Deadly chlorine gas and a promise of sexual assault by bright yellow seamen are two of the leading things that make me unhungry for Instant Ralston.
But this was the 1940s; glorious combat death was their Count Chocula. Check out the redhead when Tom says they're all about to die slowly from battery fumes:
"YEAH!" Maybe he took "dying slowly from battery fumes" to mean "we've been locked up with supergroup Bon Jovi!"
Actually, he's already realizing that death is nothing to fear as long as you know you're taking dozens of filthy Japs with you:
That's the last panel.
Hopefully the war ended before they were ever able to produce another episode of this, so for countless kids, Tom Mix's story ended with his lungs being slowly eaten by acidic battery gas. Or maybe part two is eighty half-melted corpses being picked apart by sharks: "Try new Ralston Seafood Pie! Also, unrelated to food products, here's a cat shitting in a cup of pudding! Ralston gives young America cowboy energy!"
We have here another of the well-meaning but misguided attempts at tolerance, with this powerful rebuke of those who would see the deaf hung from lamp posts.
The fact that Wolfie seems genuinely upset that a deaf person somewhere might be happy isn't quite as strange as Buzzy's response being anything other than, "Wolfie, are you reading out loud from the I'm The Devil Phrase Book?" What were people like back in the sixties that we needed ads like this? "Dizzy Duckling is here to remind you that sometimes you don't HAVE to kill one of your women to teach the others a lesson!"
It's a powerful moment when Wolfie realizes that hating someone for losing their hearing might not be the greatest party trick. "Hey everyone! Watch me get pissed off about how deaf this guy is! And I'm wearing this lampshade!!! Wait wait, I'm about to get really grumpy about how the Jewish guy likes the dip! Let's... PARTY!"
Their entire message is undermined by the ending of course. You'll notice that in the first three panels there are floating notes to indicate music is playing. Notice what's missing from Johnny's performance:
That's right. The piano doesn't work, he's sitting there quietly clicking at the dead keys but nobody tells him because they think it's fucking hilarious.
See? Old-timey comics were all about discovering the religions and traditions of our Asian brothers. Why, here's an ad for a little Buddha you can keep in your own home, with a concise description of the tenets of the Buddhist faith:
"When you want to pay off debts, simply rub The BUDDHA. When you want to buy a house, simply rub The BUDDHA. When you want to go on a long-overdue vacation, simply rub The BUDDHA. When you want to buy a new car, TV, boat or whatever you wish, simply rub The BUDDHA!... The BUDDHA miraculously puts fist-loads of cash right in your pocket!"
This is the greatest miracle of economics and theology that has ever been. If you're still not convinced of the sanity of the president of The BUDDHA's research and distribution departments, read this excerpt from the eighth paragraph: "First, let me assure you of this. I know exactly what I'm doing." Suck on that, naysayers.
The only thing I'm concerned about is that there's an option you can check on the mail-in coupon to get TWO of these things. Now I'm not an economist, so I can't predict the long-term economic effects of everyone having all the free money they want, AND THEN DOUBLE THAT, so to be safe, please only order one The BUDDHA.