Rain-Beau Fishing Line - Bait with cheesecake.

Summertime is here, citizens! Well, maybe it's not literally here, but it's somewhere. And THAT means leisure activities... for those of us who can actually afford to do something on a day off other than sleep in and do laundry! Yeah! Something! For those lucky couple of people, that might mean going fishing, as long as the license fees aren't too bad! Hooray for not too bad!

This Rain-Beau fishing line ad from 1948 is all about trying to figure how to make people look at their ad and get cranked about fish line. In 1948, as far as the people who advertise for fishing equipment were concerned, "people" meant "guys", so wheel out our standard selection of hot chicks. Yeah, that one'll do. She's a bit of all right, man!

Still thinking about fishing line? Nope. Who cares! Look at that babe! Now go and buy some whatever it was. Hooray for whatever it was! Woo! Oh yeah. Fishing Line! Right on! Yeah, let's all go buy some of the fishing line with the good looking dame vaguely associated with it!

Gronk make story. - Billy Siege.

Chicago Engineering Works - Electrical train-ning to-day!

Dear readers, are you tired of your dead-end job in the Horse Trade, or in a Thakery Mill? Well, now that Electricity is invented, you can get in on the new and prosperous industry of Electricity! But first, you need Training. You won't know your shielded wire housing from a two amp fuse without help from L.L. Cooke, Chief Engineer at the Chicago Engineering Works, purveyors of the latest inventotronic wizardry! Observe this Advertisement sheet, ripped from the living pages of the August Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-Eight issue Popular Science Monthly this very morning. Begin your training to-day!

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Good Decorating, Section Number F - Decorating Good!

Hey, ugly house-havers! Is your house stupid looking? Of course it is! It's time to fix it up with all kinds of clever and attractive things, like ideas! Let's have some now!

If your kitchen is too bright and airy, you can bring it down to Earth with these pretend beams in a nice so-brown-it's-nearly-black stain that simply won't show any grease vapor buildup ever ever ever. Still too bright? Some nice paneled cabinets can fine tune your room. The balustrades on top of the cabinets are more than an accent piece. They also keep your pheasants and children from falling off and getting hurt! If the several square feet of ceiling between the beams is still searing your eye-holes, you can just wallpaper it with a nice mixed fruit and flower wallpaper- wups! I mean ceilingpaper! Hahahahahahahah! Also some carpet!

Are you a trapezoid? Aren't we all? Well, you'll feel like a new convex quadrilateral when you squeeze your vertices into this cozy custom bed! The blankets are sheets are green, to go with the orange walls, you'll notice. Match this with some striped carpet and a floral chair or whatever it is and you're one euphoric Euclidean!

If you've got a boring old room with two stupid walls with idiotic windows, and you can't stop trying to kill yourself there, why not brighten it up with some purple and blue stripes? Of course that's a good idea, shut up! Several stores somewhere will sell you a purple and blue chair with nearly matching wallpaper, right?... Then look harder, lazy! Jeez!

Once your "bluerple" sitting room is complete, you'll be glad you happied the place up with some color and pattern... although SOME people may not see what all the fuss is about.

What? You're color blind? Man, The Seventies are going to be a rough decade for you, but the hell with your cones. It's high time your rods had a workout! This houndstooth-themed sitting area is a perfect eyeball gymnasium. In the photo shown here, there are two game show hosts and a used car salesman standing in plain view. Believe me? Wrong!!! I lied! It's only their jackets!
Aaah HAHAHAHAhahahahahahahahahahah!

If you're like me, you have lots of books. You also have more books than your shelves can hold, so you can match the decor of the room if you change it. try to have lots of books in every color. This room also features a nice bench covered in gift wrap. Every time you sit, it's like your birthday! You can also use art to match your room...

This room features this Phlegmish masterpiece Rectal Seizure at Cornfield, with Smears. Kinda makes you think, doesn't it?

No Post Today - Norway!

Busy busy. Today at GO! Tower, we're having new asbestos-lined HVAC ducts installed. It should cut down on our heating and cooling bills and will last forever, and there's no reason we would ever want to remove it. Good times ahead forever! Hum. Did it just get itchy in here?

Anyway, something is usually better than nothing, and here's a pretty good something. A drawing of Norway from our 1939 copy of Neighbors and Helpers.

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Barbasol - Like shooting decoys.

Telling people they'll never laid again. Is there any surer way to make a sale? This Barbasol ad thinks "nope!". It also has a nice martini girl and a weird saying.

This ad ran in the January 1943 issue of LIFE, which means it was on sale in December, because the magazine business is weird. I have never understood that.

Anyhoo, if you don't shave with Barbasol, no women will mash their face into yours. A strong motivation, as any red-blooded guy will tell you that face mashing is the gateway drug to other, even more delightful mashings. Ask your doctor if various mashings are right for you.

Barbasol makes shaving so easy, it's "like shooting decoys." Was that something people used to say? The P.A.G! Research and Googling Squad says that searching on that phrase just brings up a bunch of links about actual duck decoys. No mention of aphorisms implying easyness. Maybe Barbasol was trying to start a trend?

