How about the vivid colors on this 85-year-old map, eh? Bright and sparkly and looking brand-new.
Take a gander at that one again. The icon they show for the largest population only shows over 500,000. But that was in 1930, when none of us was alive to fill the census count.
Oh, I beg to differ. Met Life scare tactics were their bread and butter.
This morning, I watched a clip of Rodney Dangerfield on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. I miss how late night shows showcased comedians almost on a nightly basis. Nowadays, most shows end with a musical act of which I’ve usually never heard–and which often leave me confused and with little faith for the future of the music industry. But back in the day, comedians were in demand (you couldn’t throw a stick at a screen without catching a stand-up routine and a brick background), and Rodney’s style was a machine gun delivery. You barely had time to process one joke before he hit with another.
All this led me to the Tuesday trivia tidbit that (as reported in 2007) Dangerfield tattoos are among the most popular celebrity tattoos in the United States. That struck me as odd, since he passed in 2004, and he peaked in the 80s. But check him out on what appears to be a young calf.
Maybe Dangerfield was a leg man, as he appears on many of them.
Here’s another variation of the same image, with the handkerchief applied to the face (like he’s sweating mid-panic attack).
He also made an appearance on a shoulder blade in the montage with fellow funnymen Sam Kinison, Benny Hill, and W.C. Fields.
It just seems an odd choice in a world full of Marilyn Monroe and James Dean tats, to ink your body with the face of a middle-aged Jewish man, aka Jacob Cohen. Then again, no one would recognize a tattoo of this young man.
Here we see Cary Grantish introducing his new girlfriend in red (who may have either scoliosis or some sort of pelvic trauma causing that posture) to his former flame, Lana Turnerish, in purple. Lana asks, “Oh, is that where you met? How interesting.”
Cary, in his oblivion, doesn’t think there’s cause for cattiness, since that relationship ended over a decade ago, but that doesn’t stop Green Striped Hat from sizing up his current squeeze.
But the real flirtation is with these two. They’re obviously not married; no wife would beam at her man like that (unless she’s Nancy Reagan). No, this gal is setting a snare. 
All aboard a Pullman!
Oh, the First World Problems of 1946! Howard wants to go house-hunting, but Mary is backed up. He offers to make her a glass of Sal Hepatica, which to me sounds like a mixture of Sal Mineo and hepatitis. Don’t do it, Mary!
You remember what happens to Sal Mineo, Mary? He gets stabbed to death in an alley by a pizza delivery man 30 years from now. Is that how you want to go out, Mary?
Fortunately, the sparkling, saline laxative works for Mary, and she jumps from el excusado to Howard’s arms in no time flat. Dream home, here we come!
Poor porker–he got outscienced! But take heart, you are still needed–for your delicious, delicious meat. Until then, enjoy fishing, wearing watches, and fastening overalls like the porcine do.
Hog bristle, huh? People brushed their teeth with hog bristle. Did you do that? More than one dentist has told me to never choose “hard” bristles, so I can only imagine how hard hog bristles are. Could you brusha-brusha-brusha with this implement?
I’ll pass. Chinese invented the bristle toothbrush in 1498 out of hog hair attached to bamboo or bone. I guess it got the job done, and possibly that last little fleck of pork that was wedged in between your molars. Perhaps if you only needed teeth until you were 30 (when you died), it wasn’t so bad. I have never felt so grateful for my Sonicare.
This Oldsmobile isn’t a taxi, but it sho nuff is taxi cab yellow. Look how sleek! How rich people on horses wave to rich people in cars! How swag that dog is! No seatbelts!
Why, even simple Delores can operate heavy machinery because there’s no confusing clutch. All she has to do is simply coordinate her headband, jacket, and skirt, don some white gloves, curl her hair, and slip into the bench seat to drive to Vegas and bet on the ponies like the old man used to do. Gas it, Delores!
Oh, Libby. I don’t know who or where you are, but I know you are misleading America. I remember a jingle about “Libby, Libby, Libby on the label, label, label” and now I imagine your name was said thrice as folks were shaking their heads at atrocities such as this. I think we can all agree that a mom who throws a can of corn on deviled eggs “in hot, undiluted cream of mushroom soup” (as indicated below) is dialing it in. And peas with salmon chunks? I am nigh on the verge of regurgitation, Libby.
I Don't Get It 