Showme Ozark issue May, 1956Showme Ozark issue May, 195620081956/05image/jpegUniversity of Missouri Special Collections, Archives and Rare Book DivisionThese pages may be freely searched and displayed. Permission must be received for subsequent distribution in print or electronically. Please contact hollandm@missouri.edu for more information.Missouri Showme Magazine CollectionUniversity of Missouri Digital Library Production ServicesColumbia, Missouri108show195605Showme Ozark issue May, 1956; by Students of the University of MissouriColumbia, MO 1956
All blank pages have been eliminated.
Showme
25 cents
Ozark Issue
J Bar H
5th Annual Rodeo
Pucketts
Missouri
Showme
Tiger
Letters
Dear Editor
I am a humble subscriber to the
wicked words of your little goody-
book with cultural sidelines. The
book, stupid.
Even have a joke for ya:
Somebody to somebody else:
"Say, since you're an impartial
outsider, just tell me-what do
you think of the human race?"
A reader,
Betty Neison
6101 Erie Ave.
Cincinnati, Ohio
University of C.
My Dear Betty,
We print your letter here only
to show our local readers how
thankful they should be for their
intelligence-or lack of it if you're
considered a prodigy. Your joke
belongs in the yearbook of the
Western Wyoming State Teacher's
College for Men, not a college hu-
mor magazine. But gee, thanks
for writing.
Ed.
Dear Editor,
Great day! You shook the troops
in the FEC (Far East Command)
with the "Girl of the Month" sec-
tion in your February 1956 issue
of SHOWME. Pollee was certainly
an outstanding feature in your
Greek issue, but please take it
easy on us fellows way over here
in Japan who only have our Jo-
sans. Believe me, there's none
comparable to our stateside
blonds, redheads and brunettes.
Here's hoping your imaginative
creations of SHOWME continue.
Sayonara,
S/Sgt. W. G. Heid, Jr.
Box 33 Hq. 43d Air Div.
APO 929 San Francisco
Dear Sgt. Heid,
We certainly didn't mean to
shake up OUR BOYS, Sarge, but
glad you liked it anyway. Also
glad you didn't decide to make
Pollee MISS HYDRAULIC
BOMB-BAY DOOR or something
of that nature. One tip, however:
Our stateside beauties dislike
psuedo-cosmopolitan foreign
words and phrases rolling off the
tongue of professional world-
travellers.
Revoir,
Ed.
P.S. About your Josans-we've
been there too-and think they're
itchyban!
Editor:
. I think your story "Wedding
of the Century" was the funniest
thing I have ever seen in SHOWME.
If you don't believe me when I say
that your makeup stinks, ask any
"Jay" school student . .
MPK
Dear MPK,
Thank you for your comment,
ma'am, it's probably the most in-
telligent criticism of the first issue
to date. But we refuse to ask a
"Jay" schooler mechanic his opin-
ion, and prefer to stick to the opin-
ions of people who refuse to use
formulas and set patterns in
everything they write. But we
agree, it (the makeup) did stink.
Better this time, we'll bet.
Ed.
Editor:
. .Taking for granted that your
men are as unsexed as your maga-
zine. I think you aware of are not
the value of pumpkins . . .
Paris, France
Dear Paris,
Thank you. We are aware that
it has been recently proved that
polar bear livers contain hormone-
building vitamins in a quantity
exceeding eggs and oysters. Now
pumpkins have been shown to ex-
ceed polar bear livers in this
quality, and more, are easier to
procure, less expensive, and taste
better.
Ed.
He: "Your husband is a brilliant looking man. I sup-
pose he knows everything."
She: "Don't be silly. He doesn't even suspect."
Brown
Derby
The Novus
Shop
The Stable
First Bride: "Does your husband snore in his sleep?"
Second Bride: "I don't know, we've only been mar-
ried a week."
The Blue
Shop
Editor's
Ego
As YOU MAY have guessed in the
years gone by, and by the
title of this issue, we of the SHOW-
ME are kinda partial to that sec-
tion of Missouri known as the
Ozarks. The issue is an annual
event, and marks the coming of
swimming and water-skiing wea-
ther, for, when old Sol moves
round and gets brighter, Swami's
men and ladies tour south.
And we do have fun. We're cat-
ered to by a group of innkeepers
and merchants who are free from
the usual apprehensions concern-
ing college students. These people
recognize the student as a human
being and treat him accordingly.
So we'd like to pass on to you our
feelings about the area, and hope
that you'll take advantage of your
proximity to this haven. You
never know who you'll meet down
there or what faculty member
you can observe holding down his
tent in the wind.
So give it a whirl, get out of
town, relax. If you're not careful,
you might even enjoy yourself .
Speaking of enjoyment (and we
were), we went to a formal dance
the other night. Everybody had
been looking forward to the thing
for some time, and saying what a
good time they were going to have
and all, so naturally we looked
forward to it also, and thought,
perhaps ignorantly, that we were
going to have a ball. But the next
morning when we ventured forth
with head aflutter, the first thing
we ran into was a not-too-good-
natured criticism of us for having
fun at said dance. "You're sup-
posed," quoth the leader of the
band of self-righteous vigilantes,"
to see to it that others enjoy them-
selves." And that, suh, is just
what we'll do if we're ever invited
again, We'll go out and eat
worms, that's what we'll do.
Sometime between now and the
time of the next and last issue,
the staff is going all out and
throwing a recognition banquet.
This, like the Ozark Issue, is a
traditional event around 302 Read,
and everyone likes it. We eat
steak. Last year Les Gibbs got
recognized and was awarded a
key, but went out after the feast
and got beat up by several evil
characters, and in the affray lost
his key. Jack London Duncan lost
his too, but in an oddly different
manner.
Lots of fun is scheduled for our
second annual pig roast, where
we buy a young suckling and burn
it over a raging fire, southern
style. We invite people, and have
a trichinosis expert on hand at all
times. Dudley Martin comes
around too. Last year it rained,
and Katie Kelley got mad because
she had to stand out in the rain
and guard the pig, but this year
it'll be different, we'll have sunny
weather. By the way, anybody can
come if he chips in on the food
and drink.
One more issue. That one'll be
the Going Home Issue, or some-
thing of the nature, and we'll ex-
pose all the happenings that have
occurred throughout the school
year, and more. The cover is al-
ready designed, and we're sure
you'll love it so start anticipating
now. We'll be out right around
the start of finals, so save a quar-
ter and maybe thirty minutes of
your studying time for our little
book of lore. One thing, though:
Last year, on the last issue, we
threw our beloved censor into the
Hinkson, whereupon he reached
up from his watery grave and
damn near dragged the whole
batch of us along with him. Rep-
ercussions sounded loudly for
nigh on to nine months, and
YOUR HUMOR MAGAZINE al-
most ceased to exist. So look not
for Phallic Revivals, or stories
about women in the family way,
but do, and we repeat, DO, use
your SHOWME Dirty Joke Decoder
and your natural God-given
ability to realize a double or triple
entendre. See you then.
Bob
Staff
EDITOR
Bob Williams
ASSISTANTS
Skip Troelstrup
Les Gibbs
Dick Noel
BUSINESS MANAGER
Carl Weseman
FEATURE EDITOR
Bob Cates
PUBLICITY
Kenny McWade
EXCHANGES
Sue Slayton
PHOTO FEATURES
Bob Garrett
ADVERTISING
Ed Minning
SUBSCRIPTIONS
Pat Deatherage
OFFICE MANAGER
Bev Ingle
JOKES
Katie Kelley
Bob Garrett
PHOTOGRAPHS
Dick Sheemaker
Bill Newman
STAFF ARTISTS
Earl Cramer
Will Bittick
Austin Booth
Stonewall Jackson
Nancy Sweet
Matt Flynn
Missouri Showme
Features
AMERICAN COOKS ARE GOING TO POT
Pictures tell the story on ----- --- -
SWAMI THROWS A MAD
Number one in a new series .-- - -.----
THE MARK OF A COBRA
A contest entry, by Mahan Bawa . -. ----.-.-------- --.
VOLUME 33 MAY, 1956 NUMBER 8
SHOWME Is published nine times, October through June. during the college year by the Students o the University
of Missouri. Office: 302 Bead Hall, Columbia, Mo. All rights reserved. Unsolicited manuscripts will not be returned
unless accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Advertising rates furnished on request. National Adver-
g Represenative: W.B . Bradbury Co., 122 E. 42d St., New York City. Printer: Kelly Press, Inc., Columbia,
Mo. Price: 25c a single copy; subscriptions by mail $3.00. Office hours: 3:00 to 5:00 p.m., Monday through Friday,
302 Read Hall.
Well, it's each to his taste, and a taste to each;
Shall we saunter down to the bathing beach?
NASH
She: "I'm sitting on something."
He: "I lost mine in the stock market."
Around The Columns
CLONK PING zonk zonk whish
whirwhirwhir . . . "This is a re-
cording, this is a recording, take
me to your leader," ping zipzip-
zip .
Ah, hell with it.
DID YOU know that Cock Robin
is dead? He is.
