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?).

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Of mice and mince

Chicago Tribune, August 5, 1877. Christ, I wish I had an influential friend at the Treasury Department. Why, just the other day my kid made little paper sailboats out of a stack of T-Bills I’d secreted in an old chiffarobe in the attic, and then flushed them away in a toilet bowl regatta. Would I like the full amount of money back? I’ll say I would.

“So bad it’s good” isn’t all that bad

I just posted this profound think piece at the Chicago Reader.

Other than that, how was the wedding?

Philadelphia Inquirer, March 30, 1890. Oog. A little bit of blood on the sheets was considered de rigueur, but this is beyond excessive. (Memo to self: Only 58 more shopping days until World Rabies Day).

A lone voice in the wilderness

Chicago Tribune, August 5, 1876. There was a time I wrote lots of cranky letters to the editor, so I recognize Susan here as a kindred spirit to some degree. I understand her impulse, for example, to write in and correct the printer’s error that so distorted the meaning of her last missive–that would make my brain itch too until I did what I could to set the record straight. I know, I know: I am plainly not a well man.

But that, as the saying goes, is neither here, nor, to complete the cliché, there. The real issue here is, as always, mince.