The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

It's for the best, kid. Who wants to go thru life as "Fanny Foote?"

We have memes in 1945 too.

Ohhhh, Measles. You'll answer to the OPA for this!

Poor Helen. Never pledge your soul to a job like that.

And once again in his quiet way, Frank King expands the boundaries of what the comics can show...

"Hmph," hmphs Miss Kaplan. "Too obvious," agrees Mozelewski.

Vintage Expressions You Don't Hear Anymore...

It's the way she wags the blackjack that really makes the scene.

He tripped over a chair, all right?

Hu Shee would very much like to see Lt. Charles eaten by the nearest tiger, and I'm in favor of that too.

 

[Fading Fast]

T'em people could get awful -- um -- picky.

God Luv ya, Alice.

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

Gale Storm, with the exception of Veronica Lake, could be the best made-up movie-star name ever. Ms. Storm was born Josephine Cottle, which to my ear, isn't a bad 1940s Hollywood name either.

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

We had an escaped convict loose in the neighborhood when I was about Junior's age, and my mother locked my sister and me in the house to prevent us from being taken hostage. So we never got to see any posses or any of that other interesting junk...

At least she worried. My Dad's response would have been to look up from the paper and say, "stay closer to the house today," followed by his head looking back down as he turned the page.

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

It's for the best, kid. Who wants to go thru life as "Fanny Foote?"

No kidding, tough tag. I'm guessing that Mr. Wallace Turner Foote would be interested in those beach volleyball magazines of Joe's doppelgänger.

And we have a new entry in the Page Four top-ten name list: Jetske De Balbian Vester.

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

It's the way she wags the blackjack that really makes the scene.

This is crazy stuff for a comic strip. You could easily see kids (and me) having nightmares from this storyline.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I was terrified of "Little Orphan Annie" as a kid, especially when Punjab was around. Something about the way it looked just gave me the willies. Revisiting it now, I can see why. Harold Gray was a strange man who created a uniquely strange world.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("This whool baaaasketbaaahl daaaanybrook," sighs Uncle Frank, "is what ye get whann bloody amatchoors stick thaar beaks in. Too mooch, too faast." "Mm," agrees Ma. "'Ere, Leonora, doon't poot thim nickels in ye mooth loike that." "You do it," protests Leonora. "Ye joost boite th' edge," Ma corrects. "Loike this, see? An' if ye teeth make a marrk, it's a phoony, made 'a lead, ye see?" "Like t'is'un?" displays Leonora, pointing to a clear nick on the rim. "Hm," nods Ma. "Woondarr how THAT got paast me." "Bink lef' it onna coun'eh," replies Leonora. "She tooka packa gum." "Well, at' least she's payin' soomthin," sighs Ma. "Don'chee waaary, Oi'll stick it aaahn soom soockar." Leonora nods, her understanding of the ways of the world continuing to expand. She returns to her nickels and pauses. "Don' give'at nickel to my ma," she requests. "Do'wanneh t'get wise!" Ma and Uncle Frank exchange glances as Leonora delicately clamps her teeth on another coin...)

("You see the artistry," preens Inky Quinlan. "Note the fine linework in the background, you see, the pale blue printing, where it says 'U. S. Government Ration.' Look here, thru my loupe -- note how clear and sharp the lines are, and yet the ink itself nearly blends into the background of the paper itself. Not one in a thousand could create such a perfect duplicate, not one in a thousand thousands, if I may -- ah -- modestly say so." "Rotion," reads Bink, squinting thru the eyepiece. "Pardon?" replies Inky, his gleaming smile commencing to flicker. "'R-o-t-i-o-n," continues Bink. "T'at ain' how ya spell 'ration,' 'less, I guess ya spell it wit'ta accent a'sump'n." "Give me that glass," snaps Inky, jamming the lens into his eye. "See?" prods Bink. "Ah," exhales Inky. "You have -- ah -- passed the test. I -- prepared this sample with a deliberate -- ah -- do you have a cigarette?" "Nickel f'ra loosie," snickers Bink. "Very well," mutters Inky, handing her a coin, accepting the proferred smoke, and retreating with no further comment to the alley behind the warehouse. Bink regards the nickel and gives it a cautious nibble. "HEY!" she roars...)

