Judge, 1928-11-24 · page 18 of 36
Judge — November 24, 1928 — page 18: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous short story illustrated with a cartoon. It satirizes both religious hypocrisy and the "cannibal" stereotypes common in early 20th-century entertainment. **The Setup:** Reverend Philip Thing, a clergyman shipwrecked in Tahiti on Thanksgiving, encounters cannibals who appear cultured (one wears Brooks Brothers clothing, speaks politely). They invite him to dinner—ostensibly as a guest, but he gradually realizes *he* is the meal. **The Satire:** The story mocks: - The reverend's materialism (he's upset about losing gambling winnings, not spiritual matters) - Racial stereotypes depicting Pacific Islanders as cannibals, though humorously reversed—here they're portrayed as sophisticated and courteous - The irony of civilized behavior masking violent intent **The Final Twist:** The ship's cook appears, suggesting Thing's actual rescue—undercutting the whole scenario with absurdist humor typical of Judge magazine's style. The cartoon below depicts Thing fleeing up a coconut palm while the chief prepares a blowgun, visualizing the farcical danger.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Reverend Thing’s Tahiti Thanksgiving By Perry Perelman (Room 5) Reverend Philip: Thing stood knee-deep in the boiling surf looked sourly at the rapidly sink- ing masts of the good ship “Wal- ter Donaldson.” “You would,” said Rev. Thin bitterly, “just when I'm | ning to win back some of the dough I dropped to the cook at jack, you go and sink on What a cheap New Bedford trick!" He took a desk calendar out of his beard and consulted i “And on Thanksgiving, te said morosely, “I cans boys in the back room at Julius’s mopping it up by the barrel right now. And me on this ——— oyster-farm! Oh, what a momzer I am.” The gleaming coral beach was deserted; not another living Thing was in sight, but as he waded out of the water four smiling cannibals approached him from a cluster of palms. Their leader, a stout and jovial savage dressed in a Brooks Brothers pocket handkerchief, shook Mr. Thing warmly by the hand. Yo RN oe JUDGE “Well, well, well,” he boomed cordially, “just in time for din- ner, and on Thanksgiving, of all days ! “Well, now,” began Mr. Thing awkwardly, “I don't feel right, imposing on your dinner—maybe I better. i “Don't be abSURD!” pro- tested the chief, “why, we wouldn't think of having it with- out you, would we, boys? But do come up and get ready for dinner. He took Mr. Thing’s arm, which was still attached to Mr. Thing, and they started to- ward a group of huts. There the chieftain presented him to a large circle of friends who eyed Mr. Thing with polite longing. In a clearing among the huts was a large iron kettle. “And now,’ said the chief, “TL hate to hurry you, but would you mind removing your clothes?” “MY clothes?” asked Mr. Thing, puzzled. “Of cours: said the chief, feeling Mr. Thing’s double chin appreciatively, “before you say good-bye.” “Good - bye?” Thing fo; going away? “No, but you are,” smiled the queried Mr. » “why, are you Finst Huxten—Hey! Here's a bear! “Thank heaven! I’m nearly famished.” chief, “and we wish you'd hurry.” “Where?” asked Mr. Thing, still haz “Into that pot,” indicated the savage. “But—er—I—I thought you had—I understood you had a turkey,” stuttered the divine. “You're the turkey, sweet- explained the cannibal, let's cut the kidding, so to It'll take about two hours you ready for the oven, and the stuffing isn’t even started.” But Mr. Thing had missed the last part’ of his sentence, for he was already half-way up a cocoa- nut palm, “Now look here, Phil,” called the vexed chief, “you're being un- reasonable. I must say I don't like your attitude.” “Well, it’s my attitude,” said Mr. Thing, “and you can’t have it, that’s all.” “Is that a nice thing to say, Thing?” scolded the chief. “Here, Charlie, hand me that bean-blow- er.” He had just raised it to his lips when there was a shout. Everybody turned in surprise. There stood the cook of the Valter Donaldson.” op!" he cried, “what sort of finaigling is this, anyhow? I won comicbooks.com