As is tradition of some sort here, a few days before my Leonid birthday, my brother left before I got up, but on the stationary bike which I use to get at last four miles a day done on lest I let the strange decay that comes with the shadow lords of the moats derail me, he left a powder blue t shirt as an earliest birthday gift. On a echoingly FASCISTIC triangle on the shirt was a more fantastic than not symbol,-- I remember when it meant “hope”, good gwad, but was now a return to the Romans sashes like of a Hercules that had his roman boots uncolored by the Chislers at National, although anyway there is a alas a Jew joke in there somewhere. I only liked the shirt and kept it as a nice article because of its appearance being an echo of the great Alex Ross, the painterly comics that no one else seems able or willing to do.
I went on Interest, a new account I had to make as the email I used was a brother's unused account and I couldn't access it to get the new or another password. As an admirer of Varsca and Sorayama, since there were his paintings of erotica out of Guccione's more adult Penthouse, am and their feminine arts always hated by the coven that seems to want to out do the blood gulping of various chicken hawks of prey, I found a cascade of strangely uninspiring and rather flat arts done by AI, in which I can tell, a s opposed to some, eagerly when Hal the supercomputer dares think he is the English hated Raphael.
So, I found myself liking as many drawings as I have ever done, usually sketches and pretty girls, even horses and Conan’s that I knew were drawn by a human hand, as the duding old plait carts that old man Sanders dear act like he is not their puppet, remember it isn’t money laundering if you take wedding envelope only made out to 27 dollars at a time, sheeesh!, though no one seems to want it, proving again as Steven Colbert lives in the detritus of a life in the wings, perhaps this alas finally how Michelangelo does strike back. A hunt for some reasons the drawings are festooned with computer graphics based on the geometry of art, literally, with circle spheres and squares, but not the kind that John Bushema tittered us all us as boys
I saw on an Instagram page, which seems hijacked by a Superman making it to 300 mil eighty cents at a time, and Colbert, so, who ever thought they be connected ever or that I dislike one as much as the other, that smirking little pimple man Colbert is daring CBS to destroy him, as it acceptable to him, sinks in and posing fringe TV show can be seen by some as a grief over a death, which he laughed his way through you and your wop grandmother sure enough as did Gory television. He is daring the power and glory CBS, don’t tell me like his hero Biden the Power and Glory wasn't read by him either, as he lives out his Virgilian destiny by becoming a cartoon image. Worthy of the digital that was mere construction papers as mine still is. Not the day I made a billion, no fooling, I'd open a vein to be closer to Petronius than any billionaire could ever be, as Trey must be one of the good ones. But then, as for Colbert DARING AND GOADING CBS, so did Tommy Smothers, Bishop Sheen, Daniel Schoor, Arthur Godfrey, DESILU, AND EVEN CAPTAIN KANGAROO, ALL OF WHOM FOUND OUT WHERE THE CYCLOPS MAKES HIS NESTS. Lets just say I wasn't as upset by this cancellation, something you fat women and sissy boys were fine with for the mere nobodies, How Gibbon, as I was as a kid when A Bigger Check offed Police squad!
.jpg)
3 AUGUST 2025
Since I was a boy and saw Oliver Wendell Douglas. THE HEARTS OF ALL ONE SANE MEN EVER ON THE CYCLOPS, AS IT DEVOLVES NOW I AM TO UNPAID FOR I DID NOT HAVE TO APPROVE OF THIS MESSAGE POLITICAL CRAP, had the same birthday as a pug kept as if a son in that ultimate of CBS wayward sets of the big round up, I am always aware when my birthday falls on the same time frame as one from television, as I sense it like when a joke as made about Biden and NBC godfather Burl, in the cold day that course was paraded into power. Happy Birthday oh cheapskate on mine, the card to the eager senator from the farm lands before he called became separator said, as he was determined that it was indeed the pg on August 2 1971 when I turned 6 and saw it on our old zenith television, beefier as I said the glass of the Stiegel act was broken part and in case of emergency., like pausing taxes or not having a wedding fest of and between an oligerarch, if you don’t play aged hippie and aren't the son of Alan Brady once again, and a stripper was done ironically enough no one figured in an armory where the Vain Borgia’s doges kept their knives.
So this week, in my own birthday week, CBS phished in the middle sea of new Sicily again, as the day after my birthday day, the first work day, it seems that Ralph and Ed were reaping for the party that was never thrown as they, like Neil Simon and Bilko, it was for the top[ banana that that attempt at musical fare was even tried, and was going nowhere until ad libbing the heart mad magazine kiddie show host emeritus, Phil Silvers was sand and calculating and said with a shyster's con artist Sedulous flee it’s a comedy TONIGHT! AND Sondheim, our musical genius went to work with the parables of all theater and the xylophones and slide whistles and bassoons of italic pentameter, at its best. So, this money after my birthday, as Ralph and Ed once again, so good and artless at comedy to call them tropes is a misnomer if not an issue, and how once again poor Alice hopes for an American dream was dashed by his blowhard sensibilities as baby I just go crazy thinking another man is after ya, and I’m a moax, and she still gives him a gift to unlike Charlie Brown, he can't lose all the time, no one does, and to make one is literary cruelty that only come from we now know preferred Spark, and baby, You’re the greatest. It is not for nothing that despite the marooning of archetypes everywhere that a mad magazine never even tried to lampoon the honeymooners until they reached a Sam Viviano nadir and Mort Drucker was retired.
