THE COMMON ROUND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22246, 26 April 1934, Page 2

THE COMMON ROUND

By Wayfarer.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS,

“Headache.” —Try putting it in a sugar bag and boiling thoroughly. “ Geologist.”—'Coal is found in the ground or in sacks. To clean, wipe each lump thoroughly with chloroform, care being taken not to disarrange the eyebrows, then immerse for two or three quarter minutes in a bucket of whitewash. When taken out it will be found to be quite white. “Occultist,” Hokonui—Try mixing in more water with it. “Uxorious” writes: “I have two wives, one named Lossie and the other named Flossie. Flossie has gone away and left me Lossie, who leaves me cold. What do you suggest? ” You must write off Flossie as a dead lossie. A J3COURGE OF CIVILISATION. The matrimonial problem is one which is presently exercising the best brains of the country to little avail. Statistics show there is a large number of husbands and wives in practically every populated district in the Dominion. 4m exhaustive investigation conducted by a Royal Commission in a locality which is described as “ typical ” revealed the following significant figures:— No. of No. of Proportion Proportion! Wives. Husbands, of W. to H. of H. to W. 2,073 2,973 50 per cent. 50 per cent. It will be seen from this survey that the position generally speaking is as it is shown to be. Comment is scarcely necessary, and such comment as is made in these columns may therefore be regarded as superfluous. Moreover, there is, unfortunately, no indication that an improvement may be anticipated. The most recent figures provided in the Official Tear Book, those for the period 1871-72, reveal that the number of persons who contracted matrimony in New Zealand was, roughly speaking, 36,187, the proportion of males and females thus afflicted being therefore 18,0931. This indicates that a vulgar fraction of the community is matrimonially affected, and there is every evidence that , the tendency shows scarcely any diminution in the present year. It is a situation which unmarried men must contemplate with considerable apprehension, and, it may be assumed, must be heartily deplored by those already the victims of this scourge of modern civilisation. AMUSEMENTS? Only About Seventy Years Left in Which to See THIS LURID WORLD THIS LURID WORLD do. do. do. etc. etc. etc. Now Screaming Daily At THE CACOPHONY THE CACOPHONY do. do. Tropical nights ’neath Arctic skies; a woman who trod the primrose path in the Botanical Gardens . . . she thought she bad caught pneumonia, but he pneu better; a man’s fight against society pests . . . but he would .not flea; an outcast in the garbage can of life, she knew her can-can. This Lurid World. This Lurid World, do. do. do. don’t, don’t, don’t. It Will Make You Laugh. It Will Make You Cry. It Will Make You Sick. You’ll never believe it; you'll never forget it; you’ll never recover from it; you won’t even want to. (Phone the Operating Theatre for accommodation; only a few cots left.) CACOPHONY THEATRE. The latest screen extravaganza now screening extravagantly at the Cacophony presents a medley of humour, comedy, amusement, pathos, misery, emotion, and emulsion unparalleled in the history of kinema art. Thousands turned away at the initial, premiere, opening performance, and many more will doubtless do so. In this scintillating, intoxicating, spifflicating, and nauseating production Spotti di Lipstickova, the exotic, homely, feminine little actress whose first starring vehicle was “A’ Peramhulata,” the Franco-Spanish-Aboriginal super-spectacle, has another delightful role. The principal scene is a lavish pastrycook establishment,' in which the hero, Up Jenkyn, the virile Montediluvian star, who played the sewer-rat in “ Down Under,” also takes a fresh roll. Altogether this superheterodyne, straight-eight production, with freewheeling, chromium bath fittings and streamline bodies, may be described as a fast and roll-icking super-spectacular extravaganza of the most moving type, . . . LOST AND FOUND. Lost, Five Bob on Painot; in the vicinity of 2.15 p.m. Friday; will finder kindly transport himself to Hades.—U2. Found; Let Beaver Balderdash restore your failing locks; a nice selection of Singles in all shapes and colours, guaranteed dyed-in-the-wool, always in stock. Found, a Spanner and Rear Fender, in my motor garage; will person who took my car kindly call for accessories and save himself further trouble and expense. —S.E.Z.U. Lost, a Husband, on Saturday, in region of the Pot and Pint; last seen rather the worse for wear; of sentimental value only; answers to the name of “Übrutu!” Return, Flat Iron. Stolen or Strayed, One Spouse; will finder please return and collect ten squealing brats. Reward.—Whoopee. Missing Hairs; Beaver Balderdash has a nice selection to suit all heads of families; platinum sideboards a specialtyLOCAL AND GENERAL. Mail Notice. Twenty-seven males which were despatched from London on the Amorous are expecting to be met at the Dunedin dance halls next Saturday evening. A Use For Art. The Committee on Hoardings of the City Council has received from an anonymous donor a large canvas representing the Dearth of Art, which it is proposed to hang over the Mayoral chair when the roof leaks. An Enthusiastic Visitor. “ You have a gol-durned fine little dump here,” said Mr Ike Kentelit, a prominent manufacturer of rubbish containers, of Babbitsville, Wis., U.S.A., in conversation with a reporter yesterday. “ They tell me you gotta depression in ’dis here burg, hut, boy, you ain’t seen nothing yet. What you need is to get rid of all ’dis unemployment, as that guy Boinhard Shaw says; and my foim ken sure make ash-kens to get rid of anything. What yonse need is to make your dump bigger and better, and if yonse use our ash-kens it soon will be.” Air Kentelit leaves to-morrow for Wellington. “I seen in the papers this guy Shaw says there’s a Parliamintay system up there needs sweeping away,” he remarked, “and believe me, boy, our automatic sweepers ken do it.” A WORTHY CAUSE. Protect the Parasite. Street Day In Dunedin. Arising from the recent decision of the Cawthron Institute to wage war upon the mealy-bug in our midst, a strong committee of bug-lovers in this district has been formed to combat this action in

