John Dillinger's body—most of it anyway—to be exhumed in September.
At the request of his family, Great Depression-era gangster John Dillinger will be exhumed from the Indianapolis grave where he was buried in 1934 after being shot down by FBI agents outside the Biograph Theater in Chicago. There's been no official explanation for the request, however the dig should resolve a couple of pieces of Dillinger folklore. The first would be whether it's him in the grave at all—an urban legend that the FBI shot the wrong man has simmered since his death. And the second would be whether there's a cock attached to the corpse—a particularly odd legend suggests that Dillinger had a monster member that was somehow snipped before burial and whisked away by a morbid collector.
The rumor of body part theft is no surprise. Grave robberies had been a problem in the U.S. throughout the 1800s, and while these had waned by 1934, as a precaution Dillinger was buried under scrap iron and slabs of concrete covered by a layer of poured cement. The bit about him being hung like a mule is harder to trace. Some say it was caused by a morgue photo which appeared (if you really used your imagination) to show him with an erection, but being the subject of at least one Tijuana bible certainly didn't hurt either. In the dirty comic “A Hasty Exit,” which we think was published in mid-1934 before his death, Dillinger uses a massive unit to pleasure his girlfriend Evelyn Frechette and her pal Nellie. Of course, everyone in Tijuana bibles had dinosaur dicks, but we're speculating here.
It's possible the public won't find out why Dillinger is being brought back above ground (though DNA testing to prove ancestry seems like a good bet), or whether all the famed gangster's parts are intact. We doubt most people actually care. But for us pulp followers the story is somewhat interesting, because Dillinger is an icon of the pulp era.
As a bonus, the story has also served as a reminder that we have many more filthy Tijuana bibles we need to upload. We'll get to that as soon as we can. In the meantime, while we all wait for that September exhumation to finally settle longstanding urban legends, you can satisfy your historical interest in John Dillinger by exhuming his Tijuana bible here.
Make your money dreams come true.
Do you ever play the lottery? We don't, except occasionally the local Christmas lottery in which a 150 kilogram pig is the prize. But presumably, if you play the lottery it's in hopes of winning a mountain of cash rather than a mountain of pork. Well, hope no more. Above you see just the ticket to help you score those megamillions. Zodia's Book of Numbers was published in 1972, but you'll still find it for sale rather cheaply on auction sites.
The way it works is, first you have a dream— Go ahead. We'll wait.
Okay, now you take elements from your dream, such as “coffee” or “kettle” and inside the book you''ll find those words assigned a three digit number, which you then sprint with down to the local convenience store and feed your hard earned cash into the ravenous maw of state sponsored voluntary taxation. Or if you speak Spanish, there are also entries in that language. Because scams are nothing if not inclusive. And in addition to a useless number the all-seeing Zodia also provides something more permanent—a useless fortune related to the word you looked up.
Here's an example. Say your word is “key.” You check the book, and it says: Key 934—To dream of a key means a plan will succeed with advice from friends. If the key opens a door success and money are assured.
All well and good, but the reason we're sharing this item is because the cover was painted by Gene Bilbrew, a unique African American paperback illustrator of the 1960s and 1970s. He's one of those guys we've talked about whose work has been reevaluated in recent years and become highly collectible. An example appears in the post below. We also put together a collection a while back, which you can see here. And apparently, Bilbrew made an industry of illustrating these dream books, because this is second we've found. Look here.
Daring design never caught on but remains beloved automotive curiosity.
Would you believe Jean Pierre Ponthieu, the inventor of this modular automobile, called it a pussycar? Seriously. Not because it was supposed to facilitate the owner's dating life but because it was miniature. We suspect it was a play on the word “pussycat.” Hey, he was French. Anyway, as an inventor Ponthieu dabbled in many areas, including animatronics and gun holsters, but cars are really his lasting legacy. He considered this one, which first hit the cobblestones in 1968, “the car of the year 2000.”
Of the ten pussycars Ponthieu built, a few survive and are prized relics of mid-century retro-futurism—i.e. shit that was visionary but never caught on. In the case of Ponthieu's auto erotic, the main drawback is obvious—if you cracked up, which was always a possibility in French traffic, you'd spill out of it like a bloody yolk. Amazingly, this isn't even Ponthieu's most famous car. He also built the film version of the car used in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. That sounds somewhat sexual too, doesn't it? Don't blame Ponthieu. This time it's on Ian Fleming. More pussyrific images below, and video here.
When's the last time you cleaned your doorbell?
