While at the library yesterday hunting through old books for Wondermark source material, I came across this article in the 1891 volume of a magazine called The Illustrated American. Entitled “Is Polygamy a Success?”, it’s letters from readers responding to a previous article written by a self-described “ex-Mormon,” in which the writer denounces Mormonism with claims that its members practice polygamy.

These letters were just the beginning of a huge outcry by Mormons and others against the magazine. In later issues, the editors of The Illustrated American comment on a libel suit brought against them by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints; later still, they print a letter from Wilford Woodruff, the president of the church at that time, who defends the Church against what he perceives as mischaracterizations in the article by the “ex-Mormon.” The whole exchange is fascinating, because it really shows how fiercely polygamy was a hot-button issue for religious leaders at the time.

Due to time constraints, I didn’t scan pages from the later issues; anyone interested in this particular wrinkle in the history of the Mormon church can look up 1891 issues of The Illustrated American. But this letters column, in which many parties defend polygamy, was particularly interesting to me because of the window it affords into the state of family relationships in the late 19th Century — how the institution of marriage used to be considered, what’s changed, and interestingly, what hasn’t (how many wives today still feel like “school-masters” treating their husbands like “truant pupils”?).

For many months I’ve wanted to do a regular “True Stuff from Old Books” series, but it takes a lot of time to scan and upload stuff…hopefully I’ll be able to post more interesting tidbits in the future.

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Rejected by McSweeney’s:

The Fourth Pac-Man Ghost Posts on Craigslist

Bike for sale - $50 (bicycles):

10-speed bike for sale. It’s blue — sorry, I don’t know much about bikes. Great condition, never used. I got it as a gift but unfortunately have no legs.

Yellow sweater at Starbucks (missed connections):

You: Gorgeous brunette, trendy sunglasses, legs for days. Me: Orange ghost. Coffee?

Take over my lease! (rooms & shares):

Looking for college student or other to take over my spot in cozy 4-person unit. Roommates are only home intermittently throughout the day. Few amenities, but centrally located. Neighborhood is a real maze though.

life in the rat race (rants & raves):

work used to be fun back when i got to make kids smile…but my only clients nowadays are smelly maladjusted man-child nerds…i hate my co-workers…such jerks…never live with the same people you work with…you have no privacy…and the worst part is…i can’t even masturbate
i have no genitalia

Looking for Exciting Job (resumes / job wanted):

Current gig is getting repetitive so I’m looking for something new. Travel, new horizons a plus. Resume below.

(1980-present): Ghost
Member of elite security team for pharmaceutical concern.
Duties include: Guarding pills, running around, light clerical.

Blender/smoothie maker (items wanted):

Used is fine. I gotta start doing something with all this damn fruit. It’s just going to waste.

sub seeking big asian dom (casual encounters):

looking for someone big and yellow to chase ME around for a while

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Another in the ‘Rejected by McSweeney’s’ category. I actually wrote this about six years ago, for a Film History class if you can believe it, so I’m not too surprised by the rejection.

The Lollipop Guild Denies Responsibility

This affadavit is hereby submitted to the Almighty Oz, Wizard of the Emerald City, regarding certain statements made by members of the Workers’ Confection Legion and Lollipop Guild and Elks Club, Munchkinland Local #281, where two individuals, a Mr. Dweeble Tootlepop and a Mr. G. Norbert Wankenpuff (heretofore referred to as the ACCUSED), on the twenty-third of May of this year, erroneously represented themselves as valid representatives of the L.G. Local
#281. Despite claims made by the Accused, statements made by the Accused on the date in question were most emphatically NOT made on behalf of the President or Board of Directors of the L.G. Local #281, nor the majority of the Guild’s members.

On the date in question, the Accused approached a Ms. Dorothy Gale, of Kansas, where the L.G. Local #281 has no representation, whether Guild membership or co-op Guild presence, and in unison declared:

“We represent the Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild; we represent the Lollipop Guild, and welcome you here to Oz.”

It is clear that the Accused fully intended to represent themselves as duly appointed spokesmunchkins for the L.G. Local #281, and as such, with deliberate intent to deceive and mislead, made statements clearly meant to represent the President, Board of Directors and membership of the L.G. Local #281 when, in all fact, they do not.

Not to say that the L.G. Local #281 and its appropriately appointed officers do not wish to express their well wishes to Ms. Gale; rather, there are channels specifically suited to the conveyance of such communication, very carefully structured so that the wrong impression
is not given. The L.G. Local #281 has long endured a harsh legacy of prejudice and ill feeling due to unsubstantiated claims of products involving alleged health hazards and marketing to minors, and as a result of such an unfortunate history has to be very careful with regard to who is allowed to speak for the Guild and even then, such statements must be carefully screened and monitored to ensure that all messages are in concordance with the true wishes and best interests of the President, the Board of Directors and the membership of the L.G. Local #281.

