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The fool-killer. [volume] (Boomer, N.C.) 1919-1922, August 01, 1921, Image 1

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Volume XL
An Old Familiar Hymn,
Alas, and are my breeches tore?
And is my shirt in strings?
And shall I go in debt for more,
Or do without such things?
Was it for this, since I've been grown,
I cast my sovereign vote?
Amazing shoes, with socks unknown!
And, oh, you tattered coat!
Weil might a piece of tow-sack hide
My poor old naked skin !
The way them politicians lied,
It surely is a sin!
But drops of grief can never pay
The grocery bills I owe.
Kext time I'll vote a different way
Hang-takedif that ain't so!
A Soldier's Monument
If I could have the designing of
a soldier's monument to be erected
in the public square of every city
and town, I would not design a
general on horseback with waving
sword and flashing medals to make
war look fine and respectable. No,
I would make my design represent
a private soldier crawling on his
hands and knees, with one side of
his face shot away, and his guts
dragging ten feet behind him as
ke crawled. That would represent
war as it really is, and I think
the people would soon get so sick
of looking at it that they would
never permit another war to come.
Them-Thar Books.
Well, honey,. I ain't got them books
published yet, but I am still trying.
Have got something like a hundred
pledges for "Pearson's Poems," and
about the same number for the book
of Fool-Killer selections. But that is
hardly a start. I must have lots more
1 T 1 A -v . ,
pieages oeiore 1 can start wors on
the books. Send your pledge if you
haven't already sent it. The price
will not be more than $1.50 each. Just
say you will take the books, and that
you will send the money when I get
ready for it.
1 would lifee to tell you more about
my plans for publishing these books,
but the Postoffice Department won't
let me. They want to call everything
"advertising1 ' and charge me 8 cents
a pound for postage on it.
Boomer, North Carolina, August, 1921.
PARISWITH HERBREECHES
OFF
Some of us have to go nearly
naked because we can't get any
thing to wear; while others go
aaked for a different reason be
cause they seem to enjoy the
sensation and probably think it
looks nice.
If it were true that the dead
could know wThat is going on in
this world, old Mother Eve would
be calling up the city of Paris on
he weeiv board and telling it
where to get fig-leaves, for they
sure do need something of that
sort in rotten old Paree.
If you don't believe it, just grab
your modesty with both hands
and choke it till it turns black in.
the face, and then read the fol
lowing:
Paris, France, June 16. "The Year
One of the Second Heathen Era" was
ushered in by Latin quarter students
with the annual four arts ball. Five
thousand artists, m4any prominent in
the social world, went back to sav
agery and Carthage at a leap.
While all were supposed to be "cos-
turned" in Carthaginian style, hun
dreds solved the problem of "what to
wear" by wearing nothing. Witnesses
of the revelry at 4 o'clock in the
morning saw no fewer than 300 nude
women, chiefly models. An American
art student, wearing only crimson
bathing trunks, was nearly rejected
by the reception committee because
she "had too much on."
Toward morning thousands of the
unclad stormed the near-by Bois de
Boulogne where they indulged in
Neroesque revels while a special
force of police gazed at them, smil
ing.
At 7 a. m , the procession passed
through the fashionable section of
tfce Champs-Elysees, seizing taxicabs
aijd private cars and forcing every
policeman to be kissed.
Aged artists said the night was the
wildest in tfhe history of Paris.
So that's the kind of "civiliza
tion" that we sent our boys over
there to fight for! That's what
we've got to show for nearly a
hundred thousand killed and near
ly twice as many crippled for
life, besides thVuncountable waste I
in wealth andjnioian energy.
I supposelthat is some of the
we were going to
get.
Well, we are getting it in great
hunks.
But democracy and civilization
would look a li;tle better with
their clothes on. There is nothing
in the Leegonashuns covenant that
provides for going naked in
public,
There is nothing nastier record-
ed in all the history of Rome, even
in its nastiest days. A page of
refined'reTe1ry from Quo Vadis is ary jitney snorting along down
modest in comparison. Carthage the journalistic pike with its cut
never went farther in open defi- out open and its omniverous mouth
ance of decency.
It does not help matters any to
say that the actors in this per-
formance were Bohemians of the
art world, and that they did not
represent Paris. So much the
worse. They represented the art
of Paris and of the world. And
turthermore, the policemen rep-
resented Paris, and they smiled
at it and let it pass.
After going through such a bap-
tism or blood, it seems that h ranee
n . .1. 1
ought to be pretty well sobered,
I5ut evidently she is not. one is
plunging deeper than ever into sin
and shame.
Uh, what is to Decome 01 a na-
tion and a world that never can
learn any sense?
I have always wondered why it
was that the preachers encouraged
the bad boys to go to the war and
get killed, believing (as they pre-
tend to believe) that the boys
would go straight to a place of
endless torment. If the preachers
expect to go straight to heaven
when they die, why didn't they
go and do the dying themselves
Four years from today Warren
Give-us Hardtimes will be much
more unpopular than Woodpile
Wilson was last November. Just
wait and see.
Number 6.
Now I Reckon You Know.
Well, I'll be mortally confhmi-
dingbusted!
Sometimes I think Henry id
has got a little sense, and then
again it appears that he is just as
big a consarned nincompoop as
the rest of the block-headed brag-
garts ot wicKea wealth. - 4
Of course Henry don't write
the stuff that appears in his week-
ly paper, but he is supposed to
sorter keep his eye on it and know
what sort of dope it prints.
Well, here comes Henry's liter-
uttering great big feather-legged
words like a campmeeting of
bull-frogs taking a dive into a
last year's mill pond.
And so the Dearborn Independ
end hitches up its gallus another
notch and lets out the following
weepy wail:
1
"it wouia oe aimcuit to name,
either in church or state, a leader of
tne oia-time quanues ; one inspiring
in the crowd any passionate devotion
to an ideal and full consecration to-
the work of its actualization. Where
is the Jefferson or the Hamilton, th
Lincoln, the Webster, the , Sumner,,
the Llovd Garrison or Wendell Phil
lips, the Wesley, the Beecher or the
Roosevelt of our time? Where is the
leader whom the common people
follow gladly?"
Why, yoa poor old ignoront
cuss, what is the use to ask such
fo1 Question?
Everybody knows where that
great Jeader of the common people
is.
He is in the Atlanta Federal
Prison.
Now what else do you want to
know?
Little old Delaware's swap of
Senators reminds me of the hen
that swapped her teeth for a chaw
of sweetened wind. She didn't
have anything to start with, and
after the swap she still didn't
have anything.

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