("I heeh lotta guys comin' home fr'm t'wawr drinkin' too much," sighs Sally. "Joe won' do t'at t'ough," assures Alice. "Nah," agrees Sally. "Two glasses a' beeh an'ee fawls asleep. Y'can't get too drunk on'nat. T'at's one t'ing I neveh hadda worry'bout wit' Joe. I remembeh Solly Pincus useta go out sometimes'n get kinda lit an' Joe'd go out'na middle'a t'night an' help'im home. Joe, t'ough, he's awrways sobeh as a judge." "Not awl judges," snickers Alice. "I know a few..." "What? "Nut'n. Anyways, I guess y'can't blame'm guys t'ough. Drinkin' too much, I mean. I guess some'a t'stuff t'ey mus' see oveh t'eh..." "Yeh," nods Sally, closing her eyes and riding on in silence...)

("Keep Romance Alive....)

("Breadon!" sneers Mr. Rickey. "In the twenty-two years of our association, I declare to you, my boy, without reservation and without hesitiation, that this man Breadon proved himself time and again to be the pinnacle, the very acme of parsimony." "Ah," nods Mr. Parrott, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "Mr. Breadon," scowls Mr. Rickey, "not only has the first dollar he ever earned, he also posesses the right hand of the man who handed it to him." "Ah," nods Mr. Parrott. "Mr. Breadon," smirks Mr. Rickey, "compresses a nickel with such force that the buffalo is reduced to a mere muskrat." "I see," exhales Mr. Parrott." "Did you wish something?" blinks Mr. Rickey. "I need a new pencil," ventures Mr. Parrott. "You were issued a pencil on the first of March." frowns Mr. Rickey. "Today is the sixth of April. You should by my reckoning have at least six inches remaining on that pencil." "I lost it," admits Mr. Parrott. "I bumped into some girl on the subway this morning and dropped my briefcase. She handed it back to me, but when I looked inside, several things were -- uh -- missing.' "Very well," eyerolls Mr. Rickey, reaching for his intercom. "Jane Ann," he buzzes. "Open the safe...")

(No, no, no. The line is "if it's a man hunt, you're out of ammunition!" If you're going to do this, Mr. Krebiehl, do it right.)

("And when the time comes for me to interfere, I shall do so in my own way!")

(The Inspector should avoid those tight-cut suits. They make him look way too hippy.)

("Now please get out of my house and never come back. I hear there's an open job in the Bahamas.")

(Sometimes Trix has to wonder if it's really worth it.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

"END OF THE LINE!! ALL OFF!"


Kids Today.

A shotgun, Tracy? That's not your style. Guess it's still too early in the year for bees.

After all, Skeezix's real name is "Allison."

"Oh shut up, you know full well it's going to be Kraft Dinner again."

Sounds like Helen used to work in the circus. I think I saw that act!

"America's Number One Hero Dog. Heh."

"Lieutenant Charles. Would you care to take a walk in the jungle?"

"One rayon stocking?" "Well, you know I don't make much money here."

Work with what you got.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

There's A New World Coming...

 

[Fading Fast]

"Bink lef' it onna coun'eh," replies Leonora. "She tooka packa gum." "Well, at' least she's payin' soomthin," sighs Ma.

Perfect.

"Don' give'at nickel to my ma," she requests. "Do'wanneh t'get wise!" Ma and Uncle Frank exchange glances as Leonora delicately clamps her teeth on another coin...

Also perfect.

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

Bink regards the nickel and gives it a cautious nibble. "HEY!" she roars.

Well done, Lizzie.

Also, dear God, how many times will Inky make a spelling mistake before this very precise man learns to meticulously check his spelling first?

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

"I bumped into some girl on the subway this morning and dropped my briefcase. She handed it back to me, but when I looked inside, several things were -- uh -- missing.'

You're really on fire today, Lizzie.

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

Exactly what the heck is going on here? How did her "scanties" show up? Is she at a USO tour or rock concert? Is Dietrich really taking off her panties and handing them out on tour? I will say, though, that would really lift, umm, morale.

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

"Lieutenant Charles. Would you care to take a walk in the jungle?"

