Volume 2 — Whiz Bang Editorials

“The Bull is Mightier Than the Bullet”

Nature moves oftener to the time of “L’Allegro” than “Il Penseroso”—the major, not the minor chord, predominates. The carol of birds, hum of insects, rustle of leaves, ripple of water and chirrup of cricket are only sad to those whose natures are harsh. There is more of light than shadow, and we feel it as we look at matchless sunrise and sunset, glinting stars, deep green of forest, lighter color of meadow and grain field, and the sunbeams chased by the wind across hillside and valley.

The church is not a cemetery, the minister is not a death’s head, and his church members should not be mummies. The world was given us to cheer our hearts; religion was never designed to make our pleasures less, and when it does we have less of religion and more of something else. To be a child of God is to be a happy member of his family in a present Eden which thrills the brain, fills the heart, and makes us rejoice in the hope of a home where sin and sorrow shall never enter.

The historian Hume found that King Edward II had paid a jester a crown to make him laugh. That was a good investment. How much better it is to have a fool to make one merry than experience to make one sad. Why not have Christmas cheer fifty-two weeks in the year and let it brighten and bless spring, summer and autumn till winter comes again?

Shakespeare says, “One may smile and smile and be a villain,” but I think the man who does not smile is the villain “fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.”

A smile is the difference between a man and a brute, though a laughing hyena is preferable to a scowling misanthrope, and a heathen who only wears a smile to a Christian garbed in gloom.

Cheerfulness does more for health and holiness than pills and preaching. Why not smile in a good world with a gracious God?

The man ought to be arrested who comes downtown in the morning with an insulting scowl that curdles the milk of human kindness. One smile is worth a dozen snarls.

Horace, the Latin poet, taught truth by laughter; in politics a smile has controlled kings; and Swift and Heine did more by their smiles for freedom than swords. We can’t all be poets, painters and presidents, but we can all be end-men to Life’s minstrel show. Mark Tapley was always cheerful, and Sydney Smith said, “I have gout, asthma and seven other maladies, but otherwise, thank the Lord, I am very well.”

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.”

* * *

Pacific Coast physicians are conducting a campaign which has for its aims “the conservation of public health”—specifically, the elimination of the advertising doctors, whom they designate quacks, and the squelching of “cranks” who oppose vivisection.

The editor of the Whiz Bang may be put down by the doctors as among the “cranks” because he doesn’t like the idea of vivisection. I suppose I’m one of those sentimental birds, but any goop who tries to carve up my dog, my pony, or even Pedro, my pedigreed bull, will have a fight on his hands.

If surgeons must have live bodies upon which to experiment, it is suggested they utilize some of the less useful members of the medical profession. Most doctors are good citizens, and we include some advertising doctors, too. They have, it is true, a somewhat exaggerated idea of importance in the general scheme of things, but their delusion is honest. They regard the profession highly, and rightly so.

This being the case, nobody would object if a doctor showed the courage of his convictions by allowing his fellow “cut-ups” to strap him on an operating table and dissect his carburetor and other inside machinery.

But until doctors assume this attitude, most regular people will regard vivisectionists as a low species of bloodthirsty coward, pandering to a perverted taste for twisting entrails.

* * *

Puritans of the city of Spokane, Wash., are seeking to have a city ordinance regulating the length of skirts. Our correspondent in that neck of the woods says he sees no need for such an ordinance, and that the girls are wearing skirts now that are as long as the distance from Spokane to the Canadian border, 100 miles, and that anyway he would rather live on the border.

However, that’s neither here nor there. The big question in Spokane, now that the old maids and senile lawmakers have agreed that the skirts ought to stay below the knees, is to whom should authority to enforce such an ordinance be given?

Some seem to think the ordinance ought to be enforced by the commissioner of public health, while others want the commissioner of public safety. Therefore, the question seems to be whether short skirts are a menace to somebody’s health or whether they are dangerous to public safety.

We’ll say that it depends largely on circumstances. If a girl’s short skirts cause a crowd to gather in the street, and automobile drivers to look around while driving, then it’s a question of safety. Otherwise, and in certain other circumstances, it might bring about a danger to public health.

In any case we declare it to be interfering with the liberties of the subject. Our sympathies are with the fair sex all the time. If a girl has a shapely ankle, why should she hide it? It is part of her stock in trade—in fact, a show window for the male-and-female market, or marriage market, or whatever you want to call it. Frequently it enables a girl to obtain a good position, it is said.

You might just as well expect a girl to cover up her face if she is a good-looker, or place blinders or goggles on her eyes if they sparkle too much. Besides, we have the poor policemen to consider. Do we wish to take all the joy out of their lives? These cops virtually live on the streets. Their pleasures are few. Are we to deprive them of viewing shapely ankles, etc.? Do let us be a little broad-minded and give the girls liberty.

* * *

Roughly estimated, 14,000,000 microbes, scientists reported, gathered on our grandmother’s skirt. Now it would require a germ a foot high to catch on the hem of a damsel’s garment. Isn’t that some compensation?

* * *

If some married women would only realize the value of a chic robe de nuit en crepe de chine, and other dainty lingerie in retaining their hubby’s admiration, they’d never be found sleeping alone in flannelette while he entertained a bit of fluff outside the home circle.

* * *

Give Him a Little Time

“She says she has an ideal husband.”

“How long have they been married?”

“Three weeks.”

“Shucks, all husbands are ideal for the first three weeks.”

* * *

Sweet Essence of Prune Juice

He had known her for years. He had seen a good deal of her—in more ways than one.

He had sat across the parlor from her; she had, of course, crossed her legs; he had seen her trim ankles, her…

He had seen her at the seashore, wearing her tantalizing, silky bathing suit, with its short dress, with its cute little slippers, with its…

He had seen her in her traveling suit; in her cape; in her house dress; in her…

He had seen her at full dress affairs, and considering these dresses as they are, he had, of course, seen…

But it was not until a long, long while that he approximated the ultimatum. It was just a parlor date—one of many—which did not give promise of being any different from all the others. But one thing will lead to another! Finally, by a little slip of the arm, by a little jerk of the head, a little this, and a little that, some hairpins came out; her hair hung a little loosely at the sides; and—essence of compromise!—he saw her ears!

* * *

Probably Their Face

Shaving off the eyebrows and substituting a thin black painted line is said to be a remarkable new face fashion adopted by a section of smart women. Really one begins to wonder what they will shave next.