Macon Telegraph, June 17, 1889. Can you believe it? We’re talking here about an average sororal poundage of 175. And yet, this is a mere bagatelle in relation to some of the ensuing prodigies. For example:
Fishing for owls. Okay, that’s fucked up.
That’s fucked up too, because everybody knows that it’s correctly spelled “asafoetida.”
Burdening pals with eccentric requests as to the disposal one’s remains is a folkway ripe for revival. Gram Parsons: Die like him!
It’s 1889 and we’re already talking this depressing chat about how nothing tastes any good since transportation was invented. Does anybody still grow the tiny, egg-fragile heirloom watermelons of yester-yester-yesteryear? I’d like to taste the real article before I die.
Interesting footnote to the Moynihan Report: When a brother was keen to marry back in the day, his reward was to get slagged by the media.
Pretty funny last sentence, in a glacially unfeeling sort of way. Let no one think that “snark” is a recent journalistic innovation.
I can totally believe that this ballsy gal was locally a “well-known character.” I leave it up to you all as to whether she’s being a race traitor or merits credit for putting the “Ms.” in miscegenation.