Only a few days ago, when Charles was still in the air, having these three traipsing through the jungle together was not something I had on my bingo card.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("So t'boy's comin' home," observes Sergeant Doyle, thru a mouthful of coffee-sodden doughnut. "Soo they till oos," sighs Uncle Frank, sipping at his own cup. "Ohhh, Tommy, this is such good coffee." "T'is stuff?" snorts Doyle. "Tastes like cawrbolic acid." "Evarr since Oi coom down with that oolsar last year," laments Uncle Frank, "Nora won' let me have noothin' but Sanka, an' oonly woon coopa day at that." "Ya gawtta hawrd life," snickers Doyle. "So, when's'ee comin'? You gonna t'row a pawrty?" "We doon't know," shrugs Uncle Frank. "Tharr's soom -- ah -- caaahmplications." "Woid arouna' neighbehhood izzat it's a medical," notes Doyle. "Whed'ja heeh t'at?" snaps Uncle Frank. "Jimmy mentioned it," replies Doyle. "Awr Danny. I dunno howya tell'em two apawrt." "Th' woon that mentioned it," frowns Uncle Frank, "will be th' woon with a black oye." "He ain' pullin', you know, a scheme izze?" chuckles Doyle. "T'at Dunahey kid oveh'rawn Kingston Aveneh, y'know what he done? Shawt awff 'is own big toe." "Joe'd nevarr do th' loikes a' that," dismisses Uncle Frank. "An' if he DID try t'shoot 'is toe awf," laughs Doyle, "he'd prob'ly miss." "Sometoime, Thomas, yarrr a foony man," growls Uncle Frank," slapping a coin on the counter and reaching for his hat. "Boot naaaaht t'day.")

("One good t'ing," points out Alice, indicating the editorial page. "Joe ain' gonna hafta go t' Japan." "Yeh," nods Sally, staring blankly out the window as New Jersey rushes past...)

("Keep 'Em Puffin'!")

("Showboat Thomas!" marvels Mr. Parrott. "You know of him?" demands Mr. Rickey. "Seen him out at Dexter Park a few times," nods Mr. Parrott. "He's pretty good, but they say he's older than he claims to be. Not as old as Sukey, but he's no Tommy Brown. Plays a pretty good first base, maybe even as good as Camilli -- uh -- was." Mr. Rickey regards his minion thru narrowed eyes, and pauses to light a fresh cigar. "My boy," he ventures, "I am told that you Brooklyn youths would amuse yourselves in bygone days by harassing fruit peddlers on the street." "Yeah," Mr. Parrott recalls with a chuckle. "We'd tip over their carts and run away." "Precisely, my boy," puffs Mr. Rickey. "And doubtless on occasion you lacked the fleetness to accomplish your escape, and consequently you felt the stinging lash of retribution." "Yeah," nods Mr. Parrott, unsure where all this is headed. "There is a lesson to be learned from your boyhood escapades," expounds Mr. Rickey. "When you intend to upset an applecart, it is best NOT to do so on the sudden spur of the moment. You must form a careful, considered plan of action before a single move in the direction of that applecart is made. Then and only then will your mission prove successful." Mr. Rickey takes another contemplative pull on his cigar. "Do you understand, my boy," he continues, fixing his employee under an unblinking glare. "Do you understand what it is that I am telling you?" "I'm -- uh -- not sure," stammers Mr. Parrott, as possible interpretations of the parable whirl thru his mind...)

("What's aaahl this?" demands Ma, as a large carton jingles in the door, with Bink Scanlan barely visible behind it. "Stuff f't'at clot'in' drive," replies Bink. "I gawt so much stuff piled up in me room I can't hawrdly get in bed. Why, t'ot'eh night, Jimmy said -- um -- neveh mind, f'get I said t'at." "Hmph," hmphs Ma, pulling open the box. "Since whin'd'yee have aaahl these cloothes?" she frowns. "Ahhl Oi ivvar see ya warrrin' is that sweatarr an' thim bloody doongarees loike ye was soom koinda navvy.' "It's a hawby," shrugs Bink, crinkling open a fresh pack of Black Jack. "Lookit THIS now," marvels Ma, holding up a crisp spring dress. "It's still gaaht th' tag aaahn it. Abraham n' Straus! An' this blouse -- Loesarrr's! An' these gloves -- Maaaartin's! Since whin d'they let th' loikes a YOU inta Maaaartin's!" "Ehh," cracks Bink, "I know one'a t'goils t'eh." "You lifted aaahl this stoff, is whatchee doon," pronounces Ma. "Th' vaaaary oidear bringing haaat merchandoise in my store!" "Sometimes I take it back," argues Bink. "Sometimes I take sump'n from Mawrtins an' take it back t' Namms, jus' f' laughs." "Ye know, Barbara," scowls Ma, "in prison, they give ye cloothes far free." "Weh'zza fun innat," snickers Bink, giving her gum a resonating snap...)