THIS MONTH is the merry mar-
ry merrie hairy month of May.
. . which . . . well . . . it . . .
uh . . did you ever try to write
about a month for 200 words?
S . . it's real whippy, I kid you
not. . lesee .May . . ah. .
flowers . yeah, there's a good-
ern . . . flowers . . . now then . . .
bugs? . . year. I guess. . . but
what kind of bugs? . . . garbage
. . don't give me that old jazz .
any kind of bugs . . . yeah .
well . . . now . . . flowers . . . and
bugs . . . and . . aaannnnnnd.
dogs! there ya go . . . can't fool
me . . . ha . . May . . ahhhh.
grunt . . . hoo . well . . . lesee
. .maymaymay . . . the grass is
green the sky is red and Freddy
says the babies' dead and it is the
plenty good month of May with
flowers bugs and dogs and things
and I'm sure we should all be as
happy as kings and mother please
may Jimmy and I go out to play
in the mud and dirt and root
around in it for it's the happy-
happy May month and we will fly
kites and look for birdy eggs and
smash them hah bang rain rain
come around for little Billy wants
to drownd bite snarl growl rut
rut? rut gblx yled nolpeing .
MAY! (Pant pant pant pant. . .)
398 WOMAN OF THE WORLD
Thirteen years old, 5'2", 40-34-
41. Enjoys field hockey, and Hed-
da Hopper. Also grasshoppers.
Wants sugar daddy, age doesn't
matter, money does.
Twin Propellors
* * *
HERE IS some highly pertinent
information on my favorite sub-
ject. It is about beer and I read
it in a dirty book.
The United States is the beer-
drinkingest country, and Milwau-
kee is the beer-drinkingest city in
the beer-drinkingest country. Wis-
consin residents, you see, put
away 26 gallons of beer a year for
every man, woman, and cheeild.
And they call it the Cheese State.
Even the Germans, beer guzzlers
from the word go, can only dispose
of 15 gallons per capita annually.
There now. Don't you feel ed-
ucated?
* * *
DO YOU know who killed Cock
Robin?
* * *
THERE IS a radio station here in
Columbia (by the way, I'm a town
boy myself) which is called KBIA,
which is as good a thing to call
it as most anything else, I guess,
and it is our soft music station
for mid-Missouri. They play all
this crazy music, see. But the
switch is that all this music is
recorded. Hell, they admit it. Ev-
ery ten or fifteen minutes they ad-
mit it. Music by recording. Now
if they'd just shut up about it, and
kind of keep quiet, no one would
know the difference. Everybody'd
think that they had all these bands
and singers right out at the sta-
tion. I would. Everybody would.
But no, their not satisfied, they
gotta be Charles Honest and ad-
mit it.
I wish Jesse James was still
alive.
DO YOU READ books much? I
do. Every once in a while I do.
In 1949 I read this book called
Walt Disney's Comics and Fun-
nies, which was pretty good. Not
much plot, you understand, but
still pretty good. And in 1952 I
read You Too Can Get a Com-
fortable Rupture-Easer.
Well, the other day I finished
another one. It is called European
History Since 1870, and it was
written by a man named Benns.
It is sort of a historical novel and
the setting is in Europe. It has
plenty plenty pages, too. 1030 of
them.
Well, what I'm getting at is you
can have it. I don't want it any
more. It is in good shape - it
hasn't been used hard-and, if
you will, it has a red cover, if you
will, and yellow lettering, if you
will.
And you can have it. Free.
If you will.
* * *
418 EXPERIENCED
Coronet player who's had eight.
Would like to correspond with
number nine. Please be nice; he's
getting tired.
7
I. Ben Had.
* * *
ALL RIGHT CHILDREN, the
time has come for our story hour,
so pull your go-carts up close and
I will tell you the tale my great,
great, great grandfather used to
tell his dog.
Once upon a time, long, long
ago (about last Tuesday), there
lived in a great forest two little
children called Hansel and Myr-
tle. They lived with their par-
ents, Mr. and Mrs. Manbites Dogg.
Mrs. Dogg was a Major in the
d. eisz ther..yaih
Third Artillery Corps and a for-
mer tackle for the Green Bay
Packers. Mr. Dogg was an eighth
grade pupil in a little red school
house. The Dogg family was very
poor and owed upwards of $7000
to FC. Once, in a severe crisis,
they nearly had to hock their TV
set. But, even in its poverty, the
family was always happy and gay.
Often, in a cold winter night, the
children would do folk dances and
sing bright songs while gentle
Mother Dogg played the bassoon.
At this time Father Dogg would
hear them while playing with his
model railroad layout in the cel-
lar and come bounding up the
stairs to entertain the other Doggs
with impersonations of Johnny
Ray, Ivan the Terrible, and other
notables.
Alas and alack, these peaceful
things were to come to an end so
suddenly. For, besides the Dogg
family, there also lived in the
great forest the horrible fairy
witch, Snow Dwarf, and the Sev-
en Grundles, who had a long and
varied record of nasty deeds
throughout the land.
One cold, snowy winter night a
few days before Christmas the
two Dogg children were stagger-
ing through the forest trying to
flush wild rabbits with long sticks
when they came across the tracks
of Snow Dwarf and the Grundles.
They were greatly frightened and
went scampering through the
brush and snow making noises
like wild rabbits so as to fool
Snow Dwarf. But since there
hadn't been any wild rabbits in
the forest for 60 years, this seemed
rather peculiar; and Snow Dwarf
knew something was afoot.
She and the Grundles set after
the children and after a 192 mile
chase (during which two Grun-
dles collapsed from exhaustion)
they caught them. The children
were then taken to Snow Dwarf's
cave, where she and the remain-
ing five Grundles had a long panel
discussion as to what nasty deed
to perpetrate on them. Hansel,
growing tired of waiting, took out
his 40 mm recoilless service re-
volver and emptied the weapon
on Snow Dwarf while Myrtles
blew the Grundles to smithereens
with a nicely aimed hand gren-
ade.
They then collected the state
bounty for Snow Dwarfs and
Grundles (which, luckily, were in
season), and the Dogg family
moved to Florida where they and
26 Cadillacs lived happily ever
after.
Moral: Barking Doggs never
bite, but watch out plenty sharp
for small children with service
revolvers.
* * *
FRANKLY, I haven't any idea
who killed Cock Robin.
* * *
719 TRAVELING SALESMAN
Sloppy, jovial fat man would
like to hear from anyone who
doesn't live on a farm.
Mr. Snow
* * *
THE MANEATER, a sort of week-
ly newspaper published here at
MU, which is made of good grade
paper-non-irritating to the skin,
usually has quite a few advertise-
ments in it. And every week they
advertise whichever movie is
showing at the Stagnant Onion.
A couple of weeks ago they ad-
vertised a movie called "Wither-
ing Heights". Now I know of a
book by Emily Bronte which is
called Wuthering Heights, but I
guess I just missed "Withering
Heights."
Withering Heights. Hmmmmm.
Must be about soil erosion.
THE END OF the semester ap-
proaches . . . the grueling, fevered
pitch reaches its highest point .
the horrible sensation of falling
into a deep void of examinations
and term papers . . . the inexor-
A bird in the hand is worthless when you want to
blow your nose.
able week of reckoning coming
closer, closer . the basic, fright-
ening urge to fall in love . . .
sweaty palms in third rate Colum-
bia movie houses . . . Life rolling
along, gaining momentum until
the flood stage, and the overflow-
ing, uprooting everything in its
path . . . the letter home from the
dean . . . the resulting dilemma
of the eagle or the tiger . . . the
tiger loses . . . Salute! Damn you!
* *
MANY OF our young engineers
spend a lot of time tinkering with
the misses in their motors.
There once was a young man
from Kent,
who gave up breathing for Lent,
He gasped and he strained with
an
expression quite pained-
he's now in an oxygon tent.
* *
785 STEVEDORE
Young lady (under 53) likes
dogs and old men. Would like to
hear from either.
Magnolia
* * *
QEBH, WHICH must mean some-
thing or other, puts out a direc-
tory every once in a while. In it
are the names of all the members
for a certain span of years and a
short sketch of each's activities-
through to the present.
On page 10 of the 1950-1955 di-
rectory there is some information
on a certain T. A. Burgeson, Jr. It
traces his life up to when he got
married. Then it says, "Appar-
ently he has been as busy out of
college as he was in, as he has
twin boys born August 6, 1954."
Yes, apparently.
THERE ARE trolls, fairys, elves,
dwarfs, and gnomes. Gnomes are
Pi Phi: "I said some foolish things to Robert last
night."
Tri Delt: "Yes?"
Pi Phi: "That was one of them."
"No mam, we seem to have run out of parakeets-
how about a nice rat?"
the best.
* * *
HERE IS a joke.
Little Boy: What do you repair
shoes with?
Cobbler: Hide.
Little Boy: Why should I hide?
Cobbler: Hide! Hide! The cow's
outside!
Little Boy: So what? Who the
hell's afraid of an old cow?
I'm glad Cock Robin is dead.