We like a good tonguing. Everybody does. But even the gentlest tongue can create soreness after a while and that's what happened in Salinas, California, when a nocturnal tonguer irritated the town. The tale began when a family alerted by its security system to the presence of a nighttime visitor reviewed video footage and was surprised to discover that an unidentified man had come lick, lick, licking at their front porch door. They posted a frame from the video on social media and alerted police and neighbors to the menace. The good people of Salinas can now rest easy—the assailant has been identified as Roberto Daniel Arroyo, a thirty-something local citizen, possibly homeless. A motive for his actions has yet to emerge, but since he was obviously looking for some sort of recognition by playing to the security camera, we think boredom and/or loneliness may have been factors. Can't rule out psychoactive drugs either.
But here's the interesting part. Tonguing doorbells isn't illegal. Filthy, yes, considering all the bodily dirt embedded in them. But illegal? No. A porch is an invitation to the public to inquire whether a domicile's occupants are present. You can't just stand on the street and yell at the house. And certainly there's no law stating you can't touch a doorbell with your tongue. It's no worse than fingering it, when you really think about it. And there's also no law against being in public at 4 a.m. Well, not technically. Our non-U.S. readers may be interested to know that cops will often hassle you when they see you out at that hour, but it isn't actually illegal. So Arroyo broke no laws by tonguing the doorbell. It was weird as hell, but within the bounds of legality as normally interpreted. Unfortunately, he complicated his situation by stealing some electrical cords. The law is pretty clear on that. Jail may be in his future. And there, once the inmates learn of his proclivities, boredom and/or loneliness are not likely to be problems.
Most parents would do anything to give their kids a good education. Or would they?
Today in 1964, when this National Star Chronicle hit newsstands, the headline was supposed to be outrageous. Today it's just sound fiscal strategy. The average U.S. college student graduates with more than $30,000 in debt. Figure about $200 a go and the average mother would have to prostitute herself 150 times to generate thirty g's. Of course thirty grand is the outstanding debt. That amount doesn't count what's spent apart from going hat in hand to a bank or loan company. So let's break it down from the top to get a better sense of the actual costs of higher education in the currency of tricks.
Say you have a daughter who wants to go to a good school. Tuition at the school we attended, for example, is $51,000 per year now, so let's round that down to 250 tricks. Plus room and board, figure another 100 tricks. Add in occasional doctor visits, court costs, and freebies extracted by dirty cops and you're looking at probably another 100 tricks. Ancillary costs, such as condoms, Astroglide by the case, a fly wardrobe to attract clients, various stints in therapy, figure another 100 tricks. Or maybe the therapist takes payment in sex. They certainly do in pulp fiction. Could be a bit of a savings there.
The final tally scales up or down based on level of attractiveness, reputation for good service, self-promotional ability, etc., but pencil in 550 tricks—a rough average—to send your daughter through a good school. If it's a son you're sending add another 175 tricks because he'll turn into a total fuck-up at some point before straightening his shit out and managing to graduate late. Say you go though all that effort. Know what happens at the end? The thankless kid never fulfills their career ambitions and accuses you of ruining their life. That's the worst trick of all. But hey—nobody ever said parenting was easy.
Unwelcome messenger of God encounters major difficulties converting islanders.
It sounds exactly like a story from a 1950s men's adventure magazine, except this story is true. A Christian missionary decided he wanted to convert the tribespeople of remote North Sentinel Island in the Indian Ocean. The island had been declared off-limits years ago by the Indian government due to the inhabitants' occasionally violent reluctance to be contacted by outsiders, but the missionary, named John Chau, refused to be deterred.
He located a fishing boat and several fishermen, and on November 15 they clandestinely and illegally traveled to the island. Being knowledgeable locals, the fishermen wouldn't get too close, so Chau covered the final 500 meters in a canoe while the hirelings awaited his return. Later that day Chau returned indeed—in a big hurry after having had arrows shot at him. At this point we would have called it a day, and you too, no doubt. But that's why we aren't missionaries. We tend to give up. Chau didn't.
The next day, looking to build on his progress, he went back. This time the natives smashed his canoe—obviously considering this a significant hint as to their receptivity to Christian conversion. Chau, doubtless chagrinned, was forced to swim back to the fishingboat. But missionaries, as we noted, are persistent. So, driven by his duty to convert the islanders, he went back—amazingly—a third time. And how did that trip work out? According to the fishermen the last they saw of Chau the natives were dragging his corpse around the island.