(Those spring colds are awful. HONK HONK!)

(What ever became of Leonard Weinberg, Hero Cabbie?)

(Hey Inspector, just because Moon Mullins can dress like that doesn't mean you should.)

(At least she got dressed first.)

(Is this some kind of trend all of a sudden or what?)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"The court will without a doubt observe to what lengths he has gone..."

Looks like Parrott figured it out.

Well it's good you finally got that figured out.

What ever became of Chili Williams?

Chazz, Chazz, you really don't have any idea who you're dealing with...

SOMEBODY'S gotta work the swing shift.

Guess she's forgotten how this works.

YA THINK???

Lotta that going around.

It's OK to do an old joke as long as you take it seriously.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And speaking of the Worker...

There's a New World Coming...

 

[Fading Fast]

"An' if he DID try t'shoot 'is toe awf," laughs Doyle, "he'd prob'ly miss."

A bit obvious, but still, one point to Doyle.

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

"I gawt so much stuff piled up in me room I can't hawrdly get in bed. Why, t'ot'eh night, Jimmy said -- um -- neveh mind, f'get I said t'at."

I officially protest: it is too early in the morning to be subjected to the mental image this invokes.

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

Man, that's cold.

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

"The court will without a doubt observe to what lengths he has gone..."

I'm thinking they are both guilty.

Re Edward J. Ader – he loved playing the cat-and-mouse game with the authorities. I bet he liked the game as much as the swindles he was running. Also, even money he escapes again.

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

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I jus' can't shake it," sighs Sally. "T'is feelin' I gawt." "It's normal," replies Dr. Levine, jotting with her pencil. "T'at's nice'a ya t'say, Doc," Sally exhales. "Lotta people t'ink -- well, I ain't." "Ah," nods Dr. Levine, adding a note to her notebook. "An' see -- t'at'sa t'ing," Sally continues. "See, t'ezza lawta people don' like me. Kilgallen don' like me. Mildred Kelly don' like me. T'em guys at Penn Station don' like me. T'at rat cawp Flannehry, he don' like me. T'at Miss Kaplan fr'm Sperry's don' like me. MacPhail didn' like me. Rickey REALLY don' like me. T"at bot'l blonde downa Bohack's don' like me. An' well, y'know, noitz t''t'em, right? Y'can't please ev'ryone. But -- see -- Joe DOES. Ev'rybody likes Joe. Man ain' gotta enemy inna woil'. He jus' gets alawng wit' people. Like -- OK, t'at time I tol' ya 'bout me t'rowin' a brick t'ru t'screen at Loew's Orien'al. You know, whenney kep' showin'em Hoist newsreels. Me'n Joe wasn' even married yet but he was t'eh wit' me. He coulda run awff right t'en, but 'ee didn't. An' when'na manageh t'eh was gonna cawla cawps, Joe kin'a takes'im aside an' tawks wit'im an' I get awf scot-free. Well, I can't go inneh no moeh, but who caehs, at'sa fleapit anyways. But t'at's how Joe is. Ev'rybody t'at meets 'im, likes 'im. An' -- well, sometimes I wish *I* could be like t'at, an' I dunno why I ain't." "Ah," nods Dr. Levine, her pencil a blur. "But -- see,' resumes Sally. "What if when Joe comes home he AIN"T like t'at no moeh? What if whateveh happened oveh t'eh, you know, changed 'im, an'ee ain' Joe no moeh." "Would it matter to you?" queries Dr. Levine. Sally stares at the ceiling and tries to find the answer....)

(Football talk in April? Who cares?)

("Leo said what you told him to say," sighs Mr. Parrott. "But I could tell he didn't like it." "A man," pronounces Mr. RIckey, "who has grown accustomed to silk shirts has no desire to find himself reduced to circumstances where he must settle for cotton." "Um," ums Mr. Parrott. "Precisely," nods Mr. Rickey...)

("Ten doughnuts later...")

(And you know, pigs will eat anything.)

(Even when Mr. Bushmiller is not trying to be surreal, he is.)

(Yep, that's how I'll go. I'll die of chagrin.)

(Oh boy, let's debate predestination!)

(No, not Churchill. Although he does bear a facial resemblance to Clement Attlee.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Hustle your bustle." Sounds like a case for Jane Arden!

Yep, over the past three years we've met them all.

A paternity suit with a belt in the back.

