The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("Sinatreh's still a 4-F," sneers Sally. "Whatta punk." "Aww," injects Bink Scanlan, pausing in her labors to insert a fresh stick of Black Jack. "I t'ink 'e's whatchacawl dreamy." "Nightmaeh, moeh like," scoffs Sally. "He ain' nut'n like my Joe, at's f'sueh." "I neveh metcha husban'," shrugs Bink. "Whas'see like?" "He's like," frowns Sally, pointing to the small banner hanging behind the counter displaying two blue stars, "t'at." "Oh," acknowledges Bink. "Yeh," nods Sally, her voice hard. "An' doncha f'get it. Anyways," she continues, making an active effort to shift her mood, "I been meanin' t'ask ya sump'n. You like woikin'eeh? You like woikin' f'my Ma?" "Eh," ehs Bink. "It's a jawb." "Well look," wheedles Sally. "You eveh c'nsideh t'ez BETTEH jawbs out'teh?" "Y'mean like you gawt?" puzzles Bink. "I do'wanna woik in no fac'try, it ain' a whatcha cawl a good env'riament f'ra young gal like me. Y'know?" "I don' mean woik inna factry," declares Sally. "I mean, didjeh eveh consideh -- well, wait'n tables? In one'a t'em swell rest'runts downtown? T'ezzis place awn Fulton Street t'eh, w'eh awla big shawts go t'eat, an' I hoid t'ey was lookin' f'waitresses." "Y'don' say," replies Bink, rotating her gum. "I neveh done no woik like t'at." "Piece a'cake," declares Sally. "I done it myself oncet." "Oh, I hoidja Ma an' ol' Fatty tawkin'about t'at," snickers Bink. "A whole plate'a beans onnat guy!" "NEVEH MINE'AT!!" exhales Sally. "Now, heeh's whatcha need t'do....")

(There is no job too challenging for a skilled T-5.)

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

("I DON'T however, understand what you mean when you keep talking about 'point spreads.'")

("Um, if it's about the moonlighting, sir," stammers Mr. Parrott, "it's like I told you before..." "I have not summoned to discuss that trifling breach of discipline," declares Mr. Rickey with a sweep of his cigar. "We will address that at the proper time. No, my boy, I have summoned you today to discuss a matter of utmost importance, my boy, a matter which may concern your personal safety and well-being." "Oh," ohs Mr. Parrott. "If it's about those friends of Leo's who were in here yesterday..." "No, no," dismisses Mr. Rickey. "Mr. Durocher's associates figure not into this matter at all. I speak to you to a threat even more grave. It has come to my attention that a letter was sent to you at this office by a certain woman, a very dangerous woman, a Mrs. Sally Petrauskas of 1762 63rd Street. Do you know of whom I am speaking?" "I think MacPhail mentioned her to me once," shrugs Mr. Parrott. "She was very upset when he traded away Coscarart. And, speaking of which, I still say we could..." "We shall not discuss petty personnel matters," insists Mr. Rickey, "when your very -- sanity -- may be at stake. You must beware, my boy, you must beware. Jane Ann fortunately intercepted this communication before it could reach your desk, but there may be other attempts to contact you, for what purpose I cannot say. Beware, my boy. If you sight at any time a dark-haired woman with spectacles whose mouth is -- ah -- perpetually open, you must advise me at once, and I shall summon the authorites." "Oh," ohs Mr. Parrott. "It's that serious?" "It is," nods Mr. Rickey. "She has campaigned steadily against me for nearly two years. She found me at church. She found me at home. I knew no peace. You note, my boy, that at no time do I seat myself with my back facing a door." "Oh," swallows Mr. Parrott. "She usually travels," continues Mr. Rickey, "in the company of a large red-headed woman. Together they create a terrifying force for chaos and disorder." "Worse than Hilda?" injects Mr. Parrott. "Mrs. Chester," sighs Mr. Rickey, "is a gentle kindergarten teacher by comparison," "Oh," ohs Mr. Parrott. "Oh, indeed," sighs Mr. Rickey.

(Don't you DARE blow up that poor goose!)

(Actually what he said was "gggaarrrhppphhh hack wheeeeze.")

(Sometimes they don't even need a casting couch.)

(Gee, it's good to have supportive friends.)

(Cue the "wacky hillbilly fiddle music.")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"$100,000 Gem Dip." See what you could accomplish, Bink, if you tried...

Funny you should ask..

Your dance, Patrick.

Back in 1918, "Gasoline Alley" began as a strip about Walt, Doc, Avery and Bill, four guys standing around in the alley behind their houses complaining about their cars. Every once in a while Mr. King reminds us of that.

"Short Man???" IT NEVER STOPS WITH YOU PEOPLE DOES IT?

Somebody's gonna lose their job over this.

Celebrity cameos in the comics are nothing new, but I'm honestly impressed that Gus managed to get George Bernard Shaw.

Running wild-eyed thru the woods swinging an axe. Sometimes I'd really like to do that.


"And bathing out of his helmet!"

Children Learn What They Live.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Sinatreh's still a 4-F," sneers Sally. "Whatta punk."

If it's genuine, it's not his fault - right?

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If you sight at any time a dark-haired woman with spectacles whose mouth is -- ah -- perpetually open...

LOL.

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"$100,000 Gem Dip." See what you could accomplish, Bink, if you tried...

True in theory, but every "you don't belong here" bell and whistle would go off in any fine Manhattan jewelry store if Bink walked in. She'd have to dramatically change her, well, everything.

