Hands off, Jack

Fort Worth Gazette, June 28, 1891. Classic exhibitionism is sometimes referred to as the “hands-off” paraphilia, but this Jack was that exceptional weenie wagger who couldn’t keep his mitts to himself.
I was bemused to discover this Wikipedia page whose discussion of exhibitionism is almost exclusively devoted to women flashing their breasts. I’m like, huh? But then I got to thinking about the idea of female exhibitionism and I started wondering whether the gender distribution of this ultra-common paraphilia isn’t closer to even than common sense would suggest. Unlike men, women can get naked for pay, and the “victims” of female flashers would be much less likely to report the incident, or even register it as an expression of sexual deviance for that matter. Then there’s the whole issue of Halloween to consider. Perhaps the female of the species is hiding in plain sight. I suppose the whole question ultimately hinges on the intent of the exhibitionee (—ess?).

Oh yah?

Baltimore Sun, July 4, 1892. Lately I’m finding running across a lot of wild women whose exile from civilization is attributed to a past episode of seduction and heartbreak. But I’m half inclined to believe that these gals are actually Jungian archetypes on the hoof, especially since, like this one, they almost always reside in caves. And sure, sometimes a cave is just a cave, but only sometimes.

With apologies to Oscar Hammerstein

Okay, so I’ve roughed out a provisional draft of alternate lyrics to “My Favorite Things” for our own Jackie of Finland to record, per our contractually-binding exchange in this comment thread. I’m also in negotiations to get the two surviving Seidlitz Brothers to dub some backing vocals, though according to their agent, Shlomo’s voice box is pretty much shot from three packs of Chesterfields a day since the McKinley administration. No matter: that’s why God made Pro Tools and the electrolarynx.

I’m kind of going back and forth on the first verse here, as it lacks the 100% concrete historicity that the other verses have. Though maybe I could fix that by nailing down concrete references to back it all up.

Barrel-clad hobos and window-ledge pastries
Irish patrolman and drunks with the DTs
Blackguards and maidens and oncoming trains
These are a few of my favorite thangs

Phials of acid in ex-lovers’ faces
Naked wild women in desolate places
Negroes with blue gums who kill when they bite
This is a load of my favorite shite

Mince pies for breakfast, and luncheon, and dinner
Corpses injected to make their eyes glimmer
Med school students defiling the dead
This sort of thing tends to fuck with my head

Cuckqueaned wives killing spinster cult leaders
Cats sold as rabbits to unwitting eaters
Show-offs igniting their cee-gars with bills
These are symptoms of society’s ills

When the dog brings
Dynamite back
When I’m feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I feel truly bad

Jackie: Far be it from me to impinge on your creative process, but I was thinking this would work best Lento assai and in a minor key.

Mommy track

Savannah Tribune, November 9, 1922. Call me judgmental, but that is just plain bad parenting.

Copycats

New York Herald, May 15, 1891. Speaking of branding, the original Mr. The Ripper could have used a good copyright lawyer, because there was no end of this kind of trademark piracy perpetrated by lazy headline writers.

Gentleman caller

Kansas City Times, May 18, 1889. I’m guessing this one never got to court.

Brothers from another planet

Baltimore Afro-American, March 3, 1926. Apparently there used to be race of immortal black Jews in New Jersey. Who knew? But this is very loose application of the term “baby farming.” I don’t see anything going on here but standard-issue religious sleazebaggery and fecundity.

Consciousness-raising, 1856

Chicago Tribune, January 10, 1856. The reservoir of acid-attack stories is far from exhausted, but the series has been a ratings disaster (?!) so I’m turning to more upbeat topics for a while. Here, for example, is a deeply poignant anecdote about how one man’s seething racism converted him to the noble cause of abolition. Get out your handkerchiefs before you read any further.

Murdering pedophile

The Chicago Defender, August 10, 1914. An armed child molester with a fake badge: doesn’t get much worse than that.

Dead libertines, make room

Chicago Daily Tribune, December 7, 1923. Further mutations of the para-legal principle that “the libertine must die.” Turns out that by 1923 unwritten law could also be extended to the vengeful slaying of reckless drivers, mentally retarded sex offenders, and, implicitly, anyone else implicated in a “violation of home.”

It’s hard not to snicker at the phrase “his moron brother-in-law” in an old newspaper. Considered in context, though, this is a godawful story. Supposing the term “moron” was being applied with any rigor, it would have meant that Frank Bilotta had an IQ somewhere between 51 and 70. That would have put him above the level of “imbecile” (IQ 26 to 50) and two pegs above “idiot” (0 to 25).* But I doubt the reporter was deploying the term with any precision: “moron” was simply standard journalese for “retarded.”

I’m digging the whatsa-matta-for-you dialect attributed to Donota Gallella. Betcha he spoke English like a native but was dishing out some strategic vaudeville for the jury.

*This nomenclature was the brainchild of influential psychologist and eugenicist Henry H. Goddard, who advocated that retarded people should be sterilized and sent to live in concentration ca–um, special segregated communities for the genetic good of the race.