THE WORD'S OUT. A new Ste-
phens College rule requires any
male desiring a date with a Susie
to bring along a letter of recom-
mendation from his housemother,
and a statement of his financial
situation.
When these conditions are met,
the last step is the signing of a
Loyalty Oath, in which the pros-
pective dater swears that he
"Never did, and never will date
a university girl".
* * *
SAY THERE, does Lloyd George
know your father? You better
find out.
* * *
THEN there is the story of the
dead dachshund. He met his end
going around a tree.
UNO, du, trees, quatre, sink,
UNO, duo, trees, quatre, sink,
sees, set, huit, nuufe, dees, jacque,
kingee, queeneth, kingeth, aceth
. . . tramp tramp tramp tramp
tramp (that's the dead) tramp
squash tramp tramp .
.. .HOOOAHHHHHHH ! ! !
I'm THROUGH! Didn't think I'D
make it, didja?
Well . . .
I
am.
Adios, you mothamothamothamo-
tha . . . mothff .
Paul harvey, good day?
Yesterday? Green?
Tarawa maybe?
Ah well, see you all next
month .
Dick Noel
9
American Cooks are
THIS IS AN AGE of modernization
with advice and detailed instruc-
tions on doing things for ones self
in such effusion that one is almost
ashamed to try to buy something
ready made.
Yet, amid this wealth of instruc-
tional material on every known field
of endeavor from cyclatron cleaning
to gardenia grafting, one important
field has been utterly overlooked.
Cooking.
Strange isn't it that, with every
human soul on the planet spending
at least three hours a day at the job
of eating what has been cooked, the
art of cooking itself should be left
to make out with its medieval
methods.
Looking into this appauling abyss
some time ago, I did some research
upon the important phases of cul-
lenary that cannot be approached
with current cook books. Here are
but a few of the things that a modern
cook must know.
Probably the most delicious treat is roast rump of tree-dwelling
elephant. Yet most housewives don't even know how to get the
raw materials home from the store and into the kitchen.
The government is currently training mil-
lions of young men in the hunting of
humans. Yet absolutely nothing has been
done along this line in the field of cul-
linery.
GOING TO POT
Countless young brides-to-be haven't even an inkling of an idea about
how to broil a shark. And what is even more disheartening neither
did their grandmothers.
Many delicacies which are indigenous to
foreign countries are completely ignored in
American cook books. Is your family being
cheated by this shady practice?
Where can one purchase ade-
quate equipment for prepar-
ing fillet of gnats kidney-
which, served under
glass, can make a true
connoisseur drop dead
from shere ecsta-
cy? In America
this dish is
practically
unknown
"What, me worry?"
Swami Throws a Mad
Where
Is You?
When Charles V retired in weariness from the greatest throne in
the world to the solitude of the monastery at Yuste, he occupied his
leisure for some weeks in trying to regulate two clocks. It proved to
be difficult. One day, it is recorded, he turned to his assistant and said:
"To think that I attempted to force the reason and conscience of thous-
ands of men into one mould, and I cannot make two clocks agree!"
HAVELOCK ELLIS
OLD CHARLES THE FIFTH would
have a ruddy good time of it
at Missouri . . . because our feet
of clay are growing upward. Of
course, he'd have to change his
title to Chuck AND HIS FIFTH
and melt into the sea of middle-
ness for even now Kings couldn't
do what we ourselves have done.
Today the ticker in Memorial
Tower and the clock in KFRU
rarely agree, but without any ef-
fort Chuck would find several
thousand persons of one mould.
And that's a good start.
They wear the same clothes,
worship the same conspicious con-
sumption and say the same things.
But they look to no leader because
they ape each other. There are a
few to lead . . . they're too busy
following the followers.
It was only a few years ago that
the intellectual journals wrung
their hands over political conform-
ity on campus and off. Hell, men,
lets call 'em straight. Most stu-
dents don't know enough about
political problems to be even an
outspoken comformist. The idea
has gone beyond that. Or by-
passed it.
It used to be a standing joke to
watch residents of an organized
house march out to class in similar
dress. That was their uniform.
12
You could almost spot the organi-
zation affiliation of a stranger by
his clothes. Ah, those were the
days of individuality!
Some students spend a small
fortune, of dad's, to dress up like
everyone else . . to be lost in the
sea of sameness with carefully
disarranged khaki pants with ivy
league anchor hanging on the back
plus open neck white shirt and
toss in a dark blue sweater and
suede jacket. There are one or
two standard ensembles you can
add yourself. You wear 'em,
y'know.
All this reflects the student
mind . . . standard. They gather
at the same places with the same
words. They say "whatdyasay"
and "howyadoin' " without wait-
ing for an answer. They judge a
local broad by her evening virtue,
material value or affiliation. She
is called "sharp" if visually agree-
able. If she talks, that's bad. Hor-
rors!
Incredible that she should think
and revolt after a typically won-
derful evening filled with spark-
ling MUman-talk like "What's on
at the show? Do you know how
much I can drink? I'm in the best
house on campus. What's the lat-
est record? You're cute, honey. I
like you." And vice-versa.
When a quiz worries you, you
say, "Man, I gotta improve my
grades more." Who ever heard
another say, "I gotta learn more?"
Many, many individuals come
careening into school full of ques-
tions and confidence . . . and they
go sailing out as a standard model
student. A student who is more
interested in the material gains of
an immediate job and to the fringe
benefits thrown in than anything
else.
Lincoln once remarked that he
was more interested in what a
man IS, rather than what his
father WAS. But you try to get
close to the "wheels" (we don't
know what that is but that's what
you call them), meet ones who
can do you good and vote in new
members to something who are
already able to take care of them-
selves socially rather than those
who need help and can be devel-
oped into something. But then,
maybe they're better off not being
moulded into anything . . . as
things are.
The standard student has a car
too big for Columbia's streets and
insists on driving it four blocks
to class, jam packed with the
friends he talks with, eats with,
walks with, sleeps with in a sense,
drinks with and doesn't know
very well.
That's because he talks at them
instead of with them.
There was a time when twins
could add a touch of humor to dat-
ing by switching dates. A local
remark was made not long ago by
Adam: "Eve! You've gone and put my dress suit
in the salad again!"
a standard model coed that no
matter who she dates, it's just
like the same guy anyway. But
let's face it. Does the guy notice
any general difference? Why?
Maybe because you spell "I"
with the natural capital letter .
but live in that way too.
An athlete is so afraid he him-
self isn't impressive enough so he
hangs his letter on his stomach
(chest, during training). Why not
wear it upside down? More would
notice you. The driver screeches
his tires and guns the exhaust
every twenty yards in campus ex-
cursions. Why not play the radio
up higher too? Or do you? The
other drives a luxury car to ap-
pear more impressive. Why not
a 1915 Mercer Runabout? More
would look at you.
Why is everyone afraid to be
himself and stand on that . . .
instead of wearing a cloak of
chrome and suede. Your front is
as false as your sportcoat shoul-
ders and sweaters . . . but every-
one does it, don't they? So do you.
If Bermuda shorts are comfort-
able and you're not so blasted
ugly in them, why don't you wear
them? Maybe you would? Bet
you won't until a majority of
others do . because you haven't
the guts to be yourself . . . until
the magazines dictate it. However
we do wonder why those who
never should are the ones who do.
Or is there no other way except
the negative approach to attract
attention ?
When you play music you select
the same numbers set up for you
by the press agents and played by
local disc jockeys copying the pros
and hit list of billboard who select
their own stuff thus missing a
great reason why they are pros
S. . and remain so. No matter
where you sit down, you have the
same selections of music in front
of you because you are predict-
ible.
And you'll shove those nickels
and dimes in one after the other
into the machine in which even
the shop owner can't control the
musical selection. If you'd rather
hear Guy Lombardo you play Bill
Haley's Comets because everyone
would stare at you if you didn't.
You'd be square. That's the worst
thing in the world isn't it? Square
often means you think for your-
self.
Oh, you think for yourself, all
right. The kind of individualism
where you park between two
spaces next to the curb and only
motorcycles can use the rest.
When you sit in class you take
every word as indisputable. You
don't ask questions and if some-
one does you have a funny remark
for your neighbor . . . because
that's what everyone does. You
read of brainwashing and indoc-
trination and say it's perfectly
dreadful . . . if you can form an
opinion on such things. But when
the instructor begs for questions
(yes, he IS in the majority) and
dissenting opinions you sit there
. . often praying none else will
ask something if the bell is about
to blast. You wanta cuppa cawfee.
Why don't you ask what you
think, say what you believe and
listen to others who don't give you
grades for listening? Read some-
thing besides the TV listings.
There are some wonderful TV of-
ferings, but on the other hand you
just might read something and
form an idea you can use in con-
versation besides half-lies on last
night's date.
But this doesn't mean much be-
cause the men you admire (be-
cause they have Mercurys, sub-
urban homes, c h r o m e- p l a t e d
toothbrushes and high divorce
rates) read Time, watch wrestling
and hire gardeners. Why shouldn't
you do the same . . . and make
money too? So what if your house,
clothes, car, speech, debts and
thinking is as uniform as the hous-
ing development you buy into.
