#newspaper ethics

[julianhuxley]

Caption reads: Half a cupful please: Compo, one of the famous London Zoo tea-party chimpanzees who visited Whipsnade for the birthday celebrations, gets some milk.

Source: Illustrated London News, May 31, 1952.

[ctl-yuejie]

love it that the legal takes on this site are always too few degrees off to even make it worth arguing about

[strangerwheelerthings]

Sometimes, I forget how absolutely wild some of what Nancy does is (affectionate). Like, she just throws the laws out the window when it's convenient, keeps a pair of stolen guns in a shoebox, and follows the craziest leads to somehow always get to the truth. She gives zero Fs when it comes to finding the truth and keeping people safe.

[jojotier]

also utterly fascinated by the movie adaptation changing the gay kid Ove lets sleep on his couch (and whose father Ove goes to to bitch at him for kicking his own kid out his house) to being trans guy, who still is allowed to stay in Ove's house and who he wordlessly starts mentoring

[100yearoldcomics]

July 26, 1922 The Gumps by Sid Smith: "Labor vs. Capital"

[ID: Andy sits at the dining room table, drinking coffee with Ephraim and his wife Amelia. They both glare at him while he raises his cup and begins an anecdote. /end] Andy: You didn't hear about me, did you? I didn't tell you about my good fortune. I made a lot of money since I saw you last. My uncle. You know I told you about that rich uncle of mine. A widow sued him for breach of promise for a million dollars. He gave me $100,000.00 to go over and settle it and I settled it for $50,000.00 and kept $50,000.00 for myself. [INFLATION GUIDE: In 2022 dollars, Bim entrusted Andy with about $1,750,000, out of which he finagled about $880,000 for Zander and himself. /end]

[ID: Amelia raises her cup as Andy sets his down. Ephraim sips stray coffee out of his saucer. /end] Amelia: Well, now I suppose you're going to spend the rest of your life loafing. Be a barnacle on the ship of industry. Sit around criticizing and ridiculing those who work for an existence. A philosopher expecting everybody to look up to you because you have money.

[ID: The couple set their dishes down to glare at Andy as he responds. /end] Andy: Oh, I don't know. I think it's a whole lot better for a man to quit after he has enough. Do you think I'm going struggling along in competition with those who are fighting for an existence? And for what? Just to leave it to somebody who will run through it! Who's going to get all your money? I'll bet you some relatives will fall heir to it that you don't even speak to now. And yet you go on struggling. Denying yourself every luxury. Not me. I'm going to spend my own money.

[editorsusan]

Spot the error: "Officers also found a pair of vice grips and a large bag of mail, [officer's name] reported."

OK. I'm going to give away that this one is a spelling/wrong word (homophone) error, but I'd be willing to bet that the reporter got the incorrect word from the police report he/she was using as basis for the news story.

So here's a newsroom ethics question for all y'all: If the reporter (or his/her editor in the newsroom) knew that the word was wrong, should they have fixed it before turning in the story to my team for use in the newspaper? Or should they run the info from the police report exactly as given to them?

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“OUT OUR WAY - The Downward Trend,” Kingston Whig-Standard. March 4, 1933. Page 5. --- Two fellows talking in the back of frame:

Fellow 1: THAT GROUP WOULD BE A WONDERFUL AD IN FRONT OF A SANATORIUM, ENTITLED, THE FIRST WEEK-THE SECOND WEEK AND THE THIRD WEEK.

Fellow 2: IT'S A GOOD AD FER THIS PLACE TOO! ONLY IT WORKS TH OPPOSITE- TH ONE LYNG DOWN HAS BEEN HERE TH' LONGEST-TH' NEXT HAS BEEN A BOSS LONG ENOUGH TO SIT UP, ONCE IN A WHILE-AN' THE THIRD IS STILL ABLE TO STAND UP

©1933 BY NEA SERVICE, INC.