"New York's Picture Newspaper" couldn't get a picture?

PUNK!

Honestly, kid, you shoulda done this a month ago.

Stay away from those things, kid, they'll stunt your growth. And Mr. Mosely sure does like to draw parachutes.

There's always baseball.

EW! I bet that beard smells like opium. And being an aunt at age 10 is quite an accomplishment.

Mastery of all languages is only one of Hu Shee's many accomplishments. And she can act, too!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally...

"Huh," huhs Alice, sitting on the front stoop and idly examining Sally's copy of the Sunday Worker. "Lookit'is. T'ey give t'is guy McDuffie Fitz's ol' unifawrm. He mus' be a big guy!" "Yeh," sighs Sally. "Hey," heys Alice, pointing to the paper. "Ain'choo excited 'bout t'is? Lawng's I've known ya you been sayin'ney oughta have colehed playehs onna Dodgehs, an' now it looks like it could happ'n. An'-- well, ain'choo excited?" "Yeh," sighs Sally. Alice exhales, and leafs thru the paper looking for "Pinky Rankin," as Sally looks out at Leonora observing a column of ants emerging from a crack in the sidewalk. "Alice," she finally replies. "You eveh wish t'eh was sump'n'aboutcha self ya wish y'could change? Butcha don' know how?" Alice looks over at her friend. "Awla time, kid,' she sighs. "Awla time."

 

[Fading Fast]

"Hustle your bustle." Sounds like a case for Jane Arden!

What's that you ask? Yes, there was a precode movie very close to this story, "She Had to Say Yes." (comments on the movie here: #28,708 ). It stars the lovely Loretta Young as shown here.

Oh, and being a precode, Young outsmarts all the men in it.

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

Mastery of all languages is only one of Hu Shee's many accomplishments. And she can act, too!

Hu Shee has been my favorite since the day we learned she had been a Hollywood stunt driver.

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

"You eveh wish t'eh was sump'n'aboutcha self ya wish y'could change? Butcha don' know how?"

It's a step in the right direction.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Moothar'a maarcy," exhales Ma. "They doon't say what camp it was, thoo," observes Uncle Frank, glancing up at Mickey's picture behind the counter. "It doon't mattar what camp it was," replies Ma. "To th' people that was in it." Uncle Frank contemplates this statement and gazes into the bubbles slowly rising in his glass. "'This was doon boi a few people,' reads Ma. 'An' ye can't blame oos ahhl.'" They exchange glances, but no further words are possible...

("Whatta buncha jokehs," snickers Alice. "See, t'at's why I don' neveh go t'Queens. It's fulla t'em kinda jokehs. Bust up a jernt soon's'ey'd lookatcha! Why, I remembeh t'is one time me'n Mickey was makin' a d'livery out t'eh in Astoria, some jernt on Nawrt'en Boulevard. Downa basemen' of a fish mawrket, c'n'ya magine'at? Whole place smelt like mack'rl. Anyways, I back up t'truck, an' Mickey stawrts unloadin', annis guy looks it oveh, right? An'nee says, 'you SUEH t'is stuff is Canadian?" An' Mickey says, you know, tryin' t'be a wise guy, he says 'oui, oui!" An'na guy don' know no French so'ee says 'WHADJOO CAWL ME?" An'nen 'e pawps Mickey one right'n'a beezeh! I couldn' stawp LAUGHIN'!" "How come," queries Sally, looking up from a month-old copy of 'Mademoiselle,' "you was hawlin' pipe from Canada? What diffn'ce does'AT make?" "Um," ums Alice, "it -- uh -- makes t'wawteh tas'e like -- uh -- maple syrup a'sumpn..." "Ah," ahs Sally, with a prodigious eyeroll, as Alice wipes away a bead of sweat....)

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

(Making the world safe for the Boys From Marketing...)


(Mungo "unwrapped?" I thought he rode to the mound in a laundry cart.)

(She really worked hard to set this up, so let her enjoy her triumph.)

(PRETTY COCKY FOR A MAN WITH A COMB-BACKER!)

("You never let us have any fun!!")

(I look forward to Scarlet digging into the insurmountable crisis of HOUSING REFORM!)

("What's going on down there?? Looks like a FASHION SHOW!")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Even though she never won any polls." That's just mean.

"What black maaaarket?" -- J. P. Shaughnessy, butcher, Brooklyn.

You know, now that I think of it, we never actually saw the body...