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"Short Man???" IT NEVER STOPS WITH YOU PEOPLE DOES IT?

Rifle in a tower one day - it's brutal how they treat him.

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These are usually "meh," but this one is cutely funny.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Awright," declares Sally, fingering her tea cup as she stares intently across the kitchen table. "I got awlis woiked out. T'is aftehnoon, me'n Bink Scanlan will go downtown, an'..." A sharp yowl from the living room cuts her off, followed immediately by the skittering arrival in the kitchen of Stella the Cat, rushing to her lair behind the stove. "LEONOREH!" she commands, her voice edging, "LEAVE T'CAT ALONE!" "DIN' DO NUT'N!" protest back Leonora. "PUT 'EH TAIL WHEH I WAN'ED T'WAWK!" "T'at kid," sighs Sally. "I ask ya. Anyways, like I'm sayin', me'n Bink Scanlan gonna go downtown an' get 'eh a jawb at t'is restr'unt weh Parrott eats lunch, awright? Awlem places downeh'ra despr'ate f'waitresses, an' I got 'eh awl trained about what t'say. It's a cinch, right? An'nen..." "I dunno Sal," exhales Alice, her eyes rolling to the ceiling. "Ain'neh'ra'n easieh way t'..." "I tol' ya," interrupts Sally. "Y'gotta be whatchacawl strategic wit' t'ese people. Now.." "Why don'cha," suggests Alice, "tawk it oveh foist wit' Docteh Levine, huh? Y'goin' inneh t'day, right?" "I'm doin' jus' what Docteh Levine TOL' me t'do!" protests Sally. "She says t'me I need t'fin' a distraction, awright? T'stawp worryin' s'much about what happen'ta Joe. She says I need sump'n t' keep me occupied, awright? I'm doin' 'zackly what she tol' me, awright?" "She din' mean chase Harol' Parrott awl oveh town'nough," injects Alice, "an' nag on'nim about hirin' colehed bawlplayehs, t'ough. I mean, did she?" "She says sump'n 'bout volunteerin' f't' Red Crawss," dismisses Sally. "I done'at befoeh, an'ney said'ey didn' need me no moeh." "How come?" queries Alice. "Neveh min'," snaps Sally. "B'sides, bobody tol' me Kilgallen was gona come in'neh t'getteh pitcheh taken f'some cheap publicity stunt." "Oh," ohs Allice. "Anyways..." continues Sally...)

("No, dear," whispers Mrs. Rickey, "for the fifteenth time, that is NOT her." "Are you CERTAIN?" quivers Mr. RIckey. "Because the resemblance is STRIKING." "No," insists Mrs. Rickey, "that woman is taller, her hair is different, and she isn't wearing glasses." "A clever disguise," mutters Mr. Rickey. "The stories I could tell you." "You're frightening the boy," sighs Mrs. RIckey. "As well he might be," jitters Mr. Rickey. "Look! Over by the door! That tall man in the overcoat! Don't you think that might be the red-headed woman in disguise?" "We're going back to the car, dear," exhales Mrs. Rickey...)


("You're sure," whispers Mr. Parrott to a Madison Square Garden usher, "that you didn't see her come in?" "What'm I?" shrugs the usher. "A Pinkehton? A private eye? I tol' ya I ain' seen no loudmout' dame wit' glasses an' I ain't." "And no tall redhead?" insists Mr. Parrott. "Well," admits the usher, "One time I seen Lois DeFee....")

(WAAAAAL PLAGUE MY SKILLET AN' BOIL MY TATERS!)

(This one was actually written for Elmer Fudd, but his agent advised him not to do it.)

(Robin? Not yet, but I was confronted yesterday by an aggressive blue jay.)

(There must be easier ways to prove a point.)

("Blebber der gustuten eckensich!" I think it loses something in the translation.)

(And I bet John L. Lewis isn't afraid of loud women with glasses.)

("We English are not very demonstrative. I mean, not like those Celts...")

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

It's a little known fact that His Holiness reads the News every day. They promised to clean up Page Four today just for him.

So what else is new?

Here's hoping Tracy has some sick leave piled up.

Um. Mr. Mosely needs to work out his issues.

Ah. Well now. That's a twist.

Shoulda gone with the amalgam.

There is no troll more expert than a ten year old girl.

"Helen Troy, Hero Cabbie!"

And Ma thinks she has problems.

Stalemate.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

OK, that's funny.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Why don'cha," suggests Alice, "tawk it oveh foist wit' Docteh Levine, huh?

Good advice is so rarely taken.

And there's no way Ma's going to give Bink the time off for all this.

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

"No, dear," whispers Mrs. Rickey, "for the fifteenth time, that is NOT her." "Are you CERTAIN?" quivers Mr. RIckey. "Because the resemblance is STRIKING." "No," insists Mrs. Rickey, "that woman is taller, her hair is different, and she isn't wearing glasses." "A clever disguise," mutters Mr. Rickey. "The stories I could tell you." "You're frightening the boy," sighs Mrs. RIckey. "As well he might be," jitters Mr. Rickey. "Look! Over by the door! That tall man in the overcoat! Don't you think that might be the red-headed woman in disguise?" "We're going back to the car, dear," exhales Mrs. Rickey...

Show me don't tell me what the expression "the wages of fear" means?

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Ah. Well now. That's a twist.

DID NOT SEE THAT COMING!