|Mondo Bizarro||Sep 23 2014|
As we’ve stated several times before, we’re always willing to do our small part to help out desperate publicity hounds, so above you see a photo of Jasmine Tridevil, a 21-year-old woman from Florida who claimed recently to have had a third breast implanted in the middle of her chest to bolster her efforts to become a reality star. Of course, this is a total Photoshop job. We don’t have to tell you that, right? Having worked at the international capital of bad breast implants—the august smut mill known as Playboy—we can tell you that an implanted breast could never look like this udderly ridiculous blob hanging from Tridevil’s torso. The tautness created by adding mass under existing skin means an artificial breast would come out looking something like half a grapefruit glued to the chest.
|Sex Files||Feb 3 2014|
On this Confidential from February 1965 the publishers give their cut-and-paste artists a month off and grace the cover with a simple portrait of Brigitte Bardot and her famed pout. Inside the editors air out her love life in a way that today would be called slut shaming—pretty much stock-in-trade for Confidential. The suggestion is she won’t come to the U.S. to act because she’s busy Morockin’ around the clock with Moroccan-born producer Bob Zaguri. Elsewhere in the issue you get Romy Schneider, Jean Harlow, Alain Delon, Peter O’Toole, love behind the Iron Curtain, and an outraged report on pharmaceutical companies marking up medicines 200%, 500%, even 7,000%. Yes, medicines cost too much in the U.S. even back then. But don’t take our word for it. Take Confidential’s—their story ends by declaring that drug companies have Americans by the balls and the only way to avoid the drug price racket is to not get sick.
|Intl. Notebook||Oct 29 2013|
|Intl. Notebook||Jun 18 2013|
|Vintage Pulp||Jan 31 2012|
It's been a while since we've had any Bettie Page on the site, so we were pleasantly surprised yesterday to have found some shots of her in a 1953 issue of Carnival magazine. Actually, there were about forty great images of various people, but rather than try to scan all of them, we decided to break the issue into two or more posts. So today, we're uploading only the below shots of Page demonstrating for readers the various legal constraints on disrobement for strippers in different states, with Kansas being the most conservative and Louisiana being the least. We'll have more from Carnival later.
Update: We've posted more images from the magazine here.
|Sex Files||Sep 13 2011|
Mid-century scandal rag Hush-Hush gets all riled up in this September 1961 issue featuring cover star Elizabeth Taylor. Inside, readers are treated to exposés of Taylor, Eddie Fisher, Brigitte Bardot, Sonny Liston, and Beverly Aadland, as well as shocking tales about goings-on in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and Baumholder, Germany, but it’s in the article on bodybuilding magazines that Hush-Hush truly gets out the knives.
Because erotic publications openly catering to gay males would have caused a legal firestorm in the early 1960s, various enterprising capitalists published gay content in the guise of bodybuilding magazines, using health and fitness as a cover for imagery designed to sexually titillate. Hush-Hush journo Sidney Reed jumps all over this practice in his article, informing readers about the existence of these magazines in terms so abusive we’ve never seen their equivalent in print anywhere. He uses phrases like “sex sick creepsters” and “lunatic depravity”, and there are many more insults, so colorful, so vicious, and piled so high that it begins to feel like satire.
But Reed is 100% serious, perhaps even obsessed. He finds, in one of the magazines he located, an ad for nude photographs of a fourteen-year-old boy, then tars all gay men with that brush, while of course sparing heterosexuals from the same treatment even though the trade in pre-pubescent girls was well-established and well-documented by that time. It’s worth pointing out once again that Hush-Hush wasn’t a fringe publication—it sold millions of copies a month. And so you get a sense of some very prevalent attitudes about homosexuality in the early ’60s. We have many scans below, and more issues of Hush-Hush coming later.
|Vintage Pulp||Oct 14 2010|
A while back we posted a copy of the 1966 Amy Harris novel Prize Pupil with cover art of a frisky student applying herself in class, but we had no info on the artist. Well, in August the original art was auctioned from the Florida estate of pulp art collector extraordinaire Charles G. Martingette, and the auction info confirmed that this great piece was unsigned. So we may never know who painted it for sure, though there are couple of artists’ work it resembles. But there’s no point in speculating—since it was uncredited on the paperback and unsigned on the original, the only way we may find out who painted it for sure is if we get a cease and desist order for copyright violation. Our mailbox is open.
|Intl. Notebook | Musiquarium||Apr 7 2010|
Here’s something that immediately caught our eye—a rare film still of Christine Todd as the titular corpse from 1968’s Lady in Cement. Todd’s appearance is during the film’s first few minutes, as Sinatra’s detective character Tony Rome is scuba diving off the coast of Florida and finds her anchored in a block of cement. In the movie Todd’s nude state is merely implied, which is why finding this unobstructed view was such a surprise. We have a similar but less revealing shot from a Japanese soundtrack sleeve, below, with a different superimposed shark. Both images are stunners. But as memorable as Ms. Todd was in her debut, it was, sadly, her only movie role.
