The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

Isn't she cold up there???

 

[Fading Fast]

Isn't she cold up there???

It would make sense, but it's hard to confirm as that detailed doesn't seem to have been painted on.

 

[Madhouse27]

Buff, please just tell her I’m dead.

 

[LizzieMaine]

While Mr. Schroth shoots off firecrackers in his backyard there is no Eagle today, but for the millions of New Yorkers who labor on thru the holiday at their war jobs, the Daily News as ever makes its morning appearance...

"At least I *know* wheh Joe is," sighs Sally, resting the paper in her lap as the train sways its way to Jersey. "But I wondeh wheh Solly Pincus is. He t'ought t'ey'd prob'ly send 'im back t' Europe but who knows weh." "Whassit like, I wondeh," sighs Alice. "Y'know, Siddy won' neveh tawk about what he seen inna las' wawr. I know he was in France, an' one time he mentioned 'is place cawlt 'Argonne' a' sump'n, but I dunno weh t'at is. You know weh t'at is?" Sally ponders for a moment. "I hoid of it," she sighs. "I seen a movie when I was a kid, 'T' Big P'rade.' You eveh see t'at pitcheh?" "Nah," dismisses Alice, "I didn' go much t'pitchehs back t'en. I -- uh -- woiked nights." "Y'know," resumes Sally, "me'n Joe's about t'on'y fam'ly Solly's got -- but if sump'n happ'nt'wim, I dunno if, y'know, t'Awrmy would know t'at. I don' know who he's got down f'ris nexta kin. Some'n coulda happnt'wim, an' we might neveh know." There is another long silence punctuated only by the rattling of the train and the low murmur of its passengers. "Hey Sal," resumes Alice. "You t'ink maybe if I went t't' liberry t'eh t'ey'd have sump'n 'bout t'is Argonne?" "Yeh," shrugs Sally. There is another long silence "But who wants t'hang arounna liberry," Sally continues. "Bore ya sick inneh." "Yeh," nods Alice. "Guess ya right..."

"Yeh," murmurs Sally, gazing at Miss Farmer's photo. "Good luck, kid."

Oh, why bother. I'm sure the Brow would be happy to give you a pistol if you asked him nicely.

Of all the twists this story could take, "wacky chimp antics" was not something I anticipated.

WILL YOU JUST GET OUT OF HERE??????

"Rich? You mean like -- 'Daddy?'"

Better get used to it, he'll insist on being called "The Colonel" for the rest of his life.

A short, balding 20-year-old must make use of whatever he can.

Two plane crashes in a week? What's the odds?

Oh come on, once you get used to it he's actually kinda cute.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Watch it, Sarge -- note the wedding ring.

And finally...

Likewise.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Whassat?" queries Alice, as Sally taps a folded sheet on her lap, her eyes far away. "'Not'eh letteh from Joe? Can't be doin' much bakin' if 'e's awrways writin'!" "Neh,"sighs Sally. "Letteh fr'm Joe's sisteh, Lina." "T' one 'nat raised 'im?" replies Alice, her brows raising. "I t'ought she was dead." "Might as well'a been," frowns Sally. "She lives in Joisey now, out'n Teaneck. Keeps house f'some docteh'ra sump'n. I on'y met 'eh once, right b'foeh we got married. She looks me oveh an' says t' Joe, 'you daeh t' bring t'is Irish koiva in my house?" "Huh," huhs Alice. "Whassat mean?" "It means," scowls Sally, "t'nex' time I see 'eh I owe 'ehra smack inna mout'." "Oh," ohs Alice as comprehension dawns. "I don't t'ink Docteh Levine would like t'at." "No," concedes Sally. "Prob'ly not." Well," Alice continues, "if t'at's how it is how come she's writin' to ya?" "She wants t'let bygones be bygones," explains Sally. "I guess Joe's been writin' to 'eh since 'e's been inna Awrmy, an' when he's oveh t'Kilmeh she wawnts we sh'd awl get t'getteh. She's neveh met Leonoreh, an' she ain' tawked t' Joe since we gawt married. T'at's awmos' seven yeehs." "You gonna do it?" wonders Alice. "I dunno," shrugs Sally. "I know when I ain't wawn'ed, an' cawlin' me what she cawlt me is kind'va sign, y'know?" "Ya ma useta cawl Joe a dumb bohunk," notes Alice. "An'now she t'inks he wawks on wawteh." "T'way Lina looked at me t'at time," frowns Sally, "it was like she was gonna put me UNDEH wawteh. An' now I should take Leonoreh out t'meet 'eh?" "She's fam'ly, t'ough," notes Alice. "Like it awr not." "Who needs 'at kin'a fam'ly," scoffs Sally. "I got awla fam'ly I need. I got Ma an' Mickey an' Uncle Frank, an' Jimmy an' Danny an'-- well, you an' Krause, an' -- ev'na Ginsboigs, even." "How 'bout Joe, t'ough?" challenges Alice. "What's he got?" "He's got awla t'em too," argues Sally. "An' Solly Pincus is like a brot'eh." "But," counters Alice. "Ya ma an' ya bro'teh, at least -- f'you, t'at's blood. What's Joe gawt f'blood? His sisteh." "Blood don' matteh," dismisses Sally. "Easy," frowns Alice in a highly pointed tone, "f'you t'say...")

