Ah, the 1950s—when cars had tail fins and being a female driver was a bad thing. Wives gabbed incessantly and husbands were unsociable grumps. Obviously, the ’50s stereotypes are not what we’d call politically correct today—we’ll let you judge if they still tickle your funny bone.

"How’s the new car?"
From February 21, 1959

Did we really have to tell you the decade here?

"Now forward."
From January 2, 1954

Well, how else will you know when to stop?

"Good Heavens! It IS Herbert!"
From January 1, 1955

There’s always a critic.

"Fred will be mighty sorry he missed you, Miss Vogleswinner."
From September 28, 1957

And she means that sincerely.

From April 1, 1950

No extra charge for the knee shine.

From July 3, 1954

This is a scene you’d really love to see three seconds later.

"Hope you'll excuse the service, sir.
One of our men is home sick."
November 25, 1950

Customer service is definitely not what it used to be.

I am writing in regard to your letter dated March 3rd where you cite my potential involvement in what your company has deemed the “Vase-Breaking Incident.”

First of all, kudos to your team for tracking me down so quickly using, I assume, only my license plate number. I assure you I was not “fleeing the scene” as your letter indicated. I was simply on my way to an appointment I suddenly remembered I had. And the reason you may have heard the words “See ya, suckers” as I drove away was because I happened to have a song playing in my car with the lyrics “See ya, suckers, bye-bye, mall cops, try and get me if you can.”

I am willing to admit that it was in fact me riding around the mall on the Segway I borrowed from a mall security officer. I would like to offer my sincerest apology for the chaos that ensued.

It was never my intention to ride the Segway all the way through the mall, up the escalator in Macy’s, down the escalator in JC Penney, around the parking lot, and into the kitchen of the Cheesecake Factory. I thought I was taking it back to mall security headquarters, which I realize now is inside the mall under the sign that says “Mall Security Headquarters” and not inside the Dumpster outside the restaurant.

As for the vase, I did not break it and I’m happy to explain how it ended up shattered all over the floor of Pottery Barn. What happened was, after I did a bit of shopping in the mall, I was tired and decided to sit down inside the Pottery Barn store on the second level. They have the most comfortable sofas by far. I must have dozed off and about an hour or so later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I sprang up off the sofa, the reason I punched the Pottery Barn employee in the face was because at that time I was having a dream about being a pro boxer and fighting Mike Tyson inside a Crate & Barrel. Weird, I know, since I was actually, as I stated earlier, inside a Pottery Barn.

The employee—I think his name was Jon or Joe or Wisconsin; I don’t know, everyone’s got weird names nowadays—asked me to leave the store because I wasn’t buying anything and other customers wanted to try out the sofa. He was rude and I told him how I felt.

Just then my phone rang. It was a friend of mine named Carol who I hadn’t talked to in months and months. She had some very exciting news to share about a promotion at work. I won’t go into the specifics, but she’s been working in the sales department of a large telecommunications company for almost 23 years and she’s been waiting for a promotion for a long, long time. They’ve had cutbacks over the years and it’s a hard time right now because so many people are switching to cell phones. Do you know that barely anyone has a landline anymore? Carol is a landline specialist. I don’t know if that’s her exact title, but that’s her department. I always feel a little guilty when she has to call me on my cell phone, like it’s a direct attack on what she does for a living. She doesn’t feel that way. We’ve talked about it before and she has no problem with it, it’s just something I always think about. But it’s conversations like that, where you really get stuff out in the open, that make friendships stronger.

So when Carol told me about her big promotion to vice president or president or something of the entire company—I’m not sure which, it’s very hard to hear inside a mall—I got so excited I started jumping up and down on the sofa. Well, that apparently knocked some cushions off, which in turn knocked into a vase, which in turn fell on the floor and shattered. I don’t know who designs your stores, but carpeting might be a good idea if you’re going to have fragile objects on display that can fall and break into thousands of pieces when someone does something as benign as jumping on a sofa.

So anyway, as you can see this is Carol’s fault. I’m happy to send you her phone number and address so you can send her a copy of the bill. I will be forwarding my invoice on to her as well.