By JR.WILLIAMS

[nicholasandriani]

Uncovering the Past from Above: Dr. Sarah Parcak's Vision for the Future of Archaeology

Archaeology from Space: How the Future Shapes Our Past by Dr. Sarah Parcak is a remarkable book that explores the intersection of archaeology and space technology. As a pioneer in the field of space archaeology, Dr. Parcak has used satellite imagery to discover thousands of previously unknown archaeological sites around the world. In this book, Dr. Parcak takes the reader on a journey through…

[aussieausie]

I WAS HOLDING UP THE PRESSES AT 17.

There was a time, not so long ago it seems, that newspapers were produced on heavy machines and metal type.

In my first job, back then, I was holding up the presses of the Evening Melbourne Herald.

As the Messenger Boy at 17.

I was working in my first job.

In advertising.

Most ads in the daily press were composed on the spot with movable metal slugs of type.

Lines of words were set from a mixture of tin, antimony and lead.

Hot metal.

I remember that so well.

I’d arrive straight from the morning train.

I’d call at the advertising desk to collect the proofs for that afternoon’s paper.

Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

Walk – or run – to the Department Store where I worked in the penthouse with half a dozen other ad people.

Then around to the department heads to get their okay of the proofs.

I’d be chasing them around the storeroom.

Behind the display counters.

At morning tea.

These proofs had to be approved before 11.00.

At all costs.

Then a race back to the Herald to make the corrections before they went to press.

Panic stations.

Usually the entire composing room would be there.

Waiting for me.

Quick, I’d be greeted with.

We’re going to press.

I’d surrender my proof sheets and stand by for the metal slugs to be set.

Then made up on the page of metal.

The Print Room would be on the phone.

Giving us the hurry up.

They’re going to press now.

Quick.

Check the revise proof and give us the okay.

Then off to press.

Later than the deadline, sometimes.

The paper should have been out on the strets now.

And guess who was holding the presses?

The seventeen-year-old Messenger Boy.

Me.

I felt important.

It’s where I learned to write.

I’ll tell you more stories soon.

Love and peace

Neil the Smith

[0-n-1-x]

Hey hey hey! I just read your Damian x photographer reader post (love btw) and instantly became infatuated with the idea of Reader who takes pictures of Gotham vigilantes for the news. Kinda like Peter Parker taking pictures of Spider-Man? (Not a 1 to 1 comparison but you get where it coming from) Basically they’re close with Damian but they don’t know Damian’s Robin. Cue secret identity shenanigans!

Damian Wayne x Hero Photographer!reader

link to my masterlist <33

As a talented photographer, you’ve made a name for yourself by capturing the best shots of Gotham’s vigilantes in action. Your photos of Batman, Robin, and the rest of the Bat-Family often end up on the front pages of Gotham’s newspapers, earning you both praise and a bit of notoriety in the city’s media circles. You and Damian have been friends for a while, bonding over your shared love of art and your similar work ethics. He admires your dedication to photography, though he’s secretly amused by the fact that you’re unknowingly photographing him in his Robin persona.

You and Damian have been friends for a while, bonding over your shared love of art and your similar work ethics. He admires your dedication to photography, though he’s secretly amused by the fact that you’re unknowingly photographing him in his Robin persona. Despite being so close to Damian, you have no idea that he’s actually Robin. He’s careful to keep his vigilante life separate from your friendship, though he occasionally drops hints that go right over your head.

There have been multiple instances where you’ve almost caught Damian in his Robin gear. Whether it’s seeing a flash of green and red out of the corner of your eye or noticing how familiar Robin’s fighting style seems, you start to get the feeling that there’s something more to Damian than meets the eye.

One day, you capture an exceptionally clear photo of Robin, and you can’t help but notice something oddly familiar about his eyes. You brush it off at first, but the thought nags at you. Damian, of course, is aware that you took the photo and goes out of his way to ensure you don’t connect the dots.