Well. There's not much to say here. Who you feel is to blame in this scenario, if anyone, is a litmus test of your basic values. The fishermen have been arrested, but Chau's body hasn't been recovered yet due to obvious difficulties. The Indian government seems to want to let matters lie, but because Chau is American, the Sentinelese, as they've been dubbed, may yet pay a heavy price. One thing is certain—North Sentinel Island has dropped off our list of tropical paradises to visit. Now we're looking at maybe going to South Sentinel Island.
North Sentinel Island: stay away.
South Sentinel Island: worth a look.
Under the circumstances he has no choice but to drink.
In the photo at top, sometime during the summer of 1964, a woman at a stunt show in Atlantic City jumps with a horse sporting an LBJ political banner into a tank of water. The leap took place at Steel Pier, and the height, though not discernible in either shot, was about sixty feet.
The horse diving attraction at Steel Pier thrilled and appalled onlookers from 1928 into the 1970s. Some accounts claim the specially trained horses learned to enjoy diving so much they often took off before a rider could get mounted. While we don't doubt some horses took off unmounted, the assumption they did it because they loved flying through empty space to an aquatic impact is a bit of a leap, so to speak. One thing's certain, though. The LBJ horse definitely wasn't happy that day—he was a Goldwater supporter.
Your parents were bad? My parents went to prison for the things they made me do.
In this photo from the 1930s a teenaged acrobat performs sans net—or seemingly nearby adult supervision—on the edge of the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce Building. Isn't the Chamber of Commerce supposed to promote local business and the market economy? If this girl had fallen we guess they'd have said the market demanded more pancakes. Well, she managed to keep her balance while striking this upside down lotus pose. We know because the Los Angeles Examiner building was about a hundred feet away, and it would have published any splatter photos. We looked in its archive and found none. Photos of parents being arrested for child endangerment, however, are another matter.
He says he remembers nothing, sir, except he needs to return the dress within 72 hours to get a full refund.
There's nothing new under the sun. And there's certainly nothing new under the Los Angeles moon, as proved by this photo of a man who was arrested late at night in Hollywood. He can hide his face but he can't hide the fact that he's wearing a dress. We're thinking prank, costume party, activities along those lines, but really anything is a possibility. We know because we've personally explored most of them ourselves, and ending up in a dress was also one of the results. Still though, it's sad we'll never know precisely what happened here. No details were provided with the shot except that it comes from the collection of Los Angeles Herald photos held by the University of Southern California, and the year on this one was 1948.
Everything you want in a woman—and more.
Above we have another cover from the always entertaining National Spotlite. This one appeared today in 1970 and showcases model Tany Kominski. Not to body shame Tany, especially since according to the cover text she's selling herself to the highest bidder, but she must have an enormous head under that mop. We'd go so far as to say impossibly huge, maybe even otherworldly. Hmm. Could it be the bouffant hairdo that was so trendy during the 1960s was invented by aliens trying to disguise their megacraniums?
We know, we know—there's no proof whatsoever of alien visitation to this planet, but a disguise is the most logical explanation for Tany's hairstyle. We've done a little retouching of the cover so you can see what her head probably looked like under that candyfloss, and just how wildly disproportionate it was. Convinced? Well, our mock-up isn't conclusive, we'll admit.
But it makes you think, doesn't it? And we're also convinced Tany wasn't the only one of her kind here on our unsuspecting planet. Below are other possible interstellar visitors, including a malevolent Hayley Mills, Jean Shrimpton, Dolly Parton, and Priscilla Presley, who ruins her disguise somewhat with her psycho alien eyes. You're asking yourself what these creatures want, right? Hey, they're females—they don't even know.
The headlines that mattered yesteryear.
1940—Trotsky Iced in Mexico
In Mexico City exiled Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky is fatally wounded with an ice axe
(not an ice pick) by Soviet agent Ramon Mercader. Trotsky dies the next day.
1968—Prague Spring Ends
200,000 Warsaw Pact troops backed by 5,000 tanks invade Czechoslovakia to end the Prague Spring political liberalization movement.
1986—Sherrill Goes Postal
In Edmond, Oklahoma, United States postal employee Patrick Sherrill shoots and kills fourteen of his co-workers and then commits suicide.
1953—Mohammed Mossadegh Overthrown in Iran
At the instigation of the CIA, Prime Minster of Iran Mohammed Mossadegh is overthrown and the Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi is installed as leader of the country.
1920—U.S. Women Gain Right To Vote
The Nineteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution is ratified despite heavy conservative opposition. It states that no U.S. citizen can be denied the right to vote because of their gender.
1958—Lolita is Published in the U.S.
Vladimir Nabokov's controversial novel Lolita, about a man's sexual obsession with a pre-pubescent girl, is published in the United States. It had been originally published in Paris three years earlier.
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