Now, the reason I ran as fast as I could out of the store at the exact moment Carol made me smash the vase was because, as you may recall, Wisconsin had asked me to leave. And after I ran out of the store, the reason I kneeled down behind that mall kiosk until Wisconsin passed me by was because I saw a beautiful hat that I thought might fit my head. I don’t know if you like hats, but that kiosk has so many to choose from. I have a small head and it’s hard for me to find hats, so when I see a few that might work I have to stop.

When Wisconsin finally caught up to me—and good for him for recognizing me under that big sun hat and oversize sunglasses—the reason I spoke with a French accent and pretended not to understand him was because I was practicing for a part I’m playing in a French movie called Le Mysterious Lady.

I really like to get into my roles even when I’m practicing and that’s why I quickly grabbed the Segway from the security guard who started to approach us. You know how every French film has an exciting getaway scene where a car drives down a long set of steps? That’s what I was trying to emulate when I took the Segway down that escalator. I realize now that was very dangerous and it was unfortunate timing that I yelled that minute-long series of very adult words just as those children were leaving the Build-A-Bear Workshop. But you have to admit the way they repeat those words in their tiny little voices is adorable.

As for the money I took out of the mall fountain, that’s a much simpler explanation. After the commotion at Pottery Barn and the Segway chase and my purely coincidental makeover into a geisha at the makeup counter at Bloomingdale’s, I stood next to the fountain to take a breather. I saw some children making wishes and throwing money into it and I happened to tell them that the more money they throw in, the more likely it is that their wishes will come true. I mean, a penny doesn’t get you anything nowadays and kids need to learn that lesson. It was my understanding that any money they threw in the fountain that exceeded one cent then belonged to me. I definitely didn’t realize that my getting in the fountain to claim my money would result in such an intense underwater handstand competition between so many people.

I realize that you still might be interested in pressing charges, but I have to say if it wasn’t for all the stress Carol caused by breaking the vase, none of this would have happened.
 
Sincerely and fondly,
Ellen

PS—If you’re wondering how three of the horses from the carousel next to the food court ended up in my backyard, I am happy to explain that in a separate letter.

From the book Seriously … I’m Kidding by Ellen DeGeneres. © 2011 by Crazy Monkey, Inc. Reprinted by permission of Grand Central Publishing, New York, NY. All rights reserved.

Celebrate the Super Bowl with a laugh!

From September/October 1995

Ever notice how far away that goal is? Try looking at it when a bunch of big, angry guys are chasing you. Post cartoonists look at the funny side of football.

"Do you have the same thing in Parmesan?"
From January/February 2006

No Cheeseheads this year, but fans do have to dress the part.

"He’s going to feel that tomorrow."
From September/October 1995

And you have to be ready for it to get a little rough.

"My wife thinks that I put football before marriage,
even though we just celebrated our third season together."
From July/August 1999

Women!

"Football is a game where 22 big, strong men run around for two hours while millions who really need the exercise sit and watch."
From November/December 1998

Okay, so women do understand the game.

"Boy, you should hear their coach!"
From November 25, 1950

You would think hearing one coach rant and rave would be enough.

"Relax—the game is over!"
From October 5, 1957

Hey, the team didn’t get this far by giving up. Enjoy the game!

"Some of you kids get out there and
help your mother with the groceries."
from July/August 1987

"One invented the wheel, the other the toll."
from January/February 2000

Good to know capitalism was alive and well among Neanderthals.

"Whatever it is you’re making, Dad, may I use it tonight?"
from September/October 2009

"He handles all our shredding."
from November/December 2008

"Don’t do it. I killed one two years ago,
and I’ve been eating the leftovers ever since."
from March/April 1999

"How can you flunk history? It’s only one page."
from March/April 2011

"I’m looking for someone who’s . . . well, more evolved."
from September/October 2003

"Mummy, they’re having so much trouble—
couldn’t I say a word for the stock market?"
from January 18, 1930

Out of the mouths of babes… This timely cartoon appeared in the Post in January 1930!

"In the 1930s, the entire country was suffering from a great depression.
Fortunately, they have pills for that now."
from September/October 2011

The kid knows his history! This is from one of our favorite cartoonists, Randy Glasbergen. Read more about him in our feature, Meet the Cartoonist: Randy Glasbergen.

