Beauty Contest:

Nothing terribly sensational about a vintage beefcake bodybuilder contest. Except that I swiped these photos from a local blogger that I follow and whose father was a prolific photographer. He takes the old archived negatives and reprints them and then posts them on his blog. As far as I know I'm the only person who even visits. Anyway, I didn't ask permission to borrow these images so that we can ogle them on my not so family friendly haunt. I'm sure it's not that hard to track down my deceivery so I offer my apologies and thanks in advance.

Photo credits go to:

Click to embiggen and commence the ogling.

Pensacola Babylon:

In 1916 following the death of her grandmother a nineteen year old Bessie Warfield traveled from Baltimore Maryland to Pensacola Florida to visit her relative Corinne Mustin, whose husband the Captain Henry C. Mustin had recently been appointed Commander of the newly established Pensacola Naval Air Station.

Soon Bessie was introduced to Lt. Earl Winfield Spencer Jr. known to his friends as Win. Spencer was short, thick, and paunchy with dark circles around his eyes. As he spoke she began to size him up and later wrote, “I felt here was a man you could rely on in a tight spot.”


























Bessie and Win played golf together, walked the beaches picking up shells, they enjoyed holding hands in the dark during silent films at the local theater and dined on Saturday evenings at the San Carlos Hotel. Win would take her to dances at the Pensacola Country club and afterwards spent evenings on the veranda where they shared their first kiss.

A romance developed quickly with Bessie innocently believing that she would discover the man hidden beneath a reserved exterior and tame his rugged spirit. He seemed intent to return her affection but he had a desire to possess her and harbored a darker side prone to sudden outbursts of anger and jealousy coupled with brooding silence.

One evening Win took Bessie to the movies but as the lights faded he took her hand and led her out and drove in silence to the country club. Once there he guided her to the veranda where he proposed to her. She told him he would have to wait for his answer following approval from her mother after she returned home in a few weeks.

Once home Bessie’s mother argued the points that this was not the grand society match that she had envisioned for her daughter. The years spent making sure she attended the right schools, made the right friends and had a proper debut would have been wasted on a lieutenant who had no money. Bessie argued that she did not want to end up a dull Baltimore matron and that a nomadic life of travel with a navy husband would be an adventure. Bessie’s mother stated that this was yet another example of her daughter’s obstinate perseverance to obtain whatever she wanted.



























The wedding took place on November 8th 1916. A honeymoon followed at a resort in West Virginia and upon arrival at the hotel Win noticed a sign declaring that no alcoholic beverages would be served as West Virginia was a dry state. Win remedied the situation by pulling a flask out of his suitcase and Bessie learned that he would seldom be separated from it.

Following the honeymoon the Spencer’s returned to Pensacola and set up house. On Saturday nights they would dine at the San Carlos hotel. Officers were not allowed to drink until after dinner on Saturday nights but Win found a way around this by having his martini out of a soup bowl. Eventually he began to drink more often and not socially but alone with his flask. Some nights he would come home drunk or lock himself in the bathroom with his flask emerging hours later intoxicated.



















In April of 1917 the U.S. declared war on Germany and the Spencer’s left Pensacola and moved to Massachusetts where Win was stationed to oversee a new naval air station. From there they moved to San Diego where Win’s drinking continued and he began to verbally and physically abuse her. Following much relocation and several separations, Win was stationed in China where Bessie eventually followed and the abuse continued to the point where Bessie was so severely kicked in the stomach that it caused internal bleeding. She eventually divorced him in 1927.

Although it’s easy to feel pity for Bessie it’s noted that she carried on numerous affairs while separated from her abusive husband. On the voyage to China it was rumored that she had sex with the ship’s crewmen in front of children and their mother who were sharing the cabin with her. Later in China after she informed her husband that she intended to divorce him, Win became sadistic and publically abused Bessie. He dragged her to several Chinese brothels where he cavorted with whores while making her watch.

