﻿GOING THE GAMUT 
 
(By T-Bone Slim) 
 
Superiority, or Seniority (the senile) Option to right of way, to certain sandwich (to a certain job) is unscientific (in this land) where sandwiches and jobs are plentiful . . . provided, of course, we force the guardians of our biscuits, through logic, to indorse our stand on reserved meals and reserved jobs . . . and provided w deny their right to “reserve” us to death by releasing less jobs onto the market than would supply the demand. 

. . . and the people were hollering for bread—yes, they were! What did they get? . . .They “got” gassed. Were they gassed? You bet you . . . they were gassed—and clubbed—and shot. 
That’s what they got. 

This brings us to economic s’curity. I’ve heard some new members discuss this phase of our tribulations . . . and I wondered . . . and marveled at their great erudition. S’curity! What in the world could it be? I knew in a hazy sort of way that “economic” was something pertaining to household science—but this s’curity is a little too deep for me. 

Temporarily derangerd over this, I started gyppoing in car loaded with coal . . . and then . . . it dawned on my consciousness. S’curity is exactly what I have so long as I stay with that car. 
I was mollified . . . (over my own smartness) and began heaving black diamonds “from the car out” as far as I could. (I’m giving you an idea how fast it was; you know me.) 
All of a sudden a low-brow hill-billy sent a car loaded with grain against my contract and bumped my economic s’curity away from the coal-shed. 
Here I am, in a little town (with no restaurant), losing money on my contract, waiting for an engine to pull “my” contract up hill to the shed. I am worried—if I was working by the day, the boss would be worrying. 

Later: I have heard this innocent looking hill-billy is a fellow worker, a member of an organization which doesn’t believe in this new form of labor exploitation. No doubt he thought I was a scissorbill—I’m beginning to think so myself . . . I’m looking for sympathy— 

And the people were hollering for bread. And the ladies, with delicate uplifting of the eyebrows, inquired: “Why don’t they eat cake?” 
And the engine came puffing, all out of wind—and spotted my contract opposite the shed. 
And once again my beloved economic s’curity is secure.