|The Naked City | Vintage Pulp||Jun 25 2009|
Here’s another piece of evidence that humanity isn’t becoming more depraved—we’ve always been that way. This Inside Detective from June 1966 tells the story of Candy and Mel. You’ve probably never heard of them, but there was a time when everybody in America knew their names. Candy Mossler was a Houston, Texas socialite married to a millionaire named Jacques Mossler. Unfortunately, the marriage wasn’t going well, so she turned to her live-in nephew Melvin Powers for a little lovin’. Though she was twice his age, she was also beautiful, so Melvin was happy to oblige his aunt, and the two of them embarked on a full-blown incestuous affair that was obvious to every servant in the family mansion but not to the oblivious Jacques.
When Mossler did finally discover the truth he went to a lawyer for advice and was told the scandal would destroy his status, so he stewed and the affair went on under his roof. Jacques finally moved to his Key Biscayne vacation flat, but not long afterward turned up dead. Candy told police she suspected a burglar of the crime, but the police weren’t buying because Jacques had been stabbed thirty times then brained with a heavy glass bowl, acts not likely to be committed by a home invader. So Candy changed her story, and said she suspected Jacques was having an affair with a male lover who had knifed and glassed him. Police were willing to believe this, but as they collected more and more evidence the finger of suspicion began to shift inexorably toward Candy. Knowledge of her incestuous affair with Mel, along with a good look at what she stood to inherit now that Jacques was on a slab helped satisfy cops that they had their killers.
Candy, of course, could afford the very best legal representation, though because of frozen bank accounts it meant hocking her diamonds and furs. But she was able to retain Percy Foreman, a well-known defense attorney of the day who later unsuccessfully defended James Earl Ray from charges that he assassinated Martin Luther King, Jr. In the end, it may have been Candy’s charm that carried the day more than Foreman’s defense. She made herself endlessly available to the press, always wearing a glamorous smile, and public opinion turned in her favor. She and Melvin Powers were both found not guilty of murder charges. No killer was ever found, nor even sought, because the police knew they had their perps and didn’t bother looking elsewhere, acquittal notwithstanding. It was the trial of the century in South Florida and Houston, at least until the next one came along. As for the love affair, Candy and Mel drifted apart over the years and she died in 1976 of an accidental overdose of migraine medication. But for a time she was a legitimate one-name celebrity—just Candy, the society dame who killed and got away with it.
|Politique Diabolique||Apr 3 2009|
Yesterday we were reminded that our favorite pulp politician is still around when Rod Blagojevich was indicted on a raft of federal charges, including assorted racketeering and wire fraud counts, each carrying a potential twenty-year prison sentence. Blago, who couldn’t look more untrustworthy if he wore fingerless gloves and a hoodie, once again maintained he had done nothing wrong, this time at an impromptu press conference at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida. Backed by his family, along with close friends Goofy, Pluto, and Duchess of the Aristocats*, Blago riffed about his innocence, but was interrupted when Goofy tapped him on the shoulder and quietly explained the concept behind a conspiracy indictment. Blago’s eyes widened as he took in Goofy’s words, and then he exclaimed, “You mean when you’re a state employee it’s illegal to even talk about breaking the law?”
The silence was deafening. Goofy and the other mascots had to be embarrassed for their friend—though it must be said their smiles never faltered. After an awkward pause Blago shrugged and said to the assembled press, “Oh, I didn’t understand how the law worked. Wow, sorry fellas. Now that Goof here has explained it, I see what all the fuss has been about. I guess, what can I say, I’m guilty.** You can plainly hear me on the FBI recordings doing this conspiracy whatever thing, so, shit, sorry to have wasted your time with all these ridiculous denials. I just didn’t get it.” He then added, “But I’ve learned my lesson. No more influence peddling for me, no sir. That’s all over with—I give my word.”
Blago then became uncharacteristically philosophical, musing about the possibility of cryogenic freezing. He suggested his head could be put on ice like Walt Disney’s until the time was right for a political comeback. “Is there someone here in the park I can talk to about that?” he asked. He next surprised everyone by apologizing to Jack Franks, who he had profanely blasted two months ago. As the press conference ended, Blago, apparently thinking his microphone was off, turned to Pluto and said, “By the way, I heard about how they downgraded you from a planet to an asteroid. Tough break buddy. But I got some friends who might be able to help out with that if the incentive is right, know what I’m saying?”
*images used transformatively for the purpose of parody, etc.
**innocent until proven guilty, not a real admission, strictly parody, and so forth.