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THE POLITICIAN. THE FOOL-KILLER Oh, the mighty politician He is with us once again, With his heaven-ordered mission In behalf of mortal men. He will spin you in his motor For a dozen miles or more, Though you're just a common voter That he never saw" before. He has heard that you're a winner From your neighbors, Smith and . Brown, Each of whom would miss his dinner For a chance to run you down. He can straddle all the fences On a hundred-acre farm, And befuddle all your senses When he takes you by the arm. First he pats you on the shoulder, And he whispers in your ear; Then he gets a little bolder And he sheds a little tear. Yes, he weeps for those who suffer That's the way he makes it look; And you're such a big old duffer That you swallow bait and hook. Time goes on, and he's elected, Then upon his office door Words like these may be expected : ' ' I don't know you any more." James Larkin Pearson. PAPPYCRATIC PRAYER. By President Tumulty-Bug. O thou great and mighty Pap py of Rome, dad of deception and father of fraud, behold us as we fall on our bellies before thee. Yes, Pappy, just watch us root our noses in the dirt in order to smell of thy holy tracks. Thou knowest that we, are thy little yaller dogs, and whenever we fail to do thy Romish will, then we pray thee to kick us with thy sacred foot. We consider it an honor, to even be kicked by thee. And a still greater honor to kiss thy big toe. Poke it out here and let us kiss it right now. Yum yum! how good it tastes! And the smell of it soothes our senses like the sweet odor of a hoss's foot. And now, 0 mighty Dad of the Tiber, we beseech thee to hear our supplications. We, thy faithful dupes here in America, are in several bushels of trouble, with no way of getting out unless thou canst help us. We have ever been mindful of thy wise counsel with which thou hast often warned us against the sin of thinking, or allowing others to think. We knowjthat thy mighty bald head encloses the only brain on earth that has any right to think for itself, and we count it a blessecl privilegeto take out thoughts ready-made from thee. But, Pi Pappy, it grieves pur hearts to tell thee'that there has . arisen here in America a class of stubborn bigots who insist on .thinking for, S themselves. Not only that, butthey are so wicked and depraved that they flatly deny thy authority to dictate terms to an American citizen. They have some sort of a devilish doctrine that they call "Separ ation of church and state,' ' which is ah open insult to thee, O Pappy, and a terrible crime against thy infallibility. These poor blind heretics even go so far as to deny that thou art infallible, and they have started an Anti Catholic crusade that is knocking the shine out of thy halo right along. Now what wouldst thou advise us fo do about these things, O Pappy? We are working on an idea, and we would like to know if it meeteth with thy approval. A war with Mexico is what we have decided on as being the most likely to side-track the Anti-Catholic special that now has the right-of-way in the Atiierican mind. We hate like the dickens to make war on a good Catholic country like Mex ico, but something must be done, and this is the only thing we can think of. Wouldn't it be a good idea to promise the Mexi cans that all of them that get killed will be prayed out of hell free of charge? That would be a strong inducement for the aver age Mexican to become a willing corpse. And then after we get into it we'll just go on and annex Mexico to the United States, and that will give us several million more Catholic voters, which will be lots of help about "making America Catholic," don't you see? Thus we hope to use this war as a stone to kill two birds with. To be right plum honest with thee, O Pappy, we don't know just how it will end, but we feel it in our bones that the problem will be solved to thy satisfaction. We are all thy obedient slaves, great master, and thy word is our law. If thou sayest fight, we will fight; if thou sayest quit, we will quit. Or if thou tellest us to surrender to Mexico, we will do that. We will do anything that thou commandest, whether it be to tote Jim Gibbons's shirt-tail, or to take up arms against our own country. Now give us, we pray thee, just one more good strong whiff of thine odoriferous foot, and we will bring these, duplications to a close. Tum-yum! Oo-oo-o-o! that's worth . more than :. a thousand victories over Mexico. AMEN. A woman attired in the latest spring fashion met an automo bile , in . the road the other day, and the poor old machine, jump ed astraddle , of a barbed . , wire fence and, spewed gasoline and chain links for two hours. I0N BY