Due to the unfortunate events of the twenty-third of May, the individuals Accused have been placed on Guild probation until further notice. On behalf of the L.G. Local #281, we hereby declare to the Almighty Oz, Wizard of the Emerald City, that the matter of this incident has been duly dealt with internally as the President, the Board of Directors and the membership of the Guild see fit; additionally, should there be any external repercussion later with respect to the untoward behavior of the Accused, the L.G. Local #281 at this juncture formally absolves itself, its President, its Board of Directors and its membership of any connection to or affiliation with
the statement in question, the intent behind such, the Accused who inappropriately delivered it, or any consequences of such an unauthorized statement being made at this or any time.

No action on the part of the Almighty Oz is necessary nor warranted at this juncture. There is no need to schedule any surprise health inspections for Guild member confectionaries. In recognition of the Almighty Oz’s consideration in this regard, the L.G. Local #281 has enclosed a treat basket. The lollipops within contain legally acceptable levels of rat droppings. Enjoy with our compliments.

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Another in the “Rejected by McSweeney’s” category.

###

Instant Messages I Would Send if the EMP Bomb Hadn’t Permanently Destroyed All Electronics Worldwide

hey R U online? txt me im just sittin here in the dark with no tv lol

wind-up radios suXX >:O i feel like im in the 18th centyry

omg mysis was like “do we get to eat all the icecream now” and I was all “the freezer still works!!!!” srsly she is so stupid :P

OMG I just realized is your granddad ok? b/c of his pacemaker txt me

these crazy ppl just showed up w/beards and started shouting thru the windows for like 2hrs. but i dont no what they wanted!!!! i cant googl to lookup what “vapid consumptivist sheep” meanz :”’( i mean i know sheep but the rest??

an airline jsut crashed thru the school!! haha i hope ms. fagghorn was inside XD

arggg i just had a kick@$$ idea for a facebook grp!! “WHO H8S CANDLELITE” this sux how did ppl in midivial times ever have friends

brb — dfp (dyin frm pneumonia)

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A few of these doodles really capture the essence of this character. Others aren’t really on point at all. But that’s the point of sketching! It doesn’t have to be perfect — in fact, it shouldn’t be, because then it allows you room to develop and grow.

As before, click for bigger.

Next week: comics!

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I’m actively trying to develop my cartooning skills. As I’ve mentioned here before, I’m much more comfortable sketching one-off weirdos than I am creating simple, repeatable cartoons. So, this is me working very deliberately towards constructing characters made of simple shapes that I can easily manipulate for consistent results.

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This is a drawing by my old art teacher/mentor, John Arthur Williams. John drew this in the front page of a sketchbook he gave me as a gift. (The sketchbook had crappy binding but the drawing survives excellently.)

John taught me and my fellow students most of the artistic philosophy that bubbles out of me occasionally, and which in fact contributed to the guiding ethos of this site — the idea that not everything has to be great, the idea that you can get a certain energy and liveliness from just letting your pen or pencil glide across the paper with no aim in mind. And it came so easily to him — watching him draw was like watching a photograph develop.

John was the one who used to crumple up sheets of blank paper and throw them across the room, saying “Don’t be afraid to waste paper. It’s cheap.”

Looking through my files I am pleased to notice that I still have lots of snippets of notes and inspirational bits he gave me over the years:

A reoccurring thought, one that frightens me, has continued to run through my mind of late. It is: that I really don’t know how to paint.

When I look at my better works, it’s occurred to me that, were I asked, “How did you do that?” or “What method did you use to execute this?” I would have to answer that I do not know. Even when I begin a new work and I ask these questions of myself, (this is when it is most frustrating) I am faced with the same dilemma, even to the point of having of having to pull my own originals from the walls in order to see what I might have done to bring it off! Amazing, really—but I think that is really how it should be if the process of creation is at its peak. The process should really be unconscious. You should be unaware of yourself in the process; try to let the subject lead you. That’s when it becomes exciting!

So what if I never discover what I did in the last painting that worked?

You can see more of John’s work at his website, here.

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From Olga, who says, “This isn’t the original poem I scribbled during class after a particularly stomach-churning announcement, because I have no scanner, but I retyped it later.”

