Bad Poetry

It's easy to find awful poetry books.  It's hard to find poetry books so bad they make your jaw drop as you turn each page.  When I saw Nor All Your Wit in a box, I wondered if it was bound in leather. A quick touch revealed its soul - padded naugahyde in harvest gold.  Published in 1973, it brings together an array of poetry that will take you on an emotional journey from which you will not soon recover.

You will "enter Hell" when you read, on page 11, Laura L. Scott's tribute to her canine friend, Mr. Minsky And I:

And be prepared to be slapped in the face when you turn to page 12 and walk with Gene Marshall down the banks of a canal in Napoli and insult a woman you mistake for a street whore:

Compare and contrast the stylings of George Cook and W. Blaine Wheeler as they face off with the simpleton's ode to boredom in A Country Boy versus the Mensa-tastic pseudoepigraphically masturbatory Wrecked Concerns:

Let Hermenegildo Salinas take your heart on a journey where only love can go, then feel the sting as Niles Sorensen harpoons your heart with cold despair on the same page:

There's advice for parents...

...and a contribution to the literature of Father's Day:

I'll leave you with the comforting words of two of the greatest philosphers/poets known to mankind - Persian, Omar Khayyam, and brace-face, Marsha Elaine Kash:

Your Key to a Happy Thanksgiving: Ignore the Vile Bleat and Deadly Darts

I found this clipping in an old psychiatry textbook. We can all benefit from the advice of Dr. Hyman Judah Schachtel as our troublesome "friends" and family gather for Thanksgiving.

Please close your ears to the diabolical slander and have a safe, happy Thanksgiving.

Why Pan Am Went Out of Business

I just got done with a couple long Southwest Airlines flights. My dry roasted peanuts were served with shiny foil packets and the 3 ounce club soda I drank was fresh out of the can and went a long way towards quenching my dry palate. The napkin the efficient flight attendant gave me was trimmed in the same soothing earth tones as the pack of peanuts. Southwest is a very successful airline because they pay attention to details like those.

I just found this in-flight menu from Pan Am airlines from the 1960s. It's pretty obvious why they went bankrupt after you look at this shoddy attempt at customer service. It's an 8" x 11" menu printed on textured watercolor paper that's really rough on the skin. Before he even got to the food and drinks inside, the passenger had to endure a water color painting of some pagans worshipping lion-gods or something. How unsettling is that?

When you open up the menu you immediately notice that the paper on the interior is a different color than the exterior. What were they thinking?! Slipshod! And look at this abomination: they hand taped a daily "Flight Fancy" selection (sole amandine) right there in the menu. Not only is it not centered, THE PAPER IS A DIFFERENT COLOR!!! As Jon Stossel would say, "Give me a break!"

Please Make Them Go Away

Because 2 volumes was not enough for Isaac Asimov:

It also spawned anonymous competitors:

Isaac Asimov and John Ciardi, Purveyors of Smut

There once were two literary icons

Whose pens were governed by hard-ons

     Nasty limericks they did write

     Causing me quite a fright

To erase these thoughts I 'll need multiple Krylons

From Isaac Asimov:

From John Ciardi:

Vintage Mad Libs

I played a lot of Mad Libs with my sister and cousins at Grandma's house back in the 1970s. For some reason I thought they were a product of the 1970s, but I learned otherwise today in an estate sale find of these 3 vintage first editions in unused condition from 1958, 1959 and 1962:

Here is one so you can play along at home:

Dear Friend:

Loyd Shelby needs your vote in the Dallas school board run-off.  He is in a tough battle against his Negro loving opponent.

Isn't it Romantic?

It's never too early to shop for Valentine's Day.

Mad Men Revisited

I've written before about the AMC television show, Mad Men, which explores the misogynist, drunken, philandering racists that worked on Madison Avenue in the early 1960's.  Tonight I found more proof that the show is pretty accurate.

When I grabbed these 3 sales pamphlets from Frank Wheatley Pump & Valve Mfr. (Tulsa, Oklahoma) I knew they were special.  Each issue was mailed monthly to prospective purchasers of large oilfield equipment, were stamped "STRICTLY PERSONAL," and were addressed to "Our Hero"

After looking at these covers from 1960 and 1961, I knew each issue had to be loaded with sexism, racism and other interesting anachronisms.

(Republican: 0 votes.  Democrat: 0 votes.  Organ Grinding Monkey: 1 vote.  Sexy Dame With Black Eye Draped In Licorice Ropes: 5 votes.)

Was there a letter from the publisher explaining away the boys-will-be-boys attitude?  Eunuch it's there:

Racist Funeroos?  You betcha!

Silly drunks?  Okey dokey:

Philandering phun? Allrighty then:

Trifecta of all three on the same page?  Why not? (seriously though, I want that wrist watch):

Marital aids?  Whaaaaaa???

Only in Texas

Yesterday, while on a BBQ outing to Llano, we stumbled upon this in Kingsland, Texas:

(thanks to Josh for the Kodak Disc Camera photography.  Thanks to Edmond for turning his car around)

Meet the Authors

This is Brian Bird:

That is the dust jacket photo of Brian from his 1958 book, Skiffle - The Story of Folk Song with a Jazz Beat.

Not only does Brian lack confidence in this photo, he seems almost apologetic, as if to say, "I'm very sorry I wrote this book. Please don't waste your time."

Brian lacks the confidence and intellectual prowess exhibited by so many other authors on their dust jacket pics. I want to share with you my favorites, and I'm going to make this my first blog post that I add to as time goes on. If you find some you like on your own feel free to share them with me and I'll add them.

First, in the category of pondering intellectual, I give you Sylvester Stallone. You probably didn't know he was an accomplished writer, but here he is on the back cover of his novel, Paradise Alley, slaving over his IBM Selectric and suffering for his art:

Next, in the category of remarkable displays of arrogance, here is artist Peter Max, who poses with his 1985 Apple Macintosh masterwork creations that surely no four year old will ever be able to replicate.

Nobody can match adventure novelist Sax Rohmer for unabashed arrogance. Here he is on the back cover of The Bride of Fu Manchu. Any author can pose in his library, sitting on his desk, smoking his pipe with slicked back hair. But it takes real chutzpah to do it in a silver lamè robe.

Barth David Schwartz contemplates his three names, three prestigious universities and a rewarding career as a Pasolini scholar (thanks Tracy):

Say it ain't so!

Madeline Brandeis is gonna kick your ass for reading her series of children's books:

Literary giant Davis Tuck had no time to abandon his muse and take off the raincoat when he posed for his masterpiece, The NEW Complete ENGLISH SETTER:



Fredric Brown can write about science...and smoke:

Here is British mystery writer, Edmund Crispin. The dust jacket lists French Film as one of his "antipathies."

+

He is William A. Allbaugh III, author of a not-important book about a Confederate arms depot in Tyler, Texas.   

Pomposity? Check.

Rebel flag cuff links? Check.

NRA provenance? Check.

Yes we are

The 1965 Yearbook of Agriculture, published by the United States Department of Agriculture.