You may get hot after reading
this. You say you can name sev-
eral from your own acquaintances
who don't come anywhere near
this pattern. Especially you. You
always think of yourself, don't
you?
Beta: "Our fraternity maintains four homes for the
feeble minded."
Rushee: "I heard you had more chapters than that."
The Mark of a Cobra
By Mohan S. Bawa
First Kappa: "Does he dress like a gentleman?"
Second Kappa: "I don't know, I never saw him
dress."
This story was written by a young man born
in Ferozepore, India. Mr. Bawa, after attending
St. Vincent's High School in Poona, received
his intermediate degree in arts at the Univer-
sity of Punjab. Studying Journalism here at
Missouri, Mr. Bawa has never published before
in the United States, but is a contributor of
SUNSHINE magazine in India. The editors of
SHOWME feel that you'll enjoy this story. We
did.
14
T WAS one of those long, summer
afternoons when all the grown-
ups were taking their naps. Nan-
ny, in the kitchen making curds,
thought that we were in our beds.
Everything else had gone to sleep.
Everything but the parrots and
minahs and seven sisters in the
big banyan tree in our yard, the
squirrel and mongoose in the un-
derbrush and maybe a snake,
hidden from view on the side of
a tree. Marisa and I, both of us
fourteen, played seven tiles on
the lawn under the shade of the
banyan tree until Marisa tired
and then she poked around in the
garden for worms. She lifted up
a worm impaled on the end of a
twig and scrutinized it in the light.
"What are you going to do with
the worm?" I asked.
"I'm going to chop him in half.
Do you see how he squirms? Isn't
it funny? Both parts of him are
moving."
"I think you are cruel," I said.
"I think you're a sissy," she
said.
Bundi jumped over the wall
and came towards us. He was ten
years old and a neighbour's boy.
He looked bored.
"I'm not supposed to play with
you," he said throwing himself on
the grass. "Mother says that your
sister is an insolent little slut and
I wasn't to play with you or her."
Marisa had thrown the worm
away. She was looking at Bundi
now and laughing.
"What did you do now, Marisa?
You're always going and doing
something," he said.
"It was so funny! I climbed on
their roof and looked through the
skylight. Bundi's father and
mother were making love."
"Did they see you?" I asked.
"Yes," she said carelessly,
"Bundi's mother took the gun out
and shook it at me. She said that
she would kill me next time I did
that. But I'm not afraid of her."
"What did you say to her?"
"I said 'Yah! Yah! I saw you
making love to your husband!
That really made her mad."
"You shouldn't have done that,"
I said. "That wasn't the right thing
to do."
"There is a snake charmer com-
ing down the road," Bundi said.
"Shall we call him in?"
Marisa's eyes sparkled.
"Let's do!" she said. "Have you
four annas Bundi?"
Marisa and Bundi raced to the
wall and climbed it. They waved
the snake charmer to come in.
The snake charmer came in sus-
piciously. Once we had called
him into perform and had not
given him any bucksheesh. He sat
down under the banyan tree cross
legged and opened the brown bas-
ket in front of him. Marisa peered
inside and he waved her aside.
Slowly and with dignity he took
his pipe and began to play. Sud-
denly he stopped and listened.
"Is there a snake in your gar-
den?" he asked.
"Yes!" Marisa said excitedly.
"We have a cobra that lives in
that banyan tree!"
"If it comes, I will charm it,"
he said. Then he continued to
play.
Slowly and majestically, with
almost a sinister beauty, the cobra
began to rise from the basket. As
the music rose in pitch, the snake
rose higher and higher, almost
swaying to the music. Then sud-
denly and without warning the
snake began to hiss and dart and
the snake charmer hastily covered
it with a gunny sack.
,"She will not dance for me to-
day," he said. "Now give me my
bucksheesh."
Bundi took out a four anna bit
and handed it to him.
Marisa sat on the grass and
crossed her legs. Her black long
hair fell uncombed to her should-
ers. She tossed it out of her eyes.
"In my next life I want to be
a snake," she said.
"In my next life I wish I was a
snake charmer," Bundi said.
"Then I would charm you and put
you in my basket."
"No one will be able to charm
me," Marisa said. "I shall be a
cobra, cool, and green and beau-
tiful and I shall have a diamond
on my head."
"And how many people will you
sting?" I asked scornfully.
"No one shall call me an in-
solent slut and no one shall call
me 'that little devil' as Nanny
does. There she comes; let's climb
a tree."
Before Nanny could spot us we
were up a pipul tree.
"Children!" she called in a nasal
voice. "Where are you children?"
She was a plump Anglo-Indian
woman with fizzy black hair and
small eyes embedded in a fleshy
face. A white dress fitted loosely
over her.
"I know you're there!" she
screamed shrilly when she heard
Marisa giggle. "Come on down.
It's time for tea."
* * *
At teatime Nanny sat at the
head of the table, her body heav-
ing and squirming in the chair.
Father was in Calcutta and moth-
er was in the hospital having a
baby and now Nanny sat with
grim satisfaction in mother's chair.
As Marisa's hand reached out for
a piece of cake her voice, came
sharp and clear.
"No cake for you, Marisa."
"Now what did I do?" Marisa
wailed, her hand suspended in
mid air.
"Mrs. Dutt called me up today
and she told me what mischief
you were up to yesterday. You
were a bad, bad girl and you know
what your mother has told me."
"Vulture," Marisa whispered
under her breath to me.
Paul, our bearer, dressed in a
white uniform and gray turban,
served our tea. He winked at
Marisa slyly when Nanny was not
looking and dropped a piece of
cake in her lap. Marisa nibbled at
it bit by bit while Nanny watched
her suspiciously.
"You are going to have a history
lesson after tea," Nanny said.
"Oh, no, Nanny! You said you
would give us a holiday and we
were going swimming in the
river," Marisa said.
"You have been bad children
and so there shall be no holiday
today. It is dreadful what Mrs.
Dutt told me. Whatever shall I
tell your mother?"
In the schoolroom we waited for
Nanny to come with the history
books. It was a hot day and an
electric fan droned monotonously
in the room. Through the screen
we could see the water of the
river gleaming in the distance.
Marisa was wearing a summer
dress and her skin gleamed with
perspiration. She had put her
long, black hair on the top of her
head in an effort to keep cool.
"Let's fool her and slip away,"
she said.
"She'll tell Mama," I said.
"Oh, it will be ages before she
gets back. Let's go."
It wasn't long before we had
slipped out of the house and were
racing towards the river.
When we got to the edge of the
river Marisa changed into her
bathing suit and I got into my blue
(Continued on page 28)
"It's not the work I enjoy," said the taxi driver. "It's
the people I run into."
"And this is our home workshop where Freddy
makes new firewood."
15
A Day At Perch Paradise
By Bill Schlappen
She: "I nearly fainted when the fellow I was out
with last night asked me for a kiss."
He: "You're gonna die when you hear what I have
to say."
THE CONVERSATION in the dining-room at the Perch
Paradise Lodge had drifted from complaint about
the lumpy mattresses and weak coffee provided by
the proprietor to criticism of Clem Kiddlehopper--
a nickname bestowed upon the luckless fellow quite
unbeknown to him.
It was Linda Warren who started it. "I just
can't understand why the lodge owner allows that
horrible old creep to park himself on that bench by
the entrance," she said in a loud voice, full of con-
demnation. "Looks like he's made it his permanent
address."
Several of us glanced apprehensively toward
the doorway wondering if Clem might have over-
heard Linda's hostile comment, but the old codger
was already in the midst of his mid-morning nap.
He was sprawled out on the bench, which he had
intelligently moved so that the large, rustic sign
that heralded the lodge as "The Newest and Finest
Resort in the Ozarks" would protect him from the
broiling rays of the torrid June sun.
In the background the deep, blue waters of
Lake Osage sparkled invitingly.
"It just ruins the atmosphere of the place, if you
ask me," Linda continued. "Why in the world do
they even let him sit there?"
A distinguished guest, who looked the lawyer
type, chimed in authoritively, "I hardly see how the
lodge can do anything about it. You know, it's a
public seat, after all."
16
"Honey, I'd go through fire and water for you."
"Okay, make it fire. I'd rather have you hot than
wet."
SUZIE STEPHEN S- by Skip Troelstrup
"A dollar's worth of sergeants, please."
"Now I don't think Clem-or
whatever his name is-is as bad as
some of us seem to think," I of-
fered. "He's just had a tough go,
that's all. Why, the other day we
got to talking and he was telling
me that . "
"Well, really!" Linda fumed.
"How you can associate with a
flea-bitten old hillybilly like that
is really more than I can fathom.
Really!"
She had effectively pulled the
plug out of my tub, and I didn't
pursue the subject any further. I
had already annoyed her enough.
After all, she was a sharp-looking
broad with a chassis that did
justice to a swimming suit and
made Marilyn M. look like a
struggling beginner. In addition,
she was the most attractive eligi-
ble wench at Perch Paradise.
"Some people choose the most
ridiculous friends," she hissed
with a sarcastic glance, adding,
"but then, birds of a feather."
