DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Damn Thing, v. 1, issue 2, December 1940

Transcribe
Translate

Damn Thing, v. 1, issue 2, December 1940

Page 5

THE DAMN THING     PAGE 5

"What kind of modesty?"

"What if my wife had walked in on you instead of myself?" said Mr. Tweek. And the very thought sent convulsions up his spine. "My wife hates dogs and rats and she would positivly throw an epileptic jig if she sat down in the tub and found you."

"I'd pinch her bottom," said the genie, gesticulating, with a dirty grin.

Thus saying, he rolled over and, printed in large letters on his back could be read:

"Ninety-nine and fourty four hundreths per cent pure. It floats."

Mr. Tweek stood over the tub for several moments, contemplating this message of world collapse. Ingenious genie. 

"I see you carry advertising," said Mr. Tweek.

"Oh, that," said the genie. "Yes. Some advertising guy caught me a month ago and tattooed my back. Damn him. He's the first one that ever put something over on me.

"It's not so much over," said Tweek, "but it certainly is 'On" you allright. Pretty, too." Then: "But how about getting out of the tub and going someplace else.

"Youre wife's bedroom?"

"My God, you are licentious, aren't you."

"Hand me the soap, Tweek."

"Here." 

"Thank you."

Tweek stood for a while longer. Genies were okay in picture plays but when they started stomping around the bathroom at all hours of the day--well! And who knows, thought Tweek, maybe this genie would insist on coming to bed withhim at night to warm his feet -- and -- well, there was no use thinking any more, it was getting pretty bad.

Finally an idea struck Tweek.

"I'm going to get rid of you, genie," he laughed, and his laugh was strange.

"Don't be smart," snapped the genie, "Don't be smart. You can't-- HEY! STOP! For God's sake, DON'T DO THAT!" Then, confussion. And the last thing the genie said was: "Burble, burble, glub!"

Mr. Tweek had pulled the plug.

Saving...

THE DAMN THING PAGE 5 "What kind of modesty?" "What if my wife had walked in on you instead of myself?" said Mr. Tweek. And the very thought sent convulsions up his spine. "My wife hates dogs and rats and she would positivly throw an epileptic jig if she sat down in the tub and found you." "I'd pinch her bottom," said the genie, gesticulating, with a dirty grin. Thus saying, he rolled over and, printed in large letters on his back could be read: "Ninety-nine and fourty four hundreths per cent pure. It floats." Mr. Tweek stood over the tub for several moments, contemplating this message of world collapse. Ingenious genie. "I see you carry advertising," said Mr. Tweek. "Oh, that," said the genie. "Yes. Some advertising guy caught me a month ago and tattooed my back. Damn him. He's the first one that ever put something over on me. "It's not so much over," said Tweek, "but it certainly is 'On" you allright. Pretty, too." Then: "But how about getting out of the tub and going someplace else. "Youre wife's bedroom?" "My God, you are licentious, aren't you." "Hand me the soap, Tweek." "Here." "Thank you." Tweek stood for a while longer. Genies were okay in picture plays but when they started stomping around the bathroom at all hours of the day--well! And who knows, thought Tweek, maybe this genie would insist on coming to bed withhim at night to warm his feet -- and -- well, there was no use thinking any more, it was getting pretty bad. Finally an idea struck Tweek. "I'm going to get rid of you, genie," he laughed, and his laugh was strange. "Don't be smart," snapped the genie, "Don't be smart. You can't-- HEY! STOP! For God's sake, DON'T DO THAT!" Then, confussion. And the last thing the genie said was: "Burble, burble, glub!" Mr. Tweek had pulled the plug.