Also, my television Beatrice, AS I HAVE CALLED HER, BEAUTIFUL MISS FANSERVACE PUT IN NEGLIGEES AS OFTEN AS A BUNNY, BUT STILL FEISTY AND SPUNKY ENOUGH TO PULL IT OFF IT WAS ALSO LORELEI Gilmore’s birthday , and we have always been
almost exact peers in age. When she did, it must have been something in those schoolhouse rock days, had a birthday week as I announced I did and her daughter complied as even then one could see one poisoned tree on that hill, and that what made the show truly great, the mother daughter love, well, in mother hating Jewish television, even the gumbas now hate their mothers, but do let women abort their sons in that Sicilian thing, so their glossary has never been one that I have ever even tried to rosette stone my way through. Her daughter made her a giant Pizza in this, a crane was needed, and of course, the bloated floor lobbing chef fat young Etta candy to Lauren wonder woman charms, sent her husband, the fruit man football, to be angry that the Junior daughter dared go to the Italian cop from Homicide life of the street, which I hear Lorelei is doing so wall, and the DESILU desert is so over done lately that that show itself, maybe the best cop show since Barney Miller, and I’m not kidding, will be gotten back on television too. Not an awful idea, as it was a John Lenard who said, so good unlike some, birds of a wire that the TV hacks like thinking is criminality somewhere were always away from them, Homicide was as good as a show, it didn’t need the accolades that somehow comedies about gangsters seems to revel in.
As the weekend of my birthday came to an end, it was all as I admit a big one that has not had the effect upon me that has had in others, I am not buying Testcrosses to cage some sweet or screen bird of youth that was never my speed anyway, as I still surf the you tubes for videos of Donnie Iris and Tracy Pullman, as I am forever when not in the stay of Patty Fairemelli, still devoted to the solid gold dancer Brunette named Debbi who ALL in Hillary land is the only kind of girls that they can actually get torn off television anyway. You know, the kind that men like Husband Bill do.
So, I was watching an earliest Colombo with the great voiced actor who played Wyatt Earp , it is before even I, and that was going into another one starring to me as a boy perfect womanish siren sexual even to me than disciple of Venus, the one Italian goddess of the vineyards at to and which poppa Copula doth trace to lest he, like others who placated death as they did be recalled for their own threats made in Verdian form, Lee Grant as a perfect Irene Adler THAN HE’D NEVER BE SEEN AGAIN. But, he would get worse as unexpected as the spear carriers dare bitch and the Jews who have been casting Hercules to roman dismay of buffo box office, it always depends when about their glossary being cut in halves by woke hags who overeat between political bromides shouted at the chicken delight, they you see are never ever insurants and their pasta factory is the only army that matters. Ah but the Italians have always been ungovernable, if not unelectable, as the Bush family got what it deserved when they made sure Marius knew being against that mean little family that has always carried its smell of formaldehyde spades for the grave robbers they always was, a wayward hillbilly, Metro with a book, came along to put them in the belfry, where George will now have to pretend that he didn't call every democrat a commie pinko once, especially Mario, as it always when wasn't it, played in Peoria. As for the actors who bitch that thai apple of Hollywood grief still has a paper bag lest as it always had, well, an Italian didn't play Colombo, not Mark Antony, ever, and Superduperman was out of the question, so I’m not sure on the graves of all those Italian grandmothers left as plum ;eaves covered corpses by the adjunct Mario Jr, I would not be caught anyway dancing there with trash like Colbert of the billionaires who showed now, as opposed to when it was the time of Jerry and Joe. A sibylline books of action not awfully consulted as hear the great superman does as its take is almost watched six dollars at a time, for drag queens, gang bangers or over fed newspaper princes who , alas Kamillia knew in casting, didn't play well with that many chins.
My brother came in, and turned it early at the beginning of a film that was scored by the great Elmer BERNSTEIN, AS IS AW AT THE TURN OF THE DIAL, BUT THEN LOOKED MORE CLOSELY AND SAW Pinto and Kent Dorfman as they sauntered and galumphed towards the egregious and a wildly square Omega house, where who knew Hillary Clinton having found her Bluto long ago, always dreamed of being rushed. Animal House, is on, he said, and toppled me to leave it there, Its your birthday, he said, So watch your hero John Belushi, and that way tell Hillary and her duke minions to go screw themselves, as for a while there, the hags who
did vote for that overwrought cvnt and the screeching mimis who again are never given a roman army treason trial, until it may be too late, did make a point of asking Jews like Harold Remis to apologize as almost all of Hollywood made to, but as my brother so wisely and smart assedly said with his Jesuit training, They never give the check back, as the road to ASSISI, is always closed for repairs. The Democrats today have been found to be at the lowest point they have ever been as I knew a while back that Dukakis and Cuomo had dignity and when you walk with a fool like Biden, well, that last step is a dilly, Mack. OR buddy, or pal, or whatever Carney Canarsee lingo the traveling tent freak show man has left to say before the whole thing is struck and the train milk or not, doesn't suit here anymore. Malarkey for all, and charity towards none, at this price.
