Ye Olde Font Of Wisdom

For our thought-
provoking and all
inspiring Muscleheaded
Blog post for today,
we thought that we’d
dip deep into the
bottomless font of
ye-olde fashioned
wit and wisdom —

— and bring you
some forgotten, obscure
and abandoned adages
about love from
yesteryear.

Lest we forget that there
was an awful lot of truth
hidden down in there,
somewhere.

But, in our attempt
to drink deep of
pathos, cynicism,
irony, incongruity,
and yes, even a bit
of sardonicism —

— we never want to:

slurp with syrupy
sermonizing ,

preach with over-
principled
pontification,

harangue with
high-minded
hell-fire,

expound on
entangled
ethicalities,

And please
remember :

When In Doubt,
Pinkies Out.kiddo

Now, you may
ask yourself …

Self, where in
the hell is this
maniac driving
this post to ?

And the answer
is, oh, so simple,
really.

It was carved so
beautifully on the
walls of a cave in
the Tatra Mountains
of Southern Poland
by some wandering
philosopher or sage
hundreds of years
ago :

” Nie idź
za mną,

bo jestem
zbyt

zagubiony “

Amazing.Image result for postcard vintage love adage

Roughly
translated,
it means:

” Don’t
Follow Me 

I’m Lost
Too “

ahhhh….

… the wisdom of
the ages, right?

.

.

!!! HOY !!!

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The Postcard Art of Reg Carter

I guess maybe
we’re a bit
self absorbed,
is all….

It seems
that we
here in the
United States
are often completely
unaware of the very
interesting vintage
mass media
publications
that were created
in the societies
of even our
closest allies
and friends overseas.. 

… and while our
American cartoons
have their place
among the funniest, most
original stuff out there –

– English humor postcards,
to me, anyway, embody
the best of both wicked
double-entendre and
subtle slapstick –

— qualities that I think
really make the genre
fun and still very relevant.

Look at the work of artists
like Donald McGill – (the
King Of Saucy Postcards)
if you need any proof of
this at all.

Another excellent
example of this
same principle is a
guy who was
named Reg Carter.

I’m absolutely sure
you’ve seen some
of his terrific
postcard work –
(even if it was
only here on the
Muscleheaded Blog )
despite his being
gone since 1949.

And if you’ve ever
visited a news-stand
in Britain, you’ve
probably also seen a
comic called “Beano”.

Well, Carter was a
leading artist there,
and created their best
remembered character –
– a funny looking
anthropomorphic ostrich
named “Big Eggo “.

His work in comics is
probably his real
claim to fame in
Great Britain …

but here, he is more
highly regarded
for his hilarious
postcards.

He was born in 1886 –
near Norwich on the
eastern coast of England,
and started work as a
professional illustrator
in his teens.

His first postcards
appeared around
the 1910, and he
was very busy in
this field during
World War I.

This artwork revolved
initially around
poking fun at cultural
movements and trends….

Roller skating,
motoring,
funny animals,
relationships,
fashions,
flirtation,
and suffragettes
were some of his
favorite topics.

Perhaps some readers
will find many of them
a bit dated —

but I think while his
perspective is always
clearly, if sometimes
sharply presented,
the cards are an
intellectual belly-rub
for those historically
inclined.

It’s simply a
matter of
allowing yourself a
laugh without regard
for who/what is being
lampooned as long
as it’s all in good fun.

And we need to learn
to do much more of
that in this over-
sensitized and
over- sanitized
PC culture, for sure.

Hey, man,
laughter
is important.

Ya know?

.

!!! HOY !!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shootout In The Gulch

Sheriff Culpepper was
riding hard to meet
the stage coach.

His big roan horse was
huffing and puffing hard,
but the Sheriff spurred
him on.

The sounds of the horse’s
shoes clapping against the
dry earth mixed with the
constant rhythm of leather
saddlery’s give-and-take
made for a kind of musical
accompaniment for the
long trip.

Sure,
both horse and
rider were bone tired.

But this trip had
to be made.

In the distance, despite the
bright haze and heat
distortion, the stage driver
could see the Sheriff’s dust
trail from a long way off,

……. and as he gradually
approached, the driver
wondered what could be
the matter…

It seemed like it had
been pretty peaceful
around these parts
for some time, now.

Days had run into weeks,
and months, without
anything much happening
to keep a man’s interest.

But he guessed maybe
there must be something
bad a-brewing, to bring
that particular lawman,
to this particular place.

Finally, after an indeterminable
amount of time, the Sheriff
arrived, wheeling his horse
to pace the wagon.

The ride of many miles
had deposited a thick layer
of dust upon him, but he
didn’t pause long enough
to even wipe his silt covered face.

“Max!”, the Sheriff yelled
up at the stage driver,
There’s trouble up ahead…
you’re gonna need to
bypass Cypress Gulch!
!”

Max threw the lawman
a long, apprehensive look—
… then, with a shake of
his grizzled head, asked
what was going on.

