Part 3

“On East Houston Street is the lasagne or ravioli belt where the gay boys from out of town take the leading ladies of the jobber plants out for a wild evening,” writes O. O. McIntyre. “You know the gay out-of-town man. He carries a patent cigar lighter and has a sterling silver monogrammed belt buckle and, oh, yes, a handkerchief with a purple border. His eyes are blue and he wrinkles them in a merry twinkle, at least he thinks it is a merry twinkle, but it’s just the sap oozing out. The Leading Lady knows Broadway because she reads Broadway Brevities and her theory of life in the abstract is that Ladies Must Live. After the first quart of red ink, he whispers a story the boys told him in front of the Bon Ton Store before he left for the east. She pulls the two gun, hair-trigger Bill Hart stuff and says ‘Naughty Man.’ To complete the evening and display the ultimate in savoir faire he calls loudly to the waiter: ‘L’addition, s’il vous plait garcon.’ They ride to one of the Oranges in a quick-firing metered taxi and he returns to the McAlpin to write the wife and kiddies of his lonesomeness.”

* * * * *

New York

_This is the old famous New York poem, credited to a former collector of the port as author, but denied. However, you’ll note that every word carries a wallop and so we herewith, with your kind permission, republish it_:

Vulgar of manner, overfed, Over dressed, and underbred, Heartless, Godless, hell’s delight, Rude by day, lewd by night, Bedwarfed the man, enlarged the brute, Ruled by Jew and prostitute Purple robed and pauper clad Raving, rioting, money mad— A squirming herd of Mammon’s mesh, A wilderness of human flesh. Crazed by avarice, lust and rum— New York! Thy name’s “Delirium.”

* * * * *

Farm Life

“I see you are keeping your hired man all right now, Ezra.”

“Yep, keeping him all right.”

“He seems satisfied, too. How’d you do it?”

“Did everything he asked me to. Let him work only four hours and eat with the family. He got to complaining of dull evenings, so every night I give him the use of a car of his own, and the money to spend, to go to the movies in town.”

“That ought to satisfy him.”

“It didn’t, though. He complained of his room, and so I coaxed my son to trade rooms with him. Then he seemed more settled like.”

“I notice you’ve cut off your whiskers, Ezra.”

“Yeah. Some more of that hired man’s notions.”

“How’s that?”

“He complained they tickled him every time I kissed him good-night.”

* * * * *

Wah, Wah!

“Golly, Moses! Dey got strawberries and cherries and all kinds o’ fruit covered wit candy. What kind shall ah git?”

“Git a choc’lat covered watermillion.”

* * * * *

Sic ’em, Tige!

“What you need is a tonic to sharpen your appetite,” said the Doctor. “By the way, what is your occupation?”

“I am a sword swallower in a circus side-show,” replied the caller.

* * * * *

_Little Joe says, “They am jest as many sebbens on de dice as anything else, ony dey is bashfull.”_

_Smokehouse Poetry_

_The greatest poem of the squared circle ever brought to light is in store for March Whiz Bang readers, “The Kid’s Last Fight.” That noted recitation of years ago has been obtained by the Whiz Bang, reset to verse, and will hold the boards in the March issue._

_The way he staggered made me sick,_ _I stalled, McGee yelled “cop him quick!”_ _The crowd was wise and yellin’ “fake,”_ _They’d seen the chance I wouldn’t take._

* * * * *

“Chi Slim” Twangs ’is Bloomin’ Lyre

By J. Eugene Chrisman.

_Author of “Poppies,” written exclusively for Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang._

By the lake-front near Chicago with her elbows on her knee There’s a widder-woman waiting and I know she waits for me; When the wind is from the stock-yards every odor seems to say “Come you back you lost star-boarder, come you back you skunk and pay!”

Her apron it was greasy and her hair it hung in strings, And her name was Sarah Lukens but it had been lots o’ things! When I saw her first a’diggin’ up the makin’s for a stew And she wasn’t wastin’ nothing that a dog could chaw in two. Blinkin’ rough for me to lead, tooth-less, sallow and knock-knee’d Wasn’t carin’ much for class tho—what I needed was a feed.