It's the weird little eyes that really scare me.

"Careful, daughter -- I tried that and look how *I* ended up."

Not only is he a new papa, it also looks like Skeez got promoted!

CUT! Tell the mutt to STOP LOOKING AT THE CAMERA!

"There's only one thing for it -- Goofy! Get into that gown!")

There are times I do feel very sorry for poor Plushie.

PUNK!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

There's a New World Coming, ready or not...

One minor quibble -- Sukey, from the South??? He's not even from South Waldoboro! Nosah!

 

[Fading Fast]

"How come," queries Sally, looking up from a month-old copy of 'Mademoiselle,' "you was hawlin' pipe from Canada? What diffn'ce does'AT make?" "Um," ums Alice, "it -- uh -- makes t'wawteh tas'e like -- uh -- maple syrup a'sumpn..." "Ah," ahs Sally, with a prodigious eyeroll, as Alice wipes away a bead of sweat....

Alice is having an off day; she walked right into that one.

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

"You never let us have any fun!!"

The best part of this silly storyline is that we got to see Jane in a bikini.

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

"Even though she never won any polls." That's just mean.

That was an uncalled for sharp elbow, but then again - she's no joy, so maybe she deserved it.

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

CUT! Tell the mutt to STOP LOOKING AT THE CAMERA!

"'Mutt,' excuse me, I am a purebred (checks notes and then scrunches face), ahem, well mutt is still just rude.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Oi'm naaht goin' t'read th' papaar noo mooor," proclaims Ma, slapping her copy of the Eagle down on the countef, "if they keep pootin' sooch aaarticles in tharr. Oi KNOW what thim Nazis aaahr an' what they do in tharr prison camps, boot Oi'll be bloody boond if Oi'm goin' to read aboot it every damn day.' "Yeh," sighs Sally, swizzling up the last of her after-work Coke. "Leonoreh!" she calls across the store at her daughter, who is immersed in the latest issue of "Modern Romances." "Getcha jacket awn. An' puddown'at trashy book. How come you gotta carry t'at junky stuff, but I gawtta go awlaway inta t'City t' get 'New Masses?" "Oi don't want noo trooble with noobody," insists Ma. "Oi ain't fargatt whin you poot thim barrth controol papars in here, an' ahll thim people froom th' parish caahled a boycaaat. Anyhoo, befarr ye go -- have ye harrd anythin' from Joseph yet?" "No," shrugs Sally. "An' I dunno what I'm even lookin' fawr. Anot'eh letteh from t' Wawr Depawrtmen', a wieh, nobody's tellin' me nut'n. I dunno, maybe he'll jus' show up." 'Huh" huhs Ma. "An' with ye barrrthday coomin'' oop in three days, wouldn' THAT be soomthin'." "A'nnat'sa'noteh't'ing," adds Sally, gathering her handbag. "If yeh plannin' anyt'ing, don't. Boit'day pawrties is f'kids. I ain'na kid." "Ahhhl grooon oop," eyerolls Ma. "Maybe," shrugs Sally, "its about time I was.")

("Heh!" hehs Jimmy Leary, straddling an Automat stool as he demolishes a plate of macaroni and cheese, a newspaper propped against Bink Scanlan's handbag. "Whyagotta do' t'at?" fumes Bink. "Ask me out t'dinneh an' ya sit like a joik read'na papeh. We might's well be ridin'awna subway." "We'll do t'at lateh," nods Jimmy, shoving another succulent forkload into his voluminous craw. "Hey!" he continues, wiping his mouth on his shirt cuff. "Y'see t'is? Cawps picked up t'ese two dopes f'neckin' inna pawrk, an'nen'ney keep right awn neckin' 'fron'na t' magistrate! An'nen'na goil run awff! Whoeveh hoida -- hey, kid, you awright? How come ya face is toinin'at coleh.....?")

(KIDS TODAY!)

(We haven't checked in on Helen in a while so it's good to see she hasn't lost any of her zizz.)

(I do have to wonder what Birmingham Ben though of those fellows who were in for a tryout the other day...)

I wonder if Mr. Krehbiel has ever even once interacted with an actual woman.

(You're not as good at this as you think you are.)

(I would think a time traveling hipster from 2025 could find better things to do in 1945 than this hokey racket...)

(Robert Moses will eat this guy alive.)

(Well, I mean, do you have any idea how hard it is right now to get a decent girdle?)