American casualties in World War II have now exceeded those of the First World War, it was disclosed today by an analysis of official reports. Over 31 months of global fighting have produced 261,541 US casualties, as opposed to the 259,735 casualties over the 19 months of American participation in the last war. 56,772 Americans so far have died in the current war, versus 53,878 in World War I.

(There's a new world coming.)

Fears of the Office of Defense Transportation of a massive transportation pileup as holiday vacationers flooded back into the city failed to materialize today, as bus and rail lines reported no major problems with returning holiday traffic. Many of those who left the city over the weekend were doing so at the start of two or three week vacations, and many, anticipating a late rush, started home early. Lowering skies yesterday afternoon cut short holiday activities for many others, thus spreading the return traffic out over the entire day rather than it occuring all at once.

General Charles de Gaulle is expected soon to arrive in Washington DC, possibly within the next 24 hours, for conferences with President Roosevelt on the complex state of official relations between the United States and de Gaulle's National Committee for French Liberation. A dispatch from Algiers stated flatly that Gen. de Gaulle is scheduled to lunch with the President on Friday. It is also anticipated that the Fighting French leader will be the guest of honor at a dinner given by Secretary of State Cordell Hull, and possibly also at an official State dinner at the White House.

(There's no such thing as a bad dog.)

(That's a nice euphemism.)

(Paige went 11 innings at Ebbets Field and then on one day's rest he goes out to Dexter Park and throws three more? He'll probably go six today at the Parade Grounds.)

("I'm not so worried about bricks hitting me in the head, but I paid ten dollars to some guy in an alley for these stockings!")

("Ha! I bet it's the horse again!" Don't you just hate that?)

(Rattle brain? She's no Harold Teen!)

(It's like Mr. Stamm is reading my mind. Which is, under the circumstances, an unsettling thought.)

(SUCH CRUST! Kitty used to live with the Bungles.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Come to Brooklyn, Clare. There's a lady here who'd like a word with you.

"There must be an easier way to make a living than this." -- Commissioner Valentine.

The most disturbing thing about this chair is that it would actually be very easy to build. You're a sick man, Mr. Gould.

"All right, Mama. Let's go."

I mean, the walls in these old hotels are pretty thin.

"Yeah, I was the casting director at Columbia."

"Gulp. Even -- Nick?"

This was a tank job. Imagine the free sandwiches!

Hey, careful with those bottles. There's a shortage!

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Snif. Our little boy really has grown up.

February 14, 1921.

 

[Fading Fast]

Alice has a special talent for knowing how to talk to Sally.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Funny t'ing is," comments Sally, glancing at the papers stacked on the counter before her, "I don' even really know awlat much 'bout Joe's fam'ly. I mean, I know t'ey come fr'm Lit'uania befoeh he was bawrn, an' I know Lina was about six yeehs ol' when'ney come'eeh, an' I know his ma died right afteh he was bawrn an'nis Pa died inna influenza -- but I dunno nut'n else, really. He kinda remembehs 'is pa but 'e neveh knew 'is mot'eh at awl. Awl 'e really had was Lina, an' she wasn' much but a kid at t't'ime 'ehself." "Terrible," sighs Ma. "Ye'd nevarr knoow to look at 'im. Aaahlways so cheerful, 'e is. Oi aaahlways loiked that aboot 'im." "I wondeh if 'es got relations oveh t'eh still?" ponders Sally. "I know he don' know, but I wondeh if Lina does. Seems like she'd remembeh." "Maybe," ventures Ma, "thaat's what this is aaahl aboot. Maybe she's harrrrd soomthin' from ovarr there she wants Joseph t'knoow aboot." "I dunno how she would," shrugs Sally. "Ain' like t'em Nazis gonna be lett'n much woid out." She glances over at Leonora, sweeping her stacks of nickels into a canvas bank deposit bag. "Whatcha t'ink, hon?" queries Sally. "You wanna go meet y' Aunt Lina?" "Too busy," frowns Leonora. "Lotsa waaark t'do. Maybe lateh." "Waaaaark," chuckles Sally. "She sounds jus' like you." "Unca Hops late," Leonora continues. "Still gotta count c'lections!" "What's she tawkin' about?" snickers Sally. "C'lections?" "Maaaaaar choildish nonsense," hustles Ma. "Oi know what ye'd like, Leonora daaarlin', hooow aboot a noice haaaht foodge sundae!" "Eh," shrugs Leonora. "Afteh waaaaark.")

