A history of heartbreak-replete with beheadings, uprisings, creepy sex dolls, and celebrity gossip-and its disastrously bad consequences throughout time Spanning eras and cultures from ancient Rome to medieval England to 1950s Hollywood, Jennifer Wright's It Ended Badly guides you through the worst of the worst in historically bad breakups. In the throes of heartbreak, Emperor Nero had just about everyone he ever loved-from his old tutor to most of his friends-put to death. Oscar Wilde's lover, whom he went to jail for, abandoned him when faced with being cut off financially from his wealthy family and wrote several self-serving books denying the entire affair. And poor volatile Caroline Lamb sent Lord Byron one hell of a torch letter and enclosed a bloody lock of her own pubic hair. Your obsessive social media stalking of your ex isn't looking so bad now, is it? With a wry wit and considerable empathy, Wright digs deep into the archives to bring these thirteen terrible breakups to life. She educates, entertains, and really puts your own bad breakup conduct into perspective. It Ended Badly is for anyone who's ever loved and lost and maybe sent one too many ill-considered late-night emails to their ex, reminding us that no matter how badly we've behaved, no one is as bad as Henry VIII.

Lord Timothy Dexter was, by most accounts, a living embodiment of irony. Time and time again he beat insurmountable odds (often, it seems, without realizing they existed) and came out on top (and flush with cash). A farm laborer, with little schooling to speak of, Dexter catapulted himself into the 'Who's Who' of 18th Century New England society through numerous trading endeavors of all sorts. But for all of his quirks, he also seems to have been something of a cruel prankster. Many of the events of his later life would make most men of honor blush with shame. Doubly so when one reviews the treatment his wife endured. This work was originally published as an exercise in vanity. It became inexplicably popular, however, after Dexter freely handed out the first printing. In the second, he addressed the criticisms of 'lack of punctuation' by ending the work with an entire page devoted solely to it, which he suggested the reader insert anywhere they like within the work. The strange book went on to be formally reprinted eight times. This book is - and has remained - one of the oddest, most bizarre publications ever brought to public light. It's difficult to enjoy yet, strangely, it is equally difficult to dismiss.

"If You Don't Know Me By Now," "The Love I Lost," "The Soul Train Theme," "Then Came You," "Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now"--the distinctive music that became known as Philly Soul dominated the pop music charts in the 1970s. In A House on Fire, John A. Jackson takes us inside the musical empire created by Kenny Gamble, Leon Huff, and Thom Bell, the three men who put Philadelphia Soul on the map. Here is the eye-opening story of three of the most influential and successful music producers of the seventies. Jackson shows how Gamble, Huff, and Bell developed a black recording empire second only to Berry Gordy's Motown, pumping out a string of chart-toppers from Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes, the Spinners, the O'Jays, the Stylistics, and many others. The author underscores the endemic racism of the music business at that time, revealing how the three men were blocked from the major record companies and outlets in Philadelphia because they were black, forcing them to create their own label, sign their own artists, and create their own sound. The sound they created--a sophisticated and glossy form of rhythm and blues, characterized by crisp, melodious harmonies backed by lush, string-laden orchestration and a hard-driving rhythm section--was a glorious success, producing at least twenty-eight gold or platinum albums and thirty-one gold or platinum singles. But after their meteoric rise and years of unstoppable success, their production company finally failed, brought down by payola, competition, a tough economy, and changing popular tastes. Funky, groovy, soulful--Philly Soul was the classic seventies sound. A House on Fire tells the inside story of this remarkable musical phenomenon.

Point blank, this is a punchy, no-holds-barred book for young men that lays out the call and command to be disciplined, godly, and sold-out for Jesus. Addressing topics such as purity in one's thought-life, peer pressure, and perseverance as a Christian, this specially adapted work stands to influence a struggling generation. Using the same no-nonsense approach that made R. Kent Hughes' Disciplines of a Godly Man a positive influence on thousands of adults, this adaptation by Kent, his son Carey, and veteran youth leader Jonathan Carswell outlines the disciplines necessary to help a young man align every facet of his life with the fundamental truths of the Bible. It not only teaches how to live a life of Christian discipline, but also instills the desire to do so into a young heart longing to live a life of integrity, meaning, and fulfillment. This book brings the authority of a trusted name with a new flavor that will engage a younger audience.

"These 56 essays, excerpts, short stories and poems, collected and reprinted by the three poet-editors from diverse sources, reflect how their authors -- music critic Greil Marcus, poets David Wojan and Donald Hall, early Beatle Stuart Sutcliffe and many others -- have loved and internalized the Beatles and their music ... In his poem 'Portland Coliseum, ' Allen Ginsberg, for example, exultantly recounts attending an early Beatles concert. Indeed, the Beatles' very public February 9, 1964, appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show comes up again and again in these pages as a sort of mantra for a generation's coming of age (though Leonard Bernstein writes of how the four moptops overwhelmed a 46-year-old conductor on that winter night). Not all of the writers flatter the band -- witness Larry Neal's attempt to explain the Beatles' failure to capture the hearts of some African Americans, or Eric Gamalinda's wonderful yarn about the band's disastrous trip to the Philippines. For sheer fun and creativity, Timothy Leary's essay 'Thank God for the Beatles' alone justifies the price of admission. 'John Lennon, George Harrison, Paul McCartney, and Ringo Starr are mutants ... Revolutionary agents sent by God, endowed by mysterious powers to create a new human species.' Yeah, yeah, yeah!"

Reprint of the original, first published in 1838.