Season's Compliments

Well, ‘tis that time of the season again – time in which to ply fireside affections from my Dora with silk hosieries and await that jolly Hun, Santa Claus’ arrival down my chimney with trench club and bayonet at my side. Here’s wishing you a warm Yuletide and a Kraut-free New Year.

Opinions of an Advertising Man, Pt. IV

In my experience I have found that one of the most valuable methods of reaching your audience is to attach an appealing character to your brand. I have found, more often than not, whether I’m advertising vegetable compounds or copper roofings that no character is more appealing than the Old Sea Captain.
Take, for instance, this advertisement I placed for Zonitors vaginal suppositories:


Here, the Old Sea Captain adds a knowledgeable, paternal note to what would otherwise be an uncomfortable subject for most women. After all, owing to his many salty dockside liaisons, who knows more about the problems of intimate feminine cleanliness than this friendly, sea-faring fellow?

Story From a Moving Picture Show

Recently I went with my Dora to see a moving picture show titled Don Q – Son of Zorro. It starred the strapping and athletic Douglas Fairbanks who performed many thrilling acts of derring-do.


About two-thirds through the picture, my concentration was interrupted by a blubber-gutted Swede who insisted on eating his popping corn in a very loud and irritating manner.

I turned to him and said: “Sir, would you please stop eating your popping corn in a very loud and irritating manner?”

He apologized and began eating his popping corn more slowly, which did nothing to decrease the volume of his vulgar swabbling.

I turned to him once again and said: “Sir, that isn’t making matters any better. You are just eating your popping corn more slowly.”

He complained that he didn’t know how to eat his popping corn more quietly. So, I suggested that I would purchase him a quieter snack such as Butterscotch Buttons or Salt Water Taffy.

He replied: “I only like Circus Peanuts.”

I said: “Peanuts can be a very loud snack product.”

He replied: “No, Circus peanuts are an orange-colored, peanut-shaped, marshmallow snack product.”

I said: “Oh, that sounds very interesting. I think I would like to try these ‘Circus Peanuts’.”

At this point, the organ player – a drooling dunderhead of a man – ceased playing his Wurlitzer and said: “Please, you gentlemen are ruining the moving picture show for the remainder of the audience.”

I said: “I think your fumble-fingered organ-playing has already accomplished that.”

He replied: “I’d like to take you outside and show you some manners.”

So I did what any gentleman would do: I pulled out a straight-razor and slashed him across the chest.

After I was released from a local detention facility, Dora complained that I had “ruined her evening.” Ah, Dora – she is so sweet but unfortunately, being a woman, lacks the sufficient intellect to understand the intricacies of the masculine moral code.

Opinions of an Advertising Man, Pt. III

As any big ticket advertising man knows, one of the most effective ways to reach your audience is through open threats. I have found where beauty of form, clarity of expression, taste of arrangement, and excellence of idea fail – open threats are efficiently persuasive.

Take, for instance, this advertisement I placed for Kreml Shampoo in Good Mothering Magazine:



Here, I had a fortunate conspiracy between client and magazine. Knowing that this would be placed in Good Mothering Magazine, I wrote advertising copy specifically geared towards a maternal audience.

I also created a similar advertisement for children’s magazines warning children: “If your mother doesn’t purchase Kreml Shampoo, she secretly hates you and wants TOBOR to eat you.”

Chester’s Dangerous Dance With Lady H

After a harrowing detour, I’m back amongst the living. You see, my “dear friend” Abner Bosterly failed to inform me that one of the many charming side-effects of “heroin” is that it is highly-addictive. I’ve peeled through a lot of kale this past weekend: $250, in fact!

I’ve slept in drainage ditches, eaten a live Grey Squirrel and done many other things in the service of the Demon-Heroin that I’d prefer not to discuss.

I’ve Got the Prohibition Blues

Well, it seems my precious supply of hooch has run dry sooner than I thought. And what with the Temperance Army running rampant over this great land of ours - the end of Prohibition is nary in sight.

A good friend of mine, Abner Bosterly, has directed me to the local pharmacy to pick up something he called, “heroin.”

Apparently, it’s derived from poppy plants. I told him, “A full-chested fella such as I doesn’t fuss with flower-juice.”

Alas, he has insisted that this “heroin” will make me “forget all about hooch.” So tonight I’m going to fill my flask with “heroin” and have myself a real hooter-tooter.

Opinions of an Advertising Man, Pt. II

The other day I came across this advertisement in my Dora’s copy of Whiz Bang magazine. Frankly, I must say I was appalled! This campaign for Palmolive complexion soap is irresponsible, downright dangerous and tantamount to treason.


The subtext of the advertisement is obvious to all that view it: Women, rise up against your male masters! Beat them back with your weapon of choice - be it golf club, Egyptian pottery or blunderbuss! Force them into a life of manual labor and sexual subserviency!

Notice the illustration of the woman - red-eyed, frothing at the mouth, raising her weapon like the Hindu warrior-goddess Durga. This was, no doubt, the work of some frigid suffragette intent on burning down the United States Capitol and erecting some sort of pagan monument to Susan B. Anthony - the first bastion of a cruel-headed and ruthless matriarchal republic whose rule will last a thousand years.

Well, whoever you are, dear lady, I will be writing a very heated letter to Whiz Bang magazine!