Whenever you talk to Damian about your latest photos, he can’t help but tease you a little. He’ll ask about your “favorite vigilante” or make subtle comments that hint at his dual identity. You laugh it off, thinking he’s just poking fun at your obsession with Gotham’s heroes. (i like to think that your favorite wouldn't be him, and he'd be slightly offended and try to explain why he's robin's better than his brothers other vigilantes)

There are times when Damian has to abruptly leave your hangouts to attend to Robin duties. He always comes up with an excuse—whether it’s a sudden family emergency or needing to take care of something important. You find it a bit odd but don’t press him on it, chalking it up to Damian’s sometimes mysterious nature.

One night, while you’re out trying to get some action shots of the infamous Gotham Vigilante Group, you get caught in the middle of a dangerous situation.

As you leaned over the ledge to get a better angle, you suddenly heard the sound of gunfire echoing through the alleyways. Your heart leapt into your throat, but you didn’t move, focusing your lens instead. Sure enough, you spotted Batman and Robin making their move on a group of heavily armed thugs. You quickly snapped a few shots, your heart racing with the thrill of the moment.

But then, something went wrong. One of the thugs spotted you—your lens reflecting just enough light to catch his attention. Without thinking, he pointed his gun upwards and fired.

The bullet whizzed past your head, shattering the brick near where you crouched. Panic surged through you as you scrambled back, nearly dropping your camera. Before you could react, you saw a flash of red and green—Robin was suddenly there, pulling you out of harm’s way.

He shielded you with his body, guiding you towards a safer spot on the rooftop. His gloved hand was firm but gentle as he held onto your arm, his other hand reaching for a grappling hook.

“Stay close to me,” he ordered, his voice low and urgent.

You barely had time to process what was happening before Robin swung the two of you off the rooftop, carrying you safely to a nearby building. Your heart pounded in your chest, both from the fear of what just happened and from the adrenaline of being in such close proximity to the vigilante.

When your feet finally touched solid ground, you stumbled slightly, still reeling from the close call. Robin’s arm was still around your waist, steadying you, and you couldn’t help but notice how strong and warm he felt, even through his suit.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with concern.

You nodded, but your mind was spinning. There was something about his voice, the way he held you—something that felt so familiar.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you managed to reply, your breath hitching slightly as you looked up at him. Your eyes locked with his, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. The green mask, the intense gaze, the way he said your name earlier—it was Damian. It had to be.

“Damian?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Robin stiffened, his grip on you tightening for a split second before he quickly let go, stepping back. His expression was hidden behind the mask, but you could see the conflict in his eyes. He hesitated, clearly torn between continuing the charade and telling you the truth.

“I—” he started, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

“Damian, it’s you, isn’t it?” you pressed, your voice trembling slightly. “You’re Robin.”

[hermionesplants]

i get why newspapars have to have a subscription fee but like.... why

[pseudowho]

Kento Comes Home Drunk

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

The reader manages her drunk, horny fiancé, Nanami Kento, like an absolute champ.

Link to the sequel here: Reader Comes Home Drunk

WARNINGS: 18+, soapy handjobs (F to M), mutual masturbation, cumshots, ethics of consent, Kento being a sloppy drunk

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Hope he's having a good time, you mused to yourself, nursing a late cup of tea. The clock ticked well past midnight; you were the overnight on-call for Curse-related shenanigans, so whilst you had wanted to join Satoru, Shoko, Ino, Ijichi and Kento for drinks, you had, instead, waved Kento off, and settled in for a night with your phone on loud, and late-night game shows.

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"Hate to see you leave," you'd sighed at 6pm, bobbing upwards for a kiss. He had traded his work attire for a buttoned black shirt, and simple dark jeans. Effortlessly handsome. You buried your face in his chest, breathing his cologne, and gave him a playful shove on the chest, like trying to push a truck.

He stepped backwards, with a lopsided smile and his hand reached out to pinch your chin affectionately.

"But love to watch me go?" You winked at him. You were wearing his favourite outfit; your oldest pyjamas. He found something so sexy about you being comfy. You preened at him, cradling your first tea of the night.