According to reports she not only visited the brothels but willingly participated in the activities and was trained in special sexual techniques including lesbian instruction, erotic massage for men suffering premature ejaculation, and most famously the “Chinese Grip.” This was an ability that taught her to control and contract the walls of her vagina to an extraordinary degree. One that it was said she quickly put to use on her husband and for that matter any other men who frequented the brothels where she allegedly worked as a prostitute.

Apparently all of this information was reported or rather compiled in a famous 1935 dossier at the request of the British Prime Minister, Stanley Baldwin. It was Baldwin’s task to have Bessie investigated because at the time Bessie Wallis Warfield Spencer Simpson was having a very heated and public affair with Edward, Prince of Wales. It was an affair with a tootsie that eventually led to his abdication.


























Supposedly Winston Churchill said, "Why shouldn't the King marry his tootsie?" to which Noel Coward replied, "Because the British public does not want a Queen tootsie". Especially to a twice divorced Queen Tootsie, and to think that the royal line of succession was interrupted by what started as an innocent romance with an abusive drunkard in Pensacola Babylon.

Pensacola Babylon:

“Did I ever tell you about the time I met the most handsome man in the world?”

“No but most of your stories begin like that.”

“See what had happened was...I was invited to the summer wedding of my good good friend and neighbor, Anjelica Vonshire. Believe me she’s just as gorgeous as her name, however the equally enchanting Nastassja Gallant gave her a good run for her money. But that’s another story.”

“Would you get on with it?”

“Anyways the wedding was to be held at the Big Lagoon state park outdoor pavilion and it was like a thousand degrees and I was sure that I was going to sweat a lot so I wore the most scrumptious pair of linen pants in a butter yellow and a thin as veal cotton sweater vest in ice blue and no shirt underneath so my handsome bare chest showed and a beautiful pair of leather sandals. I looked good. Albeit a little scandalous but good.”

“So what did the bride wear, a thong?”

“Oh she and her dashing groom were tripping balls. But you would have never known it though. The whole place is like a nature preserve on the inter coastal waterway and is sort of edged on a boggy lagoon with all these pitcher plants. So Anjelica Vonshire made a lovely bride in a strapless white satin column dress very austere with no bows or doodads and she wore an up-do.”

“Okay what about the handsome man?”

























“Oh yeah. So during the ceremony I was looking over the crowd because the pavilion is shaped like a horseshoe and everybody can see everybody else and I looked straight across and there he was. The most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on or have ever seen in person. You know when you hear people say, piercing blue eyes? Well he had them. I mean you could see them from fifty-feet away. I was stunned. I couldn’t take my eyes off his fine ass. He had a great square jaw and a huge dimple in his chin. He was cuter than Jesus.”

“Really? I never thought Jesus was all that hot.”

“Have you ever seen Jesus of Nazareth?"

"So later we attended the reception at the Perdido yacht club and I was stepping outside when he was stepping inside and we totally locked eyes. He was just inches away from me and I got a good close-up of those eyes. He was fucking dreamy. He smiled in that way a man does when he knows he’s gorgeous and you’ve noticed. You know what I mean? Anyhow, I found my date, Pouri the Persian and we had a seat at the bar and guess who sat next to me? Um hum Mr. Knockout that’s who. Pouri immediately chatted him up with that purring husky accent of her's, ‘So daaaarling tell me about yourself?’ He said I’ve done some modeling in the past...”

“Big surprise there...”
























“I know right? Then he went on to say that his name was John and that he liked to skydive and that he had made over 6000 jumps. Honestly he could have read a beer label to me and I would’ve cherished his every word. I was instantaneously infatuated. Eventually we took our leave from my new imaginary boyfriend and later I found out he wasn’t some ordinary local model he was like in the big leagues. Hugo Boss, Montana, Gianni Versace. He’s been photographed by Steven Meisel. The big revelation though was that he had most recently been a catalogue model for International Male.


“Hmm”

“I know I know. Later when I got home I went to the International Male website and there he was.”

