10 April 2014



Dear Image

I would like to know if there is any chance to being able to be the script writer on your title, Supreme. I see where it has been left a mess by a previous writer who ignored much of the work done by literate Comic master Alan Moore, and would like to know if there would be any opportunity to write this book for your concern, as I have a script already done and thus available to right the ship, and thus make Supreme an entertaining commentary of where comics have gone. You can see my work at antoniusradiocomix.blogspot.com to see if my works are something you could sue. And for the credit would do this for absolute scale. Thank you for any considerations.


I do like finding and even buying—seehs--old marvel comics of Conan, and seeing image of this brute done by the great Franzetta. One, because he is an immaculate drawer, though as all Italian of any capability he has his detesters I amusingly note in Kirby world, and again I don’t think this is a Jewish thing, recall the dispatch had by some at his blond Thor, and two, because I like taking these homages and reclaiming them as a Roman, with cut if not soul train hair, and red suit, and I recreate the noble savage and turn him into a savage Nobel into a Roman , as have dieghn since fifth grade. Obviously I keep redrawing these, ancient later than it ever was comics trips from then, for some reason, and something is unfinished from back then, as I hope to make amends.

Why do I keep sending out this work when they want no part of it, --ah that's the fun, when Panama Barry has made the White folks feel so good about themselves, especially if Plutocrats, put the check indabox!,  that even mention of Sacco and Vanzetti make me the heel I discretely hope to be, as Machiavelli taught me the grace and dignity of a anti hero that you have nurtured into one shitty Walter White and Mad man after another. Because I must make my Roman stand, that's why, what all this was about, or else all I went through was meaningless, and will make me a coward worthy of being another of NBC's puppets, Jewish or not. 

And there on a free HBO weekend, which was afoul as they all are now, the great days of golden age Hollywood when I was a boy are now recalled by movies staring bucket of Mucilage Bradley Copper, the new Italian in all ways, and or snarlingly Melissa McCarthy who survived her brush with Aleixs Blondell or whatever her name was. And with this came a orgy of a show called Veep, amusingly in our age, vulgar-- and unfunny, showing what Howard Stern has wrought, allowance for every Jewish creep to think they are funny. Which they aren’t anymore, as reactionaries never are. It was created by an Italian, I note, again they don’t make us like they sued to, but there he was of course, the guy I thought created it, or who acts like it, pig man Porky himself a life in the theater, Frank Rich, of secure the Jewish handler, that all Italians must have, lest, they go off the reservation, something that Sulla carted for Tuscan eons before Indians were ceremonious about their slaughter, when it truly was an American golden age of b ball for keeps a happy hunting ground of brutality that would make a German shudder, and lest the Italian go off and give in to Catiline vicissitudes that have been bubbling up in the blood and occasionally cause a stir at La Scala that makes both Rag Time and Michel Coalhouse look tepid.

And there he is, Mister America himself, the dark, joyless and brooding Superman, or as I call it spitting on George Reeves, or Christoper' grave, with acid, and thinking you are hip. The new Superman done by the man trussing to destroy every great DC comic ever made, perhaps a Lee lover, or a Kirby file, who knows, sames his Adonis sissy Urbermensch even more Grecian and Thorsih than you’d ever think possible. He and the human Tuchus, Lois, dynasty on the open air Dachau, shades of the satire that Alan does purposefully and his lessers think is coooool, as humanity's savior has cued a holocaust, Roman inflection even when untrained for, and champion of shysters share a kiss, how grand as the stick of megadeath shows up as is only often seen in comics as I said, liked by the beaten and the viscous. This ...is Superman now, kids. But what I noticed as Zod no longer needs a genuflection than a a charnle house, again shades of Christ, when unmeant to be, was that despite the fact that Lois is now a red head, and a overly curvaceous nonsexual one at that, the Ursa was once played by va voomy Susan Douglas as Shakespearean actors like Zod and Magneto know that when it is shit that is when you really have to buy into it all whole. She though, in Nolan land where our valued customers are the be all and end all, again place line of Plautus here, and all they want like the mob at the city was blood and again spectacle anyway, anything you do that is called dark is appeaser to the arrested development sorts, who strain to be called adult and make it a fetich, even in their forties, which shows and previews much. So, lessen little Italian, Greek, Austrian Spaish Black girls, you may not be ever able to be a Phyllis Coats or Teri like hourglass figure reporter Roz Russell front page sort, as the lackluster unlike Julia was more pear shaped, but you still may be sued as visual shorthand in Nolan world, as a Grimmest stepsister and moll to a pirate without joy, as everything in Nolanverse as always childishly must be. But then Archie is dead, and I don’t feel that hot neither. 


I was shocked ...no wait that’s not the Right word, what is it again...oh right, vindicated to see bellying foghorn pig meat Markem was caught up and found to be a spy for the man. The FBI no less, as his ilk always is. As Paul Mooney said of Sammy Davis junior, aren’t you all...? He was a mole as his sort dreams of being, their version of the American dream, you know, Sicilian at heart the darkies always are. They have been dreaming of tin badges since Sitting Bull, the underside of imperialism, that noble savages and their white women feeders and insurrectionists will not speak of, but which to Roman Tony is as plentiful as Carbon in the political universes.

No empire can exist with out a good legion of snitches, they are legion, hehe, and I had this mitherfcuker pegged since as I have said, Johnny Gammage, which was just a variation on a theme for this Paganini of bribery. Still, though, if dear Johnny Martin proves anything to us, it si that everyone hates a snitch, especially in the see something say something imeprium of white chicks now, still, darkeis may be snitches, but their naturalist inclination towards thievery lethality as it makes everyone hate snitches, and then they lose their ability to go tell the headmasters everything they heard, the only propulsion their draery lives have. Oh, again, I must say as credo, who thinks they can fuck with Roman me, having been lead through veracious hells and enlistment by Roman poets and satirists, all of whom had a delectably distrust for various black markets, another Roman term, dealing with the fact that at Night under darkness anyone could get anything they wanted, if prepared to pay the freight.