"You know it." He chuckled, but became serious immediately after.

"Call me if you're called out overnight. I want to be around if anything...happens." You nodded, hand on heart.

"Good luck beating off other women with sticks. Hope you've practiced your comedy rejections."

Kento hummed sagely, "Bold of you to assume I'm a man? My doctor said I shouldn't until the smallpox has cleared up? Undskyld, jeg taler ikke Japansk?"

You laughed, gave him one final kiss, and waved him out of the door.

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Firmly lost in late-night TV and stifling a yawn, you noted the time; nearly 2am. As you smilingly hoped Kento was having fun, there was a firm tap at the door. You rose to answer it, and you paused to hear shuffles, bumps, hushed voices and fumbled keys. Rolling your eyes, you opened the door to a waft of whisky fumes dressed as your fiancé.

"Fiancé delivery service! Sorry for the late call ma'am, I tried to throw him over the gate but he was too heavy." Satoru heaved Shoko higher onto his back, and she groaned, face first in his shoulder. Ino and Ijichi swayed behind him, quietly huddled over Ino's phone and arguing over what food to order.

You smirked up at Kento, who was possibly more gorgeous while dishevelled, shirt half untucked, sleeves rolled, and stumbling into the hallway to kick his shoes off. He walked the confident walk of a drunk man back towards the door, possessively looping an arm around your waist and planting a sloppy kiss to your neck. Glaring at Satoru, he gripped the doorframe.

"I didn't need you to get me home, Gojo. I'm not drunk." Kento shuffled his whole face into your neck, gripping your pyjamas hard. You thanked Satoru, and sent him off to deliver the other drunkards home. Kento slammed the door hard, and backed you up against the wall while you laughed, slapping at his chest as he mumbled incoherent greetings against the side of your face.

"Behave yourself, buddy, you're hammered. Let's get you to bed." He groaned cheerfully, taking this as an invitation. His eyes met yours, unusually playful, and with a wink started to slowly unbutton his shirt. You rolled up a nearby newspaper and swatted his hands. Mouth watering at the sight of his abs, you sternly told yourself off.

"It is unethical to have sex with drunk people when you're sober. I don't know what you think you're getting tonight, but you should adjust your expectations." Bodily manhandling him, you turned him around while he grumbled at you, urging him towards the bathroom. He sat against the counter, bum accidentally setting off the tap in the sink, while you set the shower running. He stumbled and cursed behind you, trousers now wet and clinging to his muscled thighs. You heard him stripping while you waited for the water to heat up.

He thinks he's being sneaky, you thought to yourself as Kento pressed himself into your back, erection now full and visible against his underwear, and his hands slipped boldly under your pyjamas. While one hand reached up to cup your breast, the other snuck down to graze against the top of your mound. Involuntary shivers of pleasure ran down your spine, his wet mouth on your neck smelling of hot whisky and smoke.

"I have full capacity," Kento purred against your neck, tongue trailing up to your ear now, "and I'm so delighted my girl is still home, and I'd love nothing more than to make her the final taste on my tongue tonight." He stopped, musingly, his gaze at you still drunk and fluttering.

"Unless you don't want to," he pondered, taking his hands from your body. You pouted up at him, crossed arms and faux-angry, and nodded towards the shower.

"You smell like a bar. Behave yourself." Kento chuckled at you, cracking his neck and sighing, absent-mindedly palming his erection through his underwear. His cock sprang up as he finished undressing, pink-tipped and perfect, and you couldn't resist looking him up and down. He stepped into the shower, hot water cascading down his broad shoulders. Leaning one hand against the glass, he eyed you ruefully again.

"I'll manage myself then, shall I?" Still leaning on the glass, his eyes drifted shut as his other hand trailed down his body to grip his wet cock. "Please don't feel obliged to stay." You tried to appear unaffected, and moved to turn, but paused as you heard the slow wet strokes of him pumping himself under the running water. The drink lowered his guard, and he let out a long, slow moan of relief as he pleasured himself, now totally oblivious to your presence.

