LISTENINGS

New Zealand Listener, Volume 4, Issue 82, 17 January 1941, Page 13

LISTENINGS

Perpetrated and illustrated by

KEN.

ALEXANDER

MUSSO ON THE MAT |

tions that Musso’s in a messo. He’s telling usso! Musso is carrying his air-arm in a sling. (The Hun has planted one foot in the , RADIO commentator men-

boot of Italy, and Senora Italia is only waiting the chance to muscle Musso out. There are limits to even a wife’s illusions. Let’s peek at the future. Says Senora Italia: "Now you listen to me, big boy-and take off that ridiculous black shirt while you do it. You look like one of the two black crows. I’m sick of that chin of yours, too. Pll never trust chins again-never! Mother warned me that you'd get a sock on it before long. You needn’t bother to shut the window; all .the neighbours know what I think. When I accepted you eighteen years ago you said I’d never look back. Well, you said it! You’ve given me such a pain in the neck that I can’t." "Hush, my dear," says Benito. "Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems-that is, maybe. We must-er-keep our chins up." "Chins, nothing! You sawdust Caesar. If you mention chins again I’ll scream for peace. We’re where we are because you went chinning at Brenner with that nasty little axis-grinder. I warned you not to tide on his squeaky old axis; and what are you to-day? Just the squeak!" "But, my dear, it seemed to be revolving so safely. I never dreamt I'd have to get out and push. It did seem such a good chance to get in on the ground floor." "Ground floor, nothing! You'll be lucky if you find a possie in the basement before it’s all over. Just listen to those Huns shooting up the Venetian mirrors in the drawing room! I found six in our bed with their boots on when I turned back the covers last night. They shot the butler because they said his knickers were non-Aryan and they’ve

ordered all the macaroni to be tied into swastikas. They’re on the roof now, picking off the gardeners with machine guns because they were spraying German beetle on the English roses. It’s a pity you banned barrel-organs as a national industry because I’ve got a hunch that your future daily grind will consist of toting one through the United States, concealed in whiskers — your chin, not the organ." The door is kicked open and a messenger shouts " Heil Hitler!" "Heil him yourself!" snaps Italia. "What do you want?" "The Fuhrer sends his compliments and says you'll have to vacate the house

for your own protection, otherwise he’ll have to protect you by forces, Heil Hitler!" "And you!" snaps Italia. " You’d better dig the old barrel-organ out of the attic, Benito. You’re going to need it. Personally, I’m going home to mother."