“Did you beat-off to his picture?”

“I’ll just keep that to myself. So about three weeks later I was watching the news when they had a top story that a man had been injured in a skydiving accident. My heart sank.”


“Oh no.”

“Yes. He apparently worked for the skydiving place as a cameraman for recording peoples skydiving experience. He opened his shoot and it got tangled up in the camera equipment mounted on his helmet. He plummeted 11,000 feet to the ground. When rescuers found him in a field he was still alive. He was taken to the hospital where he died several hours later.”

“Oh honey that’s a horrible story.”

“I know I know. He was so beautiful and he was very kind and I’ll always remember that moment he locked those gorgeous eyes with mine.”




For more on John go here,here and here

Jewl’ry Duty:

After years of successfully evading jewl’ry duty I finally received the letter, JURY SUMMONS. I report tomorrow at 8:00 in the moanin’. I don’t mind really. I like jewl’ry, makin’ jewl’ry, wearin’ jewl’ry etc. For years I moved around town almost once a year and I had a post office box for fifteen years. Not one time did I ever receive a summons. At least one that I know of. Moving a lot is the key to avoiding it. And a P.O. box.

So anyway I was all set to appear and serve my civic duty and was kind of looking forward to it when a friend said, “What if you get selected for a murder trial and they sequester you in some hotel and you lose your job and home...” Thanks BITCH! I wouldn’t wish that on a dog.


















Then it occurred to me that the Billings murder case is still ongoing. Several individual cases have happened and some postponed. What if I am selected for one of those cases? My friend said, “Look on the bright side you’ll end up on Dateline type talk shows as Juror # 7 and make a bunch of money.” Thanks for wishing that out loud to the universe.





One aspect of that case is Pamela Wiggins. After the police rounded up the suspects they had one left. Pamela Wiggins. She owned and then harbored the get away van used in the robbery. She also buried the safe stolen from the case in her back yard. She was also later accused of bigamy.
























Ooh I want to be on her trial. I just know she did it. I just know she was the mastermind behind the whole thing. None of the suspects new the victims personally. Only Pamela could have had the opportunity to have met them socially and known about a safe that supposedly contained money and JEWL’RY.

We’ll see what happens. I’ll probably not be selected or if I do it will be some case involving an idiot that ripped up a $50,000 air conditioner for $50.00 worth of copper. Besides I can just look at a person and tell if he’s guilty or not!
























Now on to what’s really important, What to Wear? I’m thinking subdued like J’lo.

Pensacola Babylon:

Most of my neighbors are elderly. I say are as they are all still living. Behind me is Mrs. Johnson who is now 93, next door is Mr. Dudley who is now 95. The rest of the hood is populated by crazy folks, lesbians and a now deceased certain infamous retired lady wrestler.


















Me as Red Cross Worker.

Shortly after I moved into my house in March of 2004, 6 months to be exact in September, the town was hit by dozens of hurricanes. Ivan was the most devastating storm and a strong category 3 with winds clocked at 130 miles per hour. Needless to say I stayed put in my old house and commenced to get drunk and have a party.


















Before the storm.

The next day I went outside to survey the damage, I lost a few shingles on a 30 year old roof and the top of a huge magnolia tree. I look next door and Mr. Dudley is scrambling up on his roof with a hammer and starts nailing his shingles back in place. I asked if he needed any help? Mr. Dudley said, “Nope I got it but thanks for asking”. So I get out my old pick-up truck and hook a chain around the fallen magnolia limb and start to drag it to the street. I wasn’t getting anywhere. Mr. Dudley appeared with an axe and started swinging. It didn’t take him 20 minutes to chop that thing into bits and we carried the now smaller pieces to the street.


















After the storm.

The next month in October, Willie J. Junior an Escambia County Commissioner was indicted for a corruption scandal involving a real estate deal with felony bribery and money laundering charges. Junior went missing on November 9, 2004, the day before he was to be sentenced. Many assumed he had fled town to avoid imprisonment.













