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Fantasite, v. 1, issue 3, April 1941
Page 10
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Persians are apt to treat all women in the manner in which they are treated at home, and the barbarian American simply didn't understand this at all. In fact all three Americans grew so excited the kindly Persians were forced to relieve them of their barbarous lives. The Persian who is telling the story feels sure, however, that wrong has been done. He believes he observed a patriotic gleam in the eye of the last American, as he fell almost at Geo. Washington's stone feet. As mentioned earlier there are many illustrations in the book. Among them are: the pitiful little Persian ship crossing the ocean, the ship approaching New York (you know...the statue of Liberty thing.), ruined streets, the finding of the mummified girl in a spacious bedchamber, the coins, the Brooklyn bridge ruins, the bear chase in reverse, the wooden Indian with his handful of cigars, statue of Washington (head missing, a shrub growing from his neck), ruins of the capitol, the Persians' first glimpse of the last American (feet protruding over a broken balustrade), a full length, full page sketch of that gentleman himself (nope, didn't look like Speer or Rothman), the fight, and a last one of the American lying dead in a column of moonlight. I have purposely omitted mention of one full page sketch because I wanted to treat it alone and in full. It seems that in this Persian party were a number of scientists who managed to create a fragment of our life in "ancient America". They drew up their papers of what life must have been here, and an artist put these findings into ink. On a panorama of a city street (gay nineties period) we find the following in this sketch: An Indian wearing a feather-bonnet plus a full dress suit of white tie and tails, pleasantly chatting with a lady wearing a bustle. A female circus bareback rider dashing down the middle of the street in costume, on her mount. A puritan wandering along with his trusty musket in hand. Little Puck himself, naked except for a top hat. A gentleman galloping along the street on a bareback horse, doing stunts. An ancient Greek, umbrella in hand, strolling along the sidewalk with a half-dressed girl -- that is, the girl has on everything up to and including corset and petticoat -- no dress. And behind them walks a something-or-other, dressed outlandishly in a mixture of the costumes of several races living in America. And all this, mind you, was what the Persians decided life was like in America. Perhaps they had a good reason to bump off the Washington barbarian. It was good reading, tho. ADVERT. To Hell with humor, says editor Yerke, about the fifth Damn Thing. Positively no purile satire. This issue's got guts, gore, and flotsam. There'll be more cadavers when the Blitzkreig is over than sft. imagined. Take a shot at these hot mammies: "Miske, Aryan Superman," by Fywert Kinge, "Open Letter to Daugherty," by John B. Michel, "Is Joquel a Frankenstein?", by Carlton J. Fassbeinder, "Quick, Where is the Men's Room?" by Claude B. Quid, and others. Buddy, grab a tin hat and send a to THE DAMN THING, Box 6475, Metro Sta., Los Angeles, Cal., or try 25¢ for 3 issues.
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Persians are apt to treat all women in the manner in which they are treated at home, and the barbarian American simply didn't understand this at all. In fact all three Americans grew so excited the kindly Persians were forced to relieve them of their barbarous lives. The Persian who is telling the story feels sure, however, that wrong has been done. He believes he observed a patriotic gleam in the eye of the last American, as he fell almost at Geo. Washington's stone feet. As mentioned earlier there are many illustrations in the book. Among them are: the pitiful little Persian ship crossing the ocean, the ship approaching New York (you know...the statue of Liberty thing.), ruined streets, the finding of the mummified girl in a spacious bedchamber, the coins, the Brooklyn bridge ruins, the bear chase in reverse, the wooden Indian with his handful of cigars, statue of Washington (head missing, a shrub growing from his neck), ruins of the capitol, the Persians' first glimpse of the last American (feet protruding over a broken balustrade), a full length, full page sketch of that gentleman himself (nope, didn't look like Speer or Rothman), the fight, and a last one of the American lying dead in a column of moonlight. I have purposely omitted mention of one full page sketch because I wanted to treat it alone and in full. It seems that in this Persian party were a number of scientists who managed to create a fragment of our life in "ancient America". They drew up their papers of what life must have been here, and an artist put these findings into ink. On a panorama of a city street (gay nineties period) we find the following in this sketch: An Indian wearing a feather-bonnet plus a full dress suit of white tie and tails, pleasantly chatting with a lady wearing a bustle. A female circus bareback rider dashing down the middle of the street in costume, on her mount. A puritan wandering along with his trusty musket in hand. Little Puck himself, naked except for a top hat. A gentleman galloping along the street on a bareback horse, doing stunts. An ancient Greek, umbrella in hand, strolling along the sidewalk with a half-dressed girl -- that is, the girl has on everything up to and including corset and petticoat -- no dress. And behind them walks a something-or-other, dressed outlandishly in a mixture of the costumes of several races living in America. And all this, mind you, was what the Persians decided life was like in America. Perhaps they had a good reason to bump off the Washington barbarian. It was good reading, tho. ADVERT. To Hell with humor, says editor Yerke, about the fifth Damn Thing. Positively no purile satire. This issue's got guts, gore, and flotsam. There'll be more cadavers when the Blitzkreig is over than sft. imagined. Take a shot at these hot mammies: "Miske, Aryan Superman," by Fywert Kinge, "Open Letter to Daugherty," by John B. Michel, "Is Joquel a Frankenstein?", by Carlton J. Fassbeinder, "Quick, Where is the Men's Room?" by Claude B. Quid, and others. Buddy, grab a tin hat and send a to THE DAMN THING, Box 6475, Metro Sta., Los Angeles, Cal., or try 25¢ for 3 issues.
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