After demanding his parade, or was it art least a wilding, pol Rev , da geetter wid da heater, now is protesting he is no rat, nigger please, you've been a rat all your life, its nothing I didn’t see in Tiberius' tenements,which even the slums of Rome as much as any marble mausoleum has its pull to infatuated Tony, lover of all things Roman, while the game of Thorazine fairies, affected that Trey and Matt will do to their viking nihilism what they did to Family Guy, --sarat, saritte, --and now that Mother Mo has taken a liking to a show, with this few brunettes in it, the Titan herd shall inherent the earth or at least Yeccha Flats, which means its officially over, like face book. In  Life of Caesar, at the triumph, when Cesare is made into a de facto king, he collects all the men of the senate who made him win, by maiming Pompey and Cato, they stick to the letter of everything all the while paid by Caesar. Of course, a nigger or a Roman turn coat must be paid first, men don’t die on bridgesanymore , if they were they wouldn’t be snitchin now would they, and a thousandth deaths and all of that, and Julie had them all cut to ribbons, as he knew , despite him winning, that was fate and they had little to do nth it, and worst, they couldn’t be trusted. Now this would be called open auditions at GE THEATER, as no one needs a coon tap dancing to the Federalis whenever he dent get the right sandwich brought to him. So then I take it that old Buddha of the porches and alley snitches is about to be awaken, see what I did there,..?, which explained why he cried so much at death of Travon, as opposed to the blowing away of a black chick whose drunkenness made her unfit to be in the catalog of saints as Mandela and Rosa parks, as he was a second story artist who was killed while casing the place, which to old Reverend Pigmeat is a ultimate irony. Is Keith on...? 


And you can tell evrybody, dn you can tell everybody and uuuou can tell everybody, Iam the mahn Im the mahn Ima the mahn, yes I am, yes I am , yes I am...

I received again a first pro Scorsese diatribe against my film wlm from a place I sent it, as again realized that all along when open minded people ask for submissions, they are telemetry asking for things that reinforcement their lardy carefully pop sickle stick crated main frames and beliefs, see Plautus elsewhere. I don't really get this as much as I used to, part of that is gamey dog Martin biting a Jewish hand finally, like Spike don’t they all and 2, I really shut up the white women by saying succinctly, which I guess I can if forst, that there is nothing in Scorsese I cant find an unbroken line back to the workload of said Plautus and Terence. Which were demeaning and staging the Sicilians for Roman imperial audiences years ago. This shut them up lie a a creep intoning hidden attributes of Mark Madden well, as the good white folks have FBI motels and rats like Sharpooner telling them how wonderful they are, and somehow like sustaining the word Imperialism as a way to demean their lessees, but at least unlike GiGi, still inelegantly quiet about a pope who was the junta bishop out of Missing, dint do it unseemly like in horrid bar bar with Latin flourish Spanish. 


I have made a quick pamphlet of that priestliest mentored comic strip,done as a boy, again I am not sure exactly why as my father warned me, and the priests too, they want no part of you as an Italian in this empire of tenements and cul de sacs, especially if you are a darkie unwilling to play your part, and shuffle on command. But now even darker then me are starting to chaffing under the church of Travon, this second story crip who wished to be bulletproof, and has a couple of lawyers out there,as sharecropers lead the way, trying to guilt and shuffle dey way to stardom my use of this shirt kid, less of a victim after all than all the unnoticed corpse- men of Pittsburgh’s Hill, yes the Hill in Hills street blues, whose death came and went unnoticed by the half breeds tears. So, anyone should tell old Reverend Peg Meat dont make the mistake that Mob Wive made, and don’t be seen as a rat, there is nothing lower even in, especially in, New Sicily, pops. To paraphrase the great Guicciardini, I am many things, a liar,a charlatan, a afraid, a cad, a scoundrel, but us using italic sensibilities, beyond the Jews and niggers, at least those on the payroll, as Caesar said, there are those who will admire me for feeding them in Jail, no relay look up what imperialism really is about, gals, --I am not rat, in our Roamer languages, still means when said, you are nothing but, which is what deep down all you are. The coloreds have been dreaming of tin barges all along, their stinking farmers daughters, their whores, and inst it funny that none of the names that Reverend Al bright down, there isn’t a changed name to protect the guilty, or a mayflower madam in the bunch, which serves Vinny and Fat Tony just right, like Jews trying to keep Scorsese out of the Oscars. Perhaps he studied ethics under Holder who never found a banker he bounded to indict but was such a stupid nigger he tried to keep the lid on everyone, and everything, at the same time, which cascades to even the Money ball guy and hair gel Tiabbi to take note of how the bag men niggers think that no banker belongs in jail. What er you... in the lost tribe...? I spend the night watching Law and Order seen in resurgence again, when the nation was still liberal, and not the decedent police state that all republics devolve into as the pollocks make their claimed—I shall dutifully be catching Station of 21 and Obama and other fixed games, as fat back survivor Eddie kiss me goodnight shall be on to explain why Nafta V when signed off on, like drones and tax cuts will be the American way. Lets make it 96 cents out of every dollar, but recall even Sicily has its low rent Elitist ethicist, deep down, as you try to make of all people Leonardo Da Vinci into another of your stinking worthless Jew instigated love of the dark age puppets. They tried to make a big deal that more people watched the new Game of thrones than ever, but failed to mention it was a free weekend, as times are tight all over. I watch Law and order and Jerry and Jill, the best ones, and make my pages of comic art. Ah, Goodnight Puck, whose China man act like with Jerry is sued as sometime of triumphing distaste by whitey women and the pompous academy that dispersants golden laurels to men doing a gumba act with as much regularity as they do to by now over plowed Holocaust drirges, God bless you Robin Goodfellow, so to speak, as on the Ovidain midsummer night, as he gets out like Gore who rhapsodized about him and Tarzan in a better America, getting out before Tiberius sprays the walls with unnecessary Blood, fate said he was out already and had to make Sejanus hurt, we'll call that Campaign '14 on NBC, I am sent with broom before, to sweep the dust behind the golden door.