Chester's Sparkling New Brewster Zephyr

I had the recent good fortune to be photographed with my brand-new purchase, a Brewster Zephyr. This beaut comes from All-American Long Island City. At eighteen-feet long, it's the most compact and sporting model available. The lofty price of $64.00 American may be some long green, but money is no object when it comes to the best in horseless conveyance. Look out, you dames - Chester's on wheels!

Familial Woes

The exposure of my carriage class upbringing has been heralded by the arrival of Mother and Sister Jessamine. They arrived yesterday in Father’s outmoded 1899 Horsey Horseless - clad in gingham, cockleburs in their hair.


Before they arrived I wrote Mother a letter putting forth the edict that I will only go out in public with her while clad in my clever Uncle Sam disguise.


She replied that she “wept for 3 days strate, to think that [her] only son was embarised to be seen with his own muther.” (Spelling fallacies her’s, not mine.)

I replied that maybe if she and Father had finished the 3rd Grade they would have they would have had the good sense to realize that starting a pokeweed farm was a perfectly idiotic idea that would lead to nothing but a life of mortifying poverty.

Ah, but it’s good to see the family again.

Dispatches From the Advertising World

Today, I had a scruff-up with Mortimer Graves – the near-sighted, narrow-minded Director of Creativeness at Bakenhaster, Von Tillzin & Saatchi. He has soundly rejected my latest masterwork for the Boston Garter - claiming certain certain segments of the community, namely the Hun segment, may take offense to it. I have electronically affixed it here as I believe public opinion will bear me out:


As you can see, this is the work of a true American Patriot! A nephew of Uncle Sam whose Yankee Doodle heart beats the rhythm our National Anthem! Who fought in the trenches, nose-to-nose with the Kaiser!

But his rebuffment doesn’t surprise me. See, Mr. Graves didn’t fight in the Great War. He claims that “he was 57 years old in 1917” and that made him “too old for combat.” I say not “too old” – I say too cowardly! Too cowardly to fight for Lady Liberty and too cowardly to run the bald eagle-riding, Liberty Bell-ringing, apple pie-eating copy of a true American Patriot!

AUTHOR’S SPECIAL NOTE: I also suspect him of being a Bolshevist.

A Few Sweet-Scented Violets From France

Let’s come out clear here, I harbor no great love for the “Great” Gallic Republic. The French’s primary contributions to the world culture are its blurry paintings, pungent cheeses and cowardly composure in battle. A few weeks ago at the Lodge, I was confronted by their latest ignominy: the picture postcard.

Well, friends – I confess, much to my great shame, I have been under their spell ever since. After all, I am a virile, full-blooded man and not immune to the powers of a smoky gaze and a specious grin.

Being it is Friday, I thought I’d share a few of my favorite glimpses into the boudoirs of Gay Paree.

Huzzah To My Pneumatic Four Wheel Rolling Shoes!

Truly, Pneumatic Four Wheel Rolling Shoes are the greatest invention of the modern age! I can glide hither and thither as though my feet were ensconced in two glorious clouds.

Also, after setting fire to local German beerhalls - they help make for quick escapes.

The Irish cannot afford them either.

Opinions of an Advertising Man

Today marks an anniversary of sorts: I have now been working for six months in the advertising trade. Currently, I am an employee of the advertising consortium Bakenhaster, Von Tillzin & Saatchi (who is, I suspect - an Italian).

We create advertisements for a great variety of products - including liver pills, chewing sweets, sock garters and gyro-sheath desk sets.

As my professional station gives my opinion the weight of authority, I thought I might weigh in on various advertisements I come across in my daily journeys.


This newspaper campaign for the Iver Johnson’s Arms & Cycle Works has done incalculable good for the American public. Here, Iver Johnson Revolvers begs the question (and I paraphrase here) that in this danger-fraught age of ever-increasing Irish immigration, shouldn’t we arm our children as well?

I say resoundingly: “Yes.” Should some frothing Irishman skulk into your child’s bedchambers in an attempt to kidnap them and cook them into some sort of stew with potatoes and cabbage and low-grade whiskey – wouldn’t you like your dearest one to be carrying a firearm that “shoots straight and kills” instead of a “toy”?

Election Day

I don’t fancy myself much of a politico but I must say that Uncle Sam has a real live man in Warren G. Harding. He’s quick on the trigger, sound as a dollar, he’s got just the stuff to make our greatest President since Millard Fillmore.

I’m not here to alter your vote tomorrow – if you want to go for those Bolshevik-leaning libertines Cox and Roosevelt that’s your American birthright – but if you’re a true red, white and blue-blooded Yankee you’ll vote Republican in ’20.

John Barleycorn, Good-Bye

“Prohibition is a sign of national decadence. A country that is too cowardly too drink is on the tobog.”
– Daniel Webster

Well, it’s official: those cold-water Nancies, the Prohibs have won the day and there’s not much a spirit-lovin’ lad like your Chester can do but kick up his heels and say, “Aw, applesauce!”

I tell you what: you won’t find me at one of those sarsaparilla joints bending my elbow with the soda set. No, sir. I have made certain preparations for this latest curtailment of liberty and have stolen away in my cellar the following:

2 bottles “Old Oaken Bucket” straight rye whiskey
4 bottles “Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve” bourbon whiskey
1 bottle “Yellow-Haired Laddie” single malt Scotch
3 bottles “Fussy Muttonchops” British gin

This should be enough to tide me over until those paid moralists and Bolshevist cowards in Washington come to their ever-loving senses.