Notebooks Will Be Collected Tomorrow

This is the season of fear.
With the rain closing in and the lowered clouds
The lowered clouds threaten in tandem with lights
This is the season of fluorescent lights
This is the season of fear.
The notebook collections under fluorescent lights
In every room, under fluorescent lights, the notebooks
Surrendered and piled into stacks of fear.
The fear of the notebooks is fear of the unexpected
Striking, under fluorescent lights, and blue chairs and piles of jackets
Scattered calculators and notebooks of fear.

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Found this short story I wrote in an old journal.

_____________________

Mr. & Mrs. Eldred Whipple of Grand Oak Falls, Nebraska saw the flashing banner while checking their e-mail.

Be on a Reality TV Show!

Eldred clicked it by accident, and then six new browser windows opened in quick succession. He blinked at the flurry.

Myrtle fetched her reading glasses. Eldred turned on the desk lamp. They squinted at all the rules and regulations.

Winners Flown First-Class to Hollywood, CA!

They couldn’t print the forms so Myrtle copied them, word-for-word, on the Underwood typewriter. Then she and Eldred sat around the old iron stove and asked each other the questions. The forms were eighteen pages long. The questions were designed to tell the producers what type of people they were, and whether they’d be interesting to watch on TV.

How long have you and your partner lived together?

“Do we count the years I was out in Korea?” Eldred said.
“I think probably,” Mildred replied.

What is the most difficult thing you and your partner have accomplished together?

“Filling out this damn form,” Eldred snorted.

Myrtle wrote their answers in the blanks in her careful, looping script.

“Go ahead and finish mine,” Eldred said, shrugging into his slippers and heading off to bed.

What one thing would you change about your partner?

Myrtle’s pen hovered over Eldred’s form.

“I wish she let me help out more around the house,” she wrote.

**

They came in from chores a few nights later and Myrtle noticed that the forms were still sitting on the kitchen table.

“When does it have to be postmarked?” she asked Eldred.

They raced into town in the old truck. The post office was almost closed. George Simmons had just shut off the porch light.

Eldred blocked the front door with his truck.

“Eldred, you old sumbitch,” George said.

He took the envelope from Eldred’s hand and tossed it behind the counter, towards the mail bin. Then he bolted the front door, took up Lenny’s leash and led the old hound to the truck.

**

There was no response from Hollywood in the next day’s mail, nor the next.

Eldred and Myrtle watched network television every night after chores. Excited announcers promised the new season of reality television, new twists and fresh ideas for America’s viewing enjoyment.

Myrtle looked up from her cross-stitch. “Isn’t that the one we applied to?”

The announcer promised that “you’ve never seen reality as extreme as this.” He said it was “the ultimate in reality competition.” He said there would be roadkill eating, bikini marathons and the hourly elimination of contestants. He said it was a reality show without the cumbersome trappings of reality.

The Whipples were very excited.

“You’d think we’d have heard something by now,” Myrtle said.
“That’s how these things work,” Eldred said. “They’ll probably show up on the porch any day now, cameras and all that, and then we’ll be on TV.”

Myrtle started wearing her hair in curls all the time, even when doing chores.

**

The first episode was a two-hour special that aired on a Tuesday night. The Whipples weren’t on it.

George Simmons found the Whipples’ application sitting on the floor behind the mail bin. He didn’t tell them. He didn’t want them to know what an incompetent postmaster he was.

He set the envelope on a shelf back with the dry goods and stared at it through his entire lunch, every day, one hand idly scratching Lenny’s head. Lenny didn’t judge him.

**

Incredibly, the Communist Chinese attacked Grand Oak Falls, Nebraska.

They dropped paratroopers into cornfields by the thousands. Their plan was to start in the center and spread outwards, like chocolate syrup in a glass of milk.

Every one an only child, every one armed to the gills, every one bent on corporeal destruction without regard for individual self-preservation. They began by burning the wheat fields.

The sky bronzed with ash. The Whipples woke to an apocalypse.

Eldred pulled on suspenders and straightened his bowtie. Myrtle hurriedly pulled the curlers from her hair, tossing them anywhere.

George Simmons was reading Page 14 of Myrtle’s application for his own pleasure when he heard a thronging. He looked up. Pulled up his pants and exited the bathroom. Stepped on Lenny’s tail. Lenny turned his arthritic neck and bit George in the calf.

The Communists had overrun the store. The dry goods were gone. The wet goods were wet. The walls had collapsed into the street.

The town was aflame.

Regimented ranks of AK-47 muzzles marched over the cornstalks. Eldred and Myrtle stood proudly on their front porch. Napalm rained on their livestock. Burning flesh filled their lungs.

“It’s a shame, in a way,” Eldred said.
“Shh,” Myrtle said.
“Take me three weeks to rebuild that shed,” Eldred said.
“We’re going to be on TV,” Myrtle said.

