Since it’s Thanksgiving soon, let’s take a look at this ad for Camels, and study the best way to balance eating and smoking.
Step one: I think it goes without saying that you smoked a Camel before you started in on the soup.
For digestion’s sake! Otherwise that soup will stay in your stomach like molten lead.
We move quickly to the main event:
Remember, smoke between helpings.
I’m rather surprised they don’t advise having a Camel before the salad, as well as after. Again, burn a nail afte pie, so the food is effectively broken down and moved into your digestive tract:
YOU ARE NOT DONE SMOKING YET
Note: it is advisable to have many cigarettes with many cups of coffee.
And we haven’t even started the serious drinking yet.
Dorothy Malone’s wikipedia bio says “1901 – date of death unknown.” Somehow she faded away.
This was Mr. Ferguson’s sole appearance outside of his corner of the world and time. If he existed at all, that is.
For links to these short snorts of the episodes, go to the story itself. It’s gloriously memorable and funny for people who viewed such movies many years ago.
The last ep is just the unmasking of the enemy, if his identity was in question, and then his eventual defeat. Remember, we’re supposed to think it’s one of the plutocrats at the Cobalt Club. Their nerves are shot after 13 episodes of industrial warfare. Either that, or someone’s feeling guilty.
He’s setting a trap, you see. He passes out some cards with an address, and asks everyone to memorize it. I presume that all the addresses are different, and whoever shows up will give himself away. This is our cue to head back to the Black Tiger’s HQ, where he turns invisible, bangs his gavel, does his is angry snivel:
Lamont stakes out the location where he thinks the Tiger will strike, and actually gets shot. But it’s just a scratch! Now his suspicions are confirmed, but before he does anything it’s time for racist Cosplay as Lee Ching, World’s Tallest Asian man:
Meanwhile, the Tiger has managed to install airtight shutters on all the windows of the Cobalt club, and has also arranged for the record player to automatically play a taunting message as he fills the room with poisonous gas. He’s such a drama queen.
All the plutocrats are drama queens.
It’s Lamont to the rescue. Always be sure to shut the door behind you when you enter a room full of poison gas:
Uh – that was unexpected, I guess. One more go to.
That’ll do; Matches await.