#Hogan Collection

[shitpostingkats]

The mods are asleep, post Crow Hogan in a tshirt and without his headband.

[fallout-lou-begas]

starting a collection

[ghosthorse-tracks]

Hogan, stop negging him! He’s sensitive 🥺

[sonnykissed]

Was just finishing up my annual rewatch of ‘Paris is Burning’ and immediately this thought came to my mind:

I tried to pick folks on the roster who aren’t in prominent storylines on the A Show who could be a great addition to MXM and get them into some fun storylines

[inkblackorchid]

Yugioh 5Ds analysis masterpost

AKA I finally decided to collect all my 5Ds rambles in one place for people's convenience. Behold an itemised list of all the things I have yelled about in great detail thus far.

Characters:

Aki

Me going insane about Fortune Cup and Dark Signers Aki because I love her to death

A rant about all the setup the pre-WRGP did for her that was never paid off

Why Aki losing her powers bothers me for reasons beyond "her powers were cool though"

Yusei

A rant about why Yusei's issues regarding Zero Reverse make me want to punch a wall (in both a good and a bad way)

Crow

A deep dive into Crow's character writing and what happened to it (part one: DS arc)

A deep dive into Crow's character writing and what happened to it (part two: pre-WRGP arc + the Pearson backstory)

Carly

Why the sudden change in Carly's writing was detrimental not just to her

Plotlines:

The Meklord worldbuilding and its many holes that give me headaches

This post will be updated as I write about more topics. If you ever wanna hear my opinion on anything specific, feel free to ask.

[chineseredcarpet]

Tan Jianci for the Hogan SS2425 Men's Collection at Milan Fashion Week

[radarsteddybear]

LeBeau looks SO SMALL HERE

[uwmspeccoll]

Steamy Saturday

An obviously gay but crafty detective, Francis Morely; suggestive banter between Morely and his straight, ex-football player sidekick, Tiger Olsen; a camera behind a two-way mirror in a notorious bathhouse run by the sinister Joe Cannelli; blackmail and murder of privileged high society members; and the blond, sultry "nymphomaniac on the make," Vivien Holden -- this pulp novel, The Gay Detective, published in 1961 by Saber Books in Fresno, California, is all kinds of steamy!

The suggestive cover art bears the caption, “Francis and Tiger found out what they needed to know. The Trick now was to get the nude Vivien out of the bathhouse and to safety.” The excerpt on the flyleaf has Francis "mincing a bit towards his new car . . . 'Oh, I can see that you're going to be a big help to me. . . . So, there you great hulk. Now get moving.' Glancing around to be sure they were unobserved, Tiger put a hand on his hip and flipped his other wrist. 'And whoops to you, too,' he said with his boyish grin." And the quote on the back cover makes a reverse implication of St. Paul's statement, "there is nothing unclean of itself; but to him that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, to him it is unclean.”

Quite tame by today's standards, The Gay Detective, considered the first published gay American murder mystery novel, was written by Lou Rand, a pseudonym for Lou Hogan (born Louis Randall, 1910-1976), a professional chef, columnist for Gourmet magazine, and author of The Gay Cookbook (1965). Saber Books was one of several imprints owned by Fresno author and publisher Sanford Aday, a notorious purveyor of steamy pulp fiction, who was eventually tried and convicted of distributing obscene material.

View other pulp fiction posts.

[wirwerdensiegen]

Gong Jun Studio Weibo Update 2023/08/17.

[ssjrodimus]

Hulk Hogan - WWE Superstars [Series 6] - Mattel / WWE

"Rowdy" Roddy Piper - WWE Superstars [Series 6] - Mattel / WWE

[kollectorsrus]

[winterxranger92]

[stewssportscards]

Full Lot Of 12 1990 WWF Wrestling Magazines

[hardpressedcollection]

Bid Here HARD PRESSED EBAY SOLD!