When the bunch had grabbed their hand-out and we had ’em on the go, Then she’d start me for “Dutch” Ryan’s with a two-bit piece to throw. With her head upon my shoulder at the second growler full, She was lonesome bo, that widder with the rough-stuff that she’d pull! How I used to feed her full of the “mush-talk” and the bull For the snow had begun blowin’ and I didn’t like to pull!

But that’s all put behind me, long ago and far away Since I hit out for St. Looey one night on the C. & A. But they’re tellin’ in the jungles that the winter’s one best bet For a young and handsome hobo is to be a widder’s pet. Oh them boardin’ kitchen smells as she fed me jams and jells And the skuts of “suds” from Ryans—I won’t ever need naught else!

Ship me somewhere south of “Chi” though where the bloomin’ mob ain’t cursed With a Volstead disposition and a man can quench his thirst For the winter snows are falling and its there that I would be Either Juarez or Havana with a widder on my knee!

* * * * *

Charley Wong

_Copyrighted. By permission of the Author, Green Room Club, New York._

By H. A. D’Arcy.

The west was pretty wild when Bill Durant and I went out, ’Twer in ’59 or ’60, somewhar that about, Bill took his pretty wife along (they’d been wed about a year), A buxom kind of girl she war, that never thought o’ fear.

And I don’t know that she needed to, for the miners one and all, Would have fought for her like devils if she’d ever made the call; And afore we’d fairly built a hut to keep her from the damp A little baby gal was born—the first one in the camp.

And didn’t the boys keep Christmas? Well, I’m shoutin’ now they did; Why, they all got roarin’ full that night just in honor o’ the kid; And by the time that baby were a little tot o’ three years old, She had a big tomato can just filled with virgin gold.

I built a cabin ’bout a quarter mile away from Bill’s, So we both had kinder cozy homes protected by the hills; And Charley Wong, the Chinaman, had opened handy by The laundry o’ the canyon, and he washed for Bill and I.

Now, Chinamen ain’t liked too well, and one day in a row Charley got pretty badly used, I disremember now Just what the trouble war about, but Bill war in the fray, And he helped to beat the Chinaman in a rather brutal way.

Durant weren’t bad at heart, ye know, but like too many others, He didn’t like Mongolians, nor own ’um men and brothers; And I often heard him say that if the Chinamen wer near He’d cut the leper’s pigtail off and stick it through his ear.

One evening Lizzie (Durant’s wife) and little Tot, the child, Were comin’ homeward down the hills when all at once a wild And fearful howl were heard behind—two wolves were on their track, Liz says she stopped and grabbed the child and threw it on her back.

Then shrieking aloud for help, she ran, as swift as any hind Toward the Chinese laundry hut—the wolves came fast behind; Nearer and nearer on they came; then reaching Charley’s door, The mother, with her precious load, fell prone upon the floor.

Bill and I were talkin’ when we heard the fearful cries, And rushing to the laundry the sight that met our eyes Was far too horrible to tell, for thar was Charley Wong Dead, and a blood-stained knife in hand full fifteen inches long.

He’d fought a fearful battle; one brute wer by his side With its entrails all hanging out, and blood stains on its hide; But t’ other had got its work in afore Bill and I got there, And wer gnawing Charley’s throat and face till the bones were laying bare.

Wall, we made quick work o’ Mr. Wolf, we filled ’um full o’ lead, Then gathered child and mother up and took ’em home to bed, Next day when Lizzie told her tale, Bill’s eyes were full o’ tears, He didn’t brag much sentiment, and hadn’t wept for years.

Poor “Washee!” when we packed him up the camp boys stood around Each one with hat in hand and tearful eyes cast on the ground; We shipped the corpse to ’Frisco, with a bag o’ the yellow dust To pay the freight to Pekin—to “Rest In Peace,” I trust.

But ever after that, if any man had got the face To say Chinese wer yallow dogs, he’d better quit the place; For thar ain’t a name more holy held in Canyon Idlewild Than Charley Wong, the Chinaman, that saved Bill’s wife and child.

* * * * *

A horse fly eats whip crackers.

