Movie actors are all right, though. Why, they make more money than we ever hear about. Figures compiled by the Secretary of the Treasury show that a man and wife and family of seventeen children and pets, could live on what Mary Pickford spends for silk stockings, but that is the reason we go to the movies, says the henpecked man as his wife drags him home to their little boiler factory where rolling pins are used as sledgehammers.
If prices keep increasing and clothes decreasing, we will be restricted as to the number of leaves we can wear, and they will be fastened to our shivering yet magnanimous anatomy with paper fasteners of the Henry Ford type. Shimmying will then be automatically abandoned, while courting will only take place over the telephone. When we think of Theda Bara it will be as a heavily clad woman.
Just one thing further, and that is, if this world keeps increasing its speed as it has in the past, our heads will be going so fast that they will look like fish bowls. Everything will just work backwards, our nose will run and our feet smell. Just now we’re traveling so fast that our hip pockets dip sand as we go around corners, and our feet come up so often that people will think we are laying down. Put on your brakes, dear old United Statesers, and let’s slow down to 100 per, or we’ll skid into Mexico.
Lecturer (in a loud voice)--I venture to assert there isn’t a man in this audience who has ever done anything to prevent the destruction of our vast forests.
Man in the audience (timidly)--I’ve shot woodpeckers.
The other day Adam approached Peter at the pearly gates and said:
“I should very much like, Peter, to get a pass the first of the year to revisit my old haunts on earth.”
“Nothing doing, Adam. You started too much trouble down there when you were a young man.”
“Aw, Pete, be a good sport and let me go.”
“What do you want to go down there for anyhow?”
Gus, our hired man, one of those lucky birds that had imbibed rather too freely of the sacred liquid, had fallen into a watering trough. When I tried to help him as he floundered about, he said: “Offzer, I ken save m’self, you save the womin’n shildern.”
It’s oft been said that woman is a mystery to us that we will never quite see through, no matter how we fuss. It’s said that woman is a book forever closed to man, though now and then she condescends slightly to lift the ban. It’s oft been said we cannot hope to fathom womankind and to that fact the other sex might well make up its mind. But we have called the libel out and dragged it in the dirt. We see right through her now with ease--thanks to the modern skirt.