the sensibilities even of these rare types. Its pur- pose is to show people the humorous side of life; to be admonitive only when constructive and then without bitterness. In short, Whiz Bang stands for a subtle, wholesome war on Old Man John Yawn and his half-brother, Jim Grouch. Our little monthly periodical goes by Uncle Sam's mail as second-class matter and I would like to have every critic of the small sized magazines peruse us carefully and compare us with some which go by express and with which Whiz Bang seems to be confused — passing judg- ment after such perusal and not before. To be candid, it is your Uncle Billy's humble opinion that the person who cannot forget pov- erty and pain over the pages of our dispenser of farmyard foolishness is on the road to the madhouie. SIMULTANEOUSLY with the appearance on the news stands of this copy of Whiz Bang will appear the first issue of True Confessions, another child of the family — a baby brother to Whiz Bang. As a loving father I cannot afford to show any partiality toward either of my children; but Whiz 3ang now has outgrown its babyhood, while True Confessions still is in its swaddling clothes. Besides, it is only natural, and surely pardonable, for a parent to exhibit pride, not unmixed with curiosity, when he receives an ad^'tion to his family. he ghost of Hamlet's father confessed he cc ..d a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up the soul, freeze young blood, make eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, and make each particular hair to stand on end like quills upon the fretful porcupine; but then declared, "I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison-house * * * to ears of flesh and blood."

MARVELOUS things are promised for us 
farmers with the practical development 
of radio dynamics. AccoiJing to John 
Hays Hammond, Jr., we will soon be milking 
the cows, bedding down the Pomeranians, 
setting the guinea hens and plowing the south 40 
by means of the invisible reins from the 

It will be the bantam rooster's left tonsil — 
as the vaudeville jokesters say — when Olaf, my 
ploughboy, can sit on the fence beside a can of 
snoose and tell the gang-plow where to head 
in merely by doing a little table tapping o \e 
barb wire with a 20-penny spike. 

The possibilities of ether vibration also are 
great in the way of bringing music, instruc- 
tion and oratory to the hayseed's fireside. I 
can picture Maggie, the cook, Ikey and Olaf 
and the rest of my hand-assorted farm folk and 
parchesi players gathered around a wireless 
trumpet after the noon lunch listening to a 
dramatic reading of a Sears-Roebuck catalog 
or a song "When the Corn Harvest Is Bloom- 
ing," written by some famous chiropodist. 

Unless the scientists have been looking too 
long at the moon, this radio business will make 
old-fashioned agriculture look like one of 
Paine's ring-tail spasms. Home life on the 
farm will be something besides Maggie grab- 
bing two brooms like a pair of oars and rowing 
herself through lakes of farmyard fungi, 
flanked by milk pails, dirty overalls, feather 
dusters and other implements of comfort de- 

All that will be done by wireless as soon as 
the weather gets cool enough for the radio 
experts to think without getting palpitation of 
the antennae. 

I have never bragged much about my rural 
Eobbinsdale bungalow since I came back from 
my trip to the West Coast last fall. Out in Los 
Angeles I spent an evening with my oil friend, 
Eobert Henderson, in his Los Angeles mansion 
and Bob has the finest layout I have ever sp^n. 
As I sunk up to my shoe tops in Turkish rugs 
I couldn't help but admire the Japanese for 
wanting to come over and pick the currants out 
of our cake. However, even if we simple coun- 
try folk don't have fountains in the sun room 
and statues of Pan playing a saxaphone solo 
on a thermos bottle stuck around in our front 
parlors — home is where your heart is. This 
wireless business ought to bring the Whiz Bang 
farm closer to Robbinsdale and that in itself 

is enough to make my farmyard domicile 
sparkle like an effervescent bottle of apple 

What is prettier to look at than that? You 
don't have to drink it. 

Wherefore, I say, bring on the radio plow- 
ing; the radio-furnace and the self -cranking 
ouija boards even though it does mean mid- 
night recitals by amateur radio reserves, com- 
bined with national casket makers' statistics 
and interpolated remarks by W. J. Bryan on 
"The Office Socks the Man." 