05 April 2014



In looking for much in the way of nineties comics to literately trace and then redo as my own, so something I never thought Id do, still, I have gone to various sites, where work by the John Romitas sorts are shown, and saw something I never heard of called Squadron Supreme,. As I said, being sane, I left comics behind eons ago only to pick them up again later, as missed much in the way of the late marvel age, when it was going to go belly up, as we all would have been better off, like barbie, Kirby, Batman and other things that when I was a kid we were all too cool for, correctimundo on that, and somehow through his guile and his inherent thievery Stan lee saved his shitty universe, which I always equated with a kind of book read mostly by juvenile delinquents.

I saw on one of these crappy websites where comics fans gather electrically lest they see the sun like vampires and melt, some comics hack was railing against this thing I had never heard of, and of precise, the amazon with in it, as in Kirby Land Brunettes are all lesbians when shown at all, as shown by a movie where the horrid blonds vie to get back at the husband who strung them all along. Anyway, this cretin said that he of course hate this fictional amazon, they angry up the blood,a Wonder Woman isn’t near to any of his favorites, you know with so many boys in tights. It still surprised me that they don’t think that shines through these comic hacks, but then I am at a advantage having been reared by Jesuit as it were, and seen up close the effeminate twerp who calls everybody else a fag and then pops a wheelie in gym class.

And the Jesuit, feeling cornered, lashes out at the sun chariot as it drops from the sky...Despite what the human eyebrow and good white women Oreo retards and Kmart fagots thought, Pope Cheech was always still an Italian abroad, the wost kind from the southern hemisphere and thus closer to Satan, as I was taught as late as 1975 by queers who kind of believed it, or anything that pre dated ordered Christ. BUT, having studied ethics under Bill Maher, old dilapidated, inches away from the bottle and a relapse looking days of wine and roses Glenn Beck demands a apology or a boycott of Noah, dun by a Atheist ...you know, ''aattthsisttttt'' the mind who burn Christmas trees behind the synagog like Savonarola. But it haddant been a great year for the Jews in tinsel town, the mouse no longer roars, and the west end is falling apart, with one white girls fantasy after another, and reverting to Muppet. Of sure always attuned to the duck dynasty loving in laws of the chosen, a death of a salesman like trailer will go out saying that some Hebe named Broffloffsky or such, has list his own right to his own myths, the pushier goys have come to town. And as usual, this Jewish caveat, which I have seen up close, Tony, we cant make a movie here the Romans are the villains this bad...wait-- what...?, cums down to a usual, Deluise like, NOT IN THE FACE!

As the spring comes through gamely, but each other day is a cold spell which you will deal with at last until Obama is hurled over the side by left behind democrats tiring of his knives in their fronts, I note that the white clowns now bristle under the weight of their acceptable words and those that are proscribed against their enmities. Our crosswise between Juvenal and Captain Video, television at its worst, not best, but then I remember and allow myself to, recall Bob and Emily and beanie and Cecil, unlike the perpetual Ambered youth of pickled white women, are becoming quite the anarchist now against the devotion to the church of non Italian-ism, as held by the self same women , Patricia’s, daughters of the ancient revolution her story prefresosrs without profit, the fat women with thick ankles, who are as much as anything a bulwark against the NCAA paying anyone but the provosts and the coaches of gladiatorial schools. 


But, in one week, two Italian not worth their salt as I might be, showed Grinning Obama, who is quite the victor when he gives in, the reason after all for dying a thousand times, as Barry at his Nadir, was shown the grace notes of power as have been known by the Patrica for three  thousand years. First the Pope, made sure in twenty minuets time to undercut Barry as he limps towards Capri, now finally redeemed in time and space as the blue skyier has never been before, and then, our hag, the buffanna, the witch herself, Nancy Pollozzzi, who took an ideally short time to make sure that she too undercut the prince of tidal pools. Both showed the tap dancing coon at his worst, and made sure that they didn’t get too much of his losers cooties by being caught dead too lower to his radioactive waste called a career. I was alerted to a film winning an Oscar, by an Italian no less, even with the Jews and bloated Negros now piling up on dear sad giant out of Calvino, Bill, take that for beating Antony of Wieners, not to mention DE Lesbiana, showing that the empire shall strike back, as is happening now, by the imperial hour. 