I watched the whole thing as it made me recall in fact, like that day I found my brothers Mad paperback, at a house like so much else I never was grateful for as didn't have as much money as the Mob princesses and the insurance salesman sons that I came to hate, it did have an effect upon me, as watching the Gilmore Girls lately has , as it does with the divine Miss L, the only reason I watch that show as she a consummate brunette. The rest of the cast rather stinks, and I cant stand them, still, like Marlon and Mark Antony when I saw it, she is a true actress of that sort, all in internal, as to write out what she can do with a pretty face contorted by shame and regret needs a Dante or at least a Sondheim to fully annunciate.
4 AUGUST 2025.
A slimy smarmy little man, on the one vaunted Cyclops, nothing is what it used to be, and who smirked and greasily smiled his knifey smile though the euphonizing of the Merv slot, ppppppphhhhh, he's political, which way yet depends on the size of his check. HE WAS FIGURED BY CBS, WITH NO LESS THAN THE MAN WHOSE SQUATTER HE WAS, THERE WAS NO BATHROOM THAT Letterman ever sued that our midnight Cassius with a water bottle ever didn’t think not to assault once, ah the eye is jaundiced, and all he thought
was golden in that shower, and less of a golden age, but has been fired by that self same Cyclops, but with a strangest television of caveats, that he'd be allowed to , like Caiaphas, spit upwards from the bowels of black rock at the good head of Plautus, powerful and glorious before he also was born, and they were covering the res publica with cops widows and hillbilly laughter as stolen from Al Capp. Instead of telling him to leave the precipices of Polyphonies island forth withers say others have, especially a woman who as joking paled after his own racist show, she is off the air forthwith you see, in the way that liberals and their grandparents so set up the fruited plane, which explains why Gore anti eulogist Will and Rosie O’Donnell, despite enemy of my enemy schoolgirl symbiosis, thoughts, neither ever seemed to take his bequeathed set that he again squatted on. As he had through life playing eleven on Law And Order a man with no face, as my mother called the indigenous fraudulent. I guess being made a character in dc comics, like Bizarro or Solomon Grundy was too much to take for Signora Fortuna, and as he demands a kind of purposeful applause. So now, the con man has always believed in his own lie, a Machiavellian’s death years ago, lest we all recall the death threats he sent out to co eds, if not the almost glee he held fore for the illnesses of princesses, ah but the all conspiring eye made sure he apologized for that, or the one eye browed woken brunettes pf cnn, not a pretty one among them lest we deserted Hillary's satanic mass, again pop and your grandfathers were not on good terms, as he does not yet realize that indeed no one is retiring for him without any applied signs, as 20 people showed up in the streets to decry that the Democrats would have to actually buy time on THE CYCLOPS, an ending that I knew of thanks you Faun, but this immoderate slob was too busy playing Golden Boy to ever even let close to his brains as he made whistles past the mausoleums of the elderly law givers.
There is no dignity in being sued as a placeholder, as he unravels by the moment becoming more vicious and angry by the demanded ends of the aftermath day, and or night, which is why this ending suits him to as they say a T. Just like a cross hung near Northwestern bathrooms. But again, not pretending to be devoted as all Hillary diets are, and were and have to be, lest anyone recall what mourning Joes and Chaney daughters with jellyfish eyes and Bess Myerson who now sell drones and they sold war to a now replete with war fatigue Spartans that the chicken hawks never empathy form as they certainly never went, he had seen why it was that old Roman Bill made sure that Signora Fortuna the goddess that a lesbian gal downstairs editor at the kind of racial newspaper that would hate Colbert openly and accepted any diatribes against him eagerly, and even took my pin ups of brunettes, as opposed to queer boys at two bit the New Y*rkers, goodbye miss Kennedy to all of that, as OPPOSED to those prissy sorts, suddenly the idea that my maidens of italic heritage somehow had ‘unimaginable’ tits was rendered mute by me when I alerted them to the internet pictures of Wendy Fiore, the kind of Italian gal that was seen once and no longer was. the flyway hair bad skinned overbite glacises wearing hags think once again they control the lands, this truth though, did so anger Goldwater and his charges once, believe it or not, until as usual, the perverts rape the wrong boy, or mostly a wrong girl, and they are beaten to a pulp in the left marble, crumbling, vistas of the already tiring of the curia town.
.jpg)
The best part of his long slog and staycations of the crows like ending, is indeed I must admit I was overly romantic again, has less to do with Paddy and his own Brooklyn lyrical qualities of the speech of all the dagos and Orangemen , that is allowed, by the way, and less like the Marty we all rooted for, no Borgnine he, and that the first Italian American to win your worthless now Oscar was Ernie as Marty is something the acrimonious can't beat with a stick, is that again, I saw it all coming., While he was busily being a vizier on Tonight, Johnny's jokes about never being conveyed to the white house like Freddy Decrodeva was a mark of honor to him, that like Jackie, who didn't have an Emmy handed to him by giving always backpedaling always handing off replay coloreds like Jimmie crack Corm and nobody cares, and he just thought himself such the latest Murrow’s boy, which didn’t go well I had heard from some at the none toy department of CBS News, there was a moment that told me all I needed to see about where this was heading.