American armored forces in Italy battled halfway thru the stronghold of Rosignano, keystone to the German defenses before Livorno, while other Allied units smashed northward toward Florence and Ancona in a general advance of from one to five miles. Driving rains and deep mud slowed the advances of the 5th and 8th Armies but official sources noted today that they are moving northward with increasing speed, riding roughshod over enemy positions offering the stiffest opposition since the fall of Rome.

U. S. soldiers and marines are mopping up last-ditch Japanese resistance in northern Saipan, as Admiral Chester W. Nimitz held out high hopes of exerting increasing pressure on Japan as his Pacific fleet approaches peak efficiency. Nimitz indicated today that he is confident that the Saipan campaign is nearing its finish, but he believes a hard fight remains until "most of the remaining Japanese are killed."

("I guess that's why they called this the Van Lingle Mungo Suite.")

Sharply criticizing the Republican Party platform plank concerning Negroes, Wendell Wiillkie declared today that he will have to closely examine the Democratic Party's racial plank before making up his mind on which party, he feels, would best help America's largest racial minority. The 1940 GOP presidential nominee, who dropped out of the 1944 race following a poor showing in the Wisconsin primary, noted that the racial plank adoped at last month's Republican National Convention offers proposals to abolish the poll tax and establish anti-lynching law by proposing a Constitutional amendment that would have no chance of being ratified. "That will never happen in your lifetime or mine," declared Willkie. "Two thirds of the states must ratify such an amendment. The nine southern states would block it, and other states would join with them. It just could not work." Willkie declared that, so far as Negroes are concerned, the Republican platform is "filled with weasel words," and he urged Negroes to study both parties' platforms carefully to determine which woud be best.

(You just can't trust those Davega bathing suits.)

The Eagle Editorialist observes with interest a report indicating that working women are 30 times more likely to be willing to take on additional duties than women of the leisure class. The report, prepared by the chairwoman of the Nurse's Aides section of the Brooklyn chaper of the American Red Cross, notes that of 150 women applying for nursing assitants' training, only five of them were women who stay at home all day. The other 145 had regular jobs. "While this ratio may be deplorable," comments the EE, "it should not be surprising. Anyone who has ever served on a committee knows that the most work is done by the busiest people, that only busy people have time for additional duties. Those who have the least to do always have the least time at their disposal."

(J. Parnell Thomas, the Campaign Years.)

(Well, if this really is the end of the line for J. Whitlow, at least he will have the dignity of not being shipped out of town in a potato sack by Mr. Rickey. Maybe Fitz can use a pitching coach in Philly.)

Thursday July 20th will be Paper Drive Day at Ebbets Field, with admission granted to anyone reporting to the ballpark with 20 pounds of waste paper and the 20 cent Federal amusement tax.

(And they were never seen or heard from again. Hey Mary, checked on Dennie lately? I think he's becoming a juvenile delinquent.)

(Better answer it, if he tries to knock he'll kick the door in.)

(Sure, everybody knows the best way to confront crooked gamblers is to scold them face to face.)

("Maybe it's because I'm so terribly nearsighted.")

(Who needs Jiminy Cricket when you've got Kitty!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Another nominee for Most Page Four Page Four of 1944.

All this -- AND A BEAR!

You couldn't give her half an hour, could you??

"Awww," awws Miss Kaplan. "Hey, Moze -- you eveh t'ink 'bout set'lin' down? You know, afteh t'wawr?" Mozelewski leans back on the bench and ponders. "Yeh," he nods. "I gawt it awl figyehed out. 'M gonna open a shop, a dress shop, right awn Fulton Street. 'Mozelewski's a' Brooklyn.' Real high class jernt." "T'at ain' what I meant," snickers Miss Kaplan. "It's what *I* meant," frowns Mozelewski. "An' don' cawl me 'Moze.""

