ladylynxwillow

[ladylynxwillow]

i dont consider myself a 'fashion guru' by any means but one thing i will say is guys you dont need to know the specific brand an item you like is - you need to know what the item is called. very rarely does a brand matter, but knowing that pair of pants is called 'cargo' vs 'boot cut' or the names of dress styles is going to help you find clothes you like WAAAYYYY faster than brand shopping

[ladylynxwillow]

Cincinnatians Gobbled Up Tales Of Barnyard Freaks And Vegetable Monstrosities

As autumn leaves littered the increasingly wintry ground it was, in days gone by, the signal for newspapers to trumpet the latest freak of nature emerging from the local barnyards. Cincinnati editors gleefully pounced on any monstrosity – animal or vegetable – that wandered in from the hinterlands.

The Cincinnati Post [28 July 1897] published a drawing of an ear of corn shaped like a human arm. The bizarre cob had been discovered by Albert Sturm, a traveling salesman who lived at 2331 Grandview Avenue in East Walnut Hills. Mr. Sturm’s office was on Pearl Street in the Bottoms, so it is likely he purchased the errant ear at the Pearl Street Market. He placed his remarkable discovery on display at a saloon in the West End.

Intriguingly, a similar chiroform cob had been discovered precisely three years prior and highlighted with a detailed analysis by the Cincinnati Enquirer [28 July 1894]. The newspaper argued against a supernatural interpretation of the phenomenon:

“The peculiar formation of the ear is due to the production of doubled celled blossoms, such as occur in almost every form of plant life. Pumpkins and squashes have been known to take on the likeness of the human face and the root of the mandrake assumes the form of a man with startling fidelity. This is the first time on record that the useful and nourishing corn plant ever tried anything in that direction. It was the general impression among the ignorant when the freak appeared, that it signified that the arm of the Lord had been stretched forth to destroy the world. This, of course, was based upon immature study of the Bible.”

Curious shapes afflicted all sorts of vegetables. W.G. Langdale, of Milford, Ohio, borrowed a most peculiar potato from a baker located in Lawrenceburg, Indiana, according to the Cincinnati Post [16 December 1903]. The spud was not only generally canine-shaped, but specifically resembled a popular cartoon dog at the time, known as Doc. Mr. Langdale allowed the Post to photograph the poochified potato, but insisted his ownership was temporary and that it would shortly be returned to its rightful owner.

Another animal-shaped potato was dug up a year earlier in Dayton, Kentucky, the Enquirer [26 November 1902] reported. This tuber was shaped like an almost perfect imitation of a frog and weighed three pounds. As was often the disposition of such curiosities back then, the weird vegetable was placed on display at Joe Walpert’s saloon.

The Cincinnati Post [24 November 1892] carried news of a Kentucky farmer who planned to send to the Chicago World’s Fair a potato he grew shaped very much like a fist:

“It is an exact counterpart of a clinched fist. The fingers, knuckles, joints and nails are distinctly defined, and where it connects with the vine it has widened out, resembling a human wrist.”

Such oddball entities were not confined to the vegetable kingdom. Cincinnatians gobbled up any reports of animals exhibiting any features out of the ordinary, including some truly suspicious yarns.

Take the dubious tale spun by the Enquirer [22 February 1870] about a little girl, who found a little turtle down by a little creek. Unlike most similar stories, in which the little girl raises her cute shellback hostage as a pet, this minion of the netherworld decided she wanted only the pretty shell, so she gave the turtle to her mother, who promptly decapitated the thing and began eviscerating it.

“After a while the heart was taken out, and excited no little curiosity from the fact that it was beating still, although some time had elapsed since the turtle’s life was supposed to be ended by taking off its head.”

Mom, possessed of the same morbid curiosity as her demonic offspring, stuck the beating turtle heart on a needle and watched it continue to throb for the next four and a half days! Tiring of this macabre entertainment, the mother tossed the still-beating turtle heart into the back yard, where it was promptly devoured by an old grey hen.

End of story? Of course not! Several days later, the family chicken laid an egg, which was gathered up for the family’s breakfast.

“The mother took ‘Biddy’s’ egg, opened it, and in the very center of it found the identical heart which had been thrown away previously, and in as perfect a condition as ever. She could hardly believe her eyes, and so she called her husband and children, all of whom were satisfied that it was the same heart, as the needle punctures were still plainly visible.”