Still, not having watched a stitch of the Oscars, i was told perhaps this would appeal to me, but as I am more Cartman than not and try to be pleasant as I say to well meaners, Dont ever call me a fan of family Guy! Still I looked up on criterion, where I think I have been able to buy any movie they might have I want, mostly Orson wrapped in probate court—i'd watch an uncut or first cut of The other side of the Wind before wasting a second of my life on any silvery linings or Jersey submarines. Of course this film, as the Italians have known the score on who owns such laurels since Catullus, gives the audience what it wants, as was said by Plautus, again, a level of Ennui has here taken hold of an aging filmmaker-writer-cartoonist, in the Fellini tradition, already I’m not laughing as Dorey said if Chaplin wanted to make Hitler a cartoon, Chaplin as always shameless and saw in a monster of your own accessory creation, pop was right, images of his tramp self, which was much, and Rome again is backdrop. At least now it is losuey with Romans as opposed to usual white women , although when one thinks of it, is there anything worse than a Roman now...? I mean even Englishmen cant be that awful, as I find I like my Romans dead with a little bit of salt. I was told to watch this, and it is only twenty bucks, perhaps Ma would like it, but on criterion all the words are hit like a checklist, that they allow be spoken as opposed to unspoken by the good white folks, which is often shown only in silence, as when man who cried to the rafters he isn’t in the crips isnt, because you can never be too careful when dealing with the-- you knows, and isn’t it funny when teething medieval Richard dell arte pantomimist Sherman, is on the sidelines, noting what I did about sanctimony years ago, damning as steadfast as he could as he heard echoes of paydeemahn. ITS NOT FORT NOTHING, MY FATHER WARNED ME, that the open city of stoic almost static poor empathizing filmmakers like De Sica and Rossini was recycled by Zero look alike Federico and his bloated cartoonist Roman antics, and love of cartooning blonds and the angelic Claudia's always along too, opposites attract, you know as all women can tell you, or at least they hope, as my father told me, sick of Fellini and his American approved largess and Roman stereotypes, the kind all Italic artists live for now, if Fellini hadn’t existed the American army would have created him. Now, forty years later there is some whispers that in fact, Fellini may have been more a bag man to American insinuates than any other filmmaker, showing a strain of Cicero corruption that Jewish and white girl film studenti like thinking inst in their Roman mausoleums of power. 


All the words where here, for this film, as they have been since Dore Duvall was being lauded for 'life of Justinian' by fat ugly white hags in shmatas that stunk of evening in Paris. A journalist is in Rome, ...I figured as much, as that is the birthplace of the name of such decedent criminal, like paparazzi and Senator, and he arches to 65, against still in my birth year 1965, such was ancient ans old, not so much now, but one always hopes, ...he takes stock of his life, yes yes, Journalism in Rome isn’t the same as it was when a treasure trove for Willie and GiGi, as now is barely noted unless going after popes for their USX type of bankruptcy as credo...He, the old coot, is said to have wit, always trickery as the Englishman said, wit died in Italy after Ariosto, whereas humor con-tied as lisped to Paris where wit is all that they have...He sues the panorama of Rome to see the beauty, sensually this is called 'pathetic' beauty, but of course

it is absurd, their give a inch to the people who created the Clown and as I have said before, the equally painted faced Senator. Why Absurd...that you left any...? What is absurd about a Roman landscape that white had no hand in it until Italian could be called white and thus still kept out of a Harvard I was warned by priests was as close to the septic tank of Tolkien and Lewis Oxford that this nation could come...? What makes Rome any more absurd than a nation, an empire of Denny’s and dare I say, Richard Shermans ho dee dooing all over the block...I would make a bet, a Or car Wilde sphere I stole for a play called Belladonna that I could sweep through Rome and find a myriad of women, latter day Deas, Sophias, who would make Jennifer Laurence look like a boy. Some smart ass asked Mark Madden I heard by accident as he was again railing against Joe Patrno, as usually, which is his life mission, a nudnick asked this creep whose hockey team now shows the effects of making Sydney bitchy whiny flopping Sydney master, and the guy asked with dead plan meanness who Mark thought was hotter, Jennifer Lawrence or Zack Effron. And the blow hard was knocked back a bit, as they all are sure they are hiding all that they gunnysack realllll good, but again they don’t. Still, why is it that Rome is so absurd to them, as they continue the left addendum complements of Macrobius who either praised to the sky the Aeneid, or stashed it complete, with the tastes of the Roman Bourgeoisie, also Id be careful with the dissemination of Rome capability when I see little Hannibal the Great come out and give his tap dance lessons like Sam Drucker, as even in a kind of feigned Glory he always comes off as incompetence and not that hot or relatively anything, as he starts to metamorphosis into a bag of Wise potato chips before our eyes, bringing the bag from here to there. All the words of middlebrow are here, profane followed by sacred , this is a must when dealing with the city of ghosts of trampling white men, that is a comedia even a woman can understand, as Rome is the city that codified the middle class, the medio casum, and is the city that invented the Suburb, to which the rich and affluent Romans fled to avoid the plebs, who were the fairest born their actually as said in Juvenal, the poor filth for whom welfare was first the weapon of their masters and then of the mob, something that fox news and all its Jews and blond have been warned about, or at least the gist when dealing with dry lidless wonder Kelly, does she ever blink, jeasus she tryin to Hyppotize me!, castling why the wholesale fearful demarcation of Bill seen above, as what stats as greed ends up as fear, as after awhile the clowns and retainers reason they didn’t steal or at least save as many gold coins with Octavian faces on them as they thought that they had, and the eons they still have are beholden on by a by a thread, and not necessary a Golden one at that. All the nuts are here, decadence, sumptuous, sexual, Fellini, Lost, panorama, the whole magilla, and of course, to make it all watchable to white eyes, the actor must be more Frenchy than anything, a slight Shitkel of Jewish, look like a bureaucrat, and be an effeminate of the sort one says in a senate, take your pick by now, realized against as other by beard hicks on a discovery channel which shows the Romans only as Arabs at Saturnalia, though their hope to keep that train moving and coming round the bend of hicks making kazoos, has been if not derailed, at easy over heated and stick in that mud. 


