tadpole-596-918256 Review of Pure Feud

Pure Feud (1934)

"What are you shooting?" "I'm shooting Jenkins." "What are Jenkins?" . . .

[7/10 · 31 March 2021]

. . . "Our neighbors," Charlie McCarthy remarks near the beginning of PURE FEUD. I once lived next to some Jenkins, and it was no picnic. Trash, noise, animal-hoarding fumes--any kind of pollution the human mind can dredge up, they produced it. No one dared report these pernicious Jenkins to the city code enforcement department, because the jerks in question not only fervently believed that "Snitches get stitches," but they actually sewed their victims up themselves before the paramedics could arrive. (Needless to say, none of them would win any blue ribbons for needlework at a county fair.) To add in salt to injury, the darn Jenkins kept enough Doomsday supplies on hand that every time the S. W. A. T. team arrived to take one of them away, the ensuing stand-off would shut down our neighborhood for at least a week. Fortunately, the tear gas canisters fired through their windows in an attempt to curtail the last Jenkins siege on Day 23 set their hoard of three decades' newspapers on fire, and they all burned to a crisp.