The Communists arrived at the Whipples’ front porch.

“Would you like some juice or milk before we begin?” Myrtle asked them.

The Communists in the front ranks traded a glance.

“Don’t mind her. Welcome to Grand Oak Falls,” Eldred said. “So, what do we do?”
Myrtle leaned close to him and whispered in his ear. “I think our reactions are what make good TV,” she said.

Eldred nodded. He took three steps down the front porch, socked a Communist in the jaw, wrenched the AK-47 from his grip and mowed down a dozen of the suckers before they piled on him like linebackers.

Myrtle grinned. Her cheeks glowed. They’d probably use this footage in the promos.

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This was something that I wrote to submit to McSweeney’s, but it wasn’t accepted. Now you get to enjoy it right here. It’s a pretty niche thing but hopefully some of you will like it.
—

PREXY PUNCTURED
Honest Abe Caught Lying (In State)

Abraham Lincoln was fatally shot last night, during a perf of ‘Our American Cousin’ at Ford’s hardtop in Washington, D.C. Actor-assassin John Wilkes Booth fled the scene after pulling the plug on the prexy.

Tophat was enjoying the milestone one-thousandth bow by thesp Laura Keene in the Tom Taylor-penned laffer. Booth entered the aud undetected and made his way to Lincoln’s private box, where he fired one shot to the head that ankled the politico.

Major Henry Rathbone of Albany grappled with the assass but was knifed for his trouble. Booth leapt to the stage but caught one hoof on a flag, taking a hard fall. Witnesses report he cried “Sic semper tyrannis” before mounting an oater waiting outside. Latin chirp is state motto of Virginia.

Lincoln was taken across the lane to Peterson’s boarder, where for nine hours he kept up a snoozer before finally doornailing. Docs drained Tophat’s thinker-fluids through the night, but the Emancipator shuffled off the coil at 7:22 a.m.

State Sec’y William Seward was attacked at home on same night by Lewis Powell, though the 3rd-in-liner breathed through the event. Stabber Powell failed to finish off the sec’y and sliced through five present before fleeing. Solons say the the plot was part of an umbrella pact to pinkslip the prexyship.

Army topper Ulysses Grant was skedded to join Lincoln for the perf but nixed.

Gov’t has tapped veepee Andrew Johnson to assume prexy powers.

***

BEANTOWN DRINKS DEEP
‘Sons’ Liberate 45 Tons

‘Sons of Liberty’ helmer Samuel Adams led a ragtag crew to Griffin’s Wharf late last night, where the Indian-garbed creepers hoofed aboard a trio of British merch-haulers and dumped 90,000 lbs. of East India Co. tea into Boston Harbor.

England has enjoyed socko tax revs on merch in the 13 cols since the Stamp Act of 1765. Beantown trader John Hancock’s evasive maneuvers around Old World rev streams meant boffo biz for the goodsman, but the competish made choppy waters for O.W. merchants. Notably, British tea distrib East India Co. faced a major downturn in all sectors and appealed to London for bailout.

Meanwhile, crix of the Kingery have decried the lack of U.S. reps across the pond. British lawbuilders have imposed their payola scheme on the cols without inviting the R-pronouncers to rest their cheeks in Parliam.

The resulting Tea Act led to the recent seizure of Hancock’s bizfloater by Redcoat coin-counters and led to confabs around the cols mulling takeover bids against the Kingery. Adams and other indie tubthumpers have called for the ouster of East India Co. execs and whipped up a series of powwows rallying plebes to their position.

Said kettle boiled over last night with the wharf walkon. Vessels HMS Dartmouth, HMS Beaver and HMS Eleanour were overboarded of product worth a cume of £10K.

Expat Benjamin Franklin has offered to cover the East India Co.’s nuts.

***

PILGRIMS, INK
Plymouth Pact ‘May’ Flower

New World scribe William Bradford reports that 41 settlers have inked a deal for a ‘civill body politick’ in Cape Cod. Previously set up with the London Co., tyro citybuilders declined to re-up with the English land distrib and instead are hanging their own shingle as the Plymouth Co. So-called ‘Mayflower Compact’ calls for ‘just & equall lawes’ and will be helmed by John Carver.

Floaters eyeballed Provincetown before making land at Plymouth. Praisers cite ‘abundance of firewood and fresh water’ as keys in the decision. Buckleshoes’ current slate calls for first settlement to preem in the Virginia Colony by 4Q ‘20. Sources claim the Ps will also continue to use the Georgian Calendar.

Jamestown topper John Smith called the Plymouth pondhoppers ‘bloody wankers’ and wished them ‘luck surviving the winter.’

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