🤼🤼‍♀️🤼‍♂️

Bid Here HARD PRESSED EBAY SOLD!

[daimonclub]

A Christmas story

Christmas in Australia A Christmas story. Ella Gray. A Christmas Story from an Australian Christmas collection: stories, sketches, essays by James Francis Hogan published in 1880. Christmas being, proverbially and traditionally the time for family reunions, it is only in accord with the spirit of the season that a writer should celebrate that great festival by bringing together the scattered productions of his pen, and placing them sociably side by side between the covers of one book. This volume is, for the most part, a selection, from my contributions to Australian periodical and newspaper literature during the past few years. James Francis Hogan 1st December, 1880. Ella Gray. A Christmas Story. Forty years ago an Irish emigrant ship sailed into Hobson's Bay, and strengthened the infant settlement with an infusion of three hundred more souls. As she dropped anchor off Williamstown, her passengers crowded her decks, engaged in animated conversation, and surveyed the low semicircular shore with the blue­ clad mountains in the distance. On some of their faces there was a look of eager expectancy, as if an inward voice was assuring them of a successful future in the boundless field for their energies that now opened up before their wondering eyes; others were calmly contemplative, as if recollections of familiar scenes in the "dear isle of the west" came thronging on their memories, and mingled with their impressions of the new sights that now surrounded them. In the crowd, too, were to be seen some in whom hope was evidently struggling with hesitating, and who were apparently conjecturing within themselves what the future had in store for them in this strange land. Standing out conspicuously from the main body of the passengers was the figure of a tall, muscular young man, who, with folded arms, was leaning against the bulwarks of the Ocean Monarch, and looking intently in the direction of the collection of huts that then constituted the nucleus of what is now the metropolis of Victoria. He had that look of unconquerable determination in his eye, that honest, manly exterior which is the best certificate of character, a sound corporeal frame, capable of withstanding fatigue and privation, and a trustful countenance, beaming with intelligence and common­sense, that pointed him out as an exemplar of the true type of colonist for a young and undeveloped country. That striking young man of 25 was Ormond Gray, a junior member of an old Dublin family. His adventurous disposition revolted at the idea of treading slowly in the professional path that his father had marked out for him; his soul had been fired by what he had read of the newly discovered lands in the great Southern continent, and after a protracted struggle, be had succeeded in gaining the paternal permission to emigrate to Port Phillip. What impelled him all the more to this decision was the brave desire to speedily build up a home, not so much for himself as for the beloved of his young affections, and the grief of the lovers' parting on the deck of the emigrant ship was lessened, and almost gladdened, by the thought that their separation would be but for a time; that the stalwart young Irish man was only going before to prepare the way for the amiable, attractive and graceful Irish maiden, and that she would soon be sent for, so that her presence would be as the sunshine in his Australian abode. Nor was it long before the promise was fulfilled.