On a comical diatribe I saw only one time, Steve as pilgrim in the comedy, no commedia here, he journeys from, the hell of mere back cable and the campus Stewart always wanting to get even with somebody, to know the snowy peaks of Mount Purgatory, as this happened in Janis days, the month of Patty FIERILY A SCHOOLBOYS BEATRICE AS I RECALL AS THE 60 word serpentine sentences of Niccole are like a coven of snakes as seen in movies that demand the middle east worse than even they do Italians, like how saturnalia was somehow filled with belly dancing girls. There, he meets of all people, Lucius Sejanus, on the white cliffs where postmarked, abandoned signs read A GULF AND WESTERN COMPANY, and who thought that they'd understand Hollywood more than say those who make their money off of blowing Palestinians to smithereens in a death cult of land swindles. And there, our Virgil-SEJANUS, IM SIRE THAT Patty Patty buke buke played both, there, the sad third act of all hatcher men came clear, and I knew he was no roman this north-western monsignor, I was warned of that toilet as early as 1972, and now bald, but not then , though did read Sejanus was bald, the refugee from Sertorius ,whose pages are gone, rendering Robert Graves mute, the warning was there for all to see, as there is a dignity is being an imperial victim, Steverino that no childish posing in the electric CGI marble land remade snow, not even Green acres Christmas soap flakes, can ever get.
5 AUGUST 2025.
The funniest part of Matt and Trey at south park deciding now of all times, to jump on the showboat as it is sickening and go all out anti Trump, as if I care, as Vito Stillino said shocking to Cope, who'd come around later on, I am no evangelist. I wasn’t anything in their now digitized cardboard and construction paper curtains, which, to me, using paper is the least that you can doll, but then cone someone makes their first Billion, hell, the Koch brothers don't seem so wrong about things, as even the attaches of the men who wrote their own, and how just fed Plautus crowd despite their need to be seen as swells, which Petronius knew never works out. The funniest part no, wasn't that they waited until winter of Pompey to put on their prediction of golden age B’way Picnic, amid the stone left behind, this way to Chappaqua, but that in fact, not even a long weekend later, Paramount itself had to make up the money they had laid out for this, Satire isn’t pretty, and that a good 15 percent of its work force, them being insufferable liberals none of the triumvirate of CEO’s was touched, you can't tell the oligarchs without a score card, and that is the kind of deserved moment when the poor plebs find out the ham sandwiches they ate wasn’t properly trussed and that indeed, you may have just eaten shit. Well, the nouveau riche can't get good help these days, and sometimes the joke is unintended, there is alas a trope for that, see Colbert and the one eye browed brunette from CNN when even that pompous crowd laughed, as continuing to do the bidding of their paymasters, although CBS was never a war company, though who isn’t in Sparta…?. They , as old as I am, made a fantasy atoll joke about Trump, which chain we have reached somehow the Virgilian aspect of this melees, as when anyone dares say Epstein, like dido speaking of her Vendetta unmade yet, of course meaning Hannibal, all anyone thinks of, especially his allies, is Clinton, which is why again, that fat pig always made sure that he knew whose tie he was wearing whether you married as if a living sit com, domesticated apparatchiks, liked it or not.
How did I know that when I saw Lucius Sejanus as space cadet at CNS polyp emus uplands in the snows of mount purgatory, when simpleton bitchy cvnt Colbert meets the original hatchet man, how did I know what this augured…? Well, in 2020 in a book called THE AMERICAN DECAHEDRON, my most published piece counting cartoons, what else…?. That was the elegy for Italo that I had been trying to make since the truly horrid to me Gigi Marquez stole the italic ideals of magic realism and did in fact as ma said made it Spanish by adding too much vinegar as loved by barbarians. I had written a similar scone when I knew then that he was finished even then, and that Moray’s stop watch clicked and ticked for him. In the shady groves in which I had gloomy Lucifer Bilbo spent his meaningless powerless days resenting and resented, despised and dispraising, I had the quarrelsome kweer--we are at the mercy of Hillary’s shitty euphemisms --Colbert the nag with no face as Ma said of the bag men of the men of the people, deserted as cowards since Rome, and worse now than ever as have Bush family accelerates to war set fires, wrens from them what and what not to say,
I had the be speckled Steverino, a neo Herbert Anderson as placed upon here somewhere, as the trash at CNS, the poor soils Letterman, and how!, as he met with Lucius Sejanus, no fooling even then, a pox on all your inheritors as I made a point at how iota as that Sejanus; ashes from the annals are missing for some reason, somewhere between arson and censorship, something happens that day betwixt and between he and Tiberius, who knows what, but being Romans and Italians, a woman was surely involved, which when Patrick Stewart is Evolved, though have liked him since I As ten and watched the trashy drama of ax wielding Lucius, like fellow Englishman Elsa confronting Lucy and Vivo, HATCHET!, THIS TIME not be completed, I was sure that is never when they anglicize Romans isn’t the first thing that anyone thinks of. But all it was this if the threads were ever placed next to each other.
