The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

"Izzis awl?" gapes Joe, regarding the one supply truck parked in the snow. "T'is is awl'at got t'ru???" "I huhd they's fahghtin' hawrd in Stras'bu'g," shrugs the Corporal, fumbling with cold-numbed hands to unlatch the tailgate. "Cain' mucha nuth'n get thru. Git on up theh now, an' stawrt passin'um down." Joe clambers into the back ot he truck, and squints into the darkness. "Uh oh," he calls out. "Whuss uh-oh?" demands the Corporal. "Ain' nut'n in'eeh," sighs Joe, "but mess kits. Nut'n t'put 'innm, jus' mess kits." "Gawdayum," sighs the Corporal, expectorating into the snow. "Yeh," agrees Joe, ejecting a brown stream of his own...

OK, you made the point. Let's hear about Chaplin again.

29? I stuck for years at 28.

Ever have one of those days?

Oh, is that what we're calling it now?

"Of course you realize this means war."

Kids, don't try this at home.

Public art.

At least it's MISTER Pantywaist now. And poor Joy, she's always dying of something.

Oh yes, Charles, by all means.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally...

I mean, there's chicken fat, and then there's BLOOMINGDALE'S chicken fat.

 

[Fading Fast]

An iron piece from a broken truck bumper stood as the only clue as to the mystery of who ransacked the tomb of Monsignior James J. Coan at St. Mary's Cemetery in South Amboy, New Jersey on New Years' Night. The Middlesex County Sherrif's Department is canvassing the entire county in attempt to locate a truck with a broken bumper, and has requested that police in Brooklyn mount a similar search. The investigation was complicated by the revelation yesterday that the lock on the mausoleum was not broken in order to gain entry, but instead was opened with a key.

It's not a tomb from ancient Egypt, what's in there to steal?

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

OK, you made the point. Let's hear about Chaplin again.

Jesus, no kidding.

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

It's like old times, sniff.

 

[LizzieMaine]

C'mon, Terry, she wasn't that mean. She taught you to dance!!!!

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Two-Gun Bishop!!!" guffaws Uncle Frank. "Oi KNEW it was him! Oh, Nora, you must remembarrr him! ! Remembar th' toime they sen' 'im t'Rikaaaar's Oislan', an' th' bloody eejut troyed t'swim aaaahfff!" "Hmph!" hmphs Ma, distracted by the arrival of a customer. "Gimme a Coke," insists the young woman, slapping down a nickel. "Wait a minute," she adds, slapping down a dime. "Make it t'ree! I'm t'oisty!" "Don' I know you?" queries Ma, preparing the order. "You waaark at Bohack's doon th' street." "Yeh, yeh," she snaps. "Make it quick." Ma cocks an eyebrow, but discontinues the conversation as she pushes the three glasses across the counter. As she is doing so, a wiry young man in a plaid mackinaw enters. "Hiya, Rut'ie," he greets the young woman. "T'is t'place?" Ruthie nods, and the young man occupies a stool. "Coca-Cola," he orders. He glances at Ruthie, already downing her third glass. "Make it two," he adds. "Hey Rut'ie -- stan' me a dime?" Ruthie eyerolls, and fishes a quarter out of her purse. "T'ree mo'eh," she orders. "Ye'll make ye'self sick!" injects Ma. "Jus' DO IT!" snaps Ruthie. "Th' coostomarr," sighs Ma, "is aaahlways roit." Uncle Frank's eyebrows elevate. "Been loike this aaahl maaarnin'," shrugs Ma, reaching for clean glasses. "Hm," hms Uncle Frank...)

Relief of the city meat situation seemed no nearer solution today, although Mayor LaGuardia said that he expected action from War Mobilization Director Fred M. Vinson on the issue either today or tomorrow. Making that announcement in his weekly radio broadcast yesterday over WNYC, the Mayor did not indicate whether the expected Federal action would set celing prices for livestock or make new meat allocations previously hinted at by OPA Regional Director Daniel P. Woolley. The Mayor also warned of further shortages resulting from the tightening of War Food Administration regulations requiring packers to hold all choice and good grades of meat until a full sixty percent has been selected for military and Lend-Lease needs.

("You tell'm, Butch!" cheers Sally as Alice fidgets. "Run awlem bums right outta town!" "Ain'choo eveh bet on nut'n?" queries Alice. "You know, a bawlgame a'sump'n? Jus' f''laughs?" "Neveh!" declares Sally. "Betcha have too," smirks Alice. "In fack, I betcha a Coke if ask aroun' I'll find somebody you bet wit'." "A Coke, huh?" ponders Sally. "Afteh woik day afteh t'marra, at y'Ma's place," pledges Alice. "Ya awn!" declares Sally. "Hey, let's make it t'night, ya credit's good!"

("Ohhhh give me a home, near the Capitol dome, where the flacks and the lobbyists play....")

("Wars justify excess population." Well, it's good to know that going in, huh?)

("A work of genius!" declares Mr. Parrott. "And I'm not just saying that! It's brilliant! You're brilliant!" "Hm," hms Mr. Rickey, accepting the compliment as only his due. "And best of all," grins Mr. Parrott, "The Legion comes in -- and out goes O'Malley!" Mr. Rickey merely takes a contented puff on his cigar, and emits a pleasant sigh...)

(At the end of The Ankles?)

("Oh? Isn't that assuming a lot?" "That isn't what I meant and you know it!" "Hasn't that always been the way though, you never do say what you mean?" "I HATE YOU!")

(Sure, but who says you have to load every chamber in the cylinder, anyway? Have you ever even, you know, actually held a gun?)

("Wait, do you know Leon and Eddie? Could you get us in there, I love that place!")

("Oh, that's dumb. But I'll go along." WORDS TO LIVE BY.)