"Boy, did we have some excitement around here last month."
from October 6, 1945

Any little bit will do.

from May/June 2006

Amen. This is from another favorite Post cartoonist, Harley Schwadron, featured in Meet the Cartoonist: Harley Schwadron.

"In today's economy, it's important to diversify!
Put some of your money in your mattress,
some in a cookie jar, bury some in the yard…."
from July/August 2009

Good advice, but it’s depressing when your 401K fits into a sugar bowl. Another great Glasbergen cartoon.

"I take it that business isn’t exactly booming."
from January/February 1993

This is from 1993, but it depicts where today’s economy is, in a nutshell.

"I finally put something aside for my retirement—
I put aside my plans to retire."
from May/June 2009

So much Glasbergen, so little time.

We would never suggest our talented cartoonists spend a lot of time at bars, but they seem to overhear a lot of watering hole conversations.

"Your wife thinks you’re a jerk?
I thought you said she didn’t understand you."
from Mar/Apr 1997

Ouch. Well, it appears the bartender understands him.

"My wife has no sense of humor."
"That’s hard to believe."
from March/April 2009

We don’t know which is worse—being insulted by the bartender or the other patrons. This cartoon was by Rex May, featured in our web series “Meet the Cartoonist.”

"I’ve finally developed a lifestyle
and now my doctor says I have to change it."
from September/Octember 1998

"I'm looking for marriage, two kids, and a nice house in the suburbs.
Hi, what's your name?"
from September/October 1999

You have to admire a gal who puts it out front.

"Gosh, I remember when happy hour was
something other than a good bowel movement!"
from March/April 1997

Ah, memories…

"I dunno, George. There has to be more to life than
watching my wife cook, iron, vacuum, wash clothes,
clean the house, take care of the kids and do yard work."
from July/August 1994

We think she’s the one who needs a drink.

"Nice going! You’ve solved all their problems,
and now we’ve lost all our clientele."
from January/February 1982

Never open a bar with a guy named Sig.

Let’s start with winter.

God did an admirable job with winter. We can all agree there are few sights lovelier than a blanket of freshly fallen snow. Unfortunately, after two or three days, the white stuff turns to a yucky, slushy gray and leaks in over the tops of our shoes. I wouldn’t let the snow fall on roads and sidewalks except for once a year to give the kids a snow day—one of life’s unheralded joys. And after three days all the snow would disappear, just as quickly as it had fallen, to make room for more fresh powder. But I would permit snow to linger on mountaintops so folks could ski.

I would also be much more selective about the location of snow. Washington, D.C., would get considerably more snow than it has in the past—snowfalls of blizzard proportions—which would keep Congress from meeting and further damaging our country. Buffalo, New York, on the other hand, gets too much snow, so I would give them a break. Florida has always gotten off easy in the snow department, so I would give that state a lot more—except for the part of Florida where I go in February. It would remain a balmy 82 degrees.

And I wouldn’t stop there with my winter improvements. It’s nearly impossible to buy coats, hats, and gloves in the winter because stores are already stocking swimsuits for summer. I would strike with lightning any store that sold clothing six months before we could conceivably wear it. While whipping the stores into shape, I’d also crack down on teenage clerks so busy chatting with other clerks that they ignore their customers.

If I were in charge of the universe, I would arrange for my family to receive free Super Bowl tickets, preferably on the 50-yard line. I would also make sure the Indianapolis Colts won the Super Bowl, which would take a miracle since they’re not in the playoffs.  I would strike the other team with boils and a good, old-fashioned Biblical plague or two.  

I’d do something about my garage, too. It’s crammed to the rafters with junk, leaving no room for our cars. My wife and I begin each winter day scraping frost from our windshields. If I were in charge, I’d double the size of my garage. It’s a sorry affair when doubling your garage requires less work than cleaning it, but that’s what happens after living 13 years in the same place.

The Old Farmer’s Almanac landed on my doorstep not long ago. It is predicting a milder than usual winter for my neck of the woods, so I might not get to try out all the changes I have in mind. Then again, the almanac could be mistaken and I could make all those adjustments and more. “Adjustments” sound so much better than “changes,” don’t you think?

The more I consider being in charge of the world, the more I like the idea. I might not stop with winter, either, but move right into spring and do something about snow in April—which should never happen, no matter where you live. As long as I was tinkering with April, I would dispense with April 15th altogether. That day looms over my life like a giant icicle, threatening to come loose from the gutter and cleave me in two.

