Newspaper Page Text
A FEW LITTLE DURNS. In writing this thunder These sermons and rhymes I have to think "dammit" A good many times. But since that is cussing, A fellow soon learns To make out with only A few little durns. In reading the papers And watching the mess The leaders are making, And all the distress, I get so dura fretted, And tickled in turns, I just have to let out A few little durns. No matter how tretted And angry I am, I always remember To never say dam. But, oh, when my spirit With righteous wrath burns, I need in my business v A few little durns. The durn politicians, And sky-pilots, too The leaders oi fashion, And all the durn crew The gait they are going Most fittingly earns" The impressive rebuke of A few little durns. Just "durn" isn't cussing, In moderate use No more than a snow-bird Is part of a goose. When used by a man who For righteousness yearns, I hope there's no harm in A few little durns.' Dear reader, be patient I know it sounds rough; But I am the fellow That's writing this stuff. I know what is needed In these-here concerns, And you must allow me A few little durn3. You can't change the . devil intoa saint by sprinkling holy- water on his tail. Boomer, North Carolina, March, 1922. PEACE IS A GREAT THING NOW Gee-whillikins! Talk about quick-change art ists ! But you just ought to look at the hang-taked plute preachers. During 1917 and 1918 every doggon D. D. in the country was out whooping his blamed head off for the war. , He went about preaching "patriotic sermons and telling the people what a holy" cause it was and how they must go and fight and die for it. Yes, fight! Kill! Slay! Butcher! It was God's will so they said. x The command, "Thou shalt not kill," was forgotten. The Prince of Peace was for gotten. And if any man dared to stand up for the principles of Jesus, the confounded preachers were the first ones to yell, "Crucify him!" It was awful what a bad thing peace was in those days. But now look! And listen! rrom every glided puipn m the land combes . one continual monotonous stream of hypocrit ical peace talk. Well, I don't object to peace talk. I wish there was more of it. But what I want to know is why didn't these same mealy mouthed "servants of God" talk that way four years aso? If peace is a good thing now it was a good thing then. . . You know why. They were confounded sneak ing cowards, and hynocrites as well. They wanted to stand in with the Big Ikes in order to save their own fancy hides. They didn't have the courage to stand with Jesus and go to jail with Debs. But now when the tide has turned, and it seems to be popu lar to alk- for peaces Je-ru-salem! what peace advocates the dear old D. D.'s are! Most reverently and prayer fully I say it Durn such preachers ! THE ROMAN MUD-GOD They have had another big spree over in Rome. And right here is just as good a place as any to tell you about it. You know they keep a little deputy god over there to tell the Creator how to run the universe, and to forgive the sins of good Pappycrats who want to play hell and pay for it. This little deputy god claims that he has all power on earth and in heaven, and" even tries to exercise authority as far a way as Texas. The Pappy of Rome is always an old dried-up Dacneior, so skinny and ugly that he looks liKe tne running-gears oi a witch. But they let him live in a palace bigger and finer than Solomon ever dreamed of, and he could hire Rockefeller to tote holy water to wash his infallible hoofs. And when he takes a dip of snuff the pappycrats all over the earth begin to sneeze like their blamed heads would come off. All of which seems to prove that he is. the real tar baby that Saint Peter found in the woods. But just a few weeks ago this powerful assistant deputy mud god of ail creation woke up one morning with a dark blue pain in the central , hemisphere of his night-gown, about half-way be tween his infalibility and his ap petite. And now, Mister Madam, if you want to know what happens when an all-powerful mud-god gets a pain in his old fermented belly, you just ought to have been there. In less time than it takes to tell it the whole hill was working alive -with pappycrat doctors, each with his hamper- sack full of Punk Powders for! j Pale Popes, and .all ready to in sert their little funnels and pour double-distilled desolation into the belly of a groaning god. 9 It imist have been a curious sight. There lay an old skinny man who claimed to have all power on earth and in heaven, and yet he didn't have power enough to manage his own gut- t works and keep from getting -1 All! I! ! sick. Ana tnere at nis glided bed-side stood forty or fifty goat-whiskered M. D.'s all try - Number 12. ing to Keep tne old teller out of the grave. "Power" indeed! As well might a doodle-bug claim that he could operate a coal-mine. There probably wasn t much the matter with the old codger at the start. A big dose of salts and a 48-hour fast would very likely have straightened him out all right. But the doc tors kept on pumping dope in to him till they finally straight ened him out on a plank. I have a strong suspicion that they just filled him so full of medicine f;that he busted. But after he was dead nobody could tell' that he looked jany more powerful than any other dead man. They cut a few big fan dangoes around him and hauled him off to the bone-yard. Thus ended the career of Rome's great deputy-god. But the stars kept their places in the heaven. The feun con tinued to shine. The "end of time" didn't come. Which was all very strange in view of the fact that the earth had to do without a deputy-god for near ly a week before the cardinals could get their god-factory;, started and make another one. It must be a fact, after all, that there is a God somewhere else oesiaes m Koine wno nas some thing to do with running things And it causes heretics like me to wonder if the world wouldn't have rocked along just the same if the icardinals had never got another pope made. I believe it would. But the papycrats were not willing to risk it, nohow. They got the holy oil can and oiled up their god-factory, then pour ed a lot cardinals into the hop per, and one of them came out a brandnew deputy god, looking just as infallible as a fodder stack. So everything is all hunky for awhile longer, I guess till this one gets a pain in his belly. Miss Winifred Stoner, the wonder girl" who speaks twelve languages, has just been married to a Frenchman who speaks seventeen languages. There is sure to be trouble. If they can't find anything to quarrel about ! m one language they are mighty apt to m anotner.