A Word of Caution Regarding Antitoxines and Word Usage

I would hope that most of you would have developed the sense to avoid wasting your money and health on worthless cures ubiquitously advertised, but my recent volume of mail has told me otherwise. If you do indeed lack sense and discernment, then you can at least (I can only hope) follow this one rule: Stay clear of remedies that attempt to reel in the consumer via puns and “jokes.”

Disease is not a joke. Also not a joke: death. What these malevolent, miserable, peddling humbugs fail to mention is that illness can be exacerbated by symptoms induced by laughing (hiccoughs, mild piles, rapid diaphragm contractions) and that when you most assuredly die a short time later, you will find that there is no laughter in hell.

Not a joker

You probably recall recently reading about the forced closure of L.D. Trimms Correspondence College for Therapeutic Laughology on the basis of false advertising. These same venomous hacks also appear to be advertising the falsity that “laughter is the best medicine.” In fact, in true fact, laughter is no sort of medicine at all.

The following are some commonly advertised remedies which you’ve undoubtedly seen. Please note that many of these have been formally warned or summoned to court in correlation with the US Food and Drug Act for false advertising, namely marketing a drug as a form of entertainment or joke.

Doctor Chubb’s Nose Salts

"Happily Ether After"

Famous Chicago Cold and Flu Liquid

"Look What the Catarrh Dragged In"

Quicker Hydro-Breath Improved System

"Aqua Lung, My Friend "

Rost Thridge Guaranteed Gout Remedy

"Shoo! Gout of here! "

Beckley’s Permanent Endocrine Problem Cure

"This Gland is Your Gland"

The Taming of John the Baptist, A Critical Review

Last evening, dear Mr. Thoroughgood and I had the unfortunate experience of viewing The Taming of John the Baptist, the most abhorrent piece of theatrical dreck that has ever existed.

Worse than last year's Ring my Bell! The Many Loves of the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and more offensive than the Battle Creek Family Players' recent dramatization of Stryper's 1986 album To Hell with the Devil, last evening's entertainments have left me with the desire to fumigate my eyes. (Yes, it was even worse than Comstock! The Musical.)

Unfortunately, the director did not understand the subtle differences between Baptists and Boaters.

Charmed by the description of this "playful romantic romp with just a hint of religion," Mr. Thoroughgood and I trotted gullibly off to the playhouse. Idiots! We were idiots!

Local Medium and Battle Creek's single largest producer of ectoplasmic jellies, Mr. Barrabas Scrivener's portrayal of the title character might have been somewhat tolerable had he not spent the entire first act swimming in a shark tank. All of his lines had to be overdubbed by Charlie the Prop Boy from backstage.

Miss Vidalia Orpheum was quite stunning as Pansy Tankett, the fast-talking cabaret dancer, but her otherwise flawless performance was woefully impaired by the fact that she was stinking drunk. Mr. Thoroughgood counted seventeen times she fell of the stage. But what really tipped us off was her impromptu striptease in the middle of Sir Lancelot's pivotal "To kill myself or not to kill myself" speech, culminating in a wardrobe so tangled it took five stagehands to put her to rights.

The divine Miss Vidalia Orpheum mistaking Mr. Blinkums the Horse for her love interest.

The coup de grace, however, was director's fatal decision to move the setting of the play from Biblical Jerusalem to Colonial Jamestown. I don't know about you, but I was certainly not aware that there were so many cabarets and auto mechanics in Colonial America, not to mention several Knights of the Round Table! But who am I to deny others their breathtaking stupidity?

The Taming of John the Baptist will be playing Thursday through Sunday at 9pm and 11:30pm until the end of the month. I urge you all to avoid this monstrosity as though it were the most virulent consumption. In fact, I would rather you caught consumption that be subjected to this offal.

What is in this Mysterious Bottle?

What is in this mysterious bottle?

Is it:

a) Dr. Splurkington's Cordial Compound for the Relief of Female Maladies and Wifely Frigidity?

b) Nox's Goat Urine, Specially Prepared with Volatile Solids for Optimum Performance in All Satanic Rituals?

c) Jaundiced Cow Milk from our unfortunate neighbors at Buttercup Dairy Farm?

d) 6 oz. Mountain Dew, 12-year vintage?

e) Mrs. Hirsute's Guaranteed Werewolf Repellant with Real Wolf Solids?

Please respond at once!
I desperately await your expertise on this delicate matter.

Know Your Poisonous Flowers

Recently, a dear friend of mine, Miss Ronella Abernathy, perished very suddenly and without warning. The cause of her demise? A small flower given to Miss Abernathy by an ardent yet very stupid suitor, who was not aware that the bloom he pinned to her collar was not a pansy, but mortibellum morticarum, better known as Undertaker's Delight. Perhaps the most poisonous flower west of Shanghai, it exudes an odorless vapor capable of bringing death to any human within an approximate range of 18 inches (distance may vary slightly due to wind conditions).


Inhalation of its fumes induces several distressing symptoms: First, the unsuspecting victim will experience a tingling of the palms and soles of the feet, followed by a sensation of weightlessness and extreme well-being. Soon, the victim will grow terribly cold with an extreme thirst that can only be quenched by pure grain alcohol. It is unknown whether the victims ultimately perish due to the toxins of the flower itself, or because of the vast quantities of spirits they inevitably consume. Morticians are invariably overjoyed to receive a body in such a state, as it means there is very little pickling left for them to do, and they can knock off early and go sailing.