You felt heat pool between your legs, your arms covered in goosebumps and your nipples pebbling under the cool pyjama fabric. You considered your options.

Still stroking himself, and gradually increasing the pace, Kento was imagining you riding him on the sofa, like you had done only days before, his hands on your eager hips as you told him how deep you could feel him. He groaned to himself, desperate to feel that intense intimacy and pleasure again, enhanced by the alcohol running through his system.

Thoughts interrupted by a tap on the shower glass, he opened his eyes to you, leaning against the bathtub, one hand moving slow circles over your clit and another rolling your nipple between your fingers. Lower lip between your teeth, you blushed as you watched Kento pleasure himself.

Kento moaned unashamedly, swiping his thumb over his tip, cock twitching furiously in his hand.

"I'll return the favour, I promise," he begged you, eyes fully focused on where your hand moved steadily beneath your pyjamas, feeling his pulse quicken as you flushed and moaned, legs weakening against the tub, "I know what you're like when you come home drunk, you're a nightmare, saying no to you is a chore."

Lip still between your teeth you smiled at him, and, now feeling especially naughty, you moved to straddle the lip of the bathtub. Kento's jaw dropped as you began to ride it, sighing his name as if he wasn't there, now slipping your pyjama top down to release your aching breasts.

"Shit...please get in here before I lose my mind," and he stopped stroking himself, hand gripping the base of his cock as pre-cum trickled out, merging with the running water. His head was still spinning with the alcohol, but his senses were sharpened by your performance, so he watched you hungrily, determined that he'd cum inside you if he had any say in the matter.

You continued to hump the side of the bath, shuddering, eyes glinting with mischief.

"How can I trust that you know what you're asking?" You replied breathlessly, "It is unethical. I'd be taking advantage. I'd hate for you to regret me in the morning."

Kento grinned at you. "But watching me is fine? It seems worse somehow. Regret you," he scoffed. Humour aside, Kento shifted uncomfortably, grunting as his cock continued to throb in his hand. "Get in here," he wheedled, "and stop fucking the bathtub in front of me, and use me instead."

You acquiesced, resolve cracking. Stripping quickly, you slipped into the shower, pressing against him and immediately gripping his pulsing shaft. He stuttered and whined, hands pressed back against the glass, panting as you squeezed him.

"Alright, you win," you breathed against him, licking the flat of your tongue across his nipple, tasting the sweat and nightclub on his skin, "but I will absolutely remember this when I'm the one who's drunk and begging."

You spun Kento around again, and reached around his hips to grasp his cock just as he would as he pleasured himself. He continued to pant, whining and begging you for relief. You rubbed his tip with the flat of your palm, teasing, before starting to stroke from the head to the base of his cock in well-practiced motions.

Kento moaned and murmured sweet praise. His hands pressed against the glass, fingers flexing and unfolding as you fondled his bum lovingly, nipping his shoulder blades and sweeping your wet hand up and down his cock, gently twisting and squeezing at the head until he was gasping. You kept a steady pace, Kento occasionally thrusting forwards into your hand, calling you his good girl, his sweetest thing, being so good to him.

Head swimming with the alcohol, Kento gladly accepted the handjob, overwhelmed by the pleasure and steam of the shower. As he was about to turn to insist on bending you over against the shower wall, your second hand crept round to his throat and squeezed just hard enough for his moan to catch in his chest. Balls tightening and abdomen twitching, Kento gasped as you whispered into his ear; "be a good boy and cum in my hand".

Kento broke, wave after wave of pleasure rushing through him, strengthened by the drink, as thick spurts of cum shot into your hand and against the shower glass. He moaned your name, hips thrusting sloppily, one hand reaching round to squeeze your waist. Your pace slowed, squeezing gently as you pumped every last drop out of him.