Honeymoon's over.

Took ya long enough!

"You know, ministers, schoolteachers, mailmen, RATION BOARD CHAIRMEN!"

Didnt know Pop had a sister, did you?

Anyway, the room did need a good cleaning.

Well, it certainly isn't a pygmy marmoset.

 

[Fading Fast]

Valley Stream reader: "I don't understand this mermaid story at all."

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Sal?" queries Alice, resting the Eagle on her lap as the train rattles out of the Hudson Tube. "C'n I ask ya sump'n?" "Yeh," replies Sally, leaning back with her eyes closed. "Sal," resumes Alice, "d'you -- well, d'you b'lieve in, you know, Gawd?" Sally exhales, but her eyes remain closed as she ponders the question. "I dunno," she finally replies. "Maybe. I dunno." "But if t'eh is a Gawd," continues Alice, gesturing to one particular story on the front page, "how'c'n'e let sump'n like t'is happ'n? Awlem kids dyin' b'cause some guys was, I dunno, tryin' t'save a buck? If t'ezza Gawd, how come t'em guys didn' get struck dead a'sump'n? Lit'l kids, Sal. Lit'l kids." Sally remains silent as the train bumps onward. "Howcum," she finally replies, "howcum HItleh ain' been struck dead? Howcum 'e didn' strike Hitleh dead ten yeehs ago? Howcum t'ezzis wawr goin' awn? If t'ezza Gawd." "But t'en," continues Alice, "t'ezziz ot'eh story heeh, t'is goil fr'm Brooklyn even, t'is Dorot'y Burrows. You might know 'eh, Sal, 'boutcha age, wen' Erasmus. "Burrows?" ponders Sally. "Neh. Don' remembeh." "Anyway, says heeh t'is Dorot'y Burrows saved a buncha kids out' t'fieh." Sally nods, but has no reply. There is another long silence as Alice weighs her own thoughts. "T'sistehs use'ta say," she finally resumes, "it ain' Gawd's fault if sump'n bad happn's, it's t'one t'at done it t'at's t'blame. But -- I mean, one time t'eh was t'is gal at t'home, right, an' she was stealin' food out t'kitchen. An' I knew she was doin' it an' I didn' say nut'n. But when t' sistehs foun' out t'ey didn' jus beat t'gal t'at was stealin', t'ey beat me too f'not toinin' 'eh in. So by t'at, I mean, Gawd knows awlis bad stuff goin' awn, an'nee don' do nut'n about it -- so -- I mean..." "I dunno," sighs Sally, shaking her head and closing her eyes again. "Misteh G tol' me once," Alice relates, "t'at t'ez bad inna woil' so y'can *d'cide* t'do good. I guess t'at's what Dorot'y Burrows done, huh?" "Yeh," sighs Sally, as the train rattles on toward home.....)

American airmen of a Pacific task force were revealed today to have probably sunk a dozen Japanese ships and destroyed or damaged 113 planes in raids on the Bonin and Volcano islands, 650 miles from Tokyo. A Radio Tokyo broadcast recorded by FCC monitors reported that a single B-24 Liberator bomber struck Chichi Jima in the Bonins yesterday, the first acknowledged attack on the Bonins by a land-based bomber. A communique from the headquarters of Admiral Chester W. Nimitz noted that the damage revealed in his report was the work of a carrier-based strike force.

A fleet of 1000 Flying Fortresses and Liberators pounded aircraft factories and oil refineries in central Germany today, raining heavy blows on the heart of the waning Nazi air force. Strong forces of Mustangs, Lightnings, and Thunderbolts accompanied the big bombers as they lashed at aircraft assembly shops, component parts factories, and refineries near Leipzig, Lutzkendorf, and other plants in the central Reich.

("I wonder if I could get a radio show too..." -- Commissioner Valentine.)

General Charles de Gaulle meets today in Washington with President Roosevelt, in an atmosphere of harmony that two weeks ago would have been considered impossible. The leader of the Fighting French himself has contributed to the improved atmosphere by stating that "the world has changed from a spirit of independence to a spirit of interdependence."