What bothers me is that each Easter since I was A Boy, Easter, as based on Lupercalia as much as anything, as it is about life after all and not Death like the Jewish passover, it is open season on Rome, Egypt, almost every great Mediterranean civilization that bumped into into the Jews and who didn’t go down as well as any Canaanite did. Each Easter, Passion plays are as much a barbarian display of Roman hate as anything, the whole Mediterranean looked down upon as blue eyed Tab hunter Christ doenst know to lawyer up. He did not get a trial as we think, yes, forget the Latin that Jews spread as if magical invocations, but I know Christ had a better trial  than the twelve year old who Tiberius cut the throat of and hurtled into the Tyber so badly that they river had to be dredged, as the wells all sprang red. Usually you have to go to the old testament for such a scene, but here it is in Cornelius, who somehow survived, you’d think his gossip would have been right yup Christie alleys, but alas, showed Crystaline to whom Jew Baby Jesus was rendering unto, after all. But now suddenly as Greg Gutfeld and others lead the Jews up from liberalism and unto John Bircher land, as long as the check clears, the credo of Fox news and its minions, that Jewish hatred of so many like them falls mute as now, one Vicksburg and one Hobbit and one game of thrones after the next is done with their seal of approval as opposed to mark of Cain, and somehow all the vicious of vikings lovers before is made silent, all the whips held by horned rimmed barbarians watering at Cisapline or at Dachau is forgotten adorn forgiven as they Tolkien up and allow their German in-laws to believe in all the myths that Adolph, another wayward catholic so loved. Despite the Hitler channel and their assorted Jews love supinely of Vikings and barbarians, recall the Roman parodies do, as I can know this empire ran out of gas when viscous Irish fagoting lispers looked into the camera dumbfound as they ran out of bullshit too early in the show. 


It did get out that 93 cents out of every dollar in this ''recovery'' of Barrys went to the top one percent, as it was meant to, as this glad abiding nigger played doorman at the golden gate, emphasis on the Gold, Huck, as half breeds always have. That is a number that has gotten into the well water, another thing we have Tacitus to thank for, see above, and the filthy and wretched who avoid middlebrow Omama now like a Plague parasitism, know it, and bread and circus isn’t such a bad idea agree all, as you’ll all find out. This is why in bits and pieces I recreate Captain Magnus, am up to four pages by now, down to buying old Mads and madhouses and nuts and Panics and comic collections, --yes, some by accident but enjoyed them none the less,--to get that feeling of fastness and quickens I have been told I have back into dreary comic epics, which take ten years to tell by men who ran out of shit years ago. I make these comic as I have, as luxuriate in what is called by some on comics journalism, ha!, comic fascism, yes, I do as these people find nothing wrong with one gumba after the next, no hashtaegs are made for anyone who does the gumba bit, the mafia is exempt from censorship again out of any mire society of evils, so I make these strips of mine down to the roman red and the Roman ideals that white women so hate, as in a nation of tax cuts and drones, after all, I know Jesuit orientated, your Trojan horse doesnt have a leg left to stand on and is having to resort to the paid, not the best placed to be, as May Day approaches.

What bothers me , like it did the distinguished Gentleman from dc comic, ... a Jewish cartoonist makes Thor...?, is your Jews new found love of dark ages and the vikings therein. Oh, tres Hitler in so many scenes no...? While Ramses and Pompey are reduced to villain and or top forty hit. On the Simpsons showing the family participating in a Passion Play...!—egad, that less politically correct, the white women shall decide what is alright on a case by case basis, manege when dealing with liberals the first thing one must do its pout yur envelope in the sack dere!--than Columbus day, and for similar reasons, the good niggers yids and injuns hate to think of Julius Caesar in any form, lest anyone catch on to what is going on. In this, cleverly as youd expect, the bullies in the cartoon played Roman centurions, but alas this wasn’t the first or the last time that the Jewish Mob had thick necked imperial knuckleheads to its bloodletting for them, and now to show I was on to something we have the gospel according to Bill Oreilly, he who dreams of enmeshment in every Salo ho formata, who used many Roman footnotes in this, or his ghost writer did, until he was told many of them were satirists in whole, and that explains the waverer in mid gospel telling. But why the Romans Are important more important than any dark ages bull shit you Jews can sign off on to make sure there is penance at the Thanksgiving table with your shicksa wives, is that late in the month a man named Nate Silver merely said that there was a good chance that the Democritusi, with envelopes, latrens up to always recheck for that one great bribe, would lose the senate. Alas helpful and never discouraging Pontio , no Judas himself, Paulie Walnuts Krugmnan , having studied ethics under Myron Cope found this not rah rah enough, and the crowd went wild. Now everything is slight everything is a slur, everyone is up for the Roman army Treason Trial, an early play of mine, that had women asking who cares about the Romans anymore-- our drones fly with wings of angels. I saw a lesbian group, they speak right before the big turns of Obama, they do, the thick sanctimony comes right before a big swerve of his, no employer mandate for GE you say...?, well we are shocked, and there goes Bo jagels to dance baby dance, ....maybe you should. Abortion, they said with the highfaluting of Nero knivers slicing as they heard of Vespasian assault on the gates, that Abortion was gifted from God. Which one, dear...Plutus, Aryan or Yahweh...you know like passover, --BLAMMO, CUNTS! And then, to show my auger-in stick is still divining rained water, a selfie put out by Legend-cleansed Rodriquez Big Popper, with the thin lipped wonder turned out to be a mere Samsung television commercial, the betrayer Obama administration in a nutshell. Obama is very Upset, selling out the Praetorium is still his job, and he is an Apple man. Why, I admire my own Roman esp, is over this as that very day, on Google plus, I added to the epsn posting of this counterfeiter moment, I asked is you is or is you fake....who day who day think they can f wid Roman Antony...?

01 April 2014


march 21.

