First published in 1943, the single-paneled cartoon series quickly became a hit. Later on, it even inspired a TV show by the same name that ran for five years in the 1960s.

“Then I add my mayonnaise … “

February 1962

“Spring Training.”

March 1958

“You’re Eating Out.”

January 1959

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

November 1978

“Don’t sh-h me! I said it once and I’ll say it again!
Woman’s place is in the home.”

December 1946

“How big was this frog?”

July 1949

“I’ve had a LONG, HARD day.”

January 1952

Cartoons: Everybody’s Favorite Maid The Saturday Evening Post

My Loveliest Annabel Lou,
This love-note is perfect for you—
“Love” is here written,
An arrowed-heart’s splittin’—
But Edgar has bought you one, too.

—Patrick Murtha, Saint Marys, Kansas

Congratulations to Patrick Murtha! For his poem describing the illustration by Dick Sargent, Patrick wins $100—and our gratitude for a job well done.

If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our upcoming issue, you can submit your limerick via the entry form here.

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

Old Cupid had hit his mark true,
But Romeo did not have a clue.
Hand in his pocket,
Heart like a rocket,
This strange thing called love was brand new.

—Randy Imwalle, Hillard, Ohio

The lad’s plagued by a problem quite dire,
Since impressing that girl will require
That he spend from his stash
At least some of the cash
That he’d saved for a brand new bike tire.

—Patrick McKeon, Pennington, New Jersey

Though young, he finds himself smitten.
Perhaps that old love bug has bitten?
He stays out of the way
Before Valentine’s Day,
And ponders some words sweetly written.

—Kathie Rosier, East Aurora, New York

The words in the card are risky.
She might find them much too frisky.
Yes, spells delight;
No, would sure bite.
Stuff like this drives men to whiskey.

—John Dischinger, Spring Valley, California

A romantic card that just couldn’t miss.
He fantasized about their first kiss,
But when push came to shove,
Said, “I may be in love,
But I ain’t wasting a quarter on this!”

—Ken Elinsky, Solon, Ohio

Sweethearts in verse made him pause,
Linger and read them because
Cards showed one’s heart
And reading that part
Made him wonder just what love was.

—Dietre McCormick, Carlisle, Iowa

The young man was thoughtfully weighing
The sentiment this card was conveying.
For he needed to find
Just the right Valentine
To say what he thought needed saying.

—Paul H. Madsen, Columbia Heights, Minnesota

Oh, what a dilemma for Billy!
The mushy cards strike him as silly.
His feelings are true,
So what should he do?
He may pick a card—but will he?

—Elizabeth Silverthorn, Salado, Texas

A Valentine card is a feature
To send to a beautiful creature.
But his mother was firm
That he pass school this term,
So he has to send love to his teacher.

—Ruth Porter, Albany, Oregon

Limerick Laughs Contest Winner and Runners-Up for Jan/Feb 2013 The Saturday Evening Post

“You better start dinner without us …”

March 1960

“Talk about tough days …”

May 1958

“P-s-s-t, mom! Daddy’s over here!”

May 1958

“I finally got the kids outside
and away from the television.”

May/June 2001

“Wait a minute! Bless WHAT dog?”

May/June 1995

“Boy, that was a swell party last night—the bed
was full of pocketbooks.”

December 1960

“Now where is my mom and those stupid birthday balloons?”

July/August 1995

Cartoons: Mom Can Handle It The Saturday Evening Post

The house I grew up in was built in 1913, in that murky era between horses and cars, when a homebuilder had to decide which way the transportation winds were blowing. The man who built the house evidently believed cars were a fad, so he constructed a barn behind the house. My father was always trying to park his too-big car in a too-small stall, like someone struggling into a too-tight pair of pants. Half the back end hung out. While the barn was a bust, storage-wise it was ideal, handily absorbing the flotsam and jetsam of my parents’ lives. Growing up, I spent many a rainy Saturday in that old barn mining for gold.