An enraged kibitzer killed a 60 year old Park Slope card player yesterday by jamming the stem of his pipe into the man's ear. Dominic Erricolo, a laborer, of 643 President Street, was playing cards in a vacant lot on 6th Street between 3rd and 4th Avenues with four friends yesterday when the unidentified bystander offered unsolicited advice. The other players told police that when Erricolo dismissed the kibitzer's suggestions, the man took the pipe out of his mouth and rammed it into the side of Erricolo's head, killing him instantly. Police are searching for the killer, hampered by the fact that none of the other card players could offer an adequate description of the man.

("What d'ye say we take in a show t'night, Nora?" proposes Uncle Frank, pushing back fully satisfied from the dinner table. "We could get ahhl goosied oop an' go t'th' Metropaaaahlitan! Midnoight waar bond shoow, stay oot late loike a coupl'a kids." "Be yarr age, Francis," dismisses Ma. "We've got t'get William t'bed, an'..." "William," points out Uncle Frank, "is livin' with th' Krauses now." "Ah," ahs Ma. "He is, at that." She bustles the soiled plates into the sink, and pauses to consider. "Whaat toime," she queries, "did ye say that show begins?")

(Ahhhh -- depends on the souvenir...)

(WHY ISN'T BUCKY WALTERS IN THE ARMY???)

(All right then, that's that.)

("I'll believe you're my Uncle Willie when I see an elephant fly! Oh, wait...")

(What if it turned out Honest Tom is the crook and Slippy Sam is actually honest? EVER THINK OF THAT, JANE?)

(Some people sense opportunity, other people wouldn't know it if it floated up to them like a severed torso in thin air...)

(AND I'M NOT FAT I HAVE FLUFFY FUR!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News....

Horrific.

"Imbecile" was originally a specific medical term for a mental disability, but even in 1944 it is passing out of that use due to its absorption into the common language as a slur.

Shoot the machine first!

"Please give me some-thing to re-mem-ber you byyyyyyyyyy...."

Social Media, 1944 edition.

"Even worse, every time I go home, the iceman is just leaving..."

Such a sensitive guy.

Oh, poo, I was just getting used to him this way.

"Sigh. I knew a guy back in St. Louis used to do that..."


"Mr. T? As in "Tommy?" As in MANVILLE? I KNEW IT!"

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Ah! Mister Krause!" declares Mr. Ginsburg, opening the door to admit the building super. "Come t'fix ya wawsheh inna kitchen sink, Misteh G," explains Krause. "Miss's G ast me t'come up t'day, says it's been drippin'. Oh -- you know my apprentice heeh, Misteh Sweeney." "Oh yes," smiles Mr. Ginsburg. "How d'ya do, Mister Sweeney." "Very well, t'anks," nods Willie, with practiced decorum, his hands clasped on the handle of his junior-sized toolbox. "All night it's been dripping," continues Mr. Ginsburg, leading the way thru the parlor toward the kitchen. "All night with the drip drip drip. Me, it doesn't bother, but Esther, she's a light sleep. Right in here please." Willie pauses at the rear of the procession, to gaze with wonderment at Zippy the parakeet, twitching about in his cage, suspended in the corner of the parlor from an ornate Edwardian stand. The bird fixes a bright black eye on the boy and flaps its wings in excitement. "SLOMASHEEN!" it squawks. "SLOMASHEEN!" Willie's eyes widen. "Slot machine?" he repeats. "SLOMASHEEN!" returns Zippy. "Ah," nods Mr. Ginsburg. "Last night we had to supper Mrs. Petrauskas and Leonora. Leonora talks to the boid, talks to Zippy. The boid, he talks back. 'Slommasheen!' All day today he says 'slomasheen.'" "Yeh," chuckles Krause. "Slot machine!" insists Willie. "Shhh," hushes Krause, as Mr. G. slips the boy a knowing wink.)

Two arrests made last night by alert members of Company G of the City Patrol Corps have cleared up several recent burglaries in public schools. Private First Class David Sealey was opening up the headquarters of Company G at Public School No. 11 in the Clinton Hill section when he heard a noise on the second floor. He investigated and discovered two boys in the process of ransacking a classroom. Several typewriters and radios had been collected for removal from the school when Sealey interrupted the youths. One boy was captured on the spot, and Sealey contacted the 88th Precinct with a description of the boy who escaped. A City Patrol lieutenant was dispatched to that boy's home and he was taken into custody as well. Both youths were turned over to the Children's Society after confessing to several school burglaries, in which they had used jimmies to force open doors.