A Christmas Australian story Spurred on the ever-present image of the dear one at home, and by his own fixed determination to succeed, Ormond Gray, in less than a year from the day on which he sailed into Hobson's Bay; had become a pastoral settler on a splendid tract of land, stretching from the borders of the Black Forest away for many miles to the west. The homestead which he had established on a little hill, with a running stream around its base, overlooked a wide and richly-grassed area, dotted by bis grazing flocks. It had just been completed in time far the reception of its young Irish mistress, and that was a day of pride and rejoicing for Ormond Gray when he escorted his newly-made bride from Melbourne, and placed her in possession of Glenmore, a pretty name he had borrowed from their native Hibernian soil to bestow on their new Australian home. For a few years the emigrant couple lived a life of almost primeval simplicity, adding to their pastoral wealth, befriending all the poor blacks in the neighborhood, and hospitably welcoming the occasional travelers who came their way. But a great change was coming over the face of the silent land. The exciting news of the discovery of gold had been spread abroad, and crowds of travelers from every country could be seen from Glenmore hurrying on their way to the Bendigo diggings. Many of them soon returned along the same route laden with the golden treasures they had unearthed, and glad, indeed, they were, if they succeeded in getting back to Melbourne without being "bailed up" and despoiled, far the Black Forest had now become the haunt of desperate bush­ rangers, who sallied forth from its darksome recesses, carried dismay into the ranks of the returning diggers, and not unfrequently added murder to pillage. It was Christmas Eve, 1852, and the fiery rays of the summer sun were lighting up the western face of a granite peak that ascended abruptly to a height of 500 feet from the heart of the Black Forest. This huge mass of rock has since been diligently studied by geologists, both amateur and professional, who have assured their less scientific acquaintances that it was belched forth ages ago from the crater of the adjacent Mount Macedon, when that now favourite summer resort was a volcano in full activity. But at the time of which we are now speaking, no man of science had attempted to penetrate the dark and dense Black Forest in order to solve the mystery of this solitary peak. No sign whatever of human presence was discernible there; no indication of any inquisitive visitor having attempted to scale the precipitous sides of this towering mass of granite. It was the only object that broke the blackness of the harsh and forbidding forest. The thickly-clustered box and stringy-bark trees came up to its very base: and dashed their branches against its frowning sides, as if resenting its intrusion on their domain. And yet, grim and silent as it seemed on that summer afternoon, the isolated peak in the forest was not without its inhabitants. At an angle on its northern side, if you forced your way through the tangled undergrowth that environed a giant eucalyptus, you would have discovered a rift in the granite wall sufficiently wide to admit a man of ordinary size.

The Black Forest Entering that previously invisible opening, you would have found yourself in an irregular-shaped natural chamber, with boulders of granite scattered about on its floor, having apparently fallen from the roof, a considerable height overhead. The farthest wall of this strange apartment had so many rocky projections that you saw at a glance the possibility of climbing to a platform situated a little more than half-way up to the roof; and if you were adventurous enough to attempt the feat and lucky enough to perform it successfully, your intrepidity would have been rewarded with a fresh discovery. You would land on the threshold of a second and smaller cave, commanding an extensive view of the forest through a fissure in its western wall, which was now admitting a bar of golden sunlight into the lofty rocky room. This elevated natural observatory was tenanted by a man, a woman and an infant. It had evidently been used as a habitation for some time, and it was easily to be seen that a gentle band had been at work in an effort, only moderately successful, to give a homelike aspect to this mountain cave. Walking slowly up and down the apartment, with her baby in her arms, the young but prematurely-aged mother was a picture to excite a tender sympathy. She was paying a terrible penalty for a hasty marriage. She had been aroused from a brief dream of happiness to find herself the wife of an escaped ticket-of-leave man from across the straits, but, deceived and degraded though she was, she uttered no reproach against the husband of her choice, she accepted her hard fate in silence, and, when he was forced to fly from the haunts of men in order to avoid being recaptured and sent back to a penal colony, she devotedly clung to him, shared all his dangers and privations, and now for six months had occupied with him this unknown hiding-place in the heart of the Black Forest. In the corner of the cave, a well-built man in the full prime and vigour of life was stooping over a "swag,'' whose contents he was rapidly turning out on the floor. A loaded musket was standing by his side against the wall, and the ends of two revolvers protruded from his belt. A heap of various articles of personal and domestic comfort, taken from the "swag" that he was engaged in dissecting, had been cast aside as if of no account; put suddenly he started to his feet, holding in one hand a small black bag. This he opened with some difficulty, and his eyes sparkled with delight as he gazed on the shining nuggets of gold with which it was filled. "Ha ha," he exclaimed, "I knew I would find something like you at last. I was certain the three new chums I stuck up to-day had a nest-egg among them. Look here, Alice, a thousand pounds worth at the very least." "I cannot bear to see it, Henry," she replied. "Oh, do give up this dreadful life, and come away from this horrible place to some other land, where I am sure we shall be happy again." "So we shall, my dear, and as soon as we get a few more windfalls like this lucky little bag, we will be ready to start for America." "But, Henry, can any luck attend money got in this way. Let us leave everything here that does not belong to us, and go away as we came, and commence an honest life somewhere else. Do, for our little Ella's sake." She fell weeping on his shoulder, and her ill-fated husband sadly shook his head, and looked into the laughing eyes of his infant child.