In fanning a new found admiration of Alan Moore, I somehow clicked a link to a sheet that annotates a book of his I have never had much interest in, the league of extraordinary gentleman, but am glad he had the balls to make such a thing around and surrounded by the growling now sunless saddened and thick planked haired and amour wearing superheroes, all of which has echoes of things I was told were either hated and or I didn’t understand then grandure for, of comics. But I have been rereading such books since 1970 and a Neal Adams flying man who enchanted me, so stick that up your ass, I cant help it if you are all so dense as to think that grim shat of the playacting of Nolan is what you can shallowly refer to as deep. Some hack comic thug, a blogger in it just for free copies of dc shit, made a point that unlike me, he wasn’t a hater of comics, and reveled in them, as long as rape was in there and in there good, and surely he got a long insistent write up at a comics reporter, who ignored anything said by me, but then as I noted He hates Pogo, so what was I gonna do...? Listen, kids, On lawdy, i was reading the Inferno in 4th grade, and Roman farce, which is always heavy on wacks and thuds and blood and like EC comics, so, you aint gonna impress me, you fan boys. 

Still, looking up works Id like to buy and read, like Promethea and the like, as I avoid any new 52 picks ups as I had been codling wonderfully at as a better adult than I am now, I saw this page where each and every footnote –to a comic book, no less, was cut through which had the antidote recitation it meant to, it made me, with all of its snark and self righteousness want to read a book about of all things-- England. Since a hatred of Amadeus was causally mentioned here, in stats, a place I rarely go or care, I saw that England now is in darkest green, darker than America, darker than China, where somehow I am read, along with light Cuba and Ma's Argentina, but in the whole of the southern Hemisphere I am unseen, as maybe God insisted things to be. I was never sure I could take it, that severe insult to the brain it would be to have to actually read English-land anything, even a Mooreian satire thereof, but of anyone could do it it would be he. And yet, the cast didn’t exactly make me feel great about the whole idea, Quartermaine and such, as that empire of the moon, as opposed to the Roman sun, had a mean streak in it no Roman ever cared to have, a racist accompaniment the ransomers were without until Constantine discovery of Jewish texts that always reaffirmed the return of kings, No Brutus equivalent in Jewish history god knows, and the Rudyard Kipling shit was tedious, excepting only of John Huston's brilliant Man who would be King, which made fun of it as much as a anything... well it leaves me with a word- feh. ATTTS ON! 


Accounting to this, which I may break down and buy the book because I know that Moore is smarter than someone scouring wickedpedoia, as it as Gore said, is always inerrantly wrong, but, we are in mid century here, which I fondly look back upon, as if again a Roman born after the Lupercalia to an Arcadia as Italian are want to, without the Jewish and fagging and other dreamlike sense of Rickey Ricardo singing California here we come with the Mertzes in the Cadillac to play Don Goivanni, which I have thankfully never been. I like Moore's touch and his expansive knowledge of any books, even the dreadful muddy librettos of England, which they may have burned themselves, to avoid speckling of Aeneas brother--Brutus...hnnnnnn, Brittania... as they strayed putting niggers in barbarian helmets and full metal jackets. But here, saw first off that as he puts more thought into a funny book than do all the gnomes of dc comics, that the whole exercise is distilled down, like bathtub gin, to one thrown aside phrase. Orlando, a name sued by both Moore and his arch enemy it seems, the revolting witch boy caterer who stole as much from CC Beck as did the always plotting and conniving Buckminster Kirby—really, he tried to steal Captain Marvel from CC, a DC comics gentleman told me seeing my own red spangled hero in a notebook, and one can imagine what dregs that would have been, though with his more gonniffy and less Shaker Presbyter dryness of Beck, and that he spoke fluent middle American, im sure old Capetian would still be out there. It pays as Dante said, to have an interpreter, and so somehow, Captain Marvel,was based on Roman plays as the befuddled and yet human and smiling red centenary joke of a hero, in many Roman farces, the buffoon is the soldier, a hold over from Calabrian farce that the Romans, amusingly no Jews or Greeks or weeping Lebanese they, just loved, as I have said before, the first bits of Coriolanus we have mute to Latin less Shakespeare, were of the great Fascist as a comedy, a buffoon of power. Like what you have in the senate now. which Jews  and Greeks so dismayed as they hurl shit at the creeps who made them change their names, if not noses, was taken into Limbo, a part of my own take on Captain Magnus, whereas Spider-man and a myriad of other Lee creations, with a always unneeded assist given or taken by Kirby, were left alone, despite their obvious red and blue outfits, or origin stories only needing Joe Chill to make them complete, as Kirby I read in less than fawning truth telling, would always like a pit bull, say to Carmine Infantino, or as he appears in the Tonyvesre, Carmine Infantile, I am witty...or whomever he was fucking over at the Detective comics,-- Ill see you in court. Never a fan of Kirby, though in putting together apogees of another missing book I wish to create only for entrainment purposes only, I read the tale that he made sure to humiliate and illegitimacy Stan Lee, a favorite thief of mine, in the Roman and thus less Goldman Sacks Jew incantation, that when at bankruptcy’s door, which he has been at as his ilk Americana would be, all is by the bootstrap and the seat of the frayed pants, Kirby makes sure to make him out to be a crying hack in need of a genius, in need of the bullying, blustering, Jew hack and his schlep of stolen medias he makes out are his, in a way I found satisfied my every thought of him and his placed in the ongoing epic that is the Tony- verse of comics. He is the villain here, and I subscribe to the Virgil canter of no villains, but see the virulent ingeniousness of Kirby too glaring not to be sued, no matter or maybe because of whatever Todds in comics say. This is a put down by another poor man's Moore from England so his funny hymnbooks must be deep and resonate, though as prose they read about as well as mid 2000's R rated movies starring the loveable and dismissed by hacks b movie queen Krista Allen, who should have been been bigger, but then we are a city without women anymore, and Boudicca and her Onion eaters are our heroes. Make mine Camila, who Dore wishes to replacte in the comics here, a first wonder woman, in the parts of the Aeneid so good that Oxford would try to make sure they didn't really translate that part of the tale, as they are want to do. There is no place for Virgil's Camilla anywhere there. That sort of bald facedness is relegating and shows much, like the horrid Aldlea Stevenson telling some over eating lesbian, swathed in fur and hat and glove in those mentioned fifties, that when she of course said he would get the votes of every thinking American, thus New York east side witch not recalling all which Ike did to save Polish hebes from bunkhouses that the the nations of wounded knee and Gallipoli could tsk over, a part of the family she bereley knew anyway, he responded That isn’t enough-- I need a majority. Such a dismissal of the people, hated by their political keepers, especially those who feign a bleeding heart, the first in epochs belonging to, no, not him, Caesar, who cared so deeply about the wretched, knowing their arms too short to slap at God,  see Coriolanus elsewhere, -- work’s best at HBO or the Statistical loving magazine, as I would have asked if there and in his' campaign, does anybody here know actually how to play this Roman Game...?