She rose quickly from her seat
at the table and maneuvered out
of the room. As usual all the male
eyes followed her exit, and I did
not doubt for a moment that
everyone's field of vision was
zeroed in on the area occupied by
her shamelessly undulating hips.
They were inefficiently held in
check this fine spring morning by
some very snug and very brief
white shorts. You know, the kind
you'd need a shoe-horn to get in
to and a potato peeler to get out of.
I wondered if this tall, well-
equipped brunette had any tender
emotions at all. I had hopes of
finding out before my vacation
was over. Deep down, though, I
had the fiendish desire to take her
down a notch or two just because
she reminded me of the snob's
snob.
I just couldn't understand why
she got so worked up just because
some old bird had made himself
comfortable on a bench outside
Perch Paradise.
Sure, maybe he did look a little
grubby with his scroungy, droop-
ing, dirty-grey moustache and his
stubby chin. And he certainly
didn't add anything to the scenery.
But, he sure as hell wasn't doing
anything to hurt Linda Warren.
On the day after my little skirm-
ish with Linda on the subject of
Clem Kiddlehopper's attributes-
or the lack of them-we had gath-
ered in the dining-room for break-
fast as usual.
The meal proceeded in silence,
save for the "snap, crackle and
pop" of Mrs. Van Chadwick's Rice
Krispies and the slurping sound
made by old Mr. Bowler gumming
his Post Toasties. Finally, some-
one noticed the absence of Miss
Warren and asked about her.
"I don't know," commented the
proprietor as he filled a guest's
cup with the murky yellow con-
coction he passed off as coffee.
"She always goes swimming be-
fore breakfast. Probably got back
late."
At this moment excited voices
were heard on the porch and the
proprietor, frowning, looked out
of the screen door. "Gawd!" he
exclaimed. "It's Miss Warren!
Something's happened to her!"
We scrambled from our seats,
murmuring anxiously, as Linda
came through the doorway un-
steadily. She was still in her robin-
egg blue Bikini, with an old army
blanket wrapped around her
charming torso. Her long, dark
hair straggled down over her face
and her head drooped forward.
She was panting heavily and
swayed as she walked.
Clem was supporting her, with
his arm around her slim waist.
"Now, you-all just come along
17
in and sit down and have yourself
a nice hot cup of coffee, Missy," he
drawled as he led her over to a
large wicker rocking-chair, one
of the few comfortable assets of
the Perch Paradise Lodge.
It was obvious that Clem had
been in the lake, too. His wild,
thick hair and moustache were
dripping wet, and his ill-fitting
and tattered clothing clung tightly
to his gaunt body.
Someone brought Linda a cup
of "coffee" and we all gathered
around her chair. After a short
pause, she stared about the room
and asked hoarsely, "Where is
that dear, dear man?"
But Clem had disappeared. He
had just crept quietly away while
nobody was looking.
Then Linda saw him through
the window. "Oh, it's all right,"
she remarked. "He's gone back
out to sit on that bench."
"He saved my life," she contin-
ued, reverently. "I had swum
quite some distance out and sud-
denly, I got a cramp. He could see
I was in trouble. I was holding on
to a rock, too scared to scream.
He didn't hesitate a second. He
ran down to the beach, jumped in,
swam out and brought me back.
He saved my life."
"I told you he was all right,"
(Continued on page 35)
Land of the
Sky Blue Water
your Ozark
paradise
KMBC-TV
KMBC BROADCASTN G COMPANY
ELEVENTH & CENTRAL STS.
KANSAS CITY 5, MISSOURI
PHONE HARRISON 2650
April 30, 1956
Mr. Robert Williams
"Chiefie"
Showme Magazine
302 Read Hall
Columbia, Missouri
Dear Bob:
Congratulations on your first issue. It was tops.
It's good to see a group of fine young men who are willing to
brave the curious looks of their classmates while publishing a
humor sheet that is so far off-center, off-beat and yet, so
edifying.
Here's to more issues like the first. May the wisdom
of the ages and the influence of the twice-removed live forever.
Save a stool in the shack and a booth in the stables,
I'll be visiting ye ever so often to quaff a few and to discuss
the philosophies of virgin birth and pre-marital relations. (that
is to say, having kin that ain't married)
I'm off to the land of Louisiannel
Showme-ingly yours,
Chip Martin
Promotion & Merchandisi
Manager
ps. I'm enclosing a $100 check for
you and the boys to have a few
parties on me, now that I'm out
of school and can afford it. I
hope that crooked mail man who
picks up the mail doesn't guess
it's in here. He might take it!
So you want to be a gag writer?
He who laughs last has found a meaning the censors
missed.
Well, this is just the opportunity for you-just think
up a good caption for this carton, print or type it on
the coupon. Clip the coupon and mail it to
Missouri Showme
Contest Editor
302 Read Hall
In the event that your caption is accepted as the
winning entry, you will receive $5.00 in cash, plus a
lifetime invitation to Swami's Gag Meetings.
The winning entry will be printed, along with the
cartoon, in the Going Home Tomorrow Issue, with a
credit line to the winner.
So think hard, and mail in your coupon today.
Entries must be postmarked no later than midnight,
May 14, 1956. All entries become the property of SHOW-
ME, and none may be returned.
The Caption Contest is open to anyone-you don't
have to be a student to enter.
To: MISSOURI SHOWME
302 Read Hall
Contest Editor
Ozark Centerspread
by Jack Duncan
"I had 2 years of advanced ROTC. How about you?"
"Get yer goddam foot off my chair."
"Wipe that smile off your face."
"Abercrombie, you doll!"
"You did this just to make me jealous, didn't you, Irene?"
Jack-o-Latern
"My good man, I was
using that ladder."
-Illinois Shaft
"Sometimes I get the urge to say the hell with the
whole goddam business . .
Filched
"What else did yer old man give ya for Christas, sonny?"
Shooting Gallery
By Murlin Gene Smith
Columbia is a city of moles. The city is never happy unless
it is digging up at least half a dozen streets each week on
one excuse or another. It has reached the point where students
no longer must be denied the use of their cars by University
officials, for so many streets are barricaded with trenches and
foxholes that no student with anything less than a Patton tank
could get through anyway. The worst of it is that when the
moles move on, they just throw a little loose dirt into the
canyon and go galloping happily off with their shovels upon
their shoulders, leaving a good imitation of the Siegfried Line
behind them. Ah, well, c'est la guerre!
If there is one thing about that
magnificant institution, the Uni-
versity of Missouri, that any new
student immediately notices, it is
the tight, bred-in-the-bone school
spirit sticking out all over the
students. Yeah, man! Joe turns to
Jack over in the Student Union
and says, "Hey, they're cuttin'
classes short today for a ceremony
over by the Columns," and Jack
says, "Yeah, that's a good deal.
Let's go down to the Stein Club
for a cool one." School spirit is
sure a wonderful thing.
WELL, spring has sprung and
the robins are building nests
and all that old corn, and maybe
we can get rid of those Bermuda
shorts and long stockings that so
many of our knobby-kneed beau-
ties seem to think so chic. Maybe
now they'll go to real shorts so
that a man will have something in-
teresting to look at. If not, they
can always go back to skirts. Any
change would be an improvement.
Did anybody ever come up with
the idea of organizing a school
chess team or a Big Seven hop-
scotch tournament or something?
Missouri could stand to win in
something, and if we can't play
anybody else's games, let's start
26
our own. Or maybe we should all
go to OU. If you can't beat 'em,
join 'em.
The average citizen and a few
students look up to college profes-
sors as walking brain trusts, deep
thinkers, and very valuable people
to have around. Did you ever stop
to think what a hell of a fix a lot
of them would be in if they could
not read? And think of it from
your own viewpoint. Is there any-
thing that thrills you more than
to have a vibrant, high-powered
professor crawl onto the stage and
read from a manuscript for fifty
uninterrupted minutes without
ever looking up? Try it sometime.
It takes a lot of guts to do that
before an audience of two hun-
dred people who are paying your
salary to clear the haze around
the textbooks.
Well, the semester is damn' near
gone, and one of these days some-
body is liable to spot some enter-
prising freshman studying, or
stealing an exam, or paying atten-
tion in class, and then the fat will
be in the fire. After all, everybody
knows that when a college student
isn't dragged into a class at the
end of a stout chain, he should be
inhaling the stuff that gladdeneth
the heart of man in a local pub.
Or out on some lonely road ex-
ploring the broad field of man-
woman relationships.
Did you ever hear the story of
KU's Pioneer? He is a bronze gent
with engineer boots and a spade.
This hoary old settler had never
been known to move a muscle,
and campus legend had it that he
never would until a virgin passed
him, at which time he would fling
Expose
Professor: "Who was the first man?"
Coed, blushing: "I'd rather not tell."
The Fountain Motel
"Pardon me, but would you be
interested in a subscription to the
Ladies . . Home . . . Journ . ."
SHEARS Department Store
"I have two down in front," said the usherette as her
strap broke.
Neukomms
MARK OF COBRA
(Continued from page 15)
trunks. The water was just fine
and we splashed and swam and
threw" water on each other. After
the swim we stretched out on the
sand under the trees and Marisa
dried her hair. Marisa took the
towel and wrapped it around her
head. The sun was beginning to
set.