6 AUGUST 2025.
One of the gifts that my brother bought me on or around my birthday that, though a big one, didn't seem to have the response that one thinks it would have, but then I have always been somewhat immune to the vicissitudes of man's life as shown in the puppet shows of culture and television. I think of how that was how my father put it all down then when I was a boy, and how he knew that didn't give Italians much of a break, seeing them as one half step above negroes that they boarded in columns all the plans in Rome, but with a viciousness that speed into the tuber by way of the Jewish narcissism that is endemic to many people saying they are chosen by an invisible, unavailable godling, a rabbinical Odin in the thundering skies who is amazingly less overt and obtuse to say national socialists than he was to the state that had to be destroyed over its love of bosomy, giving us even the word. I think of my pop, as if anything I am sadder for others like he and ma and a thousand Italian you've never heard of, like Basile and Guido the artists than id ever be for myself, as I have no real youthfulness to recapture as never had much of an eye for Testcrosses in the first place. My father did warn me that television was indeed a puppet show, and not the romanticized tower middle summer nights plays within a play as I saw it then , as I have desired through the sad ends of Colbert that thai was never a Paddy Chayefsky nightmare as much as it was a Budd Shy Bergh wet dream, as the shooting battle off on in the emerald city as a back drop of less a new Rome and more a merely recalled Messina. And my brother , giving me these gifts to note the day, he went to a Michel’s I think, and bought me a giant 60 page Strathmore quality notebook of drawing papers.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EgoVgUPJHU
When he came back after having gone to a local donut Shoppe where the Italians women there communicate with him about how Trump has lost his mind to get a prose he now they are sure he wants as a bauble as places his heel into the house tap dancers, who suddenly they cry for criminals which didn't much happen when they were signing off on every crime bill fat bloated rapists and lesbians with delusions of grandeur could cobble together, white woman pig and spooks by the door, as Russia schemes seems to be falling apart and darn it Bill Clintons name seems now here, escapeless of course as wayward and Brutal in the truest scene senator jacks wish to demand subpoenas over the Epstein fantasy island, was Bill under oath again, as if that means a damn, and with or without his wife amid the cheerleaders, a guest star on Love Boat with Charo and Bill Richardson as special appearances. Back where he once played the voice of spring. Once again as I was with fellow fake Roman lover Lucas who allied the rat squads to Romanticize up his flash Gordon epic into whatever biblical shit it is now, ad everyone likes immigrants now, as long as the Jews of television didn't have to live too close to them at Capri again, or Martha's vineyard, as they somehow are pilloried for making that still possibly polluted beach head at Love carnival that someone figured out to make it a placed where over fed women and less than swanny river wives live as a second home when not getting into the city quickly, and then out.
.jpg)
Then, after having voted for the wayward and availing communist who makes them feel so good about themselves between the achita. I was there, in the room with the large bay windows, and was talking apart the Stratford TABULA RASA IN THE PERFECT SCENES, as I was trying to depose or unravel its rather brassier and harder to unravel wire binding than I had done with some. What the hell are you doing? He asked me over the table, I am, I said, Unwinding the wire to allow the pages to come loose and be able to be used one at a time without ruining the page underneath, I said with Editorial pride. Wait …he said, taking a sheet and tearing it out to me gasping, EACH PAGE, HE SAID, Comes with a PERFORATED EDGE. Hey, idiot HE SAID, AS THOUGH THE PRIESTS TOLD HIM I WAS QUITE SMART TO THEM, HE IS ALWAYS SHOCKED AT HOW EASILY I CAN AND DO FALL FOR THINGS HE FINDS USELESS AND MEANINGLESS. Look, he said, you can tear the top off each page and make it a single sheet. He shook his head, always again scraper than I, You don't have to, he said, bother with unraveling the whole top…he left thai at this, and walked away shaking his head, unsure of what I was doing, or worse than they, why at all I was doing it. He waved it all off knowing I was to bend the pages and either cut with an exacto knife or just my thing pressed against the rather nice paper, and cut those sheets in half to get 60 leaves, and he walked away, sure he wasn't going to bother with an explanation of why I was doing this not particularly easy.
