The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Aside from all the rest of the indignities that poor horse has to suffer, he has to end up on Page Four. You can see for yourself how he feels about it...

Oh yeah, Mr. Editor? Tell it to Stalingrad.

You didn't look there FIRST? Not very good at this, are you?

"Wait'll he's done!"

"Well, I''ll have to clear it first with the BRT."

All right, kid. Money where your mouth is.

Step on it!

"Yeah, they call him that because he really likes soda. What? What did you THINK it meant?"

"Oh yeah? You're one to talk." "What?" "Nothin'."

Some people just deserve each other.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

What happens when the publicists haven't actually seen the movie...

 

[Fading Fast]

"But I'm hungry!" argues Alice.

"I hope Red Bawrbeh gawt more'na doughnut," mutters Alice

God luv ya, Alice.

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"Explain this, please. Who is this grinning jackanapes?" "Um," ums Mr. Parrott, pulling at his bow tie, "it's -- um -- Danny Kaye, sir. Leo got it for me. It's - um -- autographed, and.." "Judas Priest," exhales Mr. Rickey....

Perfect, just perfect.

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Step on it!

It would be all but impossible to list all the movies that this exact scene is in.

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"Oh yeah? You're one to talk." "What?" "Nothin'."

Good one, Lizzie.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Heidelboig," muses Sally. "I read sump'n about t'at place oncet, inna National Geographic." "Oh, I seen'at book," replies Alice. "Siddy brung home a bunch'v'm he foun' inna gawrbage can. I neveh knew t'woil' was so big. I neveh done much travelin' y'know, 'cept -- uh -- upstate." "Joe neveh done no travelin' in his whole life," sighs Sally. "We wenta Bawston one time t'see a doubleheadeh, an we laws' bot' games, so we neveh bot'ehed wit' no travelin' afteh t'at. But now, he's in Heidelboig. You know t'ey got t'is big, famous bridge t'eh?" "So d'we," notes Alice. "I can't get too excited 'bout no bridges." "T'ezza castle t'eh too," continue Sally. "An'na univoisity." "Wondeh how t'eh basketbawl team's doin'!" snickers Alice. Sally frowns. "Sawry," shrugs Alice. "Hawrd t'resis'." 'Heidelboig," sighs Sally. "Joe hates t'travel. Awl he done onna train awla way t' Bawston an' back was fidget. I hope he ain' fidgetin' now." "I don' t'ink' 'ey allow fidgetin' inna Awrmy," offers Alice. "Siddy neveh said nut'n 'bout fidgetin' when he was inna Awrmy. Lotta ot'eh stuff he done. Guess he was too busy t'fidget." "I dunno," exhales Sally. "I'd rat'eh have 'im fidget...")

("Hey Pap," queries Willie, enjoying an after-school soda at Schreibstein's. "You eveh seen a elephan'? "Yeh," nods Krause, thru a sip of his own drink. "It don' make no sense," Willie continues. "Howcome t'ey gotta use awlem pails? It don' make no sense. T'at elephan' got t'at long nose t'eh, right? Howcome t'ey don' jus' have a big barrel'a wawrteh, right? An'nen'a elephan' c'n come an stick 'is nose inneh, suck up awla wawrteh he wants. Wouldn'at woik?" Krause considers the idea, and, looking the boy straight in the eye, inserts his own straw up his nose and as Willie gapes in astonishment, takes a deep huff of his beverage. He considers the result, and shakes his head. "Neh!")

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick...)

(KIDS TODAY)

("Sir!" gapes Mr. Parrott. "You -- reading "Variety???" "This show business, my boy," declares Mr. Rickey, "is an enterprise worthy of consideration. Perhaps I have been unreasonably hard in discouraging Mr. Durocher's ambtions in that realm. Perhaps there is room to achieve a state of equilibrium between baseball and buskin!" "Ah," ahs Mr. Parrott for want of any other comment. "Do you know," marvels Mr. Rickey, "that there are such men as 'agents' in the show business - men who do not themselves perform but who receive a full ten percent of the proceeds generated by those who do? In exchange, of course, for -- ah -- trifling services rendered? And there is no -- ah -- Commissioner to -- ah -- impose his unreasonable restrictions upon such matters?" "Oh," ohs Mr. Parrott by way of variation." "The possibilities," smiles Mr. Rickey, "extend outward to infinity...")

("What are you looking at? The goatee? You should have seen my mother's!")

(Sure are a lot of idiots around here...)

("Why, you look exactly like the Duchess of Windsor!" **SLAP***)

("Um, isn't it obvious?")

("All right. Plan B. So -- does anybody have one?")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"And I'll NEVER LEAVE HOME AGAIN."

"Coming events..."

I hope he lands in a tree.

Patience.

It's a savage business.

Life is the fiction we create to get ourselves thru each night.

You really have no idea.

Phony silver dollars, hollow inside, and filled with drugs. There, solved it.

Well, no more dangerous than being dragged behind a car over a country road and then set on fire. Which reminds me, do you have any iodine?

Just in case you've forgotten who's the King of the Trolls.

 

[Fading Fast]

"And I'll NEVER LEAVE HOME AGAIN."

That is a neat story that I'm surprised, with all the WWII books and documentaries I've read and seen over the years, I don't remember encountering before. I wonder if there's a book in there today - in her and her two-continent family's story, before, during and after the war.

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You really have no idea.

Annie will win because she is smarter and she is the title character, but Anne has not played this one with her usual brand of smarts.

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I hope he lands in a tree.

Agreed. He is a roaring *ss, the exact type of personality I can't stand, but man do I want him to be okay (and then to leave the storyline for whatever reason).