* * * * *

The Song of Camille

Sitting alone by my window, Watching the moonlit street, Bending my head to listen, To the well-known sound of your feet I have been wondering darling How I can bear the pain, When I watch with sighs and tear-wet eyes, And wait for your coming in vain.

For I know that the day approaches, When your heart will tire of me, When by door and gate I must watch and wait, For a form I shall not see. For the love that is now my heaven The kisses that make my life, You will bestow on another, And that other will be your wife.

You will grow weary of sinning, Though you do not call it so You will long for a love that is purer Than the love that we two know, God knows I love you dearly With a passion strong as true, But you will grow tired and leave me Though I gave up all for you.

I was pure as the morning When I first looked on your face, I knew I could never reach you In your high exalted place, But I looked and loved and worshipped As a flower might worship a star And your eyes shown down upon me And you seemed so far, so far.

And then? Well then you loved me Loved me with all your heart, But we could not stand at the altar We were so far apart. If a star should wed with a flower, The star must drop from the sky Or the flower in trying to reach it Would droop on its stem and die.

But you said that you loved me darling, And swore by the heavens above That the Lord and all of his Angels Would sanction and bless our love, And I? I was weak, not wicked, My love was as pure as true, And sin itself seemed a virtue, If only shared by you.

We have been happy together, Though under the cloud of sin But I know that the day approaches When my chastening must begin, You seem to think kindly of me But you seem downhearted and blue, But you will not always be And I think I had better leave you.

I know my beauty is fading, Sin furrows the fairest brow, And I know your heart will weary, Of the face you smile on now. You will take a bride on your bosom, After you turn from me, You will sit with your wife in the moon-light And hold your babe on your knee.

Oh! God I could not bear it, I would my brain I know, And while you love me dearly, I think I had better go. It is sweeter to feel my darling And know as I fall asleep That some would mourn me and miss me That someone was left to weep.

Though to die as I should in the future, To drop in the streets some day, Unknown, unwept and forgotten, After you passed me away. Perhaps the blood of the Savior, Can wash my garments clean, Perchance I may drift on the water, That flows in the pastures green.

Perchance we may meet in heaven, And walk in the street above, With nothing to grieve us or part us, Since our sinning was all through love. God says, love one another, And down to the depths of Hell, Well he sent the soul of a woman, Because she loved—and fell.

And so in the moon-light he found her, Or found her beautiful clay, Lifeless and pallid as marble, For the spirit had flown away. The farewell words she had written, She held to her cold white breast, And the buried blade of a dagger, Told how she had gone to rest.

* * * * *

To a Mountain Rat

By Frank B. Lindeman.

Yes I reckon God made ye He’s blamed for rattlesnakes, And porcupines and woodchucks, And if they ain’t mistakes Ye’re a crowin’ example Of carelessness divine, To nigh the danger line.

Yer winkless eye in innocence Hides cunnin’ cussedness, And yer skin is full to bustin’ With a longin’ to possess All things that don’t belong to you, But when all’s said and done There’s things on earth ye’ve failed to steal, And reputation’s one.

* * * * *

The real John Barleycorn of older days is gone, but not forgotten.

Those of us who knew him best, and loved him most,

Stuck with him ’til the last drop.

* * * * *

Pretty (looking over the new theatre down-town)—What do you think of the excavation?

Witty—Oh, it’s pretty good as a whole.

* * * * *

The Bum and the Farmer’s Son

One fine day, in the month of May, a dirty old bum came hiking; He sat down by a pig pen, which was very much to his liking. On the very same day, in the month of May, a farmer’s son came piping; Said the bum to the son, “If you’ll only come, I will show you things to your liking. I will show you the bees, and the cigarette trees, and the gum drop heights, where they give away kites, and the big rock candy mountains; And the lemonade springs, where the blue bird sings, and marbles made of crystal; you can whiff the breeze from the mince pie trees, where the wind blows fine and frisky; and you can join the band of Rocky Mountain Sam, and get yourself a sword and a pistol.” The farmer’s son then went along, listening to the bum’s merry song; and for six months they did travel. Said the bum to the son, “When I get done, you’re going to be a little devil.” The punk looked up with his big blue eyes, and then he said to Sandy, “Now we’ve been a hiking all day long, now gosh darn where’s your candy? You put a brace on my leg, and showed me how to beg, and you told me you were my jocker; and you told me lies, when you promised me pies, and you called me an apple knocker; I’m a goin’ back home, no more to roam, I’m packing my junkerino; You can bet your lid, that this Hoosier kid, won’t be any bum’s punkerino.”

