You may need to consult a dictionary once or twice to enjoy the full measure of this wire piece from the Minneapolis Tribune:
Caveman Kiss Vanquishes 80 Contenders
In Race for World's Osculatory Scarfpin
Universal News Service
|Though Monsieur Brulé wasn't much to look at, his aggressive technique allowed him to get a leg up on the competition. |
Paris, Sept 18. – André Brulé, stage exquisite, has been acclaimed the champion kisser of the world. By vanquishing 80 aspirants, including Americans, Russians, Italians, Spanish and French, he won the award from a committee of beauties of the younger set at Biarritz. In the course of the contest he is said to have turned an unprecedented number of feminine heads.
Berenger, whose esthetic and manly beauty played havoc at Deauville, was second.
According to the jury, Brulé's perfect kiss was according to the following procedure. He took careful aim, and then with his right arm waistward and his left foot used as a pivot, swung suddenly, implanting the kiss exactly in the middle of the mouth. The advantage of this method, which, it is declared, requires long practice, is that the girl has no time to escape.
Berenger's style consists in seizing the chin softly but firmly in the left hand, while the right hand behind the neck insinuates the head forward.
The jury styled the American kisses as “flaccid,” the Russian “eruptive,” the Italian “burning,” the English “tepid,” the Spanish “vampirish” and the French “chaste.”
The osculatory contest was held in the dance hall casino. It was watched by the queen of Spain and an imposing array of Spanish and British royalty. Brule's reward was a diamond scarfpin subscribed by the beauties.
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This Minneapolis Tribune story is a mess. But the headline is sublime.
"We're more popular than Jesus now," John Lennon told an British journalist in 1966. A year later, the Monkees' Mike Nesmith, in the Twin Cities for a show at the St. Paul Auditorium, humbly explained his band's place in the cosmic pecking order.
Read it in the voice of Garrison Keillor for the full effect.
A musically inclined vagrant known as Banjo Ben walked the streets of Minneapolis in the city's early days. His weakness for alcohol and penchant for strong language landed him in court with some frequency. In February 1876, for example, he was sentenced to 20 days in jail for spewing obscenities at the St. Paul and Pacific depot. Later that year, he walked into the Tribune newsroom and issued an invitation to witness a spectacular feat at the new suspension bridge under construction nearby.
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