Ella Gray A Christmas story "Alice," he said, "forgive me for having brought you to this. Your love deserved a far different reward. And yet I did my best to dissuade you, but you would insist on accompanying me in my flight to this lonely and desolate spot. Yes, I will take you out of it, and I care not if I perish so long as you and little Ella are safe." "Don't talk like that, Henry, I am sure there are better days in store for us all." "Would that I could honestly say I think the same," he sorrowfully replied. "Once outside this friendly forest, the human bloodhounds will be on my track, and in that race for life they have all the advantage on their side. Yet, what have I done that they should so hunt me down? It is true, I have been preying on my fellow-creatures of late, but my fellow-creatures have only themselves to blame for that. If they had let me earn an honest living as I wanted to do, they would never have had reason to describe me as a desperate bushranger. But no, they could not let an unfortunate brother alone; they must put the law in motion against him; they must have him arrested as a ticket-of-leave man illegally at large; and because Henry Cardiff would not allow himself to be taken back to the inhuman chain-gangs of Van Diemen's Land to expiate an offence for which he had been transported, but which be never committed, be is on this Christmas Eve an outlawed fugitive in a mountain cave. Whilst all the rest of God's creation is joyfully preparing to celebrate the great festival, be and his hapless wife and innocent babe are chased into the wilderness, and confined in this cheerless rocky cell. Heavens! is there such a thing as justice in the world at all ?" As Henry Cardiff finished this recital of his wrongs he threw himself in an agony of grief on the hard floor of the cave. His faithful wife was by bis side in an instant, calming, comforting, and consoling him. "Our lot is indeed a hard one," she said, but "all will yet be well." She had scarcely uttered these hopeful words when the piercing cry of a curlew resounded three times through the forest, and was heard distinctly in the cave aloft. Cardiff jumped to bis feet, and rushed for bis gun. "That's the danger signal, Alice," he cried ; ''courage now, it may be nothing." With blanched face and palpitating heart the poor woman clasped her infant to her breast, and cowered in a corner of the cave. The man gently dropped on the floor, and silently worked bis way along until he reached the opening in the western wall, when, shading his eyes from the fierce rays of the descending sun, he cautiously peered out and descried through the trees six armed men advancing in single file towards the peak, with a half-naked aboriginal at their head. He saw it all at a glance. Guided by a black tracker, the police had succeeded in discovering his retreat. He knew that the sharp-sighted aboriginal would speedily reveal the entrance to the chamber below, and once there his pursuers would probably scale the wall and carry the cave by storm. Jumping to his feet, be turned to his terrified wife and whispered, "They are upon us, Alice; we have not a moment to lose." From underneath a pile of clothes he pulled out a long coil of rope with a noose at one of its ends, and placed it on the brink of the cleft in the western wall. "Come, quick, Alice," he cried, " you and the child must go down first." "Oh, Henry," she said, with an entreating look , whilst her eyes filled with tears, "Do let me stop with you to the last?"