"I wish time would stop right
this minute and it wouldn't be-
come night," she said. I was
watching the little boats pass by
and I noticed the sweating torsos
of the men who were poling.
They were singing a song I didn't
understand.
"I like the night," I said. "When
all the lights go out and we sit on
the lawn on hot summer nights
and see the glow worms and hear
each other talk but see nothing in
the darkness."
"I like the times we sleep out
under the stars and there is a
gentle breeze blowing and we can
put up our mosquito nets. We lie
there on our beds and say the
first thing that comes into our
minds," Marisa said.
Marisa sat up now, uncovered
the towel, and began to braid her
hair.
"Bundi's brother is coming
home from the war," I said.
"Bundi says that he is a lieutenant
in the army."
"What's his name?" she asked.
"Dev," I said.
She picked up her towel and
squeezed it.
"Come on, let's go. We've got
to face Nanny sometime or other."
And we walked home slowly.
The next morning Marisa stood
in front of the window and
combed her hair. She was hum-
ming under her breath. The sun
was hot already, casting long shad-
ows across the room.
"Why are you standing in front
of the window?" I said. I was
halfway through Jane Ayre and
did not like to be disturbed.
"He is sitting on the roof and
staring at me," she said.
"Who?" I asked startled.
"Bundi's brother. He has come
back from the war. He is rather
handsome, don't you think? Of
course, he isn't in uniform."
"Nanny would have fifty fits if
she saw you standing there expos-
ing yourself."
"He is smiling at me. Oh, come
on, leave Jane Ayre alone. Let's
play cricket."
She clattered down the stairs
shouting, "Do you know where
the wickets are?" I knew where
the wickets were. I knew where
the bats and balls were. I had
picked them up and hidden them
after Marisa was through with
them.
Bundi, Marisa, and I began to
play cricket. Marisa took Bundi's
cap and put in on her head. Half-
way through the game, Dev jump-
ed over the wall in. one leap, and
sat on the sidelines and watched
our game. When Marisa tried to
bowl, he laughed and laughed.
Marisa became angrier and an-
grier.
"Why don't you try it, Mr.
Know-it-all?" she said.
"Sure," he said. He played the
rest of the game, flexing his mus-
cles, and showing his brown arms
to us.
After the game was over Marisa
and Dev sat under the tree and
began to talk. Dev talked most of
all. He told her his war experi-
ences. When he joked Marisa
laughed loudly.
After that Marisa slipped out
of the house several times to meet
Dev in the garden. They would
take a hammock to the mango
grove and read poetry to each
other. Nanny said Dev was a
good for nothing, that he should
be in college instead of loafing
with girls.
It was nearly two weeks before
Dev's father and mother found
out what happened. When they
did, they decided to send Dev to
a college in another town. Before
he left I saw Dev kissing Marisa
goodbye. It was in the mango
grove. They stood very close to
each other and Marisa was stand-
ing on tiptoe. Her feet were bare
and she was wearing a blue sum-
mer dress. As he kissed her he
ran his fingers through her hair.
"Will you write to me?" he said.
"No," she said. "I won't write
to you, Dev.' But I will be here
when you come back."
* * *
After Dev had left Marisa and I
drifted together again. But it was
a different Marisa. Even Nanny
had learned to leave her alone.
She'd had her fingers burned
once or twice when Marisa's tem-
per had flared up. Mother and
the new baby had arrived and
mother was too wrapped up in the
baby girl to be bothered about
(Continued on page 34)
"How do you teach a girl to
swim?"
"Well, you stand directly behind
her with the small of her back
against your chest. You grasp
her right hand and move it to-
ward her breast."
"Say-this is my sister."
"Oh, hell-shove her off the
dock."
* * *
The melancholy days have come.
The saddest in our annals.
It's far too cold for B.V.D.'s
And far too hot for flannels.
* * *
Willie split the baby's head,
To see if brains were gray or red.
Mother, troubled, said to father,
"Children are an awful bother!"
* * *
He: Would it be improper for me
to kiss your hand?
She: It would be terribly out of
place.
* * *
Math teacher: In the Mitchell
family there are Mother, Daddy
and the baby. How many does
that make?
Freshman: Two and one to carry.
* * *
Active: Lend me fifty.
Pledge: I only have forty.
Active: Well, then let me have
the forty and you can owe me
ten.
"If I should attempt to kiss you,
what would you do?"
"I never meet an emergency until
it arises."
"But if it should arise?"
"I'd meet it face to face."
Overheard in the UNION: "Shall
we have a friendly game of
cards?"
"No, let's play bridge."
The bored senior turned to his
partner at the President's re-
deption.
"Who is that strange looking man
over there who stares at me so
much?"
"Oh, that's Professor Jenkins,"
she replied brightly. "You know,
the famous expert on insanity."
A.T.O.: Would you say yes if I
asked you to marry me?
Pi Phi: Would you ask me to
marry you if I said I would say
Yes, If you ask me to marry
you.
29
Suzieland
Gail Wolfard
Life Savers
Boone Burger
H.R. Mueller
Florist
"Three cheers for home rule!"
roared an Irishman after a rous-
ing political rally.
"Three cheers for hell!" cynically
replied a Scotchman.
The Irishman looked him up and
down. "That's right; every man
should stick up for his own
country."
"He drove straight to his goal,"
said the orator. "He looked
neither to the right nor to the
left, but pressed forward, moved
by a definite purpose. Neither
friend nor foe could delay him
nor turn him from his course.
All who crossed his path did
so at their own peril. What
would you call such a man?"
"A damn taxi driver," shouted
some one from the audience.
* * *
"I shore wish I had my wife back,"
sighed the man from the Ozarks.
"Where is she?" asked a friend.
"Sold her for a jug of mountain
dew."
"I reckon you're beginning to miss
her."
"Nope. I'm thirsty again."
The Stable
dirt to beat hell. One fine spring
morning not too long ago, bleary-
eyed students along his sidewalk
were greeted with a huge pile of
fresh dirt and a sign declaring in
large black letters, "Well, it final-
ly happened!" ?????
Our fair city has an efficient,
modern police force. If you don't
believe it, park on a meter today
without feeding a coin to the mon-
key. 8 to 1 you'll find your heap
decorated with a lovely red en-
velope within five minutes. The
evil genus behind this is named
Patrolman X, the most efficient
cop in six states. Any six states.
He was once seen to ticket a car
while the flag was still going up.
Ain't we all proud of him? Hell,
yes.
Last winter the rest of the police
force made a big noise about their
radar unit, but the noise soon
petered out, and old-timers said
they probably busted the thing.
They must have got it fixed,
because that old green panel
truck is parked on a lot of steets
these days.
Probably the most educated
critter on campus is a St. Bernard
that marches in and out of classes
like he was Phil Donnelly. He
generally comes in within ten
minutes after class takes up, se-
lects a soft spot in the aisle, and
soaks up the lecture. By this time
he should be sharper than Solo-
mon. Maybe we can draft him as
our representative on the $64,000
Question and make enough jack
to buy our own distillery.
There is a little gnome here on
my desk with a good Chinese
name of Danny O'Shay who says
he used to know Bridey Murphy
when he was still in the "Emerald
Isle", and he says you can't be-
lieve a word she says. He says she
always did lie like hell. Of course,
he's prejudiced, because he tells
me she used to steal the milk her
neighbors the Sullivans left on
their front step for him.
There was an old lady who lived
in a shoe; then the zoning board
caught her and she had to move.
She moved her shoe fourteen
miles out Route K and rented it
to a married student. Now she
lives in one of the Mizzou Motel's
apartments and drives a Lincoln
Continental.
Speaking of cars, did you know
that you can go out on West
Broadway and take your pick
from a dazzling selection of the
latest model one-owner used cars
equipped with a new wax job, re-
grooved tires, Army blanket seat
covers, a steam-cleaned engine,
and the odometer run back 30,000
miles with a drill? Fact. And this
little jewel can be yours for the
teeny-weeny price of all the
money in your pocket, and the
mortgage on your parents' house.
This offer is good this week only.
It is made possible through the
huge demand for our good, clean
used cars. Come see us now. We
can save you money because we
sell at auction prices and give you
more for your old car than it is
worth. Yeah, man! Liberal finan-
cing, too, at only 8% compounded
semi-annually. We just loooooove
all you nice people.
Everybody complains about
overcrowding in classrooms.
Now, at last, my ouja board
has supplied the answer! Merely
petition the government to cut off
all VA educational money-the
GI Bill, the Veterans Rehabilita-
tion Act, etc. Whoosh, like that,
college enrollment will be chopped
by at least a quarter, and it'll even
get rid of a sizable section of the
parking problem. Or you could
start a war and draft everybody.
The farmers need price sup-
ports. Boy, do they need price sup-
ports! They also need somebody to
pay them to keep land out of pro-
duction and cut down food sur-
pluses. They also need lots of rain
so they can raise more crops to
make more money and keep you
and me from starving. In other
words, they are the only people
in the country who need money.