When my wife and I bought our first home, I began to fill the garage with all manner of useful items over my wife’s objections. We have five bicycles. Their tires are flat, their frames coated with dust, their chains rusted to the sprockets. But it’s nothing a bicycle pump and a squirt of WD-40 can’t fix. I have four bicycle pumps and three cans of WD-40. Supplies aren’t the problem; expectations are. If I fix the bikes, my wife will expect me to repair everything else and sell it all on Craigslist, which I have no intention of doing. There’s no sense raising her hopes only to see them dashed.

I have four lawn chairs I intend to fix just as soon as I find the time to get the webbing to repair them. I bought them 20 years ago at a garage sale. The lady selling them apparently didn’t understand their value. The seats need to be replaced, but it’s nearly impossible to find a good old-fashioned lawn chair anymore. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve tripled in value. With CD interest rates running around 2 percent, I can’t afford not to keep them.

As a general rule, my wife avoids the garage. But every now and then she wanders in, poking around. She invariably sees something she thinks I don’t need and quizzes me about it. Like the time she came upon my watering can.

“Why do we need that?” she asked. “There’s a hole in it.”

“It’s nothing that a little duct tape can’t fix,” I said. I have six rolls, and possibly more, in an old refrigerator.

Her efforts to reform me reach a fever pitch each spring, a season customarily associated with putting things in order. Spring is my least favorite time of year.

In April my wife hints at her intentions. “Wouldn’t it be nice if there were room in the garage to park our cars,” she says. I let her remark pass. It’s only the warm-up.

In early May, always on a Saturday morning, she reminds me the town dump is having a free community day, and that we can throw away anything we want for free.

As if she has to remind me! It’s my favorite day of the year. I drive to the dump and bring back a truckload of perfectly fine stuff other people have discarded. That’s how I got my three-wheeled lawn mower with the blown engine. I’m going to fix it one of these days.

Not long ago, my wife and I were watching television at my parent’s house and a show about hoarders came on. Their houses are stacked from floor to ceiling. A psychiatrist was saying it’s a mental illness, an excuse we trot out when we don’t want to face the truth. Let’s put the blame where it belongs, on architects who 70 years ago stopped designing houses with adequate storage. My parent’s house had a full basement, a full attic, a two-story barn, and three extra rooms with no specific purpose, to be used at the homeowner’s discretion. As a consequence, my parents got along just fine. If the architect who designed our house 22 years ago knew what he was doing, my wife and I wouldn’t have to argue every spring.

The New No-Car Garage The Saturday Evening Post

“I thought we were making awfully good time!”

December 1960

 

May 1952

 

July 1962

 

May 1961

 

November 1960

 

May 1951

“She doesn’t suspect a thing! She thinks I forgot her birthday!”

1948

Cartoons: In a Pickle The Saturday Evening Post

“I wish I could be around when you’re my age. I’d love to see that fashion statement with an adult diaper showing.”

January/February 2013

“Nothing, thanks. Just browsing.”

March 1967

“Make your own salami sandwich.
These are my leisure years!”

September 1978

“I think you’re mistaken Mavis—I’m quite sure
an offensive lineman can be an eligible receiver
if he lines up as a tight end!”

November 1988

“My, don’t you smell macho today.
Is that the liniment the athletes use?”

March 1991

“Honest, Grandma, I can keep a secret. Let me see your Betty Boop tattoo.”

September/October 1998

Cartoons: Things Grandparents Say The Saturday Evening Post

“But they must be home. It’s only been a few minutes since they sent me to the store for ice cream.”

November 1950

“I don’t know about you people, but I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow.”

November 1959

“I really had a wonderful time, and I know Marge did, too.”

November/December 1997

“Man! It’s getting colder than a …”

October 1982

“I suppose you want to come in.”

November 1950

“I call this Beethoven’s unfinished fifth!”

April 1959

“Uncle Henry! This is a surprise!”

October 1954

Cartoons: Company Coming The Saturday Evening Post

“How’s old Do-it-Yourself this morning?”

October 1955

“She’s in the back, spraying venetian blinds.”

October 1953

“That certainly isn’t how I’d fix a leak in the roof.”

October 1942

“Say, now, aren’t you the clever one?”

August 1949

“Charlie saved a bundle by
building our cabinets himself … that is,
if you don’t count what the hospital charged for sewing his thumb back on.”