Near to the end of my birthday week, an idea I thought I had come up with before re saw and recalled that Lorelei had a similar set up before the sad winds of WB tragedy would attack the Gilmore girls and demand of it that she, that television enterprise be sexual fodder for Mistress Sponge worthy, whom obviously, was cast off from Seinfeld, and that less than zero universe that I much didn't like. I had an inkling despite the fact it was very hot in the preside days to own Leonine reexaminations of life and the perpetual sonic youth of a summertime birthday, speaking of a midsummer-night's dream, stolen from Ovid as much as anything, I felt a certain chill just over the horizon as though it was tills light until past 8 [ A cerulean dusk languish birthday ennui couldn't be helped by a certain home shopping channel already selling the homes and the fairy elves of medieval Christmas. I thought of the tragic awful New York Times as they aid the dared to me Charles Dickens created Christmas with that somber awful look of his in which the miser, like the pedestrian hatred man who came into from the Damascus road, one must be to an Anglican heart, unlike Manzoni, one must be in a Costello already and this was based on a Tory like Senator who kept the candle wax under lock and key and who was the antithesis of all things in Grasshopper land Italy with that ant marching collective of the English bloody gates. I thought of how soon enough it would seem a cold wind and a frigid air would descend, as with the week coming to a close, in fact, the politics of resentment and spite that Hillary has used since my mother knew she had probably killed some Sabine preciseness out of the way as Livia did to Octavian, it appeared that the riots that they have fomented in New Amsterdam went awray, Mister Marie, and that the Angel Martin that I didn't tell you or Boss Hogg to think was a perfect vessel for upwards mobility had to run like hell up a Long Island leeway which serves them all right as the city became a Scorsese movie long long ago, and he had to get out and away from the rabble that all elites think all plebs really are and have been since the opening night of Coriolanus. }
But again the end of the week, the best part of the south park joining in on the fun against Trump was a day late and billion short, was that after they had shown what good acceptable to the coven and the unending witch havens that is the dying embers of Hillary's caldron pot fire, that despite being graced as being that most middlebrow of ideas of the times, or up to date, the punch line came within hours of their cardboard satire. Within the days after their refund relevance, as they had not had ratings it was said with is good cine indeed Clinton's Satyr icon, ah always the buckaroo slingshot effects when Hillary is at work as the last living vestige of the Mattina on America, well, despite their new found resonance for echo chambers, Paramount the parapet company since Felix Unger, had to lay off a good 20 percent of their wage slaves, showing again in the kingdom of the rich and well heeled, roman graffiti is the only scrawled sin one actually commit, as the people who actually have to work at Mount Purgatory had to go and somehow to pay the three politically minded dimwits and have three, count them, Three CEOS, as a tributary of old men who make the faces acceptable to the trash who think thieves elites, cost cutting is less pretty, it seems than comedy. Or Commedia, as the case may be.
I spent my birthday week watching the high point of the television Beatrice Lauren and her obvious and irritating daughter as I found when watching the Gilmore Girls , the blue eyed black haired brunette mother is the onlyiest reason to watch the show at all, and all the other quirky burgers of the fictional town of white enough to be communist Connecticut makes me sick. I saw the famous show where she realizes her white girls troubles may have been all of her own dodging as the planets she thought were so much an anchor to her dreams of American freeness maybe wasn't that big a price to pay as I thought looking back at it, as she started out as maid with a kid, I , like when see similar sanctimony out coming from Senator Warren and she of the glaring teeth my mother told me to always be on the lookout against when dealing with a woman, I'm not your husband, she would say to any woman who growled at the perpetual camera like Hillary, noting that they whenever found that poisonous yell of a wayward Jane when dealing with Tarzan who they couldn't keep at the hut. I thought of the poor windswept, black haired, Navaho who didn't get a scholarship, not that I ever took it, and look back in anger at it all, as they blind cvnt thought just by grandpas, to be here no matter what. By now I was tired, and not just from the birthday week, as I didn't feel the way I was supposed to, as if I ever have.
.jpg)
So, it might have been watching the show and its middlebrow womanish love of Yale, that made me reconsider all, but late in the night early in the morning, when I have these dreams that even fraud couldn't much figure out, so what chance to I have…, I had a strange visitation in my dream state as sometimes do. In a oppressive , and threadbare catholic academy of sorts, the kind I was hilted out of as I wasn't willing to always do the work I was asked, as always thought what’s your angle as can pick up the love they have or ridicule and why and to whom it is sent as I said to some two bit poetry compilation that doesn't even have the decency of the cheap papers of the earlier rags that always was the cold police gazette and who would on cue from the Cyclops King not allow Answered prayers in its vaunted pages between the ads for condos and Adirondack getaways so big among the communist of the empire state. I walked into an office, of sorts, with all the books that white women and Hillary delicates don't even know to burn.
And there behind ask was the provost headmaster of this school at which it seemed again I was a Bluto out of water. Behind the desk was Ted Bessel , the best boyfriend in television history. But he wasn't the crew cutter Italian marine of Gomer days which he was cast in as so Persky Denoff could keep him under construct as making an Italian Lebanese girl a symbol of miss independence took the Danny Thomas television machine more trouble than he would have thought.
But he was not so much Donald Hollinger, the brother Theodore before my eve, but was more like the great comedies actor who with a halo of seventies hair of a color my mother would call Chestnut, and older, like he was in the NBC show where he has to sadly play second fiddle to a trained monkey. Anthony, Young man, he said, so I wasn't sure when exactly this would be happening, as for a first time , and paste when I should have, I am certainly no longer young. A small but color television played the match game, the real one with the wife of Oscar MADISON, WHO SAID, FAMILY, MISTER Colbert, IT'S BETTER TO BE ON television THAN TO HAVE TO WATCH IT. I was abet lost, and saw the people outside at the collection of stone nave; less which made it look like a certain senate we know that they had which the Germans must have smashed first as they dear play act that they have ever been civilized, glorifying to the senators who thought that Tacitus was a senatorial jackass and who weren't shocked when the great liberal , showing the way, decided that a police state in Liguria Italy to put down and Italian uprising was never to be much spoken of, much less put in a movie that a Pollock Jew would eventually see as so full of malapropos and mistakes that they'd have to devoice and distance himself from his own work.
