Category: History

This is a special addition dedicated to the guys at ‘The Groom Room Torquay’. We’ll be taking a look at a clever cunt by the name of Ambroise Paré, who back in the day was in the profession known as Barber-Surgeon. Yeah that’s right those bastards would trim your fringe and your foreskin in one sitting.

You’ve probably all heard the reason for the red and white barber pole representing the blood involved in surgery. Well it was fairly common for barbers to pull teeth, amputate limbs, etc. fucking etc… Ambroise was no exception he was balls deep in the surgery game and even made some pretty cold-hearted advances. When treating a bunch of soldiers for gunshot wounds it was fairly standard to pour boiling oil on the wounds to cauterize the wounds. Ambroise was splashing that shit around, obviously like he was applying aftershave and ran the fuck out. So then he’s all like “Oh fuck, I’m out of boiling oil to pour on these wounded people” and decides to not be an asshole and makes some concoction of rose water and egg whites. In the morning, all the guys he deep-fried were fucking dead (surprisingly) but the others were healing up. So he realised it wasn’t fucking cool throwing hot oil on people, like Einstein getting a handjob a stroke of genius.

He didn’t stop there! Between shaving the Nike tick into the sides of peasant’s heads, he had time to investigate a nifty little form of medicine that he had suspicions about. The medicine in question was Bezoar stones, these were essentially a rock that you swallow and it was meant to cure any poison. Ambroise called bullshit on this and was all like “fuck you guys, they don’t work”. So they got a cook that was caught stealing silverware from Ambroise’s house and said you can either get hung (survival rate = fuck all) or you can get poisoned and have an Bezoar stone (survival rate = who the fuck knows) and if you survive you’re free. So the cook chug-a-lugged the poison and gobbled down a rock. Needless to say the cook then spent several hours dying a horrible slow death. You can imagine the smug look on Paré’s face as the cook rolled around dying, what an asshole.

Believe it or not, I can’t find shit about how he cut hair but I imagine he was all right…

Welcome to the second instalment of this week long series of tortures. Today we’ll be looking at the iron maiden, with a story that may surprise you.

The iron maiden is a big ass metal monster that takes the form of a lung-lacerating lady. It’s essentially a metal coffin filled with spikes that allows for the doors to be closed nice and slow. This would leave anyone inside looking like Swiss fucking cheese.

The first report of it being used was to punish a coin forger on 14^th August 1515. Now this is where you’re going to notice an inconsistency. When I tell you that the iron maiden wasn’t invented until 1793 by a cheeky chap who went by the name of Johann Phillipp Siebenkees. I know what you’re think, this guy obviously made the device, travelled back in time and tortured people to be a massive cunt. Well if only that were true. When I say it was invented, I mean he made it up. It was never actually used in medieval times as a method of execution. It was used in the 1700s as a tourist attraction. Yeah, yeah, I know, your life’s a fucking lie.

This is where it actually gets pretty fucking dark. So just because it wasn’t used in the middle ages and when it was invented it was just a tourist attraction, doesn’t mean it was never used.

We all remember Sadam Hussein. Well his son Uday was the head of the Iraq Olympic association. How did he get his athletes motivated? Torture of course. This sick fucker had an Iron maiden built and kept it on the first floor of the soccer department. He would lay down some old school punishments on players who lost tournaments. When they found the iron maiden it was noted that the spikes were blunted from and worn from use. Fuck.

A big thank you for the suggestion of the coming series of the week to Samantha Gifford! Grab you black hoods and raise the fucking guillotine, this week will hold a daily dose of terrible tortures!

Today we’ll be looking at the metallic man melter called the ‘Brazen Bull’. Now this cheeky little number was essentially a human scream powered music box. It of course took the shape of a bull made entirely of bronze, so as far as the aesthetics of torture devices go it doesn’t get any better. The inside was hollow with a convenient side door to check the survival rate of it’s occupant (generally very fucking low). The pièce de résistance was the metal tubing rigged up to allow whichever poor bastard that happened to be inside to breath. When breathing out or I should say screaming out it would turn the screams into the sound of a raging bull.

So how did it work? Fucking simple. You get some unlucky cunt who just told the boss man his flies are down, stick ‘em in the bull and light a fire below it. Bish bash bosh, you’ve got toasted traitor. The way bronze conducts heat means that wherever they move inside the bull they’re gonna be getting slow roasted. If they’re lucky they may pass out from the heat. Chances are though they slowly dehydrate, while being cooked from the inside out.