An there it is, the similar line that shows all, there in the annotations of the Black Dossier, Orlando is Italian for Roland. That’s it. We must get back to the Punch inserts and the penny dreadfuls now, and of course Bond, who I never liked, I am a Matt Helm guy, again my aversion to queen and county, or that country of queens, whatever it is, but this declarative sentence it said all. Of course, though Alan uses them all as inspiration, along with the Italian comics, which are when seen glorious and wonderful things, and again a bruising man in red cape and who can flit over towers is seen in comics written by no less than D'annunzio, as comics in Italay, and Europe have always been seen as a medium and not a message, but still avails some the speechless whiteys, aspect to dismiss Dannunzio as he must be in James Baldwin Terms. Orlando is the Italian word for Roland, but is also a name of a series of books, by Boiardo, once saw him called Boyadee, no less, and Ariosto, Italian towers both, and that most hurtful of things to Americans, right up there with entertaining Ovid, the epic of the light touch and the wry , dare I say Satirical, line. Satire is an impermanent to the lamb of god and his Jupiter of blood, and wasnt it funny that only days after I had posted my own diatribe about Bill Maher, that he suddenly saw the great father Yahweh in almost Roman terms, calling him a drowner of darkie boys, a Tiberius in the sky, with whom Junior said he bifurcated the earth, and well, no me, this time as My numbers amiably zoom upwards, wash board face has done this shtick so often that it barely got a blip, as like Spike less, when you time all your outrages to opening night after a while, like Obama, the rabble, always hated and dismissed, start to think less of you.

2. Speaking of any Hunger Games and the now faux Romes that are dropping from Hollywood as the refinement of Mel Gibson reading some of the curses dropped on heads instead of used as weapons in Judea, I was watching Charlie Rose. Here, Rose and a Jewish imp, a faggy hebe was one doing schtick, as Gore Vidal said of Capote's careerism, he was famous because at CBS, that’s what they thought fags should be. Olbermann was bumped back by the insensate of now seemingly over-watched bball, --But good news knuckleheads, the Oracle of weeping water Nebraska, plutocrat to the palace, and look that word up it, has to do with Dante's sue of the Roman angel of Death, a shrnorer of gold and women, though he was sexless and poor, nor a benevolent hero as he is in Passovers in like so much good, to others, is offering all the good viewers of slave labor's lost called the NCAA men basketball championship, previous called Easter before the good liberal gals took over, at least on paper, one billion dollars if they get all the brackets bundling a 68 team field right. Ah, someone studied numbers under a Jesuit or a Jew, or probably a good white man who reverends he inst as corrupt as the first two. Speaking again of Hunger games for the filth, I always knew despite that hag cunt wanting a star turn, that in Rome, even a fake one, that white women abhor all that pesky Jew hated welfare and circus and the like, so resented by good Calvinists, the blood is as I have said before to some dismay is meaningless, and it turns quickly brown or gray and the clash of metal is all that is seen by the filth. The over the top shmatas of the fake Capitoline, are now shown as a latest rat trap in Wintur's tales, as over fed underage white girls must ask at new york rags if that isn’t some sort of detraction of the essacne of that paperback work, taking for granted there is anything indebted that tripe at all, as Jews again, I don’t mean to make them the villains of these pieces, just now to make a point as bloated think lipped thug Jew kings screech and moan and dance and wave their arms as somehow this indefatae in Persia, and a nuclear rock isn’t as scarey as the Palestinians were to Uncle Sugar, and that somehow the carte Blacnhe that was given to the first chosen poplar had strings even those connivers didn’t see attached, as Persia gets its bomb by the hour, and their Augustus seemingly condones with last Romulus care or is openly a man named Hussein rooting to see Jerusalem liberata, to the Arabs of which he is one, or juts wishes to cleans himself of the barricades of bribery that have attached themselves to his constant sanctuary with recapitalization. 

They are just a different sort of Victim, i have warned,  as their cousins Sacco and Vanzetti, that’s all. As like Bill, I have tread the Roman diaries, now never to be done by SCORSESE AGED HAND, EVER. Anyone who gets all the brackets right will win a billion, how I hope that happens, to see the old white fuck drop dead on the spot, as again no one gets the true inklings and the morals because they are ethics...?, of the Roman words dismissed by new mannish creeps on fiance television as gaudy and vulgar as they show about making dreadful over wrought tortured food porn in thirty minuets, as the women are all associates now, and are at war as the boys discuss the new batman movie and the latest gladiator to stumble and chain, where have I seen this all before...?

