﻿There’ll Be a Bump When We Reach Bottom 
By T-BONE SLIM 
 
Owing to the high cost of living, hat-bands will he an eighth of an inch narrower in 1940. American people are considering going bare headed until the ribbons get wider. 
Wages in Wall St. are way down—$14 up, huh? 
Financial writers are trying to reel off 1,000 words daily without saying anything. Looks as if the Congressional Record gets the peace prize for literature this coining season. 
Sillanpaa, a Finn, grabbed it last year. 

Norma Talmadge and Jessel have organized a truce down in Florida country. 
Father Divine says, “Peace, it is wonderful.” 

“Extra stomach taken from child.—St. Louis. 
In these hard times even one stomach is a source of groat worry; although they do be saying that striped bass is biting good in the upper Hudson. 

It seems Brenda Frazier is undecided as to whether she will accept the $12,000,000 Watriss trust or $8,000,000 Frazier inheritance. (I’d just close my eyes, or do it with mirrors.) Brenda is a sweet gal and has only one stomach. 
“Russian statesmen of all parties have a contempt for the liberal democratic type of state, illustrated by America, Englund, Scandinavia, and Holland.” A lefthanded bouquet at the dirt in their own drawers. What they really need is a Secretary of Hate and a good publicity agent—circumstances outstrip the prop. 
Soviet quits Fair (New York City), 
Newbold Morris, City Council president, on bearing of Russia’s withdrawal, declared: 
Russia ought to run in shame. They came over here to the World’s Fair. They gave us a lot of hokum about minority rights and the right of people to express themselves . . . 
“Anybody who thinks the Soviet government is interested in the rights of the working man is crazy.”— Daily News. 
Seems to me Newbold is a bit blunt. But, what the hell, Addison says bluntness is very good English. 
Heavenly Days 
It is more heavenly to give than to receive . . . $241,000,000 of bread and blubber of the erstwhile WPA workers went to maintain the glory of Poland that was. It is now up Salt Creek; and we took it standing up. 
Sundry other millions went to the sweet voiced moochers and panhandlers all over the world—and still we stand, and still Old Glory waves. 
We would not think of handling a parasite nation anything less than a couple hundred million and once we hand it to ‘em we wouldn’t think of doing and saying anything to offend the noble bums. In fact, we couldn’t we’d grin and probably do a little “suckholing” on the side, as the free and untrammeled Harvard boys have it. 
That what was “contempt for the workers,” beneath the surface, in the communist ideology, is now come out in open attack, attack against the working class, attack against Finland, the most industrious of all nations confronted with the most damnably unfavorable natural resources —and now the “commies” desire to sell the workers to the commissars by force of arms. 

There are 240,000,000 Moslems in this world and they are tied to the beard of the prophet. 

The return to the simple ways is no less bitter than the return of Napoleon from the wars and the reconstruction of that which the brave “boys” destroyed. It is not believed that people will buy powder and ball when they ate without bread. In Cleveland, Ohio, the breadless “citizens” were dirty bacause they had no soap. 

Our chesty neighbors face a condition, a condition of a marketless world that in bound to test the economic angles of their brainchilren —and the road back is strewn with thorns of disappointment and mortification. 
First “the individual trundles his worries to the poorhouse; then his lodge! then his nation and state. It is not a disgrace for the man, nation, or state to be on the bum. 
Anybody who consorts with thieves will murmur “gimme” in his sleep 
Crocodile Tears? 
“The answer is that history disdoses habitual disorganization among nations; they let things slide, knowing the slide is a long one and the end grievous—then the tears, the alibi. 
The tears are spread over the workers. And yet we must remember workers got only 20 per cent of the production dollar. Workers produce 98 per cent of the commodities including the intelligence—so why not rate them, higher? 
After the war is over 
after the end of fray 
We’ll have to dine on Rover 
Wash down our vittles with whey. 
No more do the airplanes tumble 
Nary a cry for gore 
All hands are modest and humble 
After the war. 

Yes—you don’t think so? 
I pretend to see, and my eye isn’t glass, that after the war, instead of rising, the ocean freight rates will tumble. Doesn’t that mean anything to you, my noble seafaring fellow worker? 
Now is the time for you to armorplate your vitals—or throw caution to the four winds of the seven seas and join the “ham and eggers.” I have my ideas about the timelessness of ham and egg programs; shifting sands and stuff like that. You got my sympathy before you start— it’s a riot. 
Your union is the Marine Workers Industrial Union and the time is now. 
Already Britain and France and Germany have ensconced their better ships in the tender care of good and willing watchful neutrals and when they come out their salvation shall be cutrates, for the nationals are not eating. 
Don’t tell me I didn’t tell you. I can almost feel a hollow spot in my midriff already.