1976: Drs. William Johnson and Robert Truax of Louisiana State University raised and studied featherless chickens.
Aside from the physical problems, the chickens have social problems and psychological hangups, Johnson said.
"I guess 'embarrassed' is as good a word for it as any. You put one of them in with a flock of normal birds, and it huddles off in a corner by itself. The other birds won't have anything to do with it until they get used to it," he said.
"And then they're just not as active sexually. They will court and strut much more than the normal bird, but they don't mate as readily."
The story reminds me of the old urban legend about KFC raising mutant, featherless chickens. Maybe this is where the story started.
Created in the late 1960s by Hollywood auto customizer George Barris, who's best known as the designer of the original Batmobile.
The Love Machine featured velvet upholstery, a revolving circular bed, psychedelic lights, entertainment console, mirrored ceiling, and a crystal chandelier. It did the rounds at auto shows until the mid-1970s, where it was promoted as the "world's first x-rated car."
In the late '70s, the Love Machine was rebranded and it went on to have a career in Hollywood. From Hemmings Daily:
Barris, ever the opportunist, managed to get the Love Machine cast as the lead vehicle in the 1977 vansploitation flick SuperVan. To do so, he simply gave the Love Machine a repaint and redid the interior with even deeper plush carpeting. Though technically known as Vandora in the movie, the Super Van moniker stuck, thanks to Barris’s promotional efforts.
Nor would SuperVan be the van’s only screen appearance. It also showed up in the 1986 made-for-TV movie Condor, repainted gold and black; then in 1989’s Back to the Future II as a Hill Valley Transit bus, painted green; in the 1990 movie Solar Crisis, painted white; and then on an episode of the 1990s TV show SeaQuest DSV, still painted white. Then, in about 2003, the Guild of Automotive Restorers began a restoration on the van that brought it back to its Super Van configuration.
May 1978: Random House issued a recall of a cookbook, Woman's Day Crockery Cuisine, after realizing that one of the recipes "could cause a serious explosion."
The recipe in question was for "Silky Caramel Slices." The problem was that it instructed people to heat an unopened can of condensed milk in a crockpot for four hours. A statement from Random House noted, "If the recipe is followed, the condensed milk can could explode and shatter the lid and liner of the crockery cooker."
What the recipe neglected to mention was that you should add water into the crockpot surrounding the can. Initially I thought you should open the can also, but my wife (who's heard of this technique of cooking condensed milk on a stove top) corrected me. You keep the can closed so that the milk doesn't boil out of the can.
Marilynn Marter, writing in the Chicago Tribune (May 25, 1978) explains:
The recipe in question was for Silky Caramel Slices and called for heating a can of sweetened condensed milk in a crockpot. Because of an unfortunately elusive line that should have instructed folks to fill the pot with water, following the recipe appears to have resulted in some unintentional pop-top cans and badly damaged crockpots...
The conditions that have made this underground recipe successful and therefore popular, especially with children, are water and temperature. By being heated in boiling water, the temperature of the can and milk do not exceed the boiling point. After a few hours of this, the sugared milk turns to a caramel pudding. In the Crockpot, however, especially without water, the temperature can build up rather like a pressure cooker. That was the most immediate cause of the problem.
Front Cover
Back cover The 'exploding' recipe (Silky Caramel Slices) is listed third from bottom, right-hand column.
The Jecklin Float electrostatic headphones. They were non-adjustable. So they either fit, or they didn't. But apparently the sound quality was pretty good.
Back in 1976, Andy Davis of Armington, Illinois decided to dig a cave in the side of a hill and live there with his family, to avoid high heating bills. In the process, he became a pioneer of the "earth-sheltered home" movement, and he went on to start a company building other "cave homes."
Created in 1977 by Mr. X, and his partner Mr. Y, both of whom wanted to stay anonymous because they had "straight jobs in large corporations."
Concha-Consciousness consisted of genuine conch sells worn as a headset. "Slipped onto the head, the C-C is supposed to shut out nagging spouses, yelping dogs, screaming kids, the TV, and traffic noises. It's supposed to give you 'time out for a little serenity.'"
The first ad for Concha-Consciousness appeared in the New Yorker on Sept. 26, 1977. The headsets were subsequently featured on The Today Show.
In the 1970s, hypnotist Charles Lamont got the idea of promoting himself as an "x-rated hypnotist." He kept this up until the 80s. But what exactly did this involve? Below is the only description of his act that I could find:
His name is Charles Lamont, and he bills himself as "the X-rated hypnotist." Lamont did his thing for a full house at the Tally-ho nightclub in North Wilmington last week. The club wants him back.
The crowd, including those who volunteered to be hyponotized, loved the act. Apparently the only one disgruntled was a fellow who sort of went under by accident and turned out to be the best subject of the second show.
When his friends told him what kind of fool he had been, he got angry and stormed out of the club.
But first he let Lamont know he wasn't pleased to have hugged and nuzzled the gentleman sitting next to him on the stage, a gentleman he had been led to believe was a beautiful young lady. Or to have fondled in public a foam rubber appendage he thought was real.
But the dignified, bearded fellow we first met seemed quite happy when he was done. Maybe nobody told him about his antics.
At Lamont's suggestion, he: told the girl sitting next to him his name was, um, something you say when you're asking for a sexual kick; drank a glass of water he thought tasted like urine (and quickly spit out); thought the young lady next to him was naked (and smiled widely).
And the clincher. Lamont told him to imagine he was both male Japanese samurai and his horny female sweetheart. Oh the moaning, oh the gestures, oh the intensity.
Another fellow in the first show was told that everyone in the house was having an orgy. He watched, smiled and shook his head in amazement.
But Lamont soon snapped his fingers and that fantasy ended. Another suggestion may last longer. Lamont told him he'll want to make love to his wife till the sun comes up — every Tuesday night from then on.
Near the end of the first show, which turned out to be the better even though there were more volunteers for the secon, all three of the men were told they were musclemen. Oh how they strutted. Then they were told they were gays on Fire Island. They strutted again, but somewhat differently.
One guy was told to take a drag off a cigarette. It would be the best joint of marijuana imaginable. He flew quite high until Lamont snapped his fingers and told him to go back to sleep...
The girls, including a chesty lovely who was "almost wearing" a striking dress, according to Lamont, were given less lively roles. (Among both sexes thre were some who didn't "go under." Lamont worked around them.)
"You have to go easy with the girls in the first show," said Lamont after that one. "Their boyfriends might get mad, things like that."
But the female volunteers weren't much more active in the second show. Mostly they served as straight men, so to speak, for the guy who later was sorry about the whole thing.
Paul Di Filippo
Paul has been paid to put weird ideas into fictional form for over thirty years, in his career as a noted science fiction writer. He has recently begun blogging on many curious topics with three fellow writers at The Inferior 4+1.