Kento slumped against the glass, a dopey satisfied smile on his face, and hummed happily as he felt a soapy sponge start to clean his back. By the time you had gently scraped your nails through his hair, rinsing him of the last suds, he was barely awake in the steamy bathroom.

"Come on, big guy. Let's get you to bed." Kento frowned at you, looking faintly guilty.

"But I haven't done anything for you." You stroked his cheeks, full of affection.

"Trust me, that did plenty for me. I'll be storing that in my head for a long time."

Kento blushed, but allowed you to lead him to bed and dry his hair. He was face down in bed and asleep within seconds, his body relaxed, his tense muscles loose and softened.

You hesitated before checking the time; if you hadn't been called out by now, you probably wouldn't be, you convinced yourself. Pulling on one of Kento's shirts, you sat your phone by the bed and slipped under the sheets, tucking close to his warmth with one knee lifted over the small of his back.

"Still think I took advantage of you," you mumbled to Kento, before falling asleep to his warmth and deep, soft breaths, safe and happy in the dark.

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This best boy deserves a soapy handjob

And the sequel, Reader Comes Home Drunk, link here.

[yeetus-feetus]

Give me unhinged Timberkon.

Give me Bernard stalking Red Robin the same way Tim stalked batman. Give me stalker Kon, who while stalking Tim when he's overwhelmed by the world, discovers Bernard and chooses to stalk him too- just to sus him out at first, but slowly it becomes an infatuation. He's listening to both their heartbeats at night.

Give me Bernard realising he's being followed because Kon isn't as subtle as he thinks. Bernard stalking SB back, creating a theory board dedicated just to him.

Give me Tim stalking SB when they're at the tower and he's bored. Tim stalking Bernard to make sure he gets home safe. Tim realising that he's not the only one keeping him safe when he spots a flash of red and blue and leather speed off and out of sight. Tim realising that Bernard has been stalking his hero persona, that he has several boards of photos and newspaper clippings about him and Kon, about the bats and the core four.

Give me Kon, who would die for either of them, put himself in the way of immense danger, become stupid and reckless in the name of protecting what he loves. Would sacrifice himself in every scenario to ensure Tim and Bernard are safe.

Give me Tim who would infiltrate the government for his boys, would do anything, hack anything to assure their safety. Would bug their house just to make sure nothing ever happened to them. Would go insane trying to bring them back if he ever failed.

Give me Bernard who would kill for them. Who would readily bloody his hands in the name of love if it ever came to it. Who would use everything he learned in that cult to ruins someone's life if they hurt what was his.

Give me timberkon who's love is so whole, so intense, that it cannot be contained by ethics nor morals.

[coochiequeens]

What these freaks did to those kids is cruel and unusual.

Madagascar will surgically castrate paedophiles under new law approved by MPs it is revealed - days after Kazakhstan announced same plan

 A minister spoke in favour of the law saying: 'society must know what they did'

By ED HOLT

PUBLISHED: 14:29 EST, 7 February 2024 

Madagascar's parliament has approved a new law which will see paedophiles surgically castrated for their crimes.

The new law comes just days after Kazakhstan announced a similar law where the country's worst offending child sex offenders will have their genitals surgically removed. 

On February 2 Madagascar's parliament, The National Assembly, approved a law which legalised the castration of child rapists. 

The old law stated that those found guilty of raping a minor would face between five and 20 years of forced labour. 

However, this new law states that those found guilty of raping a child under ten-years-old will be surgically castrated and sentenced to life imprisonment. While if the victim is between ten and 13-years-old, they will instead be chemically castrated and face 15 to 20 years of forced labour. If the rapist is also a minor they will escape castration. 

Madagascar's Minister of Justice Landy Randriamanantenasoa spoke in favour of the bill. She said: 'Society must know what they did and who they are'

Ms Randriamanantenasoa has rebuked similar criticism about respect for human rights by saying Madagascar is a sovereign country. This comes after Amnesty criticised the bill 

Minister of Justice Landy Randriamanantenasoa spoke in favour of the bill. Le Quotidien, a French language newspaper, reported that Ms Randriamanantenasoa said: 'Society must know what they did and who they are.'  

