I confess a love for the poems of Rudyard Kipling- both reading them and reciting them- and one of my favorites is "Tommy," the classic statement by a common soldier about insensitive and unappreciative civilians. I'll include the text of it further in this thread, but I came across (what I believe to be) a splendid parody of it.. dealing with admen. I naturally thought of our Miss Lizzie and her antagonism toward "the Boys"... so I post it here for her- and everyone else's, enjoyment. Huckster by Rollie Abrahams orig. pub. Printer’s Ink, January 23, 1953 Republished: Martin Gardner’s Favorite Poetic Parodies, by Martin Gardner I walked into a Men’s Club for half a drop of cheer. The steward shook his nose and said, “We serve no salesmen here.” The men behind the armchairs harumphed, and snorted fit to die. I outs into the street again and to myself says I: Oh, it’s huckster this, and huckster that, and huckster, go away. But it’s “Thank you Mr. Adman,” when the ads begin to play. The ads begin to play, boys, the ads begin to play. Then it’s “Thank you Mr. Adman,” when the ads begin to play. I stepped into a lecture hall to hear a bit of sense. A college prof is steaming off, in learned eloquence. He’s saying, “Advertising is a tool for men of greed To make the people spend their dough on things they do not need.” Yes, it’s huckster this, and huckster that, and huckster you don’t count. (But we make for better products when the facts begin to mount.) The facts begin to mount, boys, the facts begin to mount. Then it’s “Higher standard of living,” when the facts begin to mount. The idealistic editor is crying in his cups That he has to slant his story for those advertising pups. He can’t think of an instance, but he knows the danger’s near, For the ads pay for his writers, his production- and his beer! So it’s huckster this and huckster that and huckster spare my door! But it’s “Get another page in!” when the presses start to roar. The presses start to roar, boys, the presses start to roar. It’s, “Ads have made our paper big!” when the presses start to roar. The family’s seated cozily around the TV set Enjoying top flight comedy, or music from the Met. To pay for theater seats when they’ve got this would be absurd. But it’s “Damn those damned commercials!” when the sponsor says a word. For it’s huckster this and huckster that and huckster, you’re a bore! But it’s “Get the game on TV, boys, I want to know the score! I want to know the score, boys!” (If he wants to know the score, The adman makes the shows for him, if he wants to know the score.) When mother goes out shopping she is careful of her brands The ads have told her what is good in words she understands. They’ve mentioned the ingredients, the uses, and the price. But Father says, “Before you buy a famous brand, think twice.” For it’s huckster this and huckster that, and “Darling, use your head. You pay for advertising when you buy that brand of bread.” But it costs her no more money when she buys that brand of bread… Ads make for mass production, keeping prices down instead. They call us, “eager beavers,’ and they sometimes call us, “crooks.” And they laugh at us in comedies, and damn us in their books. We’re the scapegoats of the business world and brash fifteen percenters, We’re Fascists, faddists, phonies, and at best we’re hoax inventors. We know we’re sometimes upstarts, and we know we’re in our youth, But we’ve got to entertain them, and we’ve got to tell the truth. They know we do a job for them, in our own peculiar way, And it’s “Thank you Mr. Adman,” when the ads begin to play.