Why don't we all just pay all our
money to the government and
then have them (the goxernment
that is) pay us. Then we can tax
taxes. Free enterprise, it's won-
derful.
Well, after thirty years of striv-
ing, the Irish have finally achieved
their goal. It took a lot of effort,
but if you can't make it by buying
Philadelphia, it looks like you can
always reach the social ne plus
ultra by simply marrying off your
daughter to some pocket-size
prince. Oh, you horrid man! You
are SO uncouth.
Civilization is getting more and
more complicated. A fellow even
told me the other day that these
days you have to go to college to
learn how to plant corn and raise
hogs, but don't you believe it. It's
all a dirty Communist plot to sab-
otage our capitalist economy.
Pretty ridiculous, though. Next
thing you know, they'll be trying
to tell us you need a sheepskin to
prove you can play volleyball and
turn handsprings.
MISSOURI
THEATRE
BRIDAL CAVE
"I'm losing my punch," exclaimed the coed as she
hastily left the cocktail party.
34
"It's nothing officer, I'm cooking the baby."
MARK OF COBRA
(Continued from page 29)
Marisa. Father had returned
from his business trip in Calcutta,
and now vaguely looked at us
through his horn-rimmed glasses,
a little surprised that we weren't
the children we used to be.
"I hate that child," Marisa said
as we sat on the steps and talked.
"It woke me up again at two
o'clock this morning. I think I
shall move into the guest room."
"Mother adores her," I said.
"And have you ever seen
mother look so silly before? Why,
she feeds the child with her own
breast. Modern mothers don't do
that."
"I think that babies have the
smallest little fingers I have ever
seen. Did you see her toes? And
she has pink ears," I said.
"I wonder what Daddy thinks
of her?" Marisa asked.
"Nanny took her to the den
one day and daddy backed out of
the room. He doesn't know what
to do when babies are around."
"Well, he should," Marisa dis-
missed. "He brought the wretched
thing into the world."
"Don't talk like that, Marisa.
You read too many books."
We sat there in the sun think-
ing our own thoughts. It was a
hot day.
"Let's go for a swim, Marisa,"
I said. "The way we used to, re-
member?"
"Oh, let's not," Marisa said.
'What's the matter with you?"
I asked, "You've been acting
funny lately. We used to have so
much fun together."
She looked at me in the new
way, as if she knew something
and I didn't.
"Have you ever been kissed?"
she asked foolishly. "Have you
ever kissed someone in the dark?
So long that you feel you must
do something or die?" As the late
afternoon sun outlined her figure
I suddenly realized I didn't know
her.
"No," I said. "I have never felt
that way."
THE END
I'll never ask another wonian to
marry me as long as I live.
Refused again?
No-accepted.
PERCH PARADISE
(Continued from page 17)
I quickly reminded her. And then
I was a little sorry I had let the
words slip out.
She looked at me with honest
emotion in her face, as if she were
ready to cry.
"And I-I called him a 'flea-bit-
ten old hillbilly'," she said, sob-
bing a little. "I could bite my
tongue out." She hesitated and
then added, "I want to do some-
thing for him. Maybe take up a
little collection or something like
that."
"A damn good idea!" one of the
guests exclaimed heartily, and he
immedately took charge. He grab-
bed a fruit-bowl from the nearby
table, dumped out its contents,
and promptly dropped in a bill.
"I'm good for a five."
"Well, I'd already taken a liking
to Clem," I announced, tossing a
ten-spot in the bowl.
"I-I never thought I could repay
him like-like this," Linda com-
mented, her eyes shining as she
added a five herself. "I guess I
really should give more," she said
softly, "but that's all I can afford
-and I give it gladly."
Even the proprietor kicked in to
the kitty.
Clem was sitting on his bench
outside, drying in the sun and
gazing wistfully at a small Chris-
Craft speeding over the lake. He
had no idea that he was soon to
possess a small fortune.
I judged the pot must have
totaled more than $100 and we all
watched eagerly as Linda stepped
outside and presented the money
to Clem. At first he refused to
accept it, but after much persuad-
ing, he finally took it, though re-
luctantly.
Later that afternoon, as I was
strolling back to the lodge from
my favorite fishing spot-a little
cove some distance away-I spied
Linda and Clem sitting on the
bench, sharing a six-pack. They
were half-hidden by a large rock.
Immediately .my curiosity was
aroused, and I sneaked closer so
as to catch their conversation.
Linda, who had squeezed her
curves into a delightfully skimpy
play-suit, was laughing. Clem,
sporting a fresh haircut and shave,
was decked out in a snappy Ha-
(Continued on page 36)
The Arabians are supposed to be
very intense lovers, but then they
do practically everything in tents.
Edgeworth
Tobacco
STARK CAVERNS
JOYCE MOTEL
PERCH PARADISE
(Continued from page 35)
waiian-design shirt and tan slacks.
"Where next?" asked Clem,
tossing an empty out onto the
lake.
"Let's head over around Bag-
nell," said Linda. "We really
cleaned up over there last season.
Remember?."
I knew I was doing the right
thing when I phoned the sheriff
at Osage Beach, but I couldn't
help feeling disappointed. Now
all the plans I'd been fabricating
to make out with Linda were shot
to hell. I bet we could have had
much, much fun.
THE END
Those long-wed usually like
nice summers, while newly-weds
like nice springs.
"Keep on fighting, boys," said
the general in R.O.T.C. "Never
say die. Never give up till your
last shot is fired. When it is
fired, then run.
I'm a little lame so I'm starting
now."
LaBrue
Jewelers
Ivy Leaguer: "What I like best
cutside cf clothes is women."
Frosh: "Say, you've got an ac-
cent. I didn't know you were a
foreigner."
Senior: "I'm not. My English
teacher was though."
Prof: "When doesn't a woman
have the last word?"
Student: "When she's talking to
another woman!"
"What's that teacher's name?"
"Gosh, I knew it once! It rhymes
with stomach. I know-Kelly!"
* *
Sigma Nu: "I don't think I'll be
able to go to the formal, my date
has a stiff neck."
Second Sigma Nu: "Try a little
flattery. That usually turns a girl's
head."
"I thought I saw you taking a
gentleman up to your room last
night, Miss Smith."
"Yeah, that's what I thought,
too!"
An English farmer was out in
the field one day, sprinkling
purple dust over the ground,
when a stranger passed by.
"Why are you springling pur-
ple dust over the ground?" he
asked.
"To keep lions away."
"My dear fellow, don't you
know there hasn't been a lion in
England for over two thousand
years?"
"Well, confidentially," said the
farmer, "It's a lucky thing . . .
this stuff isn't very good."
Did you hear about the plastic
surgeon that hung himself.
A woman approached the Pear-
ly Gates and spoke to Saint Peter.
"Do you know if my husband is
here? His name is Smith."
"Lady, we have lots of them
here, you'll have to be more
specific."
"Joe Smith."
"Lotsa those too, you'll have
to have more identification."
"Well, when he died he said
that if I were untrue to him, he'd
turn over in his grave."
"Oh, you mean 'Pinwheel
Smith'."
Mama Mosquito: "If you children are real good, I'll
take you to a nudist camp tonight."
PLA-BOY
BURGER
TASTEE FREEZ
Julie's
CYCLE
in my long role
midnight blue
suit i
face the semester on top of
orange threadneedles
suave i am
in my winsor knotted
diagonal striped tie
with spread collar
(fill me full
jam my cranium with
intellectual junk)
i pound the pavement
on orange threadneedles
my intellect profound
a tool honed on
shake spear, fruenand general
moters
corporation
tired feet encased in orange
cages of fashion and style
no more
orange symbols sold
to pay my
union fee
i live unfettered by
education
a graduate of college
laying bricks
have to
so junior can go
ho for the walls of ivy
Coleman Wilson
A musician and a bunch of his
buddies were whooping it up late
one night when the landlord came
in. "Do you know there's a little
ole lady sich upstairs?"
"No, man," answered the musi-
cian, "Hum us a bit of it."
Mrs. Dante: "What are you
writing now, dear?"
Dante: "Hell, you wouldn't un-
derstand."
"There's a woman peddler at
the door, Jim."
"Show the man in and tell him
to bring his samples!"
A corpulent maiden named Croll
Had an idea exceedingly droll;
At a masquerade ball
Dressed in nothing at all
She backed in as a Parker House
Roll.
She: Oh, Henry, I've got a bug
down my back!
He: Ah, cut it out. Those
jokes were all right before we
were married.
* * *
38
ROMANOS BOWL
ROMANOS
Campus Jewelry
If all the coeds who don't neck gathered in one room,
what would we do with her?
COLOR CENTER
CAMDENTON
Said the cannibal to the witch doctor: "Something's
wrong with my kid, Doc. He won't eat anybody."
Brady's
ELDON MOTEL
Sno-Case
by jim me dearman
The way taxes are today, you might as well marry
for love.
KEY: ANNCR means announc-
er.
SQUAAK means your modera-
tor, Bobby Squaakingsome.