July/August 1993

“Well! I just hope my living room walls look half as pretty as you do!”

March 1952

Cartoons: Home Improvement The Saturday Evening Post

Uncle Sam wants … your money.

Ever since I was a kid and read that Al Capone was arrested for tax evasion, I have feared the Internal Revenue Service. Think of it, Al Capone had killed a zillion people, and while the police were trying to find proof to arrest him for murder, a skinny nerd with a green eyeshade nailed Capone for tax evasion. Insofar as it is possible, I try never to irritate the IRS.

In an effort to stay on the good side of the IRS, I’ve offered them several suggestions to keep them in the black. For starters, since I’m self-employed, I have to pay my income taxes four times a year. I always forget to pay until the day they’re due and end up paying with a credit card so I don’t get arrested and sent to Alcatraz like Al Capone. I use a Kroger credit card, but if the IRS had a credit card, I would use theirs. Credit card companies make $20 billion a year, give or take a few, and it’s time the IRS got a piece of the action. Using an IRS credit card could earn points toward a tax deduction. If you ratted out your tax delinquent neighbor with the barking dog that poops in your yard, you could get bonus points. It was a great idea, but the IRS hasn’t responded.

Or, consider a lottery play: Powerball recently hit $587.5 million. Two families split the money. Chances are good they’ll do something stupid with it and ruin their lives. Since the lottery and the IRS are both run by the government, it makes sense for the lottery to rig it so the IRS wins. For a $2 investment, the IRS could have made $587.5 million. Before long, the government would be awash in money, free of debt. I sent this suggestion to the IRS, but nothing came of it.

They also didn’t respond to my suggestion they buy metal detectors and hit the beaches on the weekend. There have been thousands of shipwrecks over the years, most of them involving ships filled to the brim with gold doubloons. Nic Davies of Shrewsbury, England, in his first venture out with a metal detector, found 10,000 ancient Roman coins buried in a clay pot. Officials estimate they’re worth a billion zillion dollars. Personally, I don’t care for treasure hunters because they dig holes, don’t bother to refill them, and I fall in them and break my legs. But if the IRS agents found enough buried money so we wouldn’t have to pay taxes anymore, I’d learn to cope.

In that same vein, the IRS could send its employees out to garage sales to buy Van Gogh paintings hidden underneath dogs-playing-poker pictures. A half dozen times a year I hear of someone doing this. It’s a great way to make some fast money, but when I wrote the IRS, there was no reply. Nothing. Nada. Zip. It’s no wonder our country’s coffers are empty.

To hear people talk, you’d think the IRS was invented by Adolf Hitler. In fact, it was created in 1862 by Abraham Lincoln to help pay for the Civil War. In nearly every presidential poll, Lincoln ranks as our favorite president. The Republicans refer to themselves as the Party of Lincoln, because, if they called themselves the Party of the IRS, they’d never win another office. Don’t get me wrong, I love and admire the IRS and wish them nothing but the best.

We are fast approaching another April 15, my favorite day of the year. Most people hate that day, but not me. (Did I mention my admiration for the IRS?) I’ll spend the weeks leading up to it carefully going over my financial records, making sure to report every dollar I’ve made in the past year, even the $50 my mom and dad gave me for Christmas. If you happen to work for the IRS, I know you’re busy checking everyone’s return. Save yourself the time and trouble, and don’t give mine a second glance.

The IRS Has A Secret Admirer The Saturday Evening Post

“I get about seven miles to the gallon …
my son gets the other 20.”

January/February 1995

“The car’s acting up again. It hit a mailbox.”

September/October 2000

“Despite my prayers, I was led into temptation.”

January/February 2006

“I’m sorry I’m late, but I had car trouble.
I was late getting into it.”

September/October 2001

“I couldn’t repair your brakes so made the horn louder.”

September/October 1998

“I get about 22 miles per restroom!”

July 1965

Cartoons: Car Talk The Saturday Evening Post

“It says, ‘Made in China.’”

September/October 2012

“I’ll take it.”

April 1991

“It’s just the thing I’d need to go with that dress I priced that would go so well with that hat I’m dying to get.”

December 1950

“You know, it should be illegal to sell certain things at the bulk food stores.”

