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The Playgoer

AN OPEN LETTER FROM THE MOVIEGOER

By L. P. Jr.

I hate Loew's State,

I hate the Met,

I hate the Paramount News;

And I'd rather have fleas in my hair

Than breeze into my lair

To turn out the reviews.

(On nights when I'm thirsity

Sending me to the University!)

Is there anything duller

Than Holland in color,

Or the Normandie, lost in a fog?

Every night it's my portion

To view some abortion

Like the antics of Flipper the Frog.

(As for Graham McNamee

His every word sticks a tackiname.)

Mickey Mouse can't amuse me.

The G-Men confuse me,

I'd much rather cover the news;

Could I choose I'd prefer to write verse

Or consume cherty loess--

Hell! go off in a hearse

Than go on with the reviews!

(Never time to read a good story at all;

My time is spent in Keith's Memorial.)

In geography "seasonal lag"

Used to cause me to gag

But a bite by a dog

Is as nothing compared to that

Super-bromicidal tag known as

"Bright dialogue".

(Such lines as "pleasant vehicle"

Are to me as so much sour treacle.)

So, I'd rather be hit on the head

Or be smothered in bed,

I'm so fed I could yell

I don't want to sound choosy

But one more reviewsy

Would knock my mentality half-way to hell!

Yes, would definitely wreck me.

Too late--you can't check me,

I despise, I decline

Though Crimson totter, moo, cows, mew.

And in fine

I resign.

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