the . name of Justice, Treason, Insectology, Disarmament and Whimsy. At a meeting last evening from which the press was excluded, the chairman (Mr L. A. de Byrd) said: “This iniquitous proposition is but another example of the attack upon the civil rights of our parasitical friends. Is not the mealybug entitled to a spheroid meal? Has he not wives and children, and t little nest? Every apple should be his castle; he is entitled to enjoy his pips in privacy.” Other speakers spoke with similar eloquence, after which an adjournment was made to the pie cart. It has been decided to hold a street collection for the aid of distressed mealybugs on Friday, the thirteenth, when citizens will be asked to give generously to this estimable cause. Badges representing a mealy-bug, rampant, protecting his home from the assault of a oneeyed lady-bird, symbolic of science, will be on sale. We have been asked to receive contributions for the Mealy-Bug Amelioration Fund, and have to acknowledge the following:— “ Pro Bono Buglico" .. 2d , City Corporation .. .. 3 cheers “ Mother of Ten ”.. .. 7of them “ Humanist ” 3 apple cores Further gifts should be consigned not to us but to the committee direct, or left at the front gate for collection. POET’S CORNER. Madrigal To A Mealy-Bug. (Inspired by, a visit to the Cawthron Institute.) Amidst the crimson-golden fruit, Atlanta's prize and Eve’s temptation, She stood with arms akimbo: The sun picked out.each limb: 0, Their delicate harmonies —music by de Groot — Exalt me as would last trumpet’s toot. At one was I, With trees and sky, A being blest, By the beauty of the apple pest. 0 mealy-bug, O mealy-bug, Whence comes that ecstacy That draws you unlo me? What alchemy Enchains my soul as I, In trance. Brave the opaceous rapids of thy 'glance, 0 mealy-bug? There Is an excitation rife. Winds from my heart into the depths of yours; Your body orchidaceous, Brings the cry, " Goodness gracious I" From my poor lips, as would the surgeon’s knife Wrest my from me—or my life. For lost I am To human dam; Only a churl, Could spurn your liquid glance, my girl. O mealy-bug, O mealy-bug, You steal the apple’s heart; Take mine In part- * Payment for the Joy splendiferous, You raise In me, creature pestiferous. Sweet mealy-bug. R. T. Boy. The above extracts, perhaps we should have mentioned sooner, are clipped from a new venture in journalism which we have been asked by an influential committee to superintend. This committee, feeling that the interests of the unintelligent minority are not sufficiently catered for in the local press, has determined to produce a sheet which will be at once so simple that a child could chuckle over it, and of such lofty purpose that it will be beyond the reach of all. The guiding principles on which this publication will be conducted are expressed in the motto “ Meusa, Mensa, Mensam ” (the same words, erudite readers will observe, as were spoken by Cmsar when, on first landing in Britain, he attended that immortal picnic party in the company of Queen Boadicea), and which may be roughly translated into Scottish as “Nothing for all, and something for nothing.” In launching this new enterprise, we make bold to appeal to the intelligence of our public, or, failing that, their generosity, to assist us in making it the screaming success that it gives promise of becoming. Subsequent issues may possibly appear in this column.