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Diablerie, February 1944

Page 19

      THIS IS A GUEST EDITORIAL---TAKE IT FOR 
                        WHAT YOU WILL!

               Oh! How well I do remember - 
               It was in one bleak September 
               That each seperate plastered member
               Lay in a sodden heap upon the floor. 
              ______________________________
  Hello, there, all you lucky people; here we go again. Presented for your enjoyment are some assorted bits of rib-tickling whimsy that made your editors laugh like fools - don't crack the obvious, please - through their usual beery haze.

   Honestly, we tried for days to obtain something truly obscene. Then along came Lea with King of the Gay Places, which solved our problem quite nicely. We recommend it for its strong characterizations and general all-around unwholesomeness. You know that old saying . . . "Lea's Gay Places Fills up spaces."

   Then there's Watson, who succeeds is laying a heavy patina of smut over George Sterling's heartbreakingly beautiful poem, In Autumn. "Lies there a country?" cries Sterling from the depths of the grape. "With booze, babes, and bear meat," adds Watson, remaining his typical tipsy self.

   We cannot forget Dirty Old Kepner. Dirty Old Kepner might feel slighted if we did, so we won't. Here's where we blast people, plenty of them. Hope you won't be disappointed in our selection of the blasted. 

   And poetry. Ah poetry. While Sappho gallops merrily in the grave (let's gallop around together, kid), diablerie tramps onward demanding of its close little staff of poets lots of dirty verse. diablerie plans, in fact, to feature plenty of verse. Undoubtedly a damnsight too much. But you can ignore it.

   By the way, any members of the LASFS dropping up this way will be promptly searched upon their arrival, as a precautionary measure. Your editors have had no previous experience with bombs, pistols, or tear-gas, and have not at present the slightest desire to learn. To the LSAFS: we hope you will excuse our bowing out on any juvenile attacks, either on paper or in person.

   Well, we could ramble on at greater length about our contents, if we had any more, which we don't, so we won't. Say! How about some local color? There is a thought!

   Here's Watson, for example, licking with before unequaled vigor (next page)

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THIS IS A GUEST EDITORIAL---TAKE IT FOR WHAT YOU WILL! Oh! How well I do remember - It was in one bleak September That each seperate plastered member Lay in a sodden heap upon the floor. ______________________________ Hello, there, all you lucky people; here we go again. Presented for your enjoyment are some assorted bits of rib-tickling whimsy that made your editors laugh like fools - don't crack the obvious, please - through their usual beery haze. Honestly, we tried for days to obtain something truly obscene. Then along came Lea with King of the Gay Places, which solved our problem quite nicely. We recommend it for its strong characterizations and general all-around unwholesomeness. You know that old saying . . . "Lea's Gay Places Fills up spaces." Then there's Watson, who succeeds is laying a heavy patina of smut over George Sterling's heartbreakingly beautiful poem, In Autumn. "Lies there a country?" cries Sterling from the depths of the grape. "With booze, babes, and bear meat," adds Watson, remaining his typical tipsy self. We cannot forget Dirty Old Kepner. Dirty Old Kepner might feel slighted if we did, so we won't. Here's where we blast people, plenty of them. Hope you won't be disappointed in our selection of the blasted. And poetry. Ah poetry. While Sappho gallops merrily in the grave (let's gallop around together, kid), diablerie tramps onward demanding of its close little staff of poets lots of dirty verse. diablerie plans, in fact, to feature plenty of verse. Undoubtedly a damnsight too much. But you can ignore it. By the way, any members of the LASFS dropping up this way will be promptly searched upon their arrival, as a precautionary measure. Your editors have had no previous experience with bombs, pistols, or tear-gas, and have not at present the slightest desire to learn. To the LSAFS: we hope you will excuse our bowing out on any juvenile attacks, either on paper or in person. Well, we could ramble on at greater length about our contents, if we had any more, which we don't, so we won't. Say! How about some local color? There is a thought! Here's Watson, for example, licking with before unequaled vigor (next page)