And atop this acne of saving the republic violence, as Italian as their flavored ice cream, there was old sweet Bill, half Prospero and half jersey boy, as his minions laughed with a Roman glee at this bloodletting scene, as thug 1 took the sissy boy comedian satirist and did take if not a Roman bath, better than that, an Etruscan shower as he kicked him into the sepia colored stone base. Bilbo was delighted as than as I never was or would be, I was just a pensive onlooker, a pilgrim in hell, as the Caesar took on his own triumvirate trinity of civility and took his own vengeance as his, thank you, Away, fur nothing. And with joyfulness no even again fly girl of his Kamala could ever allow it to be for overfed white women, the Marius in the street, he took off as if Jerry Lewis in the palazzo, and strayed to sing my boyhood anthems, the only Pittsburgher rocker worth a damn, Donnie Iris , Allegheny Cricket, That's the way the love ought to be, and it was a refreshing detour from watching the dreary Rory for some reason, I’m still unclear , she went to Bush I, alma mater of illiterate finger painting crime war sissy’s, and the bloated Wilhelm, somehow was taking glee in all of thai in away I finally figured out as father Ted was saying something anoint the admiration of wayward jurists, but he told me, as I saw the ending of their greats alum, beware and avoid Northwestern and its smell of liquid soap that never makes hands come clean in the halls devoted to medieval boys rooms. Whenever I am around you, I slightly sang along, as his minions all looking like Holly Marie combs, a beast left by that hag somewhere on the interstates, they would all start paying now, it was surely shown, for every fat joke ever made at his, yes his expense, and yellow reps can back quite a perfect nose for the rhinos that he , well, has always hated, as he took on the war machine with cowardice as a virtue but still, no Family accolade was he, no meathead was our American president, on the streets of this newest San Francisco, a line from imperial victim Mario, whose compassion wasn't so calibrated or with grease paints, and political drag, without the noise makers of being on the outs for bribery in highest criminality once, and now the coat of doing business, that bothered both Brinkley and young miss sociopath Hillary, whose stigmata’s are always for others until the very end.
The reddish haired, older man, priest, Brother Theodore, stood then, so, why did I have this dream of this man at this time, showing his executioner's songs colored suit and the paunchiness that Donald Hollinger like we all have to, had to now pluck on. He handed me back a few typewriter papers on which I had written one of the essays that had so impressed his sort about me. Anthony, he said, in this strange visual, in the old, cold, catholic school which definitely hatred of it and its founder the Jewish gods Hercules, I still had a level of admiration among the brethren, even then, for whenever this all was, Here is your essay about Petronius, he said, perhaps I thought watching this, that I had mentioned the dreaded word to them satire once too often, but I still think we may be heading towards someone having to clear up the paramount toilets when all I said and done.
That essay went all the way to Chicago and the headquarters, the Central Office; he smiled as he spoke, Of the society of Jesus. That recall was actually true and I was alerted to no less than that as a kid when I was just too tired already to fulfill my American dream bingo cards. I had a feeling that there were evil people at work, and Biden was treated and mistreated just the way I had assured, scouring some to spit elsewhere with their synonymous problem of power and placement. He asked me if I wanted to go to the vaunted Georgetown, holy cross, Boston university, even Yale. Where ,my father had a letter then on thor’s rock letters, inst it blue stationary telling is in coarse new Sicily Scorsese land somehow we were of the same blood line as General Julius Agricola, not that that would matter much anyway, as we were reminiscent of a decline long ago. I thought, even the derided Bushies and now Rory appreciating for reason I am still unclear, as if she going to Yale meant she could stay at home, why did she leave her mother in the letch so early in the show, as again television Beatrice Lauren it seems did postpone her eventual hooking up with spongy-worthy diner Phil as long as she could for one ethic boy after the next, all do to her personal animus now I read that she had, as that That Girl member had a moment of pure television magic as Marlo and Donald there had in the previously mentioned show about help wanted and how she became his secretary.he GOT UP AND ALL I COULD RECALL AS HOW RIGHT MY FATHER AS ALL ALONG, HE TOLD ME, NOT KNOWING OR CARING WHO Bill Watterson was, he told me go to the paper any papers and get your cartoons, a true italic arts form in anywhere I could. Although I did seem he did like to read the awing days of the Sunday comics, he seemed to read and somewhat like Calvin and Hobbs when it as in the Pittsburgh press, as I had bought him often without saying so, copies of Lone Ranger, The phantom, whom he somehow loved, and Capt Marvel who as the nobly superman thus spoke Ubermench German hero that eh could at all take as a perversion f Hercules. I was amassed in this late night early morning darkness at the rectory of my gone youthfulness that I as indeed now alone, only a brother seemed to be there for me, as sister was carted along as much as I could, but it as my father who warmed me of the coming Rory lands of womanish hatred lives, and how easily it as for them to dismiss and demean italic me, he warned, as the more I watch Dick Van Duke with a enjoying of its CBS glory days monochrome delusions, but do they give it to MTM as Laura, in ayes they never seemed to do to blond waives, and the upset depots I bring that up to make pretend that they don’t understand. He told me to avoid the Filiations and Universal sand yes Mount Purgatories of the world, the priest did like and admire me, and in amerce as I didn’t pay attention, in a land where affirmative action Barry would dare play Niccolo, was a neat trick that I didn’t pull off. He told me go to the [Press and show my roman knights for sonata comics , and of course I didn’t and was here, or there, or wherever I was.
