Oh, these professional propagandists.
Can nothing deliver us from them?
Our ministerial prolocutors again promulgate the purity dance.
They barked and barked at the spaghetti shamble shimmie until Sari
Dennishawn tripped in and demonstrated the aestheticism of shoulder
shaking.
But now the “toddle” comes—that ecstatic little eccentricity that
proselytes us all, and makes us do those ticklish little shivers that the
deans call “vicious.”
“Vicious”—propend that!
Is there anything more inspiring than two young people, cheeks pressed
close, galloping about in syncopated contortions to the weird moan of a
saxophone and the sliding blare of a trombone?
Is there anything more uplifting than the sight of a beautiful young
girl with her head resting on the shoulder of a greasy-headed lizard who
“toddles” around with closed eyes?
And the ministers would change all this. They call it “vicious.”
Now what do you think of that?
* * * * *
A certain young lady named Funk,
Was tricked into buying a skunk,
She tho’t ’twas a cat, till it got on her lap,
But now she burns Japanese punk.
* * * * *
Crookedness never pays in the long run—Look at the corkscrew—out of a
job.
_Limber Kicks_