We found Saturday Evening Post New Year’s cartoons back as far as 1953 – and they’re still funny!

"If the job ages you that fast, I’m not sure I want it."
from December 1980

"I can’t go to bed! Mr. Ambruster got there first."
from January 30, 1960

We don’t know what was in those drinks, but Mr. Ambruster didn’t even make it until little Billy’s bedtime.

"Greetings, whoever you are."
from January 30, 1960

You don’t want to know.

"What happened to the first?"
from January 2, 1954

Mr. Ambruster, we presume.

"Happy New Year."
from January 3, 1953

I don’t even mind admitting that this is more like my New Year’s.

"Mommy didn’t think she had that much fun over the holidays!"
from January/February 1996

It’s the teddy bear.

The boy is quite good at concealing
The way that he’s privately feeling.
But when the door’s closed
And the lad’s unopposed,
His actions are truly revealing.

Of course, Neal’s limerick wasn’t the only one we liked! Here are a few of our favorite runners-up, in no particular order:

My principal stood very tall
As I passed with a wave in the hall.
When he left for the day
I had nothing to say
So I gave him my tongue, and that’s all.

—Paul E. Rikert, White Plains, NY

My principal’s seen me before.
The library’s on the same floor.
Though he’s really quite tall—
Doesn’t scare me at all—
As long as he’s behind that closed door!

—Nancy Kirbo, Rockwall, TX

This principal thinks he’s just great,
And his student’s would rank him first rate.
Why has he not learned
When his big back is turned
Some pretend to befriend whom they “hate.”

—Karen Snead, Dale City, VA

The man couldn’t possibly know
Just how fake was the friendly hello.
But surveillance soon caught
What the boy really thought
When he stuck out his tongue down below.

—Joyce Petrichek, Finleyville, PA

School rules can be so exacting.
Yet, on cue, the boy’s manner’s not lacking.
A fine gesture he’s made,
But it’s all a charade.
This lad has a future in acting!

—Karla Cooper, Midland, MI

There once was a fellow quite young,
Came to class when the school bell hand rung.
He seemed so polite
In the principal’s sight,
But when not, he would stick out his tongue!

—Elsie H. Wietzke, Camano Island, WA

Johnnie waves to old Principal Jones,
Smiling face hiding all of his groans.
But when no one is there
He soon takes up a dare
And starts mentally throwing his stones.

—Ruth Porter, Albany, OR

He really did look like a saint,
Not at all like he had a complaint.
The boy vented his spleen
Where he couldn’t be seen
Because stupid he certainly ain’t.

—Ralph D. Block, Warrington, PA

Thanks, Mr. Principal, for the advice.
You were really very nice.
Now, after a short detention
And the possibility of suspension,
I hope your remaining hair is full of lice.

—Edward Gottlieb, Detroit, MI

"Hmmm, define ‘good’."
From November/December 2006

I like this kid…even if he does grow up to be a politician.

"See, Dear? Told you I’d make it fit!"
from November/December 2005

Determined husband and plentiful eggnog—not a good combination.

"I don’t care if it is Christmas! I feel like stirring!"
from November/December 2011

"I never did thank you for mailing all those Christmas packages."
from November/December 2003

from December 1983

from December 24, 1960

"Finally, peace on earth—all the batteries wore out."
from January/February 1998

Christmas accessories during the 1940s cost virtually nothing. Our tree-topping star was a cardboard cutout covered with wrinkled tinfoil. It looked loopy on the tree, but it was ours. My grandmother made it. Thank God she was a homemaker and not a surgeon.

Our lopsided star lived in a box with the other decorations: strings of lights, tinfoil icicles removed each year and saved for next Christmas, limp strings of tired tinsel, and colorful glass balls that would break if you glared at them. A handful of angels, stars, and Santas completed the cache.

My grandmother’s house was neither rich nor poor, and it also contained my grandfather (called Pop), my grandmother (called Mom), one aunt, my younger first cousin, and me.

Despite wartime dislocations, we had Christmas. And we decorated for it.

During the second week of December, Pop gathered up available family members and hauled us out into the country to saw down a tree, usually a six-foot cedar. We never used pine trees because they dried out and the needles fell off. The same was, of course, true of cedars, but somehow that subject never came up.