Cincinnati was a key market town for farmers throughout the Tri-State region, not only because of our various street markets, but due to a thriving wholesale business. Often, commission merchants found some marvel among their shipments and took it “on ‘Change” the next day – in other words, to the Merchants Exchange at the Chamber of Commerce. Such was the case with a chicken displayed on ‘Change and reported to the Cincinnati Gazette [22 April 1895]. This hen’s special trait was undiscovered until it had been plucked.

“In addition to having a naturally formed head, with two perfect eyes, the fowl was found after being dressed to have two more perfectly formed eyes, with perfect eyelids, one on either side of the oil sack above the tail.”

After entertaining the commission agents for a couple of days, the bird was donated to the Society of Natural History for preservation.

Fred Beineke raised goats at his place on Berlin Street (now Woodrow Street) in Lower Price Hill. One day, according to the Enquirer [28 August 1890] two normal kids and a caprine monstrosity were born in his shed. The poor thing sported two conjoined heads.

“It has four eyes, two mouths, two tongues! Its ears are set back further than usual. While all regularly formed goats have no upper teeth – only a hard gum – this one has a set in the upper jaw of each head, making it have four sets of teeth. In the middle of the two heads there is one eye-socket, with two eye-balls.”

Almost every day, the local papers published items about animals born with extraneous limbs or appendages, so six-legged horses, five-legged cows, four legged-ducks and pigs with four ears were almost a normal occurrence in the annual autumnal freak show.

[ladylynxwillow]

yeah i'm wlw (wench loving wench)

[ladylynxwillow]

and with your help it can rack up 700k notes on tumblr in 2024

no tumblr this doesnt need tags im releasing it into the wild as god intended

[ladylynxwillow]

[ladylynxwillow]

The people who police your gender will police your gender even if you're cis.

Eat them.

[ladylynxwillow]

Time to visit some souls 🐐🌼

[ladylynxwillow]

This was Hillary's final rally in Philadelphia in 2016. She had a crowd size of 40,000+ people. If you think you don't have to vote because the numbers appear good for Harris right now, think again. It's not over until it's over. Vote.

[ladylynxwillow]

This is as much as I could finish for Halloween !! First few pages of my new comic 'Eden'. Keep an eye out for monthly updates! I'm going to start a patreon soon for early/full access

[ladylynxwillow]

Is There A Cincinnati Neighborhood That Has Never Claimed A Haunted House?

As the Eve of All Hallows looms, let us ponder an assortment of Cincinnati’s classic haunted houses of yore. This list could easily be doubled or tripled in length.

Steele Subdivision Poor Fred Limke met a dreadful end in 1916. A plasterer by trade, Mr. Limke lived on Witler Street in Cumminsville. He had been employed by a contractor working in the Steele Subdivision of Springfield Township on the border of College Hill. Mr. Limke’s body was found in the “vault” or privy pit, half-buried in “debris.” (Let’s stick to euphemisms, shall we?) He had not been seen for some time and the delay in locating his earthy and earthly remains was the result of this “vault” being located on the grounds of a haunted house. Vacant by then for many years, the house in question, according to the Cincinnati Enquirer [11 November 1916] had formerly been occupied by a restaurant and poolroom. Neighbors for some years had reported unnatural sights and sounds in the vicinity of the house.

“So firm are they in their belief the house is inhabited by a spirit that police could not persuade them to approach the vault in which the body was found.”

Perhaps. Perhaps it was the emanations from that debris which kept them away.

Dublin Street Down near the bottom of Eggleston Avenue, where the bloody Deer Creek once vomited into the Ohio River, there once was a quite destitute Irish neighborhood named Dublin Street. In 1903, the denizens of Dublin Street cowered in their houses after dark, afraid to venture forth because “Ginger” Ryan had returned. Ginger had been a giant of a man with a decidedly short temper. He drove an express wagon, drank whiskey by the quart and battered any poor soul who looked at him sideways. When Ginger died, there was great relief in Dublin Street and now, here he was, back again, his temper intact. The Enquirer [20 October 1903] reported that the ghost rose up one night from a manhole located near the spot where his old livery stable stood, bathed in a “ghastly glow” and fully recognizable by those who knew Ginger all too well.