Culpepper replied:
The Conklin Brothers are
loose again!! Seems like
they got sprung from the
Deseret County jail last
night, and shot two deputies
!! ”

Max knew all too well
what that meant—
they’d be heading directly
for Cypress Gulch, and
Sheriff Culpepper.

They had sworn revenge ,
and they were the kinds
of guys who would get it,
if they could.

Damn, Sheriff….
are you gonna be alright ,
all alone against them
damned hoodlums
? ”

Culpepper looked worried,
but didn’t give anything
away with his voice:
All I can do is face em
down and see — there ain’t
nothing you or anybody else
can do, though… just stay
away from town, s’all.”,

he said, in a deadpan tone.

“Ok, Sheriff, if you say so!”.

Max pulled the right rein in
and steered the horses east,
away from the Gulch, toward
the next stage stop.

Culpepper turned his horse
and headed for town….

He knew the stage would be
a great prize for the Conklins
if they got a hold of it…
…… and he didnt want to have
to worry about protecting it
while having to watch his own back.

He wasn’t scared.

No.

After all,
everybody dies, right?

What difference did it possibly
make to anyone-
— whether the end came in a
nice cozy, feather bed with
his favorite saloon girl Babs,
or out on the street being
killed by a bunch of
degenerates.

Sure, he could run.

Sure, he might
even be
able to hide.

It’s a big West,
ya know?

But he couldn’t leave the
town to the tender mercies
of the Conklin Brothers.

He couldn’t,
could he … ??

Jimmy —
Time for Dinner
!!!! ”

Jimmy’s playtime
daydreaming was
broken by the sound
of his mother calling him.

Darn –
roundup time.

The shoot out
would have to wait.

He so loved
playing cowboy.

.

!! HOY !!

Knaughticalites

Image result for postcard Navy vintageYou know,
if there’s one
topic that a Sailor
can always speak
about in a
knowledgeable way,
it’s knots.

Tying knots are ,
along with:
swabbing decks,
chipping paint,
manual of arms,
and standing a
lonely fire watch
at oh-dark-thirty
in the morning,
are about the first
things you learnImage result for lonely postcard Navy
about when
you’re adjusting to
Navy life in boot camp.

Add shining boots,
dropping quarters
on bunks,
scrubbing the head, Related image
doing push-ups
till you die,
cleaning rifles,
and just generally
looking busy are also
very important lessons –

– oh, and
speaking
of knots……..

– who could forget
the most important one-

–the maintenance of
those all essential
emotional knots via
the art of writing letters.

You might be totally
illiterate the day you
arrive at boot camp,
but by graduation,
you’ll have written so
many letters to your
sweetie and back home,Related image
you’ll be a pocket
Hemingway.

One of the advantages
of military service
( at least when I was in )
was that you could write
a letter home on a piece
of box from a C-Ration,
put an address on it,
and it would get delivered –
– no postage required.

I’m not sure how that was
handled by the Navy  –

– all I know is I scribbled
many a line on many aRelated image
scrap of paper and the
letter always got there.

Even the steamier ones.

And boy, can a Sailor
write a steamy letter.

Naturally, it would
be a lot easier
to just go to the
Navy Store and buy a
postcard that already
cut right to the point
for you…..

but in whatever
spare time one
finds himself with
in boot camp, the
loneliness and
boredom makes
one naturally
take to pen and paper.

And that especially
applies when it
comes to that ‘special’
person —

— such things can’t be
left up to random
chance and generic
postcards, ya know.

You’d be surprised
how easily even the
toughest character
finds it to
use terms like:
‘yearning’,
‘desire’,
and ‘devotion’
and epithets like: 
‘my dearest’,
‘darling’, and
‘sweetheart’
in a letter
when he’s far
from home.

When it’s time for
mail-call —

a desire to read a
reciprocal expression
of the feelings expressed
in ones’ own letters
becomes oh, so
very important — 

— when you don’t
hear back right away
sometimes it seems like
you’re totally cut off from
your loved ones.

It can drive ya crazy.

And of course,
you always want to feel
connected to the ole
homestead.

Why does that
sense of being so far
from home make for 
better letter writing ?

Perhaps because
it’s really the only way
to express certain ideas
and feelings at a particular
moment in time —

one is inspired
to make his message
run deep, and clear,
like the blue ocean —

and to tighten the
knots of sentiment,
tenderness,
and intimacy.

Even today, with all the
different technologies
available…

I’m sure that
a heartfelt letter
goes further
to express the
emotions, and
the sense of
appreciation
for those
far from you
in distance
but close to you
in spirit.

.

!!! HOY !!!

.

Baby Talk

I have to admit,

I can find
other people’s kids
a bit annoying
at times ….

( i’m not talking
about little babies –
even though some
of the illustrations
on today’s post might
lead you to think
otherwise….
but nope.)

.. and maybe the
irritation I feel
about certain
kiddie winkies
is pretty normal for
someone who used
to travel as much
as I did.

The ones I have in mind
seem to try to get under
your skin whether they
know you or not .

.. and since they’re
somebody else’s problem,
you hesitate to administer
what would otherwise be
patently called for..