March/April 1994

“Would you rather complain about trying on shoes or clothes?”

November/December 2001

“I take it you won’t be needing to try these on, sir?”

March/April 2001

“The money we just saved, Ella—do you have any idea where we can borrow it?”

October 1959

Cartoons: Gone Shopping The Saturday Evening Post

“Well now we know—she hates carrots.”

October 1957

“George, you’ve had enough.”

October 1957

“We really should be running along so you people can get some sleep.”

November/December 1992

“Well, well, Mr. Conner, are we ready to go home?”

November 1988

“Remember, the important thing on this job is always to get the right address.”

December 1951

“I don’t think he represents the Welcome Wagon at all.”

October 1957

Cartoons: Stating the Obvious The Saturday Evening Post

“She weighs somewhere between 9 pounds
and 18 pounds, 3 ounces.”

August 1949

“Can’t the stork bring it here?”

October 1957

“I won’t stay long—I just want to tell mom good-bye.”

April 1959

“They have disposable diapers
and disposable baby bottles.
Now if I only had some disposable income.”

November/December 2003

“Look, honey! The baby crawled!”

November/December 2003

“Mother said he was sent down from heaven.
They must have wanted a little peace and quiet up there.”

May/June 1997

Cartoons: Baby on Board The Saturday Evening Post

 

December 1959

“I think he’s trying to tell us something.”

November 1959

 

December 1959

“She did all right, for a cat that didn’t know a soul in the neighborhood three months ago.”

December 1957

 

October 1959

“He wants you to notice his new ball.”

November 1951

Recognize the style of this last cartoonist? It’s from Mort Walker of “Hi and Lois” and “Beetle Bailey” fame! More Mort Walker cartoons coming soon.

Cartoons: The Truth About Cats and Dogs The Saturday Evening Post

Gift wrapping I don’t understand.
Nothing turns out the way that I planned.
The paper looks bunched.
The ribbon’s all scrunched.
Perhaps I just need a third hand.

—Bette Killion, Greencastle, Indiana

Congratulations to Bette Killion! For her poem describing the illustration by Dick Sargent, Bette wins $100—and our gratitude for a job well done. If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our upcoming issue, you can submit your limerick via the entry form here.

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

It’s becoming abundantly clear
That the deadline for Christmas is near.
Anxiety grows
As he’s still tying bows.
He’ll give smaller presents next year.

—Timothy Cannon, Osceola, Iowa

Thought shopping was the worst of my woes.
Now I’m fumbling with ribbons and bows!
I groan and I sigh
These wrappings to tie
I’m tangled from mustache to toes!

—Marlene B. Larson, Larimore, North Dakota

When told by the clerk at the store,
“Wrapping is five dollars more.”
This frugal old elf
Said, “I’ll do it myself!”
Now this chore has him sore to the core.

—Ben Griffin, Weleetka, Oklahoma

He tried to be quiet as a mouse
While wrapping the gift for his spouse.
But ribbons and bows
Got wrapped ’round his clothes,
And paper all over the house.

—H. Earl Martin, Laurens, South Carolina

The holiday season is bright
But not for this fellow tonight.
He’s sitting there trapped,
Trying to get this gift wrapped.
What an awkward and frustrating sight.

—Neal Levin, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan

This chore makes him feel trapped,
But with paper and bows he’ll adapt.
You have to adore him
Like many before him
Into his projects he tends to get wrapped.

—D. Brown, Buffalo, Wyoming

Joe Jones was doing his best.
To wrap up the gift was a test.
But that stubborn red ribbon
Was not very forgivin’,
So Joe ended up with a mess.

—Amory Minear, Dover, Delaware

Wrapping can be such a chore;
It’s something I’ve come to abhor.
I’m up to my nose
In ribbons and bows,
And forgot to buy tape at the store.

—Andrew Murphy, Frackville, Pennsylvania

The Christmas season seems great!
It’s the trials of wrapping some hate.
Our hero is trying
But inwardly crying,
“I’ll never get done at this rate!”

—Beverly J. Brouwers, Middlebury, Indiana

Limerick Laughs Contest Winner and Runners-Up for Nov/Dec 2012 The Saturday Evening Post