A Christmas collection "No, no. It cannot be," he quickly answered. " I must see you and my child safe out of this. Come, now, place your foot in this noose. There, that's right. Now, clasp little Ella tightly with one hand , and keep a firm hold of the rope with the other, and I will lower you safely to the ground. Don't look down, it might make you giddy. When you find yourself on the earth, hurry away through the forest keeping the sun straight ahead of you, and in an hour you will strike the open country, and see Ormond Gray's homestead right in front. He and his wife are kind and good, and they will shelter you for the night. If all goes well with me, I will rejoin you in the morning. Ha! I hear them below. Come !" He kissed his sobbing wife and the little infant. She nervously clutched the rope, and he lowered it by degrees down the face of the rock. At last it slackened, and, bending over, he saw her standing safely on the ground beneath, with her infant in her arms. She gave one wild glance upwards, and then rushed into the forest. "Thank God, they are safe," was the ejaculation of Henry Cardiff, as he rose to his feet. "Now to secure my own escape." Rapidly crossing over to the northern end of the cave, he took one of the revolvers from his belt, lay down flat, and cast one glance into the chamber beneath. One of his pursuers had climbed half-way up the wall, and the others were just commencing the ascent. Levelling his revolver he fired at the foremost. The man let go his hold, threw up bis arms, and fell dead on the floor, fifty feet below, with a bullet in his brain. His comrades returned the fire but with no effect, for the bushranger had retreated into the cave and was now tying the end of the rope around a bulging piece of rock in order to descend by its means into the forest. Whilst thus engaged, he was suddenly and silently pinioned from behind. The black tracker, with the natural agility of his race, had swiftly scaled the wall from the chamber below, and his bare feet gave no indication of his approach as he entered the cave and surprised the bushranger in his preparations for escape. A life-and-death struggle ensued between the powerful white man and the strong and supple native. The latter did not relax his grip for an instant, whilst the former strained every nerve to shake him off. As they struggled all over the cave, the blackfellow gave utterance to hideous yel1s, and the encouraging voices of the pursuers could be heard at intervals coming nearer and nearer. Collecting all his energies, the bushranger made one desperate effort to free himself, and succeeded in throwing his dusky assailant in a heap on the floor. He tried to draw his revolver to despatch the now-quivering native, but he was too late. Two of the police arrived at that instant on the scene of the struggle and, firing simultaneously, Henry Cardiff, the bushranger, fell to rise no more. "Just in the nick of time," said one of the policemen, and, turning to the blackfellow, he added, "Good boy, Tommy. You had a narrow escape, but you made a splendid fight of it. See here, Cardiff was fixing that rope around the rock, and he would have slid down the side of the mountain and got clean away into the bush if Tommy hadn't tackled him and held him until we managed to scramble up." The other three pursuers now appeared; a consultation was held; the cave was searched in every part, and all its contents seized, including the black bag of golden nuggets that, a few minutes before, had so elated the now inanimate bushranger. Descending into the chamber beneath, they brought down the body of the ontlaw with them, resolving to remain there for the night, and to return to Melbourne in the morning with the bodies of their murdered comrade and the desperate bushranger whose career they had brought to a close. All this time, unconscious of the tragic scene that was being enacted in the place from which she had so strangely escaped, Alice, with her infant clasped in her arms, her face deadly pale, her eyes unnaturally bright, her countenance dazed with the horror of her situation, was hurrying on through the forest. She took no heed of the long rank grass which now and then impeded her steps; or the enormous boughs that shot out into the sky over her head; or the fallen monarchs of the forest that lay strewn around, grand and majestic even after their deposition; or the rustling snakes that sidled away into their holes at her approach; or the grand chorus of evensong with which the myriad birds were saluting the setting sun. Read the full article

[david-sankey]

A time to kill? by National Library of Ireland on The Commons Via Flickr: A rather callous title on this Hogan Wilson photo - "Killing Time at the Prison"! An army chaplain with Mass servers lounging about casually smoking while some poor devil(s) await execution. We've probably found this a bit late as last year was the anniversary and a lot of detail resurfaced regarding the brutality on both sides in the Irish Civil War. What can we find on the trio? Photographer: W. D. Hogan Collection: Hogan Wilson Collection Date: Circa 1922 NLI Ref.: HOGW 146 You can also view this image, and many thousands of others, on the NLI’s catalogue at catalogue.nli.ie