ANNCR: The University of Mis-
souri Adult Agricultural Division
of the Physi-Chemical and En-
gineering Department of Educa-
tion, in cooperation with the
Schools of Journalism and Veter-
inary Medicine, their law and
Medical Divisions 'Extension Ser-
vice Presents . . . let me see . . .
oh, yes . . . presents the Univer-
sity of Missouri TV SNOCASE!
(MUSIC UP, SHOW STATE
SEAL. ANNCR THROWS FISH
TO STATE SEAL.)
ANNCR: Today the SNOCASE
brings you a discussion of one of
the more interesting and meaning-
ful aspects of this joyous spring
season . THE BIRDS AND THE
BEES! Now here is your SNO-
CASE moderator, Bobby Squaak-
ingsome.
(CAMERA ON SQUAAK.)
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Oh. Well then . . today
we're fortunate to have with us
one of the nation's foremost ex-
perts on Bird-and-Bee-ology . .
and chairman of the University's
own Bird and Bee Department .
Dr. Horace Hormone.
CAMERA TAKES SHOT OF
HORMONE, WITH SQUAAK.)
SQUAAK: Dr. Hormone, just
what is the significance of the
Birds and Bees we hear so much
about?
40
HORMONE: (BLUSHES) Tee
hee! I hardly know how to an-
swer that question! But you
know, my little boy was asking
me the same thing just the other
day. The little dickens is only 18.
I'll explain it to you just as I did
to him.
SQUAAK: (NODS, SMILES AT
CAMERA) Good!
HORMONE: .First I must add
that we need for our experiment
not only a bird and a bee, but also
a pretty little flower.
(CAMERA SHOT OF BIRD,
BEE, AND PRETTY LITTLE
FLOWER.)
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Good!
(SHOT OF HORMONE)
HORMONE: It's really quite
simple. Observe in the middle of
the flower. You see, the bee lands
here.
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Good! Now let's sum up
what you've said so far. I believe,
Dr. Hormone, you giggled and
said you hardly knew how to an-
swer that question, but that your
son was asking the same thing
the other day . . . and that the
little dickens is only 18 years old.
. . . and that you'd explain it to
us just as you did to him.
HORMONE: That's right. Then
I said . . .
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Good! Then you said we
needed not only a Bird and a
Bee, but a Pretty Little Flower
. . . and you advised us to observe
the . . . ahh . the middle then
you said . . .
HORMONE: Then I said the
bee lands here. I have here a spe-
cial bee, trained for us by the
Psychology De p a r t m e n t. He's
trained to land in the middle of
flowers.
(CLOSE-UP OF UNIVERSI-
TY-OF-MISSOURI-PSYCHOLO-
GY DEPARTMENT TRAINED-
BEE.)
HORMONE: Observe . as I
hold the flower close to the bee
. . it flies . . . and lands .
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Good! Now let's see if we
can sum up what you've said so
far. I believe, Dr. Hormone, you
said you were from the Bird and
Bee Department. Then I believe
you giggled and said you hardly
knew how to answer, but that
your son-the little dickens who's
only 18-was asking you just the
other day . . .
(CAMERA TAKES ANOTHER
SHOT OF HORMONE)
HORMONE: That's right, that's
right . . . then I said . . . Observe!
As I hold the flower close to the
bee, it flies . and lands right .
Now where'n hell's the bee?
(CAMERA LOOKS FOR BEE)
HORMONE: Ah, yes . there
he is. flying just over the pretty
little flower.
(UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI
PSYCHOLOGY DEPARTMENT-
TRAINED - BEE LANDS ON
HORMONE'S NOSE.)
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Good! Now Dr. Hormone,
let's see if we can sum up what
you've said so far. I believe you
said your son-the little dickens
is just 18 years old-was asking
you the same question just the
other day, then I believe you
said .
HORMONE: (HOLDING HIS
NOSE) Dab! The dab thing stug
me! Od the dose!
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Good!
HORMONE: Oh well . any-
way, I'll demonstrate with birds.
They're more fun anyway. Ob-
serve. I have here . . .Oh my
goodness!
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Good! Now let's see if we
can .
HORMONE: Good Hell! We got
just one bird! How can I demon-
strate .
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Good! Sorry to interrupt,
Dr. Hormone, but I see our time's
running short. Now let's just sum
up what you said. First I believe
you said you work at the Uni-
versity . . and then . . .Ouch!
Dam that bee!
HORMONE: Wait a minute!
Wait a minute! Here's the other
bird! Just wait'll you see this bit!
(CAMERA GOES BLACK,
OPENS ON STATE SEAL. AN-
NCR THROWS STATE SEAL
ANOTHER FISH.)
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Next week. on . SNO-
CASE .
ANNCR: I'll tell 'em!
SQUAAK: (SMILES AT CAM-
ERA) Good!
ANNCR: Next week on SNO-
CASE: The story of Columbia's
crack-down on Juvenile Delin-
quency. Don't miss Dr. Freud
McKidney and "NOT IN OUR
BARS."
(MUSIC UP STRONG AS
CAMERA FADES.)
THE END
* * *
"Why didn't you deliver that mes-
sage as instructed?" an active
asked a pledge.
"I did th' best I could, sir."
"The best you could! Why, if I
had known I was going to be
sending an ass, I would have
gone myself."
Ann: "I walked 13 miles yesterday."
Nan: "For goodness sake!"
Ann: "Yes."
O'Boy! We Caught You!
"Let's go out for a breath of air."
April, 1950
Showme
Frankly, Nancy sweet, we crave new contributions but we've
been swiped or redrawn without credit so many times in other cam-
pus mags, we just had to relieve our frustrations and nail you in our
own office! Let's see some more . . new ones. At least you're sporting.
"What does m'lady wish to do tonight?"
41
Marty-
The story
oops.
Marty has been cutting all day, and after work drops in to see
Angie. "What do you want to do tonight, Angie?" Whatever
you want to do Angie is OK by me. Let's go eat first.
If all horses say neigh, where do little horses come
from?
The ballroom proves unexciting till Marty sees Clara. She is
bashfull and is watching the activities from under a corner
table. "You're my type", Marty says, and as she comes from
under the table she gives Marty a look that says "You're my
type too, Fatso."
42
They go to Marty's home and Clara tells him
"You're nice-I got a feeling for you." Marty
has a feeling too, and neither of them have felt
quite attracted to the other sex like this before.
of a good.
butcher
The average girl needs more beauty than brains be-
cause the average man can see better than he can think.
He meets Angie and Whale-
belly down at the hall. Angie is
saying, "That Spillane is some
writer, 'I knew she was a real
blonde,' boy that guy can really
write yes he can.
The next day Marty is tired of
cutting and doesn't go down to
the butcher shop. He is all
mixed up about Clara. He
knows Angie won't like her and
besides Angie has been his best
friend for years. Angie is cute.
"Clara, Clara," he says. "Listen
Honey I been thinking-I could
cut more, make more money,
get a house, you know, kids
later, would you, would you?
Clara answers yes and Marty
leaves Angie and Whalebelly
forever as his ship sinks slowly
in the west.
43
ANDY'S CORNER
Webster says that "taut" means tight. I guess the
guys in college are taut a lot after all.
contributors' page
Will Bittick draws girls. He also
draws beer. He also draws flies
but he's taking pills to prevent
that. The Spring Has Sprung is-
sue of SHOWME featured Will's
work on the cover and his pin-ups
are prominently displayed where-
ever a red-blooded Mizzou boy
hangs his razor strap.
Will explains this artistic ability
as an outgrowth of the repression
engendered when one is a B & PA
marketing major. But don't you
believe it, he took a psych course
once and explains his every aber-
ration the same way.
He refuses to admit that he is
the gourmand who consumes ten
bowls of chicken noodle soup in
one hour, but we say anyone who
glugs down a six-pak in half that
time is a good bet for the title.
Will spends his non-toxic mo-
ments working for the Let's-
Bring-Orphan-A n n i e-Back-T o-
The Globe Cause. He also dreams
of the fame which will be his
when he finds the girl to out-pul-
chritude Marilyn and pose for a
calendar which will jolt King
Farouk right out of his adipose
tissue.
One vital cog in the SHOWME
machine is Jo Smith, General
Flunky. She types, she answers
the phone, she drinks our beer,
she tells dirty stories. Too dirty.
We can't even print 'em. But they
give our oppressed Ids an escape
while we're thumbing through old
Reader's Digests for printable hu-
mor.
Jo's a sophomore in Arts and
Science, and when she isn't telling
dirty stories, she's drawling tall
tales about Texas, her home state.
During the dog days, she earns
the long green modeling pretties
for a Houston department store.
Jo has several passions . One
of them is a mania for unionizing.
(But she'd rather stable-ize.)
However her mad Russian passion
is MG's. There's nothing like hell-.
ing around a curve at 95 per. In
fact, there's nothing like helling
around a curve. In fact .
The Terror of Mexico Gravel
Road claims her paramount
achievement in life, outside of out-
Marilyning Marlyn, would be "a
black leather casket with an eagle
on the back."
44
FARMERS' FAIR AND HORSE SHOW
Cavalier
Cigarettes