So what piece of shit came up with this bright idea? Well it was a fellow called Perilaus over in Sicily (I couldn’t find an exact date, but it’s somewhere between 570 and 554BC. Plus I’m fucking sick of searching old manuscripts). So he makes this thing for a tyrant by the name of Phalaris. From what I understand they were both sick assholes. Anyway, Perilaus comes around with this big fucking bull to kiss the tyrants ass and says how much pleasure he will get from hearing the screams of the victims. Phalaris is all like “This guy is fucking gross”, but keeps his disgust on the down low.

Phalaris says, “Oh, Perilaus. You should jump in that thing and prove the horn works.” Perilaus obviously doesn’t realise he’s in peril and the dumb cunt does it! They slam the door on him and set it ablaze. Low and behold it all works perfectly, but they don’t roast him completely. They decide to pull him out half dead and just throw him off a cliff, because why the fuck not? Phalaris went on to use the bull all the time, including dinner parties and banquets. He of course had incense added to the room didn’t smell like burning human flesh.

But there is a happy ending. A few years on when Phalaris gets overthrown, can you guess what they did with him? Oh yes, Roasted ruler.

We all know politicians can be slippery bastards, but today’s person of interest doesn’t just take the biscuit. He takes the whole packet and shits in the biscuit tin. John Stonehouse, born 1925 was a Labour party politician (among other things). Coming from a good family with his mother being a mayor, Stonehouse knew he wanted to crawl his way to the top and bite as many ankles as needed on the way.

I will first mention some good the cheeky bugger did, he was an activist for black rights in Rhodesia in the early stages of his career but that just got him thrown the fuck out of Rhodesia. I warn you now, it’s pretty much down hill from here. So he gets appointed as minister of technology only to goof that the fuck up by jamming radio broadcasts after Labour lose the 1970 general election, this obviously rubbed people the wrong fucking way. Some poor bastard was probably phoning in to win some tickets and got shafted because he couldn’t hear which fucking Elvis Presley song was playing.

He sets up a load of businesses because, why the fuck not, which all went tits-up with he dodgy accountancy. So when your businesses are floating in the toilet next to your fat turd of a career, what do you do? Well generally you realise you’re fucked. But not John Stonehouse! He goes to a beach in Miami while running from the shit going on back home and leaves a pile of clothes on the beach before fucking legging it to Australia under a new name with his mistress.

So everyone decided he’s dead and doesn’t really give a fuck. But this guy can’t catch a fucking break. A bank teller spots him thinking he’s some Lord (Lord Lucan) that went missing after his children’s nanny was murdered and calls the cops. The cops put two and two together and bust his bitch ass. The shocking thing was, when on bail he was still allowed to act as an MP! After a trial, in which he defended himself he managed to get away with only seven years in prison. After he died (not a particularly special death), just to put the rotten cherry on this shit sandwich it turned out he was a Czech spy.

Fucking hell, Stonehouse!

So today we’ll be looking at a chap whose story is re-god-damn-diculous! The name is Alvin York. Sergeant York was born in Tennessee 1887, gaining a reputation of getting shit-faced and indulging in good ol’ bar brawls. He decided to pack in the booze and denounce all the rough and tumble to try and better himself as a pacifist. But when you’re a six foot something one man fucking wrecking ball, life has a way of bringing out your talents. He got slipped a draft notice to go along to join WW1 and fight for his country. He was all like “shit, I don’t do that any more”, but they didn’t fucking listen and shipped him off.

After joining the 82^nd infantry division he still had moral objections to violence due to his Christian beliefs, until his commander quoted some passage “He who hath no sword, let him sell his cloak and buy one”. So he decided to get stuck in. His troop was given the delightful task of taking out German gunner turrets, not the easiest fucking job. While capturing some German soldiers a shit-load of turret machine guns started lighting the place up and fucking mangled 9 of his troop, this left York in charge. He got the remaining men to guard the prisoners while he tried to take the gunners on.

With barely a moment to react, (he noted in diary) ‘I didn’t want to kill any more than I had to, but it is they or I’. He starts picking off these soldiers, saying the targets were so big he couldn’t help but hit their body or head. This fucking mad man basically went Rambo on these guys. Six troops with bayonets tried to rush him but he pulled his side pistol (M1911 that hold 7 bullets) and killed all fucking six before they reached him! Now is that wasn’t wild enough, the gunfire stops and the German in command offers surrender. Not wanting to embarrass them anymore he accepts and out trots 132 men with their tails between their legs.

His seven remaining men and himself then march these 132 people back to their camp. His General say to him “Well York, I hear you’ve captured the whole damn German army” to which he replied “No Sir, I only got 132”. Sergeant Alvin C. York must have walked with a slouch from carrying those massive brass balls!

A reader suggested today’s subject so I must say thank you to Si Meaden for the idea. We’ll be looking at the guy who had ‘help wanted’ signs going up in the brothels of London with his philosophy of sluts get cuts. It’s Jack the Ripper. Jack ‘the throat gripper’ Ripper was a horrific murderer of women (prostitutes) active in London around 1888, and the name originated from a letter received by local media claiming to be him.

