Mitchell High School - Warbler Yearbook (Mitchell, SD)

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1 Having failed at everything so far, I decided to use a foolproof re- cipe for my last meal-that is-the last one I was to cook. What would be more foolproof than pancakes made from prepared pancake flour? On the package of pancake flour it states that even a moron can bake excellent cakes if he follows the directions exactly. Well, I resent that statement, because I am not dumber than a moron-at least I hope not. I followed th-ose directions exactly to the grain of flour, and the pancakes I baked were about as light, tender and digestible as the plates we ate them on. I ate three of the cakes Q 'N and my brothers each downed two. The rest I gave to the dog and cat, but, being much more intelligent than either I or my brothers, they left them untouched. The next day, on which the girl my mother hired relieved me of culinary responsibility, was the happiest day of my life. I have told you of my failures at cooking, which are many, but, on the other hand, there are some foods which I am quite adept at pre- paring. I can make delicious ice cream-at least I think so, and I am usually successful at making chocolate fudge-that is-the fudge is practically always sweet and has a chocolate flavorg Therefore, to be a bachelor, I would merely have to revise my diet, and live on fudge, ice cream and apple sauce. -Donald Fort. ODE TO MARCH March, you're a turbulent fellow, Boisterous, rude, and untamed, Yet you bring to us glimpses of springtime, When hope springs eternal again. You drive out our woes and depression, You quench our grief-stricken tears, You bring to us new trust and courage, And a faith which can conquer our fears. So we greet you, O herald of Springtime! Blow ong blow drear winter away, And we welcome your pranks and your madness, Yo-u're the symbol of our new day. -Billie Johnston, '36.

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ffl :y .-. I THE GENTLE ART OF COOKING, OR, 1 HOPE 1 DONT BECOME A BACHELOR The science of cooking dates back thousands of years when, they say, a Chinaman's pigs were trapped inside his burning hut and burned to death. He accidently licked his fingers after touching one of the pigs- and from then on meat was eaten cooked. . If such simple people as the Chinese could cook food that was palatable, I, aided by gas stoves, metal pans, cook books, and an intellect much superior to that of the lowly Chinese, should, logically, be able to cooked much better. My folks were going away for a week, and I, under the aforesaid illusion, rejoiced at the idea of having a whole week in which to de- monstrate what a good cook I could be with a little practice.. But my disgust knew no bounds, when my mother said she was hiring a girl to cooked for us Cine and my two brothersl. Mother was under the impression that I wasn't a very good cook, and would soon tire of preparing meals. How could she kno-w'? She's never seen me cook. Finally, after much argument, she reluctantly said I could do the cooking for the first two days, but that the girl was to finish out the rest of the week's meals. Of course, I would rather have had charge of cooking the whole week, but two days was something, anyway. Since then, I have discovered four things-that mother knows best ---that experience is the best teacher-that a wise man changes his mind -and that I can cook almost as well as I can sew. CI have always want- ed to sew on the sewing machine, but have been frustrated each time because I didn't know which end of the sewing machine to start onl. My first experiment at cooking consisted of spaghetti with tomato sauce, which didn't taste half bad. But my brother has a nauseating habit of sucking, into his mouth each long strand of spaghetti, and my appetite for theuconcoction ceased, being reminded of slimy, squirming angleworms. The dog and cat had a savory feast of spaghetti, not bothered by imagination. Next morning I made some apple sauce which was perfect, except that it was a trifle too sweet, and a bit soupy. I turned to the old standby, beefsteak, potatoes and gravy, for dinner. I invited one of my friends to dine with us, but he politely re- fused, stating very vague reasons for his refusal. Soon I discovered that he was a very smart guy, and that he knew more about my ability to cook than I did. I don't know what was the matter with the steak. It was tough, but you can eat tough steak. The taste distinctly resembled the odor that has been issuing off the abbatoir the last week or two. The gravy would have been good if it hadn't tasted like the meat. I gave the steak to the dog and cat. The dog ate it, but the cat, being smarter than the dog, disdainfully sniffed at it and left it alone. Our meal consisted of bread, butter and apple sauce.

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Al MODERN SLANG Slang has l-ecome so important a part of the American languagre that to understand English we must know the common slang' terms. Slang falls into three large classes: P. S.: B. 0.3 and S. O. S. For those ol low I. Q., we shall explain that P. S. stands for poorest slang g R. O., bet- ter than tll'filIl2llyH slang, and S. 0. S.. just slips of speech that every- one oi' us makes every day. Ry way of illustration we might jazz up the story ot' 'Tloldilocks and the Three Bears. Once upon 2. time there were three bears who lived in a shack in the sticks. There was the big father bear, the middle-sized old lady bear. and the half'-pint sized offspring. One afternoon the old lady ha-d made some broth, but it was too hot to eat at once. The old man said: What d'ya say if we breeze around the works while we're waiting' to gargle the zoop? HO. K.. big boy! said the fraug and so the three bears wheeled out the crate tbody by Fischerl and took to the woods. While they were gone Goldilocks tyou can imagine what. she used. llet's say it was Golden Glint J chanced to be hoohng it past the Rear domicile. Hoyt Do I have sore dogs, or do I have sore dogs! Wish l could take on some nourishment and get a little shut eye. Next time l walk a mile for a Camel-Bah l Then she espied the little house of the bears. Heres where I take time out. So she walked up and pounded on the door. Just my luck! S'queer that people never stay hon'e any more. Tlzat's what Henry Ford has done for us. Home or not home, 'yours truly' is going' in! Thereupon she walked into the dump. Hot dorg'l chortled Goldilocks. Imagine it! Three bowls of soup or I'm a lousy idiot! I eschew did they know I was coming? And so she set about tasting the broth.