JOHH, JUNIOR Delivered Before His Sunday School Class in New York. My dear Children of the Rich: I see we are all here this morn ing, except those of us who are absent. And I want to say to you who are npt present that you had better get present pretty quick if you want your immortal soul re freshed with the shower of re ligious eloquence that I am just about to turn loose. Oh, dear children, it gladdens my heart this morning to look in to your bright, smiling faces, and realize that I am trying to lead you all to heaven. Yes, I am praying that each one of you may be a star in my crown when I get over there. I want to have the honor of wearing more stars in heaven than anybody else. It will please my vanity to have the angels all jealous of me, and the common, ordinary saints will fall on their faces when they see me coming. I am a "big gun" pn earth, and I am going to be a4 4 big gun" in heaven, and that's why I want all you good little Sunday School folks to be stars in my crown. Yes, dear children, I love you better than a dog loves a rabbit. I always did love children, and I want them all to go to heaven. To prove this statement, I point with pride to the bloody war that I have been carrying on in the mining camps of Colorado. I loved the children of those miners with such an intense and overpowering love, and wanted them to go to heaven so durned bad, that I employed at my own expense a trained army of private murderers and commanded them to riddle the tents of the miners with machine guns, killing helpless women and children by the wholesale. After which the dead were thrown into piles, saturated with some of my Standard Oil, and burned amid the ruin of their own homes. Thus did the souls of those women and children ascend to heaven in the smoke of their burning. That's one way of getting the children to heaven. The Sunday School is another way. Sometimes I use one method anaj sometimes the other. And whenever it becomes neces sary I can use them both together. This business of getting children to heaven is a great thing. It is so important that any method is justifiable. Of course the Sunday School method is my first choice, but it is a mighty ?good idea to have a few Baldwin thugs with machine-guns stationed handy to help out the Sunday School in case of need. Let me '. warn . you, 'my dear millionaire ' 1 children against the June, 1914 sin of discontent. Learn to be satisfied with what you have. Of course I don't practice what I preach in this case, because I've got hundreds of times more than any of you and am still wanting more. If you hear of any more mines lying arouod loose in Colo rado or elsewhere, please let me know. But, as I was just saying, discontent is a terrible bad thing to have, and I hope you will-never be afilicted with it. Look at the Colorado miners that whole trouble grew out of their discon tented condition. The men object ed to working more than fifteen hours a day, and they got discon tented with the starvation" wages I was paying them, and some of them got a fool notion that it wasn't to their best interests to be always in debt at the company store, and they asked permission to trade elsewhere.' Think of that, will you ! The very idea of those people wanting to cheat my company store out of its trade just because they could buy stuff twice as cheap at other places! And even the children were poisoned with that same awful discontent. They were not con tented to sleep on a board scaffold and live a week on two crackers and a bone. A few weeks in a good Sunday School, with a good teacher like me, would have taught those children to be con tented with their lot. They would have been told all about that man sion in heaven that awaits those who bear the burdens on earth. That would have had a tendency to quiet their discontent and make them forget their misery. I want the poor to be satisfied with just as little as possible, and that leaves more for me. Hurrah for the Sunday School and the army rifle in the hands of a Baldwin thug. These are the two best agencies for getting children to heaven. Let us prey. ONE CENT EACH. Say, Mister Subscriber, ain't you got two or three dozen friends who are not taking The Fool-Killer, but who ought to be taking it? Sure you have. Then lemme tell you what you do: Send me the names and addresses of a whole raft of these friends, and enclose one cent for ' each name (to help pay expenses) and I will send each person a copy of the paper at once. Then you! can drop around and take their sub scriptions' for a year and send in V bigclub. The one ceiit Tarn asking for with each name is to pay for Having one copy to tKese people. Then when- they read one copy they will Want more. ust try it aridsee.