The National Police Gazette was first published in 1845, and it got its name from the fact that the publishers should be arrested. It was a magazine that celebrated sex and violence back when both of those words meant punching a fully dressed woman.
Despite its insanity, the National Police Gazette stayed in publication for 132 years. How? Well, I went through hundreds of issues and I found 20 reasons for its success. Here are the six that had nothing to do with boners.
"Her heavy-lidded eyes resemble an owl's and her thick lips suggest she plays the trumpet."
-- actual quote from The National Police Gazette's feature on Barbra Streisand's stupid monster face.
Every few issues, the National Police Gazette would do an article about a female celebrity who was a 6 or below and try to destroy her. Make no mistake: Ugly women should only be used to test the pressure on sewage pipes. Still, I think it's a bit much to say that Barbra Streisand killed sex in Hollywood. Yes, if you put her near a male baby, its sex glands dissolve, but how many hospitals can she attack in a day? If the National Police Gazette were around today, every cover feature would be Adele: Would This Giant Gal Be So Lonely if She Wasn't So Filled with Ham?
This was an article from 1970 about how married women hate sex. Like all National Police Gazette articles, the writer was baffled by his own topic. After all, the birth control pill was specifically invented so girls wouldn't be so fussy about what scientists now call "the penis." The article does make one interesting point about frigidity in regard to how it's totally your fault, ladies. Though I'm not sure how women were expected to get this information, since it's my understanding that any lady holding a National Police Gazette had better damn well be using it to wash the windows.
The National Police Gazette sort of covered athletics, but all their articles about sports were about how to start a fight while playing them. Shooting a jump shot is like telling a defender that your foot is afraid to kick him in the cock. A field goal is only something you attempt when you're being attacked by owls. Even their horse racing coverage is mostly about how to spectacularly kill horses:
What did that horse even trip over? Was it dropped from a balloon? Was this picture taken at the world's most fun but least ethical glue factory?
A-and I think this article is just pictures of jockeys internally bleeding to death? Jesus Christ. How did these people have time to put together a magazine while they were slaying hitchhikers?
This article is about how to win a fight during a basketball game and why you have a financial and moral obligation to do so. I know I've been making fun of the National Police Gazette for its sociopathic editorial direction, but I want to make it very clear that a lot of this magazine truly rules.
Full caption: "A CRAZY PHYSICIAN MARRIES AN ATLANTA, GA., BELLE, AND PROFESSIONALLY OFFICIATES IN A SCENE OF HORROR IN THE BRIDAL CHAMBER."
In the early days of photography, the National Police Gazette's nutbag articles had to be illustrated by hand. This was a suicidal career path for artists because by the time they left, 90 percent of their portfolio was drawings of women being caned or dismembered. For a job interview, all the NPG did was hand you a pencil and ask you to draw something culturally important. If you drew a bear biting a lady in half, you were hired. If you drew the same bear screaming as it passed her overbust corset and face bones, you were hired as editor-in-chief.
When most publications report on an all-lady riot, they lead with the number of casualties. In the National Police Gazette, they lead with how close the dames were to ripping each other's clothes off (ALMOST) and leave out virtually every other detail. In 1896, a story of a near titty sighting was far more newsworthy than human lives or property damage. You know, all this female violence is depressing me. Let's check out some of NPG's cartoons ...
As offensive as this is, I think she should be more concerned about how he struck a match on her when she's built like a squid stuffed with bread crumbs. This comic really illustrates the Catch-22 of our grandparents' generation -- a husband only liked his wife when she had an ass you could strike a match on, and a wife only liked her husband when he wasn't striking a match on her.
This was an article about injecting your wife with sodium pentothal when that lying whore won't admit she's sleeping around. Doctors also thought it would be a great way to track the spread of VD, since everyone in the medical community knows your wife is just filthy with drifter gonorrhea.
It must take forever to get FDA approval for this stuff, because this was written 40 years ago and I still can't buy over-the-counter sodium pentothal. Or maybe in the last 40 years one researcher suddenly gasped, "Stop your centrifuges, fellas! Do we really want to distribute a drug that makes women shut up less? Waitress! A round of Bud Dry for all the scientists!"