* * * * *

Misplaced Eyebrow—“There is a hair in my soup.”

Diplomatic Waiter—“Probably out of your mustache.”

“I never thought of that.”

* * * * *

Clap, Clap, Clap, Hurray!

“How do you like the Volstead Act?”

“I never did care for vaudeville.”

* * * * *

Oh, the Merry Bells of Windsor

Johnny was late at school and explained that a wedding at his house was the cause of the delay.

“That’s nice,” replied teacher, “who gave the bride away?”

“Well,” Johnny answered, “I could have, but I kept my mouth shut.”

* * * * *

The Barb Wire Hairnet

_Her has gone, her has went,_ _Her has left I all alone,_ _Can her never come to me,_ _Must me always go to she?_ _It can never was._

* * * * *

Some Parties, Ahoy!

“I suppose your wife was tickled to death at your raise in salary?”

“She will be.”

“Haven’t you told her yet?”

“No, I thought I would enjoy myself for a couple of weeks first.”

* * * * *

Isaac Goldstein came home one evening, unexpectedly, and found a man sitting on his wife’s lap.

Next day he told his business partner about it. His partner asked Mr. Goldstein what he had said to the man.

Goldstein replied, “I didn’t even speak to him. He was a stranger.”

_Pasture Pot Pourri_

_Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,_ _If you don’t like my figure,_ _Keep your hands off my shoulders._

* * * * *

Finishing Touches

“It’s snow use,” said Alvie; “we can’t go tonight.” And he hung up the receiver, while the fluffy flakes fell on the grass outside.

* * * * *

Jewish Bees

_Biz-z—Biz—Biz-ness._

* * * * *

“I’m through,” cried Pedro, as he glanced over the Whiz Bang Winter Annual.

* * * * *

Tar Baby

I once knew A Girl Who was so modest That she wouldn’t Even do Improper Fractions.

* * * * *

Down in Dreamy Honohula

If I was a man in the land of orange and fig, I would sit with my thingamabob, and play on my thingamajig.

* * * * *

Longfellow

A tramp sat in the doorway of the box car, his feet dragging on the ground.

* * * * *

Strike Three!

_They are fools who kiss and tell,_ _Thus it is the poet sings,_ _But that is why so many girls_ _Are sporting wedding rings._

* * * * *

SHE CREPT UP TO THE SCALES LIKE AN ARAB, AND SILENTLY STOLE A WEIGH.

* * * * *

Motto For Poets

If at first you don’t succeed, keep on sucking till you do suck seed.

* * * * *

Mr. Martin of Martin’s Ferry, protests against us writing our jokes on tissue paper so that our Philadelphia friend could see through them.

“Tearible,” remarks Mr. Martin.

* * * * *

They are all roses, but some of them are pretty wild.

* * * * *

Will Be Dedicated By Request

What care we for Mary’s lamb, Now he’s long been to sleep? We’d rather see her pretty calves Than those old, pesky sheep.

* * * * *

The cold weather chills me to the bone.

You should wear a hat.

* * * * *

Vengeance at Last

_Suddenly there came a tapping as if someone were scrapping, slapping, rapping all the poets who write “Apologies to Poe”—just outside my chamber door._

* * * * *

Old Ben Jo’ chewed slippery ellum; Slippery ellum, All the dern day long.

* * * * *

A Tough Break

Had a great tip on a horse yesterday called cigarette, but I didn’t have enough tobaccer.

* * * * *

Da, Da, Daddy

I love them all, I love them all, Please take me in swimmin’ With bow-legged women. For I love them all.

* * * * *

“They sure soak you here,” Gus remarked as he paid for a Turkish bath.

