|Femmes Fatales||May 29 2016|
Evangelina Elizondo was born in Mexico City and worked during the golden age of Mexican cinema, which was between 1936 and 1959, according to most sources. In addition to appearing in dozens of films, she recorded a couple of albums, wrote a couple of books, and remains active today, at least online. The above photo, with its striking noir style and leaning pose that has to be more difficult than it looks, dates from around 1955.
|Mondo Bizarro||May 29 2016|
Fisk's sales materials boast that not only could his burial cases be drained of air, aiding preservation, but—if one chose—filled with any type of atmosphere or fluid. Just a year after he displayed them at those New York exhibitions, former U.S. Vice-President and Secretary of State John C. Calhoun died and was buried in one. The publicity caused a wave of nationwide interest that prompted Fisk to license his expensive invention to other companies. Eventually, Crane, Breed & Co., of Cincinnati and New Orleans acquired a license, and made coffins sporting the types of viewing windows featured on the San Francisco discovery.
What will happen the little girl's body is still unknown. San Francisco ordinances make her the property owner's responsibility. Reburial has been mentioned by said property owner, but we'd be surprised if anthropologists didn't get a look at the girl first. Autopsies on bodies ofthat age have uncovered troves of data about diet, disease, and more. Afterward she can be laid to rest somewhere well out of the way of San Francisco's ongoing makeover into millionaire Disneyland.
|Vintage Pulp||May 29 2016|
Below, a cover and interior scans from the mid-century burlesque magazine Cancans de Paris, with Sophia Loren, Martine Beswick, Laya Raki, and Senta Berger, who the magazine mistakenly calls Santa. Well, ho ho ho—if you want to be even more naughty this Sunday click the links for the other two Cancans de Paris we posted here and here.
|Vintage Pulp||May 28 2016|
Italian illustrator Bendetto Caroselli painted this cover for Cuori per Satana, which means “hearts for Satan,” and it was written by Silver Ales for I Capolavori della Serie KKK's series Classici dell'Orrore, and published by Edizioni Periodici Italiani in 1968. Silver Ales was a pseudonym used by Silvano Alessandrini, a prolific poet, playwright, author of twenty-six detective novels, and longtime school teacher. His weird pen name sounds like a category of fancy microbrews, but we approve—it definitely sticks in the head. And of course Benedetto Caroselli was an artistic genius, which you can confirm yourself by looking here and here.
|Vintage Pulp||May 27 2016|
Bet it's been a long time since you heard the term “Hershey highway.” Well, Rampage, which bills itself as “America's top satire and humor weekly,” fixes that on this cover from today in 1973 with a story about the utility of anal sex for birth control. The cover features a curious photo of a girl with her tongue out. We showed it to the Pulp Intl. girlfriends and here's an actual reaction: “Sure. Laaaaaa—I want dick in my butt. Sorry. Not having anal sex with you.” It wasn't a hint—we just wanted a good quote. Mission fully accomplished.
Rampage's anal sex story is told in first person and goes into astonishing detail. Here's a snippet: “He holds on to the cheeks of my ass, keeping them spread wide while his manhood rams me like a goat. I reach back with one hand and alternately massage my clitoris and his balls.” You get the picture. The author basically makes this a primer on back door loving, from beginning to end, so to speak, stopping just short of discussing how to avoid santorum problems. In fact, the story is so positive about the practice maybe we'll ask the girls to read it and tell them it is a hint.
This is classic Rampage—sleaze dressed up as journalism, written from the point-of-view of a sexually precocious sixteen-year-old, but doubtless penned by a thirty-something aspiring Faulkner. Did any of these hacks go on to write novels? Who can say? It's always a fun game uncovering the respectable authors behind sex fiction, but in the case of tabloids the undoubtedly informal nature of commissioning the articles would make tracing their provenance an impossible task. The authors would have to admit it themselves. And why on earth would they do that? Eleven scans below.
|Vintage Pulp||May 26 2016|
Whenever we say “someone” should do something that just means we’re being lazy. A couple of days ago we said we liked therapy sleaze fiction covers and someone should put together a collection. Well, that someone turned out to be us. We took a quick scuttle around the web and the result is this small group of people baring their souls—and sometimes more—to their therapists. In P.G. Wodehouse’s case, the main character of Lady Doctor is actually a medical practitioner, but since others confide in her and the awesome Dutch cover is psychoanalytic in style, we’ve included that. The last three examples come from Killer Covers, which is a site you should get into the habit of visiting regularly.
|Intl. Notebook||May 26 2016|
Does this image of Karin Dor look familiar? Possibly because it’s the same one we used in a femme fatale post on her late last year. It was made to promote the film You Only Live Twice, and appeared in many places, here for example on the cover of the French magazine Cinémonde. Focusing pretty much exclusively on movies and movie stars, Cinémonde launched in 1928 and lasted until 1971, with seven years of dormancy from 1940 to 1946, and another two in 1969 and 1970. The examples you see here are all from the mid- to late-1960s, when director Maurice Bessy moved toward less conservative graphics than in the past. Generally Cinémonde cover stars were women, often French, but every once in a while a guy made the cut, such as the fronts with Marlon Brando and Gérard Philipe below. We’ll get to the interiors of Cinémonde a bit later.
|Vintage Pulp||May 25 2016|
|Vintage Pulp||May 24 2016|
We really like these psychotherapy sleaze covers. There are quite a few out there, probably enough for a collective post of them, but today we'll just go with one—Adam Coulter's 1965 sleazer Couch of Desire, about a psychologist who has a sexually disinterested wife, and several sexually interested female patients. You know the drill. Just lay back, close your eyes, and you'll start feeling very, very... creepy.
|Vintage Pulp||May 24 2016|