Willie J. Junior.

On December 9th, I was outside showing a friend around the place and we both waved to Mr. Dudley then walked around the corner to have dinner. When we arrived back home, the whole of Mr. Dudley’s property was wrapped in official yellow police tape and numerous officers were questioning the elderly gentleman. I walked over to ask what was the issue and Mr. Dudley said, “Well, they found a dead body under my house”.


















The scene of the crime.

I was shocked! My mind was racing with possibilities; Was Mr. Dudley capable of murdering a person and then stuffing the body under a house? I immediately thought of the axe incident. Yes, yes he was. Would Mr. Dudley have done such a thing? No, I don’t think a 90 year old man who drives himself to church and sings in the choir would do such a thing. My next thought was, who could it be under the house? There had been much talk about a missing person in the news...who was it again? What was his name? It’s Willie Junior! That’s what I concluded on the spot. The infamous missing city councilman of the “Where's Willie” campaign.

"On December 9, Junior's decomposed body was discovered under the home of Ben Dudley, a former employee of the Junior Funeral Home, after one of Dudley's neighbors complained of an odor. He had $60.76 in his pockets, and Heineken beer bottles and an empty pill container were discovered nearby. Dental records confirmed Junior's identity the next day. Pensacola Police Department Chief John Mathis told reporters, "The results of the autopsy revealed that there were no obvious signs of foul play." It was later determined Junior died from ingesting anti-freeze, and the death was ruled a suicide."

Close-up of the crawl space where Willie J. Junior's body was found. Incidentally this is the view outside of my dining room window.

So they knew one another and in fact Mr. Dudley had worked for Willie Junior.

"The owner of the home, a retired schoolteacher named Benjamin Dudley, had known Junior for decades and used to work for his funeral home.

Police Chief John W. Mathis said the 89-year-old Dudley had nothing to do with Junior's death. No suicide note was found, but investigators believe Junior killed himself.

Dudley agrees. "I look at it from this standpoint: When you have problems, problems mounted on top of problems, you might do anything," he said. "Only Mr. Junior and the good master know what happened, and we can't get in touch with either one."

Two days after Junior was found, more than 250 people met on Dudley's lawn for a memorial service. As community leaders praised Junior's life, people in the crowd whispered conspiracy theories. Maybe it wasn't suicide, they said, maybe it was murder. Junior seemed happier in recent months, some observed. The day he disappeared, he got a haircut."

"How many people you know go get a haircut, then go lay down and die?" said Charmane Jordan, of the Me & Mom's Family Hair Care Center who cut Junior's hair on the day he was last seen alive. "Willie Junior was the type that every time you saw him, he was dressed up. Willie ain't going up under no house like a dog."

It still remains a mystery to this day what exactly happened and how. Needless to say I am very friendly with Mr. Dudley the man who said to me upon meeting him for the first time, “You sure picked a nice quiet neighborhood to move into” to which I replied, “Yes sir and I’ll try to keep it that way for you”.

450:

I'm heading downtown for the big 450th anniversary of the founding of Pensacola as a settlement. The town really looks so young that you'd swear it's not a day over 400.

Totally unrelated but this song has been going through my head all day long as it should be. I can't get enough of Teena Marie, and it's about time she cranked out some new shit.

Love Her.

Pensacola Babylon:

So earlier in the week I mentioned my make-believe Hollywood husband Jude Law. What I failed to mention was his latest foray in fornication. Numerous legitimate agencies are reporting this earth shattering news, Huffington Post, TMZ, Hollywood Gossip, Model Mayhem just to name drop a few.



















Honestly can’t he keep it in his pants? Why he’s not gay I’ll never know. How many babies does he have now? How many nannies must he diddle? He’s like a one man sperm dispensing baby factory foreman. This could constitute human trafficking.
