The bill was proposed by the President of Madagascar, Andry Rajoelina, last month and was one of his key campaign promises during his re-election bid last year. 

International organisations have criticised the new law. The BBC reports that in a statement, Tigere Chagutah, Amnesty's regional director for east and southern Africa, said: 'In Madagascar, rape cases remain under-reported, and perpetrators often go free due to the victims' and their families' fear of retaliation, stigmatisation, and a lack of trust in the judicial system.

'Implementing chemical and surgical castration, which constitutes cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment, as a punishment for those found guilty of raping minors will not solve this and is inconsistent with Malagasy constitutional provisions against torture and other ill-treatment, as well as regional and international human rights standards.'

Ms Randriamanantenasoa has rebuked similar criticism about respect for human rights by saying Madagascar is a sovereign country.  

The tighten of the law in Kazakhstan follows the death of Erkezhan Nurmakhan, five, who was lured to a paedophile's house after he offered her money for an ice cream

Saidolim Gayibnazarov, 48, who had previous convictions, was sentenced to life in jail and chemical castration

Kazakhstan announced its own draft  law to remove paedophiles genitals on February 6 following complaints from MPs that the current law where paedophiles are chemically castrated was not deterring child sex offenders. 

The tighten of the law follows the death of Erkezhan Nurmakhan, five, who was lured to a paedophile's house after he offered her money for an ice cream.

Saidolim Gayibnazarov, 48, who had previous convictions, was sentenced to life in jail and chemical castration.

Deputy Interior Minister of Kazakhstan, Igor Lepikha, said surgical castration was 'controversial'.

'In terms of ethics and the human side of the issue it is very complicated indeed.

'Moreover, we speak about these criminals being locked up for life - so there is no point in [castration] then.'

[100yearoldcomics]

July 30, 1922 The Gumps by Sid Smith

TOP PANEL [ID: Andy Gump, dressed in a French maid's outfit, pushes a baby carriage around a park. The baby inside angrily sucks on a milk bottle, a ribbon tied around his hat reading, "TROUBLE." /end]

MAIN COMIC [ID: Andy sits on an armchair, reading a hardback book. He turns from his reading to listen to his son Chester, who approaches him with a question. /end] Chester: Papa, can I have $1.25? We just got up a new nine. They elected me captain and I've got to buy the ball and the bat. Andy: The only reason they elected you captain is because you have the softest dad in the lot, that's all. Because you can get anything you ask for. [INFLATION GUIDE: In 2022 dollars, Chester's asking his dad for about $22. /end]

[ID: Andy leans on a low table, hands in his pockets, as he calmly lectures his young son Chester. Chester stands there, patiently listening. /end] Andy: You know, you're getting to an age now when you ought to earn a little money. Save it. then when you want money, you don't have to obligate yourself to anybody. You can go and get your own money.

[ID: Andy sits on the couch, pulling his left knee up to his chest with both hands. /end] Andy: You'd be surprised how quickly the pennies grow into dollars when you are saving. Take a little boy like you. Supposing you saved every paper that came in and tied them in bundles. Saved the old rags and iron and sold them. How long do you think it would be before you had a bank account?

[ID: Andy leans forward in his seat. /end] Andy: Did you ever stop to realize what a dollar and a quarter is? That's 125 pennies. All big men started by making their own money. Blazing their own trails. Cutting a path through the underbrush of difficulty, brushing aside all obstacles in the way of success. Abraham Lincoln was a rail splitter. He studied nights. Sold insurance and studied law. Garfield was on the tow path. A little bare-foot boy driving a canal boat.

[ID: Andy leans back and puts a hand on Chester's warily happy shoulder. /end] Andy: No one ever got any place who had to depend upon anybody else for something. When you earn the money yourself, you'll understand how hard it is to get it together and you'll appreciate the value of it.

