RANDOM SHOTS

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 102, 2 May 1931, Page 2 (Supplement)

RANDOM SHOTS

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Parliament is closed. It will be reopened with the Axe. Red ruffians in Australia recently sent bombs by mail—blackmail. It is sincerely hoped that no critical political situation will ever add con to fusion. Bogus notes have been circulating in this province. Some were even circulated on the air. Mr. Wilhelm Hohenzoilern, formerly of Germany, still signs himself "Imperator Rex." Wrecks is right! Some Southern youths charged with breaking and entering were captured on a roof. They were looking for tin. A competition was recently held for mobikes and a handsome prize given to the silent one. No! No! Not in Auckland. Prize headline of week: Boxer Called Up. In the words of the referee, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, out. A Chicago lady informed the court that she could not remember shooting her husband, as she hadn't tied a string round her finger. Extract from the literary efforts of a small school boy: "Last night it rained cats and dogs. This morning the street was full of little poodles." The slump has affected almost every class of worker. Even the Cabinet makers of Wellington are hardly as busy as usual at this time of year. Stated that New Zealand is touying more British talkie films. This deliberate interference with the use of the American language will be much deplored by schoolmasters. Some more headlines in a single issue: Peace of the World. Civil War Threatened. Warning in India. Fears in Bengal. Massacre in Formosa. Dear little White Dove! There have been no street collections in Auckland for several days. Is the depression decreasing the natural courage of a bold and independent populace? A celebrated vocalist very naturally deplores the colonial habit of taxing visiting artists' earnings. Surely dear maestro you do not begrudge even the humblest politician his few rich notes?

Owing to the financial stringency hospital authorities will be forced most unwillingly to accept fewer patients. Even surgeons will.he bound to make a ten per cent cut. It is all very well to pretend that the Frenchman is less courageous than our own race. M. Heriot has been Mayor of Lyons for quarter of a century. Retrenchment.compels Mr. Atmore to restrain his desire to build new schools. Accidental conflagrations of existing educational buildings will now be welcomed with a 10 per cent diminution of cheers by pupils. Here is an envelope. It has on it two -penny stamps. Inside the envelope is a letter containing 500 words. The postage on letters was doubled in order to attract revenue to a depleted Treasury. On the stamps is the Government command, "Say It By Telephone." Ironical fellow, that Government!

MUSICAL RIDE. "He told me he never used a horn, but made an imitation with his mouth; he reckoned that was enough," said Mr. S. F. Napper, the Heathcote traffic inspector, when prosecuting a motorist in the Magistrate's Court." — (Extract from newspaper.) Come, listen to the bellow of this benzine burning fellow, Oh, listen to his imitation horn; Prepare to make a bound when he makes a vocal sound, Wishing prayerfully you never had been born. Hear him yell In tones staccato, in forte— pizzicato, Hear him howling stridently for all he's worth; Hear his brazen basso bawl, a "Dead March" bar from "Saul," And prepare at once to slide right off the earth. Give him bells, a huge carillon, something large to play a thrill on, Give him Jew's harps, give him cornets, or a flute; Hand him kettledrums, euphoniums, or a couple of harmoniums, To warn the pale pedestrian — oh, the brute! Peals from piccolos, it's stated, Is the treatment indicated For the safety of the public. It is worth Making any kind of noise, in every kind of voice, To push the weary walker off the earth. Shall the oil bus trundle o'er us to the "Hallelujah Chorus," Shall hymn tunes play in lovely limousines, Shall the motor-earring queen sing the "Wearin' o' the Green," Or selections from the latest talkie films? Shall a brass and Btring orchestra play until it hr.s impressed you, As you dash for safety zones, of which there is a dearth, With the music of the spheres till it brings the happy tears, And desire at once to scoot right off the earth?

Play, oh play, a loud Hosannah on a portable piano, Swell, oh swell, the pealing anthem from the car; . Let the driver take his stand a-conducting of a band, So the man afoot will know just where he are, Make the pale pedestrian tremble at the banging of the cymbal (Excuse the rhyme, its very little worth), Scrape the tuneful violin to increase the warning din, And play the pesky walker off the earth! Every car upon its bonnet shall have bugles stuck upon it Or a locomottive whistle—better still; Then why not a brazen gong as one speeds the way along, Say, at seventy down a walker's favourite hill? On a fair stretch of concrete it would surely To listen to the tonic sounds of mirth; And the lovely, luscious tone of the silver saxophone Playing "Mister Man Get Off My Private Earth"! Fascinating sounds of trumpet as along the road you stump it, The sob of, the theorbo or the 'cello's solemn wail, Would resign you to your mission and place you in position To leave with joy your friends in this sad vale;. Glees and dear old English catches, limpid little lively snatches, Sonatas sung in unison, songs of your land of birth, . Sung soulfully with feeling, what could be I more appealing, The last line "Hey, you blighter, hop it pronto off my earth"? —C.J.