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Well, that's soomthin' at least," sighs Ma. "Hitlarr?" scoffs Uncle Frank. "Woind in 'is neck? Th' day will nevarr dawn. Oi've known me share a' men loike that, strootin' little poltroons..." "Oi don't mean that," eyerolls Ma. "Oi mean harrse racin'. Soon's Garrrmany's licked, they reoopen th' race tracks an' we can get back doon t'sarrious business." "Postwarr reconvarsion cooms arrly," chuckles Uncle Frank. "Yarr mooth," nods Ma, "t'Gaaahd's earr." The conversation lags off just in time for the jingling door to herald the arrival of Bink Scanlan. "Yaaaar late," observes Ma. "Ye was spoosta be in at eight aaahn th' daaht." "I was out late," mutters Bink, tossing her coat behind the counter and fishing for an apron. "Ye waaar?" queries Uncle Frank, his interest piqued. "Ye was spoosta be warrkin' at the warehoose." "T'at dope Inky Quinlan," fumes Bink. "I jus' pern'ed out ONE mistake. I says "I neveh hoida Jimmie Wawkeh whiskey." He says it's sposta be Johnny Wawkeh. I says 'nen whyzit say JIMMIE Wawkeh. He goes slammin' out t'dooeh like'ee was gonna cry. Aftehr'a while I figyehed, well, HE ain' comin' back. So -- um -- I wen' out wit' -- um -- a frien'.." "Ah," rumbles Uncle Frank, his jaw rippling...)

("It's jus t'at ev'ry time I lookit t'papeh," exhales Sally, "t'ez sump'nabout t' Sevent' Awrmy mixed up in sump'n awrf'l. An' awl I can t'ink of is 'whez Joe? Izzee inna mid'la t'at?" "You do know, though," inserts Dr. Levine, "that there's over 350,000 men in the Seventh Army. And the odds that somebody like Joe is in the middle of every --" "Whassat sposta mean?" snaps Sally. "Somebody like Joe." "Well," fumbles Dr. Levine, "I didn't mean that like it sounded. What I mean is, he's not an infantryman, he's not in front line combat, am I right in saying that? He's a cook, and even though he might be close to the front, he's not --well -- AT the front. Is that a fair statement." "He was close enough t'get shawt," retorts Sally. "An' I'm sicka people sayin' 'nobody shoots at a cook'! Ev'rybody aroun'eeh knows Joe's t'kin'a guy would go aroun' feedin' stray cats an' dawgs an' springin' mouse traps 'cause he didn' like t' t'ink'a what happn'ta mice, an ev'rybody knows he wasn' no good f'nut'n wit' a gun, ev'na AWRMY knows t'at. But none'a t'at mattehs be'cause SOMEHOW he got shawt! An' shot howeveh it happn'ta him ain' no diff'rn'f'rm gett'n shawt right upta front! Ei'teh way, ya been SHOT." "I can't disagree with that," shrugs Dr. Levine. "But you seem -- defensive about it in a way that seems like YOU're taking it personally." I AIN' DEFENSIVE!" yells Sally. "I jus'don' like t'way people ack like Joe ain' no real soljeh! Ya put awnna unifawrm, ya get shawt, T'AT"S SOLJEH ENOUGH F"ME!" "But --" contends Dr. Levine, "DOES anyone actually say that? Or are you trying to convince -- yourself." Sally glares across at the psychiatrist, and looks up at the clock. "I gotta go," she growls. "I think we've covered enough for this week," agrees the doctor.)

(40-year old Leo and 42-year-old Sukey. Think there'll be a lot of stolen bases against the Dodgers this year?)

(AT LEAST HE SAVED THE DOUGHNUTS!)

(This kind of law-parsing suggests Bugs should consider a career in Congress.)

(Accordion pleats?? How did the OPA authorize THAT?)

(Bugs gets much more dignity here than they ever allow him in his own strip!)

(Wait, we're doing another dream story? Can we at least bring back conscience-stricken, introspective Genghis Khan? Now there was a character with potential!)

(Hence the expression, "A cup of Joe.")

(Well well well, now who's Miss Innocent Sweetpants?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Adrenaline can work miracles.

"The 12 O'Clock Floozy." Wasn't that a Broadway musical in 1924?

Tracy missed a trick here. He should have filled the back of the radio with bees.

Does Chili know about Rita??

"Tippey-toe?" I don't think she can do it!

Somebody tell LaGuardia about "Dogface Wallace's Palace and Poker Pastime Club."

CALLED IT

They grow up so fast.

Least they can do is give the kid a commission.

Oh foo, I was hoping it was Singh-Singh. BOM BIDDY BOM!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

"OH YEAH??" -- Geo. Magerkurth.

And finally...

And just like that there were no Nazis at all...

 

[Fading Fast]

"But --" contends Dr. Levine, "DOES anyone actually say that? Or are you trying to convince -- yourself." Sally glares across at the psychiatrist, and looks up at the clock. "I gotta go," she growls. "I think we've covered enough for this week," agrees the doctor.

I forget, who's paying for the good doctor? Oh, and whatever it is, it is not enough.

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"Tippey-toe?" I don't think she can do it!

If she was successful, that would make person number three dead or missing in her orbit. The police wouldn't miss that.

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Least they can do is give the kid a commission.

No one read Playboy for the articles and no one reads "Smilin' Jack" for the poor man's "Terry and the Pirates" storyline. It's time to bring back the cheesecake.

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"OH YEAH??" -- Geo. Magerkurth.

Bill Klem's one argument – and in a way, it's not a bad one – is tautological.