One of the few things I was admired for for my comics in 2006, when a Jewish affable man told me to blog, as no one would ever make this shit of mine, especially Jews who don’t want to hear about Roman pro-grammes against the chosen coming so soon after the sun dawn at the bridge, was that I was lauded even by sneerers for my use of panels. Of course, I don’t make panels like some do, and put together Rag one by taking various small slips of paper of disunited and unrelated sketches, and made that Preludio, by gluing these image together and smashing them together until I had an allegedly cohesive story. This was when someone said of my pamphlet, that they had seen worse at Marvel, which again I take anything and call it a compliment, as Marvel even then was multinational corporation, staffed with writers and artists, using the term loosely as can, and technology and somehow they were bested even his left handed way by me, a schnook with slips of paper, a glue stick and flair pens, again showing the magic of art.

As soon with all his long island charm, Rabbi Shjumah has decreed in this interesting consecration of Sicily ever seen, that soon enough only card welding wards of the state will be called Journalists, …remember when they were more fun, like fagots women and others when they were filth...? An, but as Jews like Wops and niggers are always looking, staging at the plate of glass that the white folks candy store is to Allentown them, they cant get in, they really lay it on thick, you know as they remember mama, or at least grandma, in the showers. You mean journalists will be working for the government they are sponsored to be watchers of..again I hear echoes of something, but I cant put my finger on it, as Jerry Lewis Once said of Lannie Kazan, at her pre yenat Grammy in every third film best. You mean journalists will be more indebted to government than now...? Poor Jews, so righteous, so chosen, so willing to forget when they were on lists they think they now keep, and when they were apartheid victim as recently as when I was a little boy, an good Virgil to Obamama...Syd, Mel, what was his name...? Guy, Vic,,,no Sol, Solly Allinsky, was unhallowed in certain restaurants and jockey clubs, kneecapping his way as Brutishness at the square, why he was a radical. And why now there is no such thing as a reactionary. So now, in the club and pushy as ever, they will decide who a good journalist is, like Candy Crowley, reading cookie breathed tear sheets, sent to her by befuddled black hicks in the Whitey House way in over their heads, to the point where their bullshit becalms and is as insult to the hurting masses and the men in purple silks become a miasma of blurred bribes and outrage. I would think in a Res Publica, that everyone has the same freedom of speech, ah but not on the west bank of the Hudson, where you again are a rumor and they sated in marble chairs spooning out rot, dressed in silk.

Ah again, though Big Tony is never shocked, it appears amid all of this, that Yenta stentorian herself, Yetta Finennnnnneshtoien was shocked and appalled to see that the all knowing eye of Obama, the one she like a good hebe was all for when it came with a resolve to kill the Arabs, as Franken would actually say, found that havens to mergatroid, she was being watched like something out of Juvenal herself. Now the caterwauling began, but, again I am never surprised when a good black Jew or other misunderstood collected minority has no sense of the nature of things, that are about to be read aloud out of Cornelius Tacitus. As they are far too good and wholesome and righteous to have scanned such pornography as that. 

But again, when I was a kid, there were people like Norman Lear and others who made sure anyone who saw Communists everywhere were buffoons, idiots, reactionaries, because Jews were still on the outs communists then, though now, now that Shumah is a Doge, suddenly seeing Arabs and terrorists under every bed is find and dandy, to quote the Carlin. Oh... the look on that money running hags face when she deranged that Resident Hussein is watching her closely, as she wants others to be callously watched it is the hypocrisy all power Jews have snagged their silk on since Marcus, himself, as they have an inkling that they might be not to beloved by God, and rather merely Syrians, with an un- enviable or dead or non resistance God behind them. Showing why they have to throw lobes, lest He allow them back into the baseboards again. Still, it is instrumenting that the altercations of various Stanley Kubrick movies, laughing about bodily fluids, no such people exist now, and Drones have been a mitzvah for General Electric, and they

still sting and making Rachel Maddow spoken word documentation about wars that were evil because the Frigidaire, turbines to Susa, toaster oven, doom bot queens didn’t get its cut of Sparta Inc. And yet, like Chris Mathews at Doodyville, silent and shtivzing, frozen by relationship with the camera, another Italian word which showed their brilliance at augering, something they invented in the Renaissance without film, to frame paints, her silence was less than Golden as much as it held in it the senses of a meter clicking away, this time, loop and the kilowatt hours ticked away, they click for thee, old lady.

But a Pope who has been continuously losing Italay now finds himself railing against the Mafia and not being so accommodating to the puppets and needs of American Queers, which shows his low level Jesuit mind at best work, as that Machiavellian stage is always one solid shoe from implosion. AND I BOUGHT THE BLACK DOSSIER, which I bought a used copy of as my admiration for Alan even over reaches my disdain and distaste of Englishmen, they are dogs barking thinking they speak Latin, there is a line not as quoited on the great John Batchelor as are others used intrinsically against a barbarian horde, that he, the Senator, never liked, and whose mass murder, under my forefather Agricola, actually Acrigola in Tuscan no less, the Senator cheered. In this mass of believed connections though I must admit, along with the line that Orlando is Italian for Roland, actually it is Orlandius, a word I believe for both Portugal and orange. My Ma still calls them Portogallos, this meaning the Spanish contributions to French literature , like the italic to Arthur, the lady in the lake appears in Ovid and is Rome, sorry but true, is overlooked especially in footnotes. HERE, though sprinkled through, are some gaming connections usually lost, like who Cynthia is, -Catullus, the hefty brilliancy of Italic Decameron, the first great book of the west, with its twin tower the Inferno, and even a mention of Italic Calvino, who Gore Vidal one time said is everything that GIGI Marquez portends to be, and hvaing called that salsas of his a hundred years of rereading Octavio Paz. I still think in this Captain Magnus