Vintage Pin Up: Rolf Armstrong



The Mailbag Overfloweth

flaskI dunno
I felt like
sounding so
all of a sudden…..

— maybe
I was
of the great flood,
or something.

It sure was nice
to come back
to so much mail,

I very much
all of my friends
and readers —

— and most
the ones sending
me cool stuff
for the mailbag.

And jeez –
what a mix !

we’ve got a
weird cocktail
of vintage stuff,
this week,
I’ll admit.

But, variety
really is1907
the spice of life,
doncha think?


— just so
nobody thinks
we’re playing
fast and loose
( not me )
with our
around here…..

William Cowper’ssunkiss
quote was:

“Variety’s the
very spice of life, 

that gives it all
it’s flavour.”

what can
I say?breath

That guy had a
way with words.

No wonder they
named some glands
after him.



and Outward.

or :

Off to see the wizard.

Whatever you want, man.

As long we’re
all having
fun as much
as possible,

—-  and Carpe Diem !

Thanks again
for the submissions,
y’all !!!!

!!!!!! HOY !!!!!!!!!!!!


The Friday Mail Bag

Not that we make
any real cohesive
sense any other
time, but our
Friday Mail Bag
posts are a chance
to really let our
theme-blog pants
down a bit more……..

please don’t take
that last sentence

Nobody’s trying to
scare away our
remaining few
rest assured.

nonobstant to
the fact that I got
some nice silk
‘hearts’ pajama
pants last
Valentines Day
that I’ve been
looking for an
excuse to wear.

best not to
that’s my advice.

Today’s post
is brought to you
by the letter “N” –
for no other reason
than that I started
writing this thing
that way.

No secret codes
or anything
like that.

Just some
around with
some N’s, is all –
a write lacking
in any nexility.

it’s a nice letter,
so why not,
I ask you ?

so it’s not an “S”
but we can’t all be
s’s, you know.

It does have a very
comfortable spot
right in the middle
of the alphabet,
you gotta admit.

And you never have
to worry about things
going accidentally
plural like with an S.

Not that any of
this pro-N
has anything to
do with our
post of the day,
naught –
– nil –
– nerts to that –
– no .

Sorry if it seems
I’m making a noema
about this………

I nuncopate –

Perish the thought.

!!! HOY !!!


There is no profession
in the world that has
gotten more abuse
over the years than
the humble sports
referee, official,
line judge or umpire.

Maybe it’s a natural
expectation, that
people might find
him a handy scapegoat
when things go wrong
for their favorite team,
whether it’s related to
a bad decision on
his part or not.

So, they might throw
a mild expletive, a
comment about his
mother, or even a
suggestion or two
about seeing a good

But they don’t mean
any real harm, I guess,
and that’s about as far
as most folks will go.

Others, however-
well, let’s just say
their team spirit gets
them carried away –
– to the hoosegow.

Fan / referee rage
has, at times, gotten
so out of hand that
umpires and referees
have been severely
beaten up, and in at
least one recent case,
died from their injuries .

Game ?

What game ?

And it’s not found
just at ‘aggressive’
sporting events like
American Football,
Hockey and Soccer —

— even Auto Racing,
and ‘ gentlemanly ‘
games like tennis
and polo —

Baseball fans in
certain U.S. cities
are notoriously

And overseas,
Rugby and Soccer
attract more than
their share of
thuggish devotees.

you’ll even
find em
at places like
Cricket matches
Pétanque games.


The last time I went
to an ice hockey game
(it was Philadelphia
versus Detroit )
they had to arrest
a knucklehead sitting
near me in the stands
’cause he was yelling
death threats at the
linesman officials .

And when those
Philly cops dragged
him outta there, he
was still screaming
all kinds of menace
and perils.

Does that sound
more like
the passion of war?

Maybe that’s
the problem.

People have to
remember that
what they’re watching
is supposed to be
just a game.

We’re not living
in ancient Rome –

Sports aren’t
intended to be
about life and death.

It’s a past-time, man.

And the fact that the
whole sports thing
has become all about
MONEY is what’s
causing this social
about it.

I’m sorry, but I have
no patience with folks
who can’t make the
separation between
supporting a team as
a fan, and making an
event on the field into
a personal vendetta.

If you want to wear
your local team’s gear,

… well, have at it.

If you want to scream
your lungs out during a

… well, knock
yourself out.

If you want to party
your ass off in the
stadium parking lot
before and after
the home team plays,

… well, save me
a beer and a brat
or two.

If you’re gonna go
rabid-mad over
every bad call
that’s ever been
made by the all too
human beings who
do a very difficult
job so you can
even have a
game to watch….

… well, I say,
get a damn
life, buddy.

Cause you and
your ilk are
fucking it all up
for everybody else.

!! HOY !!



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

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

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-

harangue with

expound on

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,

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

zagubiony “

Amazing.Image result for postcard vintage love adage

it means:

” Don’t
Follow Me 

I’m Lost
Too “


… the wisdom of
the ages, right?



!!! HOY !!!

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
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

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,
funny animals,
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

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,
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.

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.


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

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 !!