* * * * *

_“How hoarse you are this morning.”_

_“Yes, my husband got home very late last night.”_

* * * * *

My wife and I have been holding hands for twelve years. If we ever let go we’ll kill one another.

* * * * *

_My bride is a nice girl, but she sleeps with her knees up and the draft gives me a cold._

* * * * *

I’d like to see something in a lady’s combination.

So would I.

* * * * *

We Found These Woids

“Why, honey, I love you with an equatorial passion that no adding machine can register.”

* * * * *

Oregon Gal

There she goes on her toes, All dressed up in her Sunday clothes, Ain’t she neat, ain’t she sweet, She has brand new stockings, And nice big clumsy feet.

* * * * *

_There are a lot of towns in this country that don’t bury their dead. They just let ’em walk around._

* * * * *

Mr. and Mrs. Fish wish to announce the arrival of a couple of bouncing minnows.

* * * * *

_Musicians have an easy job. While they’re at work they’re only playing._

* * * * *

I asked the boy across from my farm what he got for planting potatoes. He said, “I don’t get nothin’ when I do, but I get hell when I don’t.”

* * * * *

I got a fellow so drunk last night that it took three bell boys to put me to bed.

* * * * *

Wanted: Man to drive. Must bring hammer and nails.

* * * * *

Hey, Eddie!

Eddie was great at a party. In fact, you couldn’t have a party without him. He was a great mixer.

* * * * *

Here It Is Again, Enlarged

_Oh, Scissors, let us cut up!_

_Would Gillette me?_

* * * * *

“I’ve come to the end of my rope,” our hero cried as he threw his cigar away.

* * * * *

He mixed his beans with honey, He’d done it all his life. ’Twas not because he liked the taste, But it held them on his knife.

* * * * *

Teddy’s Teachings

Get the habit, like the rabbit—multiply.

* * * * *

Let us all join in singing that timely melody:

“Keep her picture in your watch—you’ll love her in time.”

* * * * *

Going Up!

_He started life as a chiropodist and worked his way up to be a throat specialist._

* * * * *

Don’t always stand on the same side of the pulpit. You’ll wear a hole in the carpet.

* * * * *

Here’s to the girl that I kissed last Who doesn’t kiss slow and doesn’t kiss fast, With lips like a ruby and cheeks like a rose, How many have kissed her God only knows.

* * * * *

_“I’m the King of Siam!”_

_“Yesiam!”_

* * * * *

He left the light burning so he could see to go asleep.

* * * * *

Oh the Moon Shines Bright

Look out lips, look out gums, Look out tummy, here she comes.

* * * * *

Kentucky College

Bring on the “moon,” Ring the bell, Near-beer! Near-beer! S.—O.—L.

* * * * *

The funniest thing I ever saw was a cross-eyed woman telling her hump-backed husband to walk straight home.

* * * * *

Mrs. Murphy asked for a nut cracker and her husband gave her a beer bottle.

* * * * *

The 1922 Girl

I should worry, I should care I should marry a millionaire. If he should die, I should cry, I should marry my regular guy.

* * * * *

A little song entitled, “OIL BY MYSELF” By John D.

* * * * *

She’s a wonderful girl. She can keep a secret in four different languages.

* * * * *

There is no difference between me and the prohibition agent. We’re both after the same thing.

* * * * *

The moral of a dog’s tail is that it invariably points to the past.

* * * * *

Wriggle Through This One

We have a terrible lot to be thankful for, Now prohibition’s here, They’ve taken away our whisky, wines and lager beer, They’ll take away our tobacco next, Along with the demon rum, We’ll have a deuce of a lot to be thankful for, If they leave us chewing gum.

* * * * *

How Do You Get That Way?

A Jewish sergeant at Camp Lee in 1918 was explaining to a rookie the command, mark time, in the following manner: “Foist you raise yer right foot six inches in de air and then bring the left foot alongside the right one.”

* * * * *

“Lovely day, don’t you think,” said the man as he hit his thumb with the hammer.

* * * * *

Two Swedes went to Ireland To kiss the blarney stone, But they couldn’t catch their lutefisk Where the River Shannon flows.

* * * * *