I looked out of the dirty, or at least waxy from the candelas, of the high days, what English fag came up with Easter Id ask the always fronting Time, and never get a second interview but alas have beam invited off and on to s end in work, which my brother thinks is just a scam anyway alas they do still as salons do, wonder about bulletins written from the country mice front, ever they get theirs, windows, Now, out on to the streets of whatever perpetual ROME THESE DREAMS DO OCCUR IN AND PAST THE MEDIEVAL, NOT A COMPLIMENT FROM GUIDO RENI ADORING ME, Saint Anthony always demeaning a shushing as one again a dirty spic, the not white criminals not decried in the enclaves of vineyards into the folded woods, had dared bring that conquistador ethic and indulgence devotions too close to Roma, the Etruscan queen, whose name was the name of the later town, stolen by prissy barbarians none the less barbarians, no matter what Treys our on as father despised Churchill even before Oman’s relations did, even before he was unceremoniously thrown out of 221 B –or is it 10 whatever marry Poppins address that was, Anglicans as so much has been since the Knights. I looked outside and saw on the streets of chaos of decline and fall, there was a half naked Colbert, crushed and charged against a field of MARS Larsen, shattered against the career marble they chipped in these subconscious rains. My mind wasn't playing anymore, as he got all that he derived, more than just having to do from the new Yorkers casino cover to his broken Janus mask, caught in the throat, on the cover of a Joe like photo newspaper, as I knew the day he sent the democrats selling into a communist who looked far too much like Stuart Margolin was the end of his stopwatch, tick tock tuck, height for dusk.
There on the street a gaggle of thugs, one can not have the decline without then, though the democrats, Nicolle don’t like the catechism inherent in the word Republic, though her ex boss Mac Kane thought himself a Roman fighter, if not a Basement, to make their revolution be peopled with girlie armed boy chicks and fat bloated dykes who were originally at the Paris streets when Direction sent his cabinet victorious Romans into the medieval days that would take much in mother Italy. I heard the beloved by me television writer speak, but paid no mind, as he was the kind of romantic writer I always dreamed of becoming back then was somehow was again perpetually 16 as usual, but News view isn't what it used to one, much less CBS, another deceiving trash like poor man crayons Letterman pretending he tried to veto this ending that even he could have seen coming if awake or cared a whit. The boys of the empires streets between him well, strange I didn’t think my dismissal and detesting of him as anything so Caesarian, as thought it was more like Wally's Mad comics and the perfect Ralph and end satires of early cathode tubes and Cyclops island. I didn't think I cared so much , or had any bloodlust for this , frankly, little more than salon joke telling , almost French type of Trimalchio who one did an act that was the reverse of his new destination in heels. But I was Romantically stunned and revolted as I aw his glasses hash against a base of brown orange , dare I say Martial, stone that held up a less than greekenedly perfected statues and statutes OF ALL UNBORN TO HILLARY , GIANTS. I saw his woody like horn rimmed glasses go shattering against the foot of the iron man who made the venial Achilles into a transvestite , yes Vestal will always be part of it to the Italian you hated and laughed at in dreadful Fellini, as that is the perfect word. His blood gushed, and his face was smashed against this literature’s forgotten, almost buried master. That had to mean something. Why did I dream this, and it wasn't like what Denzel was told to say and be about the rains either, I took no glee and delight or even despair in this, as I thought, as Bugs said before, He asked for it. Not that there is any tot for tat about what anyone believes in, but just as Dante could say about the magnitudes that he waves off as useless and worthless, at least, like Roman Antony believe in something.
And then I saw the thuggish brute soon to be seen charging Madame into a diverse land back alley. Their abortions, I was told by now actually defrocked, or stripped of any charity by the house naggers of the mausoleum of JP Moraga, where the fat corpse burns in a nonexistent hell no Italian or Roman poet or lithographer need b sent, the nightmare of if what dream ever come to the Macbetheian marriages of those who fear death by loving power, weren't done for Italian war brides. As they were the first herd to think, always, as the biggest most italic thing in this acne commercial of an empire, the thugs of a thousand riots on a thousand streets, ah politics thy name is woman, took the fascia, the standards, the symbol of the free public, the hammer and the ax and finally smashed it against his bloody head. But then, I am a romantic s the usual white sissies and unmarried pigs of now, so fared are they of failure when he tried , did Colbert, to get a good riot working, well, no one showed up, as there was a shooting across town that ate up all the headlines and klieg lights. Ah yes, sorry Rona’s at MSNBC if it isn't soon to be not called that, You THINK YOU REGARDED WHEN YOU BROUGHT IN Bess Myerson in again, to shill the Drones, the Roman fascias that didn't get the pin cued rites put on the big board pf televised network programming, that he would have thought they would, know your place, clown, all I could think of was what… I love parades.
_1%20-%20Copy.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