“The spirit, they claim, wandered around the open mouth of the manhole. It went through the actions of ‘Ginger’ when he hitched up his horse and wagon when alive. It was in view five minutes and then disappeared into the manhole. The story spread with great rapidity that the ghost has appeared at a certain hour every night since. Many declare they have seen it, and all swear there is no fake about it. The ghost is the real thing, but nobody up there cares to shake the shade of ‘Ginger’ by the hand and bid it welcome.”

East End It’s all demolished now, but there once was a small riverfront community a stone’s throw upriver from Dublin Street, where a long-gone byway named Collord Street intersected Front Street. A Mrs. McDonald kept a small house there and rented an even smaller house behind it to a Mrs. Loescher. One night this tenant was awakened by a shower of stones and wooden paving blocks plopping onto her roof and porch. So loud were the impacts of these projectiles that a small crowd gathered to watch and determine the source of the onslaught. Rumors spread that it was the ghost of a Mrs. Ormston who was behind it all. Older residents claimed the McDonald family had cheated Mrs. Ormston out of $500 and that she had gone to her grave cursing that family. Others pointed to a spiritualist who had held seances in his house on the neighboring Kittall Alley, while another group hypothesized that it was all the doing of a Mrs. Walsh who lived on the nearby slopes of Mount Adams. After her death some years back, residents of Collord Street said they saw Mrs. Walsh floating through the air clad in white or appearing at their windows. Whatever the cause, Mrs. Loescher’s yard and porch were soon littered with bricks, branches and debris of all sorts. The police suggested that a gang of teenage girls were the real culprits, but they were never charged.

West End The rather tony neighborhood that once graced the far western reaches of Eighth Street, out between Cutter and Linn, disappeared under the interstate highway ages ago. The Cincinnati Tribune [31 August 1895] described the agitation of the occupants of a high-class boarding house on that block. Not only the residents, but the landlady herself, were awakened night after night by mysterious rapping sounds apparently emanating from the headboards of their beds. First in one room, then another, on this floor then that floor, the rhythmic knocking awakened all the sleepers in the house.

In addition to the violent rat-tat-tat, residents noticed that a door at the end of a long first-floor hallway would not stay shut. No matter how often they closed the door and ensured that it snapped shut, it would inevitably be found ajar just minutes later. That door led into the cellar, utterly unused for years. The floor of the cellar was clay and was covered by a layer of sand about a foot and a half deep. As it happened, some workmen were engaged in repairing a brick wall along the rear of the property and were using this sand in their mortar. As one of the masons jabbed his shovel into the cellar floor, he struck something that was neither clay nor sand. It was a human skeleton.

Investigation revealed that the building, now divided into multiple rooms, had once been the residence and office of Doctor Thaddeus A. Reamy, a distinguished professor at the University of Cincinnati College of Medicine. Although the Tribune suggested that Doctor Reamy may have had something to do with the skeleton in the cellar, he was never questioned about the situation and the peculiar manifestations continued unabated.

Newport The Cincinnati Tribune [9 March 1894] carried the news of an unruly mob gathered in front of a house on Lindsey Street in Newport. The house had gained a terrible reputation a few years earlier when a little girl residing there died from choking on a toy balloon. The evening gathering had witnessed an apparition that seemed to have nothing to do with the tragic toddler. More than one hundred people crowded onto Lindsey Street to witness a ghastly sight in the front windows. It was a spectral hand, holding a flaming torch, passing from window to window, occasionally stopping to wave the torch in a threatening manner. Some observers claimed that the fingers of the ghostly extremity were covered in diamonds. A couple local men (it was not clear whether or not they had been visiting the nearby saloon) volunteered to investigate and barged into the house. They emerged to report they had seen nothing unusual. The crowd, incredulous, hung around for the next appearance.

Evanston The Cincinnati Post [28 July 1897] announced that a vacant house on Gilpin Avenue in Evanston was undoubtedly haunted by the ghosts of a poor peddler who, along with his infant child, were murdered some years before at that address. Each evening, the ghost of the peddler, carrying his baby’s ghost, wandered through the decrepit old building, accompanied by the requisite moaning and shrieking. The very next day, the Post published, well, not a retraction, actually – more of an explanation. The ghost story had been dreamed up by neighborhood parents, concerned about their children playing in the run-down dump. The stratagem worked. The children stayed away from the house and ran past it in fright.