A 40-year-old Coney Island man sadly reported to Magistrate Charles Solomon yesterday that he had complied with a court order to do away with his rooster. John Sepi confirmed that the bird has been executed in accord with an order issued last week by Magistrate Lehrich, after residents of the neighborhood complained that the small flock of poultry kept in Sepi's yard violated the city sanitary code. Sepi testified last week that he had already killed his six hens, but asked for a week's respite for the rooster, declaring that a man can only eat so much chicken. He was given the additional time to prepare for the elimination of the rooster. Sepi grieved for the bird, noting that he "had a voice like Caruso," and that his morning crowing was "as good as an alarm clock."

("It ain't half bad, daaaughter," declares Ma, biting into a slice of bread. "It ain't haalf bad at'all." Sally glances proudly at the box, bearing a Fort Meade return address, and helps herself to another slice from the loaf. "I tol' ya," she affirms, catching the crumbs as she chews. "Joe's gawt talent!")

In Hartford, Connecticut, additional warrants were issued today charging manslaughter in connection with the worst circus fire in U. S. history, as five officials of the Ringling Brothers-Barnum & Bailey Circus were released today on bail after their arraignment on charges of technical manslaughter. The death toll from the Thursday blaze that ripped in a matter of seconds across the canvas Big Top now stands at 152, with fifteen victims still identified, and U. S. Attorney Hugh M. Alchorn Jr. stated yesterday that evidence has been uncovered which he believes indicates criminal negilgence as a contributing factor in the deadly fire. He noted that the tent fabric had been waterproofed with a mixture of paraffin wax and gasoline, which rendered the canvas highly flammable. Some 200 persons, most of them children, remain hospitalized with injuries sustained during the blaze and the stampede of patrons escaping from it.

("Ah don' getcha, Brooklyn," drawls a fellow Cooks & Bakers School student, glancing at the wall behind Joe's bunk. "Ahhla gals in th' world y'could put up thar, an' yuh hang up a waitress." "At leas'," sniffs Joe, "I don' hafta cut my gal out'va magazine.")

("Hey, Castoria's hard to get! DONCHA KNOW THERE'S A WAR ON?")

("Are you certain, my dear?" whispers Mr. Rickey, pulling the blinds aside just enough to peek out his living room window at the tranquility of Forest Hills outside. "Are you CERTAIN there have been no --telegrams?" "You worry too much," chuckles Mrs. Rickey. "Have some lemonade." "It's been quiet," mutters Mr. Rickey. "TOO quiet." "Enjoy it while you can, dear," replies Mrs. Rickey, quaffing her own drink. "What?" "Nothing.")

The shortage of pinboys in Brooklyn is growing grave, and local bowling emporium operators are finding it increasingly difficult to remain open. Attorney Joseph Gubman of the newly formed Metropolitan Bowling Council is seeking city authorization to employ youths between the ages of 16 and 18, with restrictions on working more than four and a half hours per night, especially during the school year, with youth enrolled in school in no case allowed to work any later than 11:15 PM. The Council also proposes that employment of any school-enrolled youth be tied to their maintaining adequate grades. The plan has been submitted to Mayor LaGuardia and Commissioner of Licenses Paul Moss for consideration.

(What? We must've missed something.)

("Look, we'll go over it again. Have you ever heard of the ancient Greek concept of metempsychosis, the theory of the transmigration of souls!" "My word! Not just a talking horse -- but a horse with a philosophy degree!" "Well not exactly, but when I worked for Sheffield Farms, I read 'Ulysses.' You have any idea how much waiting around a milk horse has to do??")

(NOBODY likes liquid stockings.)

(Carpe Diem, stupid.)

(AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG demands to see his lawyer!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also..

If the National League ever switches from hardballs to Spaldeens, the Dodgers will win the pennant every year.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Ah, the old country squire.

"What if we waterproof this huge canvas structure with a highly inflammable compound made from volatile petroleum distillates?" "How much will it cost?" "Practically nothing." "That's the kind of thinking I like to hear!"

"I wonder if he can play the banjo?"

"Just keep your clothes on, OK? This isn't Valley Stream."

(Nice to see the Female Gaze once in a while.)

As Uncle Frank walks past the Empire Boulevard precinct, he looks up at the window, winks at Sergeant Doyle, and goes whistling on his way...

These guys can't be all bad if they hang a war bond poster in their secret tunnel.

All it takes is a little initiative.

WELL AREN"T WE THE DIME STORE PSYCHOLOGIST.

"All right Mr. Brow, now we'll talk. HAVE A SEAT."

 

[Fading Fast]

I'd think the bird would be more annoying than the dripping faucet.