Once the tree was home, Pop nailed two boards to its trunk for a stand, Mom chose its best side, and decorating began. My cousin was two, and I was four, which made us less help and more trouble than a pair of Labradors. We could step on a bulb or two, but that was about it.

We wrapped the tree with strings of lights that were wired in series, meaning that if one bulb failed, they all went out. You had to unscrew each bulb and try a new one. When the string lighted back up, you knew you’d found the bad bulb. Our timeworn tinsel and recycled icicles went on the tree followed by ornaments. Pop ended the tree ceremony with his annual near-fall into the tree as he tried to position the star. Then someone plugged our festive firetrap into the wall, and magic lit the room.

We were ready for Christmas, and we’d got that way inexpensively—a word you use when you don’t want to say cheap. The total investment in decorations, beginning with the free tree, might have reached $20.00—a lavish sum spread out over no telling how many years.

Decorating today is an ornament of a different color. I Googled “Christmas decorations for sale” and looked at what’s available in modern Yuletide festoonery.

The trees are all artificial, and I guarantee they don’t smell like Christmas. A six-footer will cost you over $200.00. For $599.99 you can get a flocked version that hints at having been snowed on.

Traditional ornaments and tinsel ropes remain surprising bargains. Target offers 50 red balls for a giveaway $15.00, billing them shatterproof. Target must sell exclusively to childless homes.

One merchant, with “Recession Busting Prices,” has strings of lights for under $10.00. That’s so cheap you worry that Underwriters Laboratories may be asleep at the switch. But the same merchant also sells a giant pre-lighted artificial outdoor tree for a whimper-inducing $9,999.99. Pop would have sold the house for that.

For $13.99, you can have an 18-inch wreath for the door—a lighted “country twig” creation that looks like a white wire brush for your electric drill. A two-pack of artificial pine wreaths sells for as much as $169.99. But here’s the horrible part: the things come in colors beginning with traditional green and deteriorating to sky blue, sea foam green, and chartreuse.

It doesn’t end there. There’s a Santa suit with a 70-inch waistline, a foam-rubber Santa Claus beer cozy, personalized tree ornaments in birthstone colors, and enough Elvis ornaments to tacky-up Las Vegas.

There are also websites that help you make your own ornaments, but the first one I looked into announced it was going to teach me to make non-edible ornaments out of cookie dough. How much fun could that be?

Merry Christmas.

It’s getting scary out there. Keep Your Sense of Humor!

"I solved the problem of what to get me."
from January/February 1999

I always find this the easy part, too.

"Can you describe him?"
from November/December 1998

"What do you mean you ‘can relate’ to this one?"
from November/December 2003

We all can.

"My wife is shopping. I’m in wait-training."
from November/December 2003

I’m just here for parking and carrying packages.

"I disposed of our disposable income."
from November/December 1994

Consider it our personal stimulus package.

"Yeah, the Christmas stuff looks a little picked over."
from November/December 2003

I told you it’s getting scary out there! And these aren’t the only vultures to watch for.

"I’m telling you, it says, ‘Only ten shopping days ‘til Christmas.’"
from December 1982

Oooo, I knew those Egyptian tombs were scary!

“I can’t even use my initials,” said Chauncey Addison Day. Signing his cartoons “Chon Day”, he was a cartoonist for The Saturday Evening Post from 1934 until his death in 2000. Here is a selection depicting why Day’s career was so long-lasting. The man was simply funny. (If you think the one below that references Kennedy and Nixon is from 1960, you would be right!)

"Woman On Scales"
From Nov/Dec 1998

"You could have licked him 10 years ago.
Of course ten years ago he would have been 13 years old."
From Jul/Aug 2000

"There goes the picture tube.
Well, Mabel, how have you been the last few years?"
From Jan/Feb 82

"It was a sports accident.
My husband was run over by a vacuum cleaner
while watching a baseball game on TV."
From Jul/Aug 1999

"Chicken soup will work without a booster shot."
From Jan/Feb 1998

"Nonsense. Why, 68 isn't as old as Kennedy and Nixon combined."
From Oct 22, 1960

"Aileen can't speak right now.
She's been making brandied peaches all afternoon."
From July 28, 1956