[ladylynxwillow]

🔁lovefändel🎸follow

🔁rightintomyheart 💗🎼

How much of this shit do I have to learn from tumblr dot com what do you MEAN Love Händel is just??? Coming back?

🔁wannahavefunfunfun👩‍🎤follow

Op casually leaving out that the entire thing has been organized by Lindana’s children

🔁lovefandël 🎸follow

HUH?

🔁rightintomyheart💗🎼follow

Just to clarify you mean like. THE Lindana. As in the pop star from the 80s.

🔁wannahavefunfunfun👩‍🎤🎼follow

I do! Bobbi (who has been running a hair salon since the band’s breakup) updated the website saying he’ll be out for a reunion concert. And that he was convinced after speaking with two kids—Phineas and Ferb Flynn-Fletcher, who want them to come back to perform at their mother, Linda’s anniversary.

🔁martysmusicalblenderthemusical🐰follow

🔁inthedrzone⏰🐒follow

Ohhh so nepotism 🙄

🔁Danny 🎸✌️follow

No, not nepotism. You guys don’t get to hate on these kids, they’re super cool. They came into my shop & asked me to perform for their parents. They made no mention of their mom being Lindana. We’re literally prepping for the concert right now and I just learned this from tumblr. Had to fact check it with Bobbi. Point is, at no point did they try to leverage their mom’s fame. They genuinely just wanted to do something sweet for their parents. I doubt they even thought to try and use their mother’s status. They simply explained how passionate their parents were about the band.

🔁rightintoyourheart💗🎼follow

DANNY?

🔁lovefändel 🎸follow

Ok so tonight we have learned:

Love Handel is coming back

Lindana’s children asked them to come back

Lindana’s kids apparently don’t even realize the implications of their mom having previously been famous

Danny of Love Handël uses tumblr

Danny ALSO is getting his news from tumblr

🔁lovefändel 🎸follow

#also I did some digging #and like #her kids also wrote gitchee gitchee goo??!! #but then just #never did music again #and again did Not mention their mom

HELLO??

[ladylynxwillow]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

[ladylynxwillow]

Thinking about her

[ladylynxwillow]

Because I remember disinformation being spread around the last few elections and I’m sure assholes will bring it back:

YOU CAN’T VOTE ONLINE.

YOU CAN’T VOTE FROM YOUR PHONE.

IN MANY STATES THERE ARE LEGAL CONSEQUENCES FOR PHOTOGRAPHING YOUR BALLOT.

DO NOT WEAR CAMPAIGN GEAR TO THE POLLS.

DO NOT TRY TO PERSUADE PEOPLE TO VOTE FOR A CANDIDATE AT THE POLLS.

DO NOT ENGAGE IN ANY KIND OF POLITICAL DISCOURSE AT THE POLLS.

NO ELECTION IS EVER A SURE THING, EVEN IF YOU’RE IN THE BLUEST OR REDDEST OF STATES.  IF SOMEONE TRIES TO TELL YOU THAT YOU CAN SIT THIS ONE OUT, THEY ARE EITHER IGNORANT OR MALICIOUS.

VOTE.

[ladylynxwillow]

Though Rare, Cincinnati Has Occasionally Reported Vampires Of One Type Or Another

Over our long history, Cincinnati has endured sea monsters, humanoid frogs, body-snatching ghouls and ghosts of every description. But very rarely vampires.

And yet, Cincinnati has not entirely escaped the undead. In 1867, the Cincinnati Enquirer related the ordeal of an unnamed young man who engaged a room “at one of our most respectable boarding houses.” Although the room appeared entirely satisfactory, the young man found himself growing weaker and more exhausted by the day.

“For some time he could not imagine the cause of the lassitude he felt every morning, but about a week ago he discovered a small puncture on his arm, from which it was evident that blood had been drawn, and every morning thereafter he found a new puncture upon some fleshy portion of his body. He was mystified as how these punctures were made, and what made them.”