Although the letter was thought to be a hoax it saw an increase in newspaper sales and led to the infamous reputation Jack holds. The belief that the murders were all being perpetrated by the same guy came from the particularly fucking brutal state he would leave the bodies. Jack was no typical slash and run chap, when he attacked someone he was sure as hell they weren’t turning up for work the next day. The bodies would have their throats cut, and when I say cut, I’m talking deep! In the case of Mary Jane Kelly he went all the way to the fucking spine. After damn near cutting their fucking head off, he really went to work on them. The women would have their abdomens jaggedly ripped open and often a few bits and pieces would be missing. It’s not known why he took the organs but I certainly wouldn’t be looking in his fucking memory box.

Well at least now they’ve had their throats cut and souvenirs taken from their guts it’s all over. Oh wait there’s more. So then the dirty bastard adds insult to injury by absolutely mutilating their face! If I was the woman’s ghost stood next to this, I’d be like “Cheers Jack you fucking cunt, I hope my kidney leaves a stain in your pocket. Prick”. I couldn’t bring myself to post any of the pictures of the victims as they’re fucking haunting, but if you fancy sleeping with the lights on for a month you can give it a Google.

The exact number of victims is questionable due to the high number of attacks on females at the time. But there were five that would be hard to argue as the handiwork of anyone else.

So what did to police do? Freaked the fuck out of course! They were knocking on doors, did over 2000 interviews and even detained 80 people on suspicion. But old ‘guts in his sack’ Jack, was a sneaky bugger. A letter was received by the head of a vigilante group marked as coming ‘from hell’ and signed Jack the ripper. This wouldn’t be that scary except it came with half a human kidney preserved in ethanol. Once examined it was found to be a human kidney and from the left hand side, which just so happened to be an item taken from one of the victims. I especially like how he signed off in it with “Catch me when you can”. The cheeky cunt!

Despite all this Jack was never found and it is still a mystery as to who he really was. I bet Scotland Yard were as gutted as an 1880’s London prostitute.

If you have any suggestions for articles, be it history, science, philosophy, etc. Send me an email (found in the contact section) and I’ll get it on my to do list. Also a guest writers section is currently being set up and if you fancy writing something yourself, send it my way and we’ll see if I can publish it for you.

Today’s tale is of a very well known character but perhaps a less known man than expected. Edward Teach (A.k.a. Blackbeard)! Teach was thought to of been born in Bristol around c.1680, he started his career as a sailor on the ‘Queen Anne’s War, this is where he got those cheeky fucking sea legs from. But this was just another stop on the way to the top for Teach. When he got over to the Bahamas he teamed up with a dirty swashbuckler by the name of Benjamin Hornigold. Together they started robbing ships and generally getting their pirate on. Although Blackbeard has a legacy of violence and a rather ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude, he was actually a master of marketing. He would much prefer to avoid violence if possible and just scare the shit out of a sailors poop-deck instead. He built the fierce image as a way of saying “Hey, you there. Give me that ship or I’m gonna show you what you fucking guts taste like”. He was known to set the platted ends of his hair and beard on fire, so people would know he’s fucking mental. When he got himself a decent ship he named it ‘Queen Anne’s Revenge’, most likely a play on the name of his first vessel. He sailed the seas taking treasure, but not what you may think. His ‘booty’ was generally shit like coca, cotton, sugar, etc. But it fetched a pretty penny back in those days. So I wouldn’t fucking moan. He at one point headed to England and got a pardon, which is pretty fucking ridiculous, tried to settle down. But obviously Blackbeard didn’t just get a job in a fucking newsagent, so he got back into the pirate game. I know you’re waiting to hear about some crazy shit, so I’ll jump to his final battle. So people are pretty fed up of his shit, and a chap called Lieutenant Maynard tracked him down, Teach was throwing a party just kicking back and having a good time. Once spotted Maynard waited until morning (when I imagine Blackbeard was suffering a rotten hangover) to make his approach. As the ships saw each other, it all kicked the fuck off! I’m talking cannons, small arms swords (once they got close enough), the whole shebang. A load of Maynard’s men pulled the old Trojan boat trick and hide below deck. This threw Teach and his geezers by surprise and they got a fucking whooping. The accounts of exactly what went down in the battle are sketchy but you know it was a shit storm. Blackbeard got fucked up pretty bad though. They checked out his body and he had been shot five times and cut to buggery. Being all hyped up, they cut Blackbeard’s head off and hung it from Maynard’s bowsprit (the bit on the front of the ship) and sailed off to collect their reward. Blackbeard may not have had as much of a violent life as you’d imagine but he certainly went out in true pirate style.