— the hearty whack on the
ass and a loud ‘stop doing
that’.

Basically, you have to
resort to call them a
‘little ratbag’ under
your breath and leave
it pretty much at that..

Although sometimes
I think the father
(when available/identified)
should be liable to pay the
consequences of the child’s
lack of discipline.

A good
‘how’s your father’,
or similar.

Ah,
sweet justice.

Not that I was an angel
when I was a kid –

No, far from that,
but my parents
had the situation
well and truly
handled when
I acted up
in public.

Man,
you ain’t jest
whistlin’ Dixie.

Faster than
a speeding bullet –
my father’s hand
would descend and
give me the painful
instant karma I was so
obviously begging for.

If you don’t learn it
when you’re a kid,
you’re not gonna wanna
learn it later, and
discipline is something
we all should understand,
for the whole society’s
sake.

But sometimes,
I guess, kids are ok.

And today, we have
postcards featuring
( a few ) adorable kids
(if it’s possible to put
those two words together
and not form some kinda
oxymoronic improbability) .

Oh wait…
my kids were adorable,
so it is possible.

I was not adorable.

So, thank heaven
there must be
nothing to that whole
genetics thing.

Assuming…

well, that’s probably
not gonna help me any.

!! HOY !!

.

The Stain On The Sofa

We’re feeling a bit
philosophical here at
the Muscleheaded Blog
today, which is kinda
strange when you think
about it, since we can
barely spell ‘philosophical’
usually …..

but hey-

— stranger things
have happened.

N-How.

For example,
you can choose
to look at this as
just another day,
or you can recognize
that Fridays are
really Mother
Nature’s way of
reminding you
that things could
always be worse.

N-Double-How, man.

I was just watching
a weird Irish
puppet/interview show
on my ginchey new
TV gizmo –

– the show was called:
Bronx Bunny ” —
and it put me in a very
weird mind-set.

Obviously, I am
NO LONGER
the crassest horn-dog
on the planet,
because I have been
thoroughly supplanted
by a semi-stuffed
panda bear
named Teddy T.

All I can tell you is,
if
you watch it, I’m not
responsible for any of the
content therein, nor the
therapy you’re likely to
need after said viewing.

And yes,
Teddy ….

Marina Sirtis was incredibly
hot on that space show.

‘N-How in triplicate.

Lost, yet?

Oh, sure ya are…

.. we all are, really,
when you get right
down to it.

You can let out a big
ole sigh anytime you
get tired of this
convoluted
stream o’ consciousness
thing that we’re
engaging in today,
and we’ll get on
with the well-vaunted
and well-loved
mail-bag segment
for this week.

Anytime,
now……

Ummm…

Oh, sorry.

Gotcha.

Thought that was just
Teddy-T doing his
heavy breathing
exercises again.

Mailbag here we come.

Today’s mailbag
I like to call
‘Popular Postcard
Wisdom’.

Seriously,
though….

Watch out for that stain
on the back of the sofa.

!! HOY !!

A Mess of Multiples

My long-time friend
Amy is expecting-

—- twins.

Her husband Gary
was a bit surprised
after the ultra-sound
about the whole
double-yer-pleasure
thing, but he’s
adjusting to it.

Yeah.

For some reason,
when she first told
me about it,
my mind cast
itself back to
another blessed event
involving multiple births
that happened around the
Depression Era up there in
the Great White North–

— The Dionne Quintuplets. 

They were the first quintuplets
born in North America that
were all known to have
survived the birth.

It was 1934 Ontario –
and those babies instantly
became celebrities –
the most famous
kiddie-winkies on Earth.

Unfortunately, there was a
great deal of wrangling and
money-grubbing involved,
because of their notoriety,
and the children were actually
taken from their parents and
made wards of the state for
a while.

The quint’s childhoods
had become about sales
and tourism.

It was an unabashed
economics issue for the family,
and a real cash-cow for the
numerous greedy ‘sponsors’,
governmental agencies,
and the media.

Their youth was a sad story
all around, and not the
charming one the pictures
from the era usually paint.

To my knowledge,
only two of the quints
still survive, Annette
and Cécile, living
quietly in a
suburb of Montreal.

When I told Amy the
story of the quints,
she kinda shuddered.

“Gary almost divorced
me over the two“,
she said.

While I doubt that
(she’s a real catch) –
she certainly brings
up an interesting point –

— the emotional/financial/
physical/mental/familial
stress and drama that
multiple births must put
on folks (on a day
to day basis!)
who find themselves
unexpectedly ..
.. blessed.

I’ve known plenty of
twins over the years
( Susie and Sandy
were my favorite dates
in my mid teens)
and I’ve always found
them pretty well adjusted.

Their parents, though —

Well, they always
seemed a bit :

Harried.

Stressed-out.

Panic-striken, even.

But, when some
Doctor tells you
that you’ve got
5 girls coming –

— when all you wanted
was a chip-off-the-
old-block who
could take over the
take-out-the dog chores
once in a while …..

Yoweeeeeeeeeee.

.

!!! HOY !!!

.