The other odd thing about the copy in this ad is that George feels the need to explain that he's George, even though the woman in the opening paragraph is addressing someone named George about his shaving. I think we would have figured out that George is George without it being spelled out for us. Give us some credit, advertising. We aren't all as dumb as you want us to be. The tiny girl in the martini glass never said "My name's Millie, and I'm tiny!", but one paragraph later, when George mentions taking Millie's advice, we know who she is. It's implied by context. Millie is George's seven inch tall love interest, and he hopes to impress her with the smoothness of his face, as sampled by mashing it against her wee little face, with the hopes of exploring parts beyond her face as potential mashing candidates. This now leads us to questions about relative scale regarding their various parts beyond. Poor George. He better not screw it up with Millie. How many seven inch women can there be?

Here's Millie as a handy clip art. Use her for a flyer or party invitation. Just don't tell everyone you're banging a seven inch tall woman. Let them assume your martinis are just four feet in diameter. Right click Millie in just the right spot and give her a home in your hard drive. With a girl like Millie, can there be any wrong click? You're welcome.

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Basement Bars and Subterranean Lairs.

Ah! Good day , Mr. Bond! So nice of you to "drop in", heh heh heh heh heh heh huh huh huuuuuuhh. No, don't move. Yes, you have seen the ridiculously spindly pistol I have trained on you. It fires a tiny dart filled with a curare whose making is known only to me and the four corpses in the bellies of my crododiles Yes, those are the ones with the thinner noses. Alligators have broad snouts. But do not try to distract me with fascinating conversation of crocodillians. Please, have a drink.

Yes, you see I have a bar concealed in an ordinary armoire, where you may expect to find mundane plates and cups, and perhaps a tureen. I have servants for such things. I much prefer my armoire-bar. Quite elegant, don't you think? What? You think the rules of propriety dictate that one must only have a bar in the basement? Mr. Bond, I am not a savage, regardless of what your MI-6 handlers may tell you. Oh, wait. We're out of cherries. Let me just open the fridge and... Damn it! Where did he go? Guards!

Aha! There you are. You have found my elegant and inviting other bar and combination fondue station. I find that some mornings I cannot face another day of fighting good until I have had my fondue. Can I interest you in a monkey brain dipped in melted cheese? I assure you it is quite breathtaking. Yes, the drink to accompany such a sweet meat is a Chinese Whisper. One part rice wine. one part lychee juice. Pour over crushed ice. Fill with soda. Wait. The lychee juice is empty. I'll be right... No! Wait! Seize him! GUARDS!

Ah! Mr. Bond, you are quite the curious guest, but we cannot have you scampering about my compound unguarded. Welcome to the basement. So you see, I DO have a basement bar after all. Yes, that's right. I am the savage they told you about. Unfortunately, you won't be able to tell anyone about the location of my secret paisley basement bar's location, for you are about to die. Say goodbye to my little red donkey, Mr. Bond. He will be the last knickknack you ever talk to. Yes. That particular paisley looks familiar, doesn't it? I made it out of the pant suit that your accomplice, Tiffany Case will wear in your upcoming adventure about diamonds. Yes, that's right! I have a time machine! It's called a Fruit Madrid. Two parts grenadine. One part Chartreuse. A pinch of salt. A fresh mint. I think I will have a sip right now. Mmmmmm. *thud*

That was very clever of you to slip a knockout tablet into my Fruit Madrid, Mr. Bond, but you'll be sad to know that such toxins have a reduced effect on me due to my solid gold artery filters. yes, those were a little painful going in, but poison is an occupational hazard, you see. Never mind that. Your knowledge of my secret Brady Bunch rec-room bar must not escape this rec-room. I'm glad I keep a syringe of deadly viper venom in this cleverly concealed wall cabinet, along with a selection of fine soda-pops and gooseberry cookies. No, wait. This isn't the viper venom. This is the aqueous humor of a giraffe: useful for an entirely different type of murder. How did this get - Mr. Bond!!! Halt! The son who is of a bitch! GUARDS!!!

Jeez, Mr. Bond! Why do you not keep still? Aha! You found my mini-pub. A little taste of home, I bet you were thinking. You see that it is complete with amusing figurines of Dickensian characters, and a miniature one of those funny horns they blow at fox hunts. Enjoy this last taste of home, Mr. Bond, because in a moment you will taste hot lead - what??? Where has he-? I didn't even look away that time!!! GUAAAARRRRDS!

There you are! You are one slippery fish, Mr. Bond. It is fitting that I find you near my rough-hewn corner basement bar that is very like being in the hold of a ship, don't you think? I always say that if it feels as though the ship is rocking, it is probably the evil grog one has drunk, and not actually the wave action of any body of water, because we are, in reality, underground. It's wordy, I know. I should probably have one of my minions pare it down a little, to fit on a coaster. I have some more clever quips on some coasters back here. Let me see where I left them. I - HEY! Consternation and malediction! He has gone away! GUARDS! Find him, you slowcoaches! Find him at once! Damnation, I need a drink.