The young man resolved to remain awake and vigilant to catch the blood-sucking entity in action but, in his weakened condition, he was unable to remain alert and inevitably fell into a troubled slumber, only to drift into consciousness the next morning with a fresh puncture and an increased level of fatigue. He enlisted a companion to sit up in his room in hopes of trapping the perpetrator, but his friend also surrendered to sleep. In the morning, both young men had fresh puncture wounds and the volunteer vehemently declined to spend another night in that room.

By this time, the young man’s appearance so distressed his friends that they implored him to take rooms in another establishment but he was so fixated on solving the mystery that he ignored their pleas and continued to weaken as every stratagem failed to produce any useful information. At last, on a night when he lay abed with a lamp burning brightly, the young man was roused by a stinging sensation on his arm. He immediately grabbed at that spot, but found nothing there and could see nothing in the room.

“The old superstition of vampires at once became fixed upon his mind, and he resolved to leave the house, which he did the next morning, repairing to another part of the city. Strange to say, since his change of quarters he has not been again visited by the midnight blood-sucker, and is fast regaining his health.”

According to the Enquirer, since the young man’s story became known, previous tenants of that same room had come forward with similar reports of nocturnal blood loss that they had suppressed out of embarrassment or fear. Despite this collection of anecdotes from respectable citizens, the newspaper declined to attribute these activities to ancient folklore:

“We have no faith whatever in the superstition regarding vampires, and are inclined to think that the blood-loving visitant was more of a material than a supernatural creature.”

Nonetheless, somebody in Cincinnati apparently believed in vampires in one form or another. Perhaps the most unusual classified advertisement in the city’s history appeared in the Enquirer on 23 December 1896. The personal item reads, in its entirety:

“Vampire – State price and where to be seen.”

Just a few days before that bizarre little squib appeared in the classified section, the Enquirer reported that famers in Northern Kentucky were organizing posses to track down the vampire that was killing their animals by draining their blood. Although the newspaper and the farmers called the perpetrator a vampire, most thought it was a lynx or a ferret. Whatever it was, it frightened its canine pursuers. According to the Enquirer [21 December 1896]:

“So far all efforts to track the strange animal down have proved futile. For several days farmers have been out hunting for it with guns and dogs. Its track was discovered in several places, and the dogs given the scent, but they invariably return with their tails between their legs and a frightened expression on their faces.”

The Cincinnati Gazette [9 September 1878] reported on a peculiar circumstance out in one of the rural areas outside the Queen City. It seems that a woman had just buried her third husband. All three of her spouses noticeably wasted away before they died and there was talk in the nearby hamlet that the widow must have employed some concoction to hasten their journey into eternity. The Gazette would have none of that.

“They who have observed much of the married life of their neighbors, with a philosophic spirit, will agree that the mere circumstance that three husbands dwindled away in succession should not be received as evidence that the wife administered any medicines to effect this defect; for this would be to undervalue the womanly accomplishments. There are not a few women, who, when single exercise the little amount of fascination which is required to take captive a man, but who, after the bridal glamour in worn off, have a vampire influence, under which their husbands shrivel up and go out in a lingering way which is called a mysterious dispensation of Providence.”

In other words, many women are natural-born vampires and the fact that their husbands wither away is a sign of divine mercy.

“Such a wife is a very vampire to the man. She needs no aid from drugs to take him off. Indeed, so various are these fascinations of wives under which men droop and drop out, that the successive departures of husbands of one woman, instead of being cause to suspect the use of artificial means, testify rather to the potency of her natural gifts.”

On 22 March 1879, the Enquirer published a long and rambling tale supposedly handed down from one William Wilson, postmaster of Yellow Springs, Ohio. Postmaster Wilson allegedly encountered a vampire some twenty years previously while passing through a village named Old Town on the road home from Xenia. Wilson described this vampire as prodigiously hairy and covered in patches of dried blood, while exhibiting super-human feats of strength, speed and agility. Despite these uncanny attributes, the Yellow Springs vampire comes across as more tendentiously moralistic than horrifying.

Also less horrifying than mysterious is the apparently very talented baseball team of nearby Falmouth, Kentucky. From at least 1878 to 1884 this team, who demolished all comers, was known as the Falmouth Vampires.

[ladylynxwillow]

my bravest knighttt... come hither ..... mmmwah !! ok you are dismissed

[ladylynxwillow]

me when we start eating billionaires and i have to kill gomez addams