Fort Worth Star-Telegram, November 25, 1922.
You probably think that that friend of a friend of a guy you sorta know had it rough when he woke up hungover in a bathtub full of ice to discover that one of his kidneys had been expertly stolen. Well, back in the Twenties there was a similar racket, but most dudes would gladly give up a kidney to keep what Jazz Age organ thieves were after.
In 1922 there were still plenty of people who found the word "leg" too racy for use in public (the preferred genteelism was "limb"), so no way was "testicle" going to find its way into a family newspaper. Besides, the endocrine system had only just been discovered, and people were kind of crazy for gland talk in general, and especially enthused for gland-based pseudoscience that promised human rejuvenation through the transplantation of monkey glands, goat glands, etc.
Of course, if you're a badly wasted old millionaire with a 25-year-old bride, you don't want to settle for any downmarket animal-tissue transplant. No sir, you want the best: You want brand-new, Grade A lumberjack balls.
Yeah, clever until the malpractice lawyers catch up with him. Let's see who's emptying out his sack then.
"Gland theft auto."
I'm not a marriage counselor, but that strikes me as a sign of trouble, when a wife suspects her husband of selling his balls and then lying about it.
(My thanks go out to krrraft for tipping me off about this subject.)
P.S. Per the counsel of my superiors, I will henceforth be publicizing new posts here via Twitter, where my nom de twat
P.P.S. I've got another, related ball-theft story posted over at The Hope Chest
. The second victim's name just happens to be Harry Johnson.