Mayhem! Murder! Sex! Elephants!

Breaking stories from the 1895-1900 Chicago Tribune, in an all-elephant edition of important news from the past.

While I’m recovering from a sinus infection, which has turned my already limited writing gifts into mush, let us return to the past when tabloid news was at its finest, elephants were unruly public corrivals, and often the twain did meet.

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First, an eye-grabber of a headline:

This is mere prelude to a stunning undercover investigation. The nameless late-19th century Woodward and Bernstein behind this article digs deep into the depraved libertinism found in genus loxodanta . Elephant topers are the venal lushes of the animal kingdom. Babylon, the scoundrel of this procès-verbal, lives up to the allusions one would expect from a creature with such a distinctive Biblically-inspired name.

As for ingestion of cigarets, that monstrosity against nature is too horrific for the sensitive eyes of our genteel 21st century ethos so I shall spare you, my dear readers, from the evil that is gastronomic nightshade-concomitant excrescence.

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Yet we shall not sneer at Babylon’s besotted state. Rather, we must be compassionate and provide a “tough love” intervention, lest the poor creature succumb to the unfathomable result to his mania for hard spirits. Consider the fate of another young pachyderm, whose name clearly was omitted from the story lest his family bear the shame over “Baby’s” unhappy demise.

As always, one must be mindful when combining the intertwined dangers of demijohns and serpents.

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This next item demonstrates the value of an understated closing line to a story of wanton havoc.

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As always, the sins of imbiberary can lead to the extremes of senseless malfeasance.

Granted, Keeper Frank Fisher’s indelicate thrashing of Rajah, driven by his own temperance-challenged comportments, was unwarranted to the extreme. Yet Keeper Frank Fisher’s sorrowful end is equally indefensible. Rajah, as we learn, is that most depraved example of iniquitous liquidators: the serial killer.

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Lest you think elephant mayhem is the contumacious consequence of deep-seated vexations within the pachyderm subconscious, that is a fallacy succinctly dispatched by an unnamed psychiatrist specializing in husbandraic psyches. It turns out elephants are the cold, calculating goodfellas of the savannah.

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Next up: let’s emerge from this darkness with something of more social and historic interest: that place where tubers and 2SLGBTQIA+ pachyderms intersect. While the summation of this queer elephantine solanum tuberosum as a “freak” is admittedly archaic, nonetheless the story is not without merit. No word on the pronouns of choice for this idiosyncratic link between the vegetable and animal kingdoms.

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As long as we’re on the topic of binary preferences and sexual identities, let’s consider the act of physical love that that is the natural result of the elephant libido unleashed.

I’m truly touched by the tenderness of the interspecies coupling of Keeper Snyder and Tom. And it’s not just because the tantalizing verbiage of the last paragraph is an outstanding example of late 19th century erotica. Honestly. I’m not into stuff like that. Really.

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This next story is a classic example of why solid journalism should never bury the lede.

And yet, despite this fourth estate faux pas, there is something poetic within that word salad subheading.

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And lastly, in this concluding item we get to the root of elephant misbehavior: it is the unsurprising result that comes from restrictive parenting. As many a poetry slam has taught us, all bad behavior—which is totally excusable and demands our sympathy—lies at the feet of the autocratic microaggressions of Mom and Dad, who must be disobeyed at every turn in order to become our truest selves, as demonstrated by enfant elephant terrible Rubber

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Okay, so just one more. Should you wish to harbor similar elephantine excitements in the privacy (pronounced "priv-es-cee”) of your own home, why not stop by your local department store on this very day and procure one of these delightful betusked trumpeters of your own?

The Siegel-Cooper Company offered many a sundry good, but this particular item was indeed a bargain at any price.

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Thanks for your indulgences. And now, exhausted from plumbing the depths of my Roget’s Thesaurus, I must retreat back to the gentle confines of my sinus infection sickbed.

But wait! There’s more coming from The Typewriter’s Collage later this week, including some exciting announcements. Hang on to your trunks. You won’t want to miss a thing. For now, I would be ever so pleased if you would grace my comment section below with your own verbose verbiage. And please, make your acquaintance with a visit to my home away from home at www.arniebernstein.com.