Bluestocking Journal

Real history, through the eyes of a fictional person

Tag: humor

Sunday, December 29, 1912

Since there is no newspaper today, I shall simply quote another joke from the Siren. This one is attributed to the Yale Record:

Sportive Student (in booth): “Hello, Central, give me hic-heaven.”

Acid tone from receiver: “If I wasn’t a lady I’d give you—”



Sunday, December 22, 1912

I have been very busy today! Here is a little joke from the Siren:

SENIOR (nervously): Dearest, there’s been something on my lips for weeks.

CO-ED (sympathetically): Why don’t you shave it off?

Sunday, December 15, 1912

The Daily Illini bored me again today, so once again I turned to my copy of the Siren, the university humor magazine. Here is an article I found there:

Tea drinking, to our mind, is a vicious habit and a dangerous weapon. To our certain knowledge this herb has been instrumental several times in late months, to bacheloricide with malice afore thought, or marriage in the first degree. And this under our very eyes;—perpetrated by honored ladies of the faculty;—consummated under the shadow of a statue of learning.

The plot is this. Two or more ladies, of culture and graces beyond question, combine resources and establish quarters wherein they may furnish tea and aesthetic language to eligible bachelors on the faculty.

The unmarried males arrive. Tea is served. The males speak thus: “What de-l-icious tea!” “Yes, simply go-orgeous.” “What charming apartments!” “So bohemian!” Oh gracious, I have spilled a drop of tea on my trousers. Oh no—nevermind—not at all! It will not hurt them a bit.” This occupies the first hour.

Then comes the dirty work. The ladies begin to smile naughtily and make such appalling jokes as: “When the mice are away the old cat must play” (High tenor giggle from the men) or “What would Mrs. So-and-So say if she knew” (frightened little laugh) or “I just love these little parties—they are so deliciously naughty. But you mustn’t tell a soul” (pursed lips and mockingly stern finger).

The deed is did. Murder is out. The demoralizing atmosphere is too many for the Professors—they succumb.

The women must be women. Have they not in care the instruction of younger women? The men are surely men for they are intrusted with the making of other men. Yet—well—I suppose it’s that darned tea.

Sunday, November 24, 1912

The humorist whose ad I pasted in some days ago, Strickland W. Gillilan, evidently was very entertaining during a lecture (of sorts) that he gave at the University. He insisted it wasn’t a lecture. “It is about as appropriate to call it a lecture,” he said, “as it is to say that one dreams a chicken when he takes off every bit of clothes it has.” He is an optimist but objects to the common definition of the term. “The person who is going around all the time ha-haling and saying that everything is all right when he knows it isn’t true, isn’t an optimist. He’s a cheerful idiot.”

The Lyric theater has secured a booking for the photo play, “Queen Elizabeth,” with Mme. Sarah Bernhardt in the title role. “This picture is the first of a series that are now being produced in which famous stars of the legitimate stage will appear in their own productions. This gives lovers of the silent drama an opportunity to see the world’s greatest actors and actresses in the plays they have made famous.” The picture will be shown on Wednesday, November 27, “complete in four reels and no advance in prices.”

Thursday, October 24, 1912

This Peoria Herald-Transcript editorial by George Fitch, a well-known author, pokes fun at the U. of I. over its recent student rioting problem:

Dispatches we may expect from Illinois University during the coming winter.

Champaign, Oct. 30.—During a quiet little celebration over the defeat of Depauw on the gridiron seven hundred U. of I. students made a bonfire of the First Congregational church last night. All books in the public library were thrown on the blaze and the students marched round the burning structure singing, “What the Hell Do We Care?”

Champaign, Nov. 13.—During a class fight at Illinois University last night students blew up three of the University buildings with nitroglycerine. The trouble started when a gang of seniors compelled two freshmen to jump off the top of the water tower.

Champaign, Nov. 30.—The end of the football season was hilariously celebrated by University students last night. Seven policemen were lynched and hung at various points in the chapel and the legs were sawed off thirteen professors. This has been the most successful season in the University’s history, and the state will be asked to double its appropriation next year.

Saturday, September 7, 1912

Good news! The doctors say that Bud Mars will recover!

The daughter of a wealthy Illinois farmer went insane from the heat and “blew her head off with a shotgun” near Aurora. I don’t suppose there’s any recovery possible from something like that.

There is a cursed house near St. Joseph, Missouri, that was built upon the unmarked grave of a murdered gypsy. During its twelve years in existence, eight people have died of violence. Each new tenant has been visited with illness and ill fortune, and the crops have failed while those on neighboring farms prospered.

Here is an example of wit: “Why are we so late?” asked the passenger, whose question is reported to the Boston Transcript. “Well, sir,” replied the conductor, “the train in front was behind, and the train was behind before, besides.”

And finally, “Joliet is suffering from the most serious ice famine in years and if the hot weather continues the suffering here will be acute. In order to keep their large customers, the companies are supplying only meat markets, saloons, hotels and restaurants. Private residences have been without ice since last week and hundreds of dollars’ worth of meat and dairy products have been spoiled.”