AFTER a dame has paid eight bucks for a 
pair of stockings, you can't blame her for 
showing $7.50 worth of them. 

AN INDIAN from the Leech Lake Reserva- 
tion near Breezy Point recently toted a 
winsome copper-colored maiden to the 
sky-pilot at Pequot to get married. The min- 
ister asked the bride-to-be if her "big chief" had 
any property. Her answer was: 

"And you, are you any better off?" 
Again a negative reply. 
"Then what on earth do you want to get 
married for?" queried the reverend gentleman. 
"Him got blanket. Me got blanket. Too 
damn cold sleep one blanket." 

WITH the advent of summer the farm and 
woodland warblers are in full song. 
Which probably is why I met Olaf com- 
ing around the house the other night. "What 
have you been doing there?" I asked my Swed- 
ish Svengali. "Listening," replied Olaf. "At 
What?" "Listening to the cook 'Oo' was Olaf's 
quite unanswerable explanation. If there were 
any cooks-ooing about at that time of the night 
they should have been in their cook-oo clocks 
getting some sleep. 

It has struck me, anyway, that the cook-oos 
and the buzzing and feathered folk have an 
exaggerated idea of when the day begins. Long 
before dawn the cocks start the morning sym- 
phony with their lusty crowing. This seems to 
awaken envy in all the melody makers. You 
hear the br-r-r of the flicker; the blackbird fol- 
lows with his liquid music; the jolly little wren 
is on hand with his morning twitter; the blue- 
winged jay softens his call a little to welcome 
the daybreak, while in the background there 
echoes the busy chirp of the ever-present spar- 
row and the soft melody of another wonderful 
bird, Pedro junior, calling to his twenty wives. 

That little pest, the mosquito, is up so early 
he meets himself going to he* My Irish farm 
hand,Ikey, has the mosquito A cch so badly that 
I noticed when he was eating Maggie's hot 
cakes the other morning he scratched his cakes 
and poured the syrup down his back. Ikey 
must have been out listening to the cook-oos, 

also, or else the Robbinsdale mosquitoes have 
special relish for kosher meat. Anyway, his 
nose folds up now like a patent golf bag car- 
rier and his eyes look like wormholes in a 
snow drift. He blames his Scotch plaid expres- 
sion partially on the mosquitoes and partly on 
Neighbor Sol Markee's 22-year-old son, Alf. 
Alfred came over disguised as an alms giver 
on a food train and hornswaggled Ikey into a 
$10 bet on his game cock against Neighbor 
Markee's pet eagle. 

According to Ikey's description of the fight 
by rounds, the first went to the eagle by the 
flick of a talon. In the second the eagle 
knocked Ikey's entry for a row of hand-painted 
chicken coops and after he had him down he 
bit one of the game cock's feet off. Ikey lost 
his $10 and his rooster is out a foot. That ex- 
plains why my farm-hand is madder than a 
woodpecker on a marble tree and why his dis- 
position squeaks like a dry axel. 

THE night after the game cock incident 
Tom Howard, of the Howard Lumber 
Company, Robbinsdale, dropped in for a 
round of bridge and Ikey was invited to make 
a fourth. Heart r v eing led, he threw away a 

"Failing?" asked Tom Howard, his partner. 
"Don't drag in business," retorted my He- 
brew hay handler. 

AMES J. JEFFRIES' and Dick Ferris' new, 
religion is certainly liberal enough, with 
wine, tobacco and dancing allowed. Now 
if only they will announce "no collections," the 
empty church problem will be solved. 

Here's hoping Whiz Bang readers will soon 
address me as "Apostle Bill." My application 
for Minnesota Apostolic appointment is wait- 
ing approval of Messrs. Jeffries and Ferris, 

et al. 