In all cases of national news there is a local connection. Of course. Pensacola has many strange things about it for being a small town. It just won’t behave like a small town. One of the most delightful things about it though is the gorgeous gene pool. People are just prettier here. Even the white trash gene is just that much prettier.

Which brings me back to Jude Law. What does Jude Law have to do with the Sordid Vortex that is Pensacola?
























Samantha Burke!
























Samantha Burke. The model. The aspiring actress. The conniving social climbing Hollywood home wrecking sexual succubus. That wanton licentiously loose promiscuously pregnant tart who stole my dream of trapping Jude in a loveless hasty shotgun wedding. She beat me to it. She got pregnant with Jude's love child. Moments before I had my womb installed.

Sweet little Samantha just happens to be from PENSACOLA.

This Just In:

It gets more sordid as it goes along but rest assured these are the faces of METH. Bless the Billings daughter and all sixteen children. I have a friend whose child suffers from autism and she knew the couple as their children attend the same school. She hadn’t heard about it yet but was very saddened. On a personal note I’m friendly with the daughters Attorney, Crystal Spencer.

There they are the two words together in one paragraph, Crystal and METH.

Pensacola Babylon: Murder/Meth/Camping Edition:

It’s always white trash crime around here. I blame such stupidity and buffoonery on CRYSTAL METH. This past weekend when this horrible murder happened, two meth labs exploded and one person in particular was burned over eighty percent of his body.





I joined a group of friends and family for a canoe trip this weekend on the Coldwater Creek not far from where this happened. The first part of the trip was gorgeous and peaceful but the last one-third of the trip was filled with drunken meth addled rubes tubing down the Redneck River. RUBE TUBING.















Begging for booze seemed to be the favorite pastime as we maneuvered our way around and through the rabble. One couple in particular “tumped” over after hitting a tree limb. It was then that we saw a third passenger passed out that was sinking underwater. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. The couple (a girl and a boy) both immediately began to blame the passed out boy for their “tumping”.






























After "tumping" a verbal attack followed from the couple and then numerous pleas for him to, “Get the fuck up Colby! You gotta get the fuck up!” Then as we passed I wanted to help him but I heard, “We’re gonna get arrested for this.” If I hadn’t so much cargo we would’ve stopped to help him. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting a body. By the way, I only use the word “tump” because I know it’s Peenee’s favorite and it was a source of constant amusement all weekend. In defense of the local population I also heard, capsize, tip-over, turnover, and swamped.






























Later we saw a frantic well to do looking couple pleading for water, “Does anybody have extra water...please it’s an emergency.” That trash couple just abandoned that kid dehydrated and out of his mind on a sand bar in the middle of a river. The nice couple rescued him, forced water down his throat and called 911 which was waiting for him when we disembarked. That couple pulled up beside us and the boy was totally out of it but he was able to amble toward the paramedics. I overheard the sheriff say, “He’s going to jail.”
















Meth is the scourge of the planet.

Pensacola Babylon:

If it is a tale of the weird and unusual then there is most certainly a probable connection with this area. I like to call it the Florida Panhandle Vortex or more commonly known only to me as Pensacola Babylon. The Chinese believe that circles of energy crisscross the globe and convergence of said circles creates strong magnetic pulses not unlike the Bermuda Triangle phenomenon. This bewitching element stretches its grip of irregularity within a hundred mile radius of the position of its source. So that everyone is clear on the subject let me just say that I made all of this is up, what I mean to say is that it is all pure conjecture a hypothesis and or lies.






















Today’s story of Pensacola Babylon involves two tales, one with an eerie kooky bent and the other an account of misrepresentation, scandal and greed.
























Robert O’Ryan just wanted to marry Shawn Johnson. Is that so wrong? He had fallen in love with her like the rest of America as our national Olympic sweetheart. There were many obstacles and obstructions in the path of our young infatuated lover thwarting his efforts to obtain his bride. He was clearly insane.

He packed up his belongings and set about his quest to travel across the country and ambush Shawn at the Dancing With The Stars competition then marry and impregnate her. What could be simpler? What could possibly stop our hero? The police. Not once but twice.

