In this 1932 commercial one lucky dame gets to be the Queen of a Gas Machine. (And the recipient of manifold gropings!)

Why hello there!

On this fine fine Friday I offer you a deeply offensive cartoon commercial, hailing from the steamingly sexist bowels of 1932.

There’s Peeping Toms — one of which is a clock! — casual break and entry, oh-so-cheeky gropings under duress, a fist fight, euphemistic candy licking, and a good ol’ fashioned damsel-in-distress rescue. (Although to the cartoon writer’s credit, at least our heroine gets to hurl a few insults and glass objects at her tormenter. . .)

The best part of all? All this tumultuous romance is merely a foil for Oldsmobile! Naturally. Oh, and there’s a sing-along too.

Anyway, here’s hoping that however you get the fuck down on Friday — or don’t! — you’ll find yourself the Queen of a Gas Machine one way or another.

Oh hai and happy Friday!

Today I want to bring you something special from the twisted mind-coffers of 1977. Because I love you.

Because you’re #soprettysodumb, you probably don’t know that the “world of art” is comprised of jaunty red berets, glinting candelabra . . .
and pantyhose.

That’s because you’re a philistine.

I bet you also didn’t know heterosexual men prefer human flesh to look like a table leg.

That’s because you’re a daft plebeian who’ll never find love.

I’m gonna go ahead and say, I’m not entirely sure these copywriters consulted their lawyers on this one. I feel like the Federal Trade Commission should have flagged the living shit out of this ad as perjurious hogwash.

Who knows what the art world looks like?! (I’ve always thought of it as more of a paint-splattered orgy), but I sure as fuck know all about nylons — and they aren’t at all what Hanes would have you believe.

Have you ever worn a pair of nylons? No? Then consider yourself #blessed: The elastic pinches all the fat around your stomach leaving those pink, painful seam-dents on your hips; the crotch is somehow always sagging (despite the suffocating elastic) and prohibits any normal movement of your legs; your skin is rendered a monochromatic hue guaranteed to clash with the color of your face and arms; and every time one leg brushes the other there is a barely audible scratching of plastic on plastic that makes one’s teeth itch.

BUT. Let’s be clear. I am super into men lowering their giant, maybe-bifocals as I walk by to ogle my body. Especially if they’re artists. Also, who doesn’t want a formal portrait of themselves with a shellacked helmet-head clad in a white, wizard-sleeved Banlon dress?

AND THEN GETTING TO WEAR THAT SAME DRESS TO THE ART OPENING SO THERE’S NO QUESTION AS TO WHO THAT PORTRAIT IS OF.

ME. BEAUTIFUL, SPECIAL ME.

Soooo, maybe this whole nylon thing is worth it after all?

Welcome to a delectable vintage video hot off the scintillatingly sexist presses circa 1944.

And boy, is it a doozy!

Written and produced for the United States Education Department, this handy dandy training video deftly explains how to “break in” new women workers in factories. (You know, because these women had previously divided their time between lying on their backs and dusting flours on pies… so all these intimidating gears, gadgets, and machines are exceedingly intimidating, and they need a certain kind of man — a strong, gentle, rumpled-headed man — to lead them through this metal-laden fray.)

There are myriad revelations here, but the general takeaway is that women scare Joe — very, very much — but, “women workers can be surprisingly good producers.” Because we too have opposable thumbs and a frontal cortex that controls our executive functioning!

I also learned that when training female minions, never, ever “use trade terms.” Stick to overly simplistic, infantilizing language similar to when you’re gearing up to “make whoopee.” I’m going to hide my naughty bishop in the dark cathedral. Get my drift Margaret?!

(Also, if anyone knows what the “eternal feminine” situation is that they refer to, I’d love some intel on that.)