* * * 

MINNEAPOLIS clothier is advertising 
suits for small boys "with the pants cut 
wide at the bottom 'flapper style.'" If 
it hadn't been for the advertisement some of us 
hicks from the farms and small towns wouldn't 
know to this day just what kind the flappers 
are wearing. 


E ARE contemplating a boxing tourna- 
ment on our farm with a "beautiful 
lamp" as a trophy. 

THE modern American college should be 
given credit for teaching our young men 
the proper system for asking for money 
from home in such a diplomatic manner that 
we old codgers consider it an honor to give it 
to them. 

T MAY be called a hair net but a lot of poor 
fish get caught in it. 

3 comentaris:


    poste de fuzilamento com chanele caveira nº4 e cheiro a sapato ...gráfico? sinceramente...um gajo que não saiba o que é um legume inda vá ....mas gráfico
    banha da cobra maomé com um gráfico de mamilos e Venília Carreiro Como é que um tipo casado com duas filhas vai para um sofá de veludo fazer forrobodós com uma moça?... Ãhhh?. E o processo por infidelidade?...Ãhhh?See Translation Like · Reply · 2 · Yesterday at 10:36am Catarina Fernandes Não faz forrobodós porque não percebe se a jovem lhe disse "Pára tudo!" ou (que estava pronta) "para tudo!"See Translation Like · Yesterday at 10:48am Joana Coloma porque é que o forrobodó não há de ser com a esposa???See Translation Like · Yesterday at 10:51am Venília Carreiro Mas se a moça dissesse avança, ele avançava...See Translation Like · Yesterday at 11:07am · Edited Venília Carreiro Ele disse uma moça... não disse a esposa esposa.See Translation Like · Yesterday at 11:08am Joana Coloma smile emoticon acho que era só mesmo para efeitos de comicidade. só fiz aquele comentário pela dualidade que me irrita "les mamans et les putains" smile emoticon tá tude explicado ...um anda a fazer estatísticas de cus e o outro pensa que um diagrama é um sofá de veludo
    nem na rádio vos percebem ponham legendas por amor do púbico

    1. a poesia dum tal de mexia tá num lote de 10 livros com o marcelo caetano tudo por 1 eurro e acho quinda dão troco Like · Reply · 21 hours ago Alexandre Sampaio Magnod'encosta os thalassas têm massas Lote 310 - Livro "A Monarquia Portuguesa - Reis e Rainhas na História de um Povo", edição de Selecções do Reader`s Digest, 1999 2d 0h 44m 34s Valor actual: €16 um livro que anda ós pontapés nas feiras por 5 ou 10 aeurros Like · Reply · 21 hours ago Alexandre Sampaio Magnod'encosta compra antes qu'esgote skin já tens aí um presente de natal Lote 362 - Livros - História genealógica da Casa Real Portuguesa de António Caetano de Sousa. Introdução de Manuela Mendonça. Edição QuidNovi/Público - Academia Portuguesa de História. 5 volumes com encadernação editorial. Notas obra incompleta 2d 0h 40m 54s Valor actual: €5517 de maig de 2015 a les 13:00

      gráfico vide wiki Lance €4 (4 Lances) Álvaro Cunhal, Uma Biografia Política de José Pacheco Pereira. 3 volumes. Temas & Debates. Este lote está em exposição no nosso Centro de Leilões em Cascais para quem quiser ver. Sobre o preço de martelo..... Lance Actual: €2 (2 Lances)Lote 762 - Livro "The Vintage Dinner", Held at The Mirabelle, London, 1972. Edição de 200 exemplares, nº 4.

    2. amigo. amigo nos gráficos estais perdido? cara sombra, esperai que per agora num posso...mas trarei asinho um gráfico muito vosso e uma bejeca pra acompanhar o tremoço ...num vos jogueis num poço ...algures de nenhures trarei um gráfico muito moço...num gráfico muito moço era muy carlos cruzado... mexia mexia mas já estava nos estertores finais18 de maig de 2015 a les 8:25

      é todo um país que se agacha quando s'alevanta