[ID: Andy stands and leans on an arm of his armchair casually. /end] Andy: The time to earn money and save it is when you're young. Full of life and ambition. So when you grow old and feeble and unfit, you can sit down and enjoy the fruits of your early efforts. It's better to save it when you're young than to beg it when you're old. The only person who's happy, Chester, is the person who wants something. When you can have everything you want, nothing has any value.

[ID: Andy sits down and leans forward in his seat, gesturing out his point to Chester. /end] Andy: Now, suppose you came up to me and said: "Dad, I want a pony cart." And I bought it for you. Would it have any value to you? No. You might drive it for a day or two and then you'd want something else. But if you had to save your money for a long time. Earn it yourself. I'll bet you'd appreciate it.

[ID: He stands and leans on the fireplace mantle, hands back in his pockets. Chester looks overjoyed. /end] Andy: I'll tell you what I'll do with you, Chester. I know where you can buy the finest little pony cart, harness - the whole outfit for $70.00. And for every dime you save, I'll put 20¢ with it. And when you get enough money, you go down and pull the money out of your own pocket and pay it and take that pony home. You'll have bought it out of your own money that you scrimped and saved and worked for. Do you think you won't appreciate it? Chester: Oh, goodie! [INFLATION GUIDE: Andy knows a guy who can get you a pony cart for about $1,234. For every $1.76 that Chester saves, he plans on pairing it with $3.53 of his own. /end]

[ID: Chester happily races across the room as a proud Andy watches. /end] Andy: I'll say you will. Chester: Whee! I'm gonna get a pony and a cart.

[ID: Chester runs excitedly to his mother's side and begins telling her about his plans. She listens kindly while she sits on a wooden chair in the kitchen. /end] Chester: Oh, Mama. You ought to see the swell pony and cart I'm going to get. I'm going to earn it, too. Work hard and buy it with my own money. Then I'm going to take you out riding any time you want to go. I'm going to be real rich, too. Papa told me how to get rich. Then I'm going to take you to the theatre and buy you candy.

[ID: Andy hands Chester the handle of their reel lawnmower out in the backyard. /end] Andy: Come on, now. Here's your first chance to make money. This is the stepping stone. Cut the lawn and you earn 25¢. [INFLATION GUIDE: Chester's getting $4.41 to mow the lawn. /end]

Caption: Watch Chester's bank account grow. He earns 25¢. His father adds 50¢ to it, making a total of 75¢. Only $69.25 to reach the goal. [ID: Chester pushes the reel mower across the lawn with giddy determination. Andy watches, cigar in hand. /end] Andy: There goes the little fortune hunter. On your way to wealth and prosperity. [INFLATION GUIDE: Let's translate that caption right quick. "[Chester] earns [$4.41]. His father adds [$8.81] to it, making a total of [$13.22]. Only [$1,220.82] to reach the goal." /end]

[hedgehog-moss]

May I respectfully observe that the blueberry tart ethics agonies is a wonderful candidate for 'tell me you're French without telling me you're French' scenario? The combination of philosophical gymnastics and patisserie is just....magnifique!

Merci

😂 Trying to think of how to make this scenario more French... like if our Parliament started weirdly intense debates to legislate on this niche issue as a way to distract from more important problems and came up with a law hated by the left and the right somehow, and/or the minister of the Interior declared that anyone buying two slices of pie without a written attestation (that you must write yourself to give yourself permission to buy pie) will be arrested, and he uses a worryingly loose and inexplicably racist definition of "pie", and Parisians started burning stuff by force of habit which led Macron to try and calm things down by a) making Announcements, b) giving a 2.5 hour TV speech no one watches in which he says "Let me be very clear" 5 times and "Whether you like it or not" 10 times, c) promising to organise a Great National Debate on blueberry pie ethics which prompts newspapers to write enthusiastic headlines because they never learn, and which goes utterly nowhere