Upon arriving in Hollywood O’Ryan managed his way to the Dancing With The Stars studio and proceeded to climb the security fence. He was stopped and his pending nuptials never took place. Inside his car the authorities found a loaded shotgun and handgun, duct tape and love letters intended for his betrothed. All necessary items when planning a wedding.

During the flashback sequence of today’s saga we will visit Loxley Alabama. The sleepy town of Loxley rests outside of Mobile Alabama and well within the perimeter of the Pensacola Babylon Triangle. That is where Robert O’Ryan was stopped and along his travels from Gainesville Florida to his ultimate destination, Dancing With The Stars, Hollywood USA. He was cited for not having insurance and possessing an expired operators license. Two minor details that are inconsequential infractions in Loxley.





Our next Babylonian parable involves a get away plan gone awry. Marcus Schrenker was a well to do wealthy wealth manager with ambitions greater than his intelligence. Upon his empires implosion his wife promptly filed for divorce and our endearing securities swindler seemed to have met his end.






















Schrenker hatched a plan. He would fake his death in a plane crash and start life anew in Florida. Unknown to Marcus was the fact that he bungled his plan from the beginning by placing it squarely within the Pensacola Pyramid of Peril.











While piloting his Piper Meridian single engine plane to Florida, Schrenker radioed a distress call then automated the plane controls and parachuted. His intentions were to have the plane crash in the Gulf of Mexico leaving no trace of his body. However this area being the cradle of naval aviation his plane was intercepted by military jets from one of the dozen military installations nearby. The plane was discovered in flight with its door open and the cockpit empty. It crashed in Milton, Florida just seventy-five yards from a residential area.

After parachuting to the ground, Schrenker received a ride from Alabama police to a hotel where he checked in under a false name. He then retrieved a previously located motorcycle from a storage facility and made his way to a KOA campsite where he tried to commit suicide posthaste. Schrenker is currently incarcerated in the Pensacola Escambia County Jail awaiting his upcoming trial on April 13th.

450:

Sorry to have not updated the web log in a more responsible and timely manner, I have to put that on the agenda, “Mrs. Hightower could you take an agenda for me?"

Note 1.

First Paragraph,

"Make an agenda of my agenda and then stick it in my agenda!”

I’ve been a regular social butterball lately attending to royalty and stuff. The king and queen of Spain stopped by Pen-tha-cola for a visit.

Four hundred and fifty years?

Really?

Has it really been four hundred years now?



And fifty.








































So me an a couple a friends decide to mosey on down to the city square to see what all the fuss was about. We arrive on a gorgeous spring day to Plaza Ferdinand VII and stake claim to a location overlooking a bust of Andrew Jackson. We have a clear shot of the makeshift Dias across the street at the T.T. Wentworth museum where their royal majesties are putting in an appearance.








































It’s odd in that I’m standing in the very location where Andrew Jackson informed the townspeople of the cession of Pensacola and much of West Florida from Span and that Pensacola was now the capital of the Florida Territory.




















The local news reporter was the makeshift announcer and obviously had never presided over such an event or had any knowledge of royal protocol. He would try to muster the crowd by getting them to hoop and holler. Somehow ‘whoat’ just did not seem an appropriate response.




















The king was dashing and spoke English with the most beautiful accent and expressed his interest in history. The history of his ancestor who instigated Pensacola as the first settlement in the new world. Of course that settlement was destroyed by a hurricane two years later as it often happens around here but not before they infected the local population of peace loving Indians with European disease, alcohol, and tobacco.







































The real question of the day had to be, “Who was the queen wearing?” It was a plain ordinary simple suit in a divine shade of lemon grass green. Really it was all anybody could talk about.







































































The best part of the day was crowd watching with a camera. Nobody objects because everybody has a camera aimed in their direction. The dowagers were out in full force. That’s (doe-waggers) for the uninitiated. And this guy...