Radio Digest (Nov 1930-Apr 1931)

81 Out of the AIR HITS— QUIPS—SLIPS By INDI-GEST Cash for Humor! /T WILL pay you lo keep your ears open and your funny bone oiled for action. Radio Digest will pay $5.00 for the first selected humorous incident heard on a broadcast program, $3.00 for second preferred amusing incident and $1.00 for each amusing incident accepted and printed. It may be something planned as part of thr Radio entertainment, or it may be one of those little accidents that pop up in the best regulated stations. Write on one side of the paper only, put name and address on each sheet, and send your contribution to Indi-Gest, Radio Digest. ARIEL, 1930 A tricksy sprite was Ariel When Shakespeare was a bard. He hovered in the air, unseen. Or darted heavenward. In sweet invisibility He sang or whispered soft; He brought with swift agility Mirth, music, from aloft. Today so does my aerial Catch music from the air; Its varied voice ethereal Floats in from everywhere. The voice of Yallee crooning. The caws of two black crows; Quaint dissonance of tuning; "Moonlight and the Rose." Kings in early morning, (Words across the sea) ; Recipes for corning Beef or brewing tea. Statesmen's oratory, Topics of the day; Baby's bedtime story, Weekly Bible play. Always smoke a Plucky. How's your motor oil? Gee, but I feel lucky — She's my two-time goil. Toothpaste full of tonic, Try our gooey soap — Orchestras symphonic, Latest market dope. Half an hour of old songs, Schubert's serenade. Cuties singing bold songs, (Wonder what they're paid?) Albert on the fiddle, Bringing heaven near; Horoscope and riddle — Say you love me, dear. Ariel was a tricks}' sprite, There is no dispute. But aerial serves me day and night And when I'm tired, he is mute. — Helen Alary Hayes, Lincoln. Neb. SUPPOSE IT SAID "FORDOGS"? Heard on the air: — Mrs. — "Sandy, don't you see thai you're washing your hands with my sixty cent tooth paste?" Mr. — "Yeah, I know, but it says here, "Forhans". — Valentine Sadowski, Buffalo. N V. It is a cold and cheerless and humorless winter day. with the wind whoo-ing and rattling the window-panes. But in the inner sanctum of Indi-Gest' s retreat it is warm and cheery. Slit goes the letter opener and out pops a joke that's so funny it would warm the icicles off' the very tip of the North Pole itself. And then another and another, and the stack of hits and slips grows higher and higher. Suddenly the laugh thermometer drops a dozen degrees. "It's ■mother one," groans Indi-Gest. and the Office Nurse rushes in with a pepper shaker, (aromatic spirits of ammonia never seemed to bring Indi out of a faint) and revives the stricken sense of humor with a sneeze. ""That's the ninetyfour billion six hundred forty nine thousand three hundredtwentyninth one since I last oiled my funnybone," gasps the poor joke editor. Little White Lies ... if Toscanini himself conducted and Werrenrath sang it I would stop my ears with cotton and rubber. This morning it was a politician who was making a campaign speech full of promises, which was followed by the orchestra playing. Little White Lies. At 11.00 A.M. a real estate agent describing his new subdivision was preceded by a tenor rendering Little White Lies. Just before lunch a Grampus. Kanstucky correspondent had to let me know about a big bargain sale announcement which came hot on the heels of two xylophonists. a jews harp, a piccolo and a clavichord in the throes of a stirring rendition of Little White Lies. So the Office Nurse offers a word of advice to aspiring Indi-Gest contributors. Don't mention lies, prevarications or falsehoods in your Indi-Gest contributions . . . don't tell what happened before, during or after Little White Lies. IT MUST BE SATAN Announcer over National Broadcasting Chain, announcing song just played, "I Want to be Bad with special permission of the Copyright Owners." Who owns the copyright on being bad? — Ray Martin, Grandview, Mo. GOLF ADVENTURES OF AN ANNOUNCER One day George Hicks, NBC Announcer, was slicing and topping the little ball worse than usual. He lost every ball but one. Then that landed in a pond. "I've lost enough balls for one day and I'm going to get this one", he declared. Taking off his shoes and socks. Hicks rolled up his trousers and waded into the pond. The mud was deep, and as Hicks sank up to his waist while fishing for the ball with a pole the other three members of the foursome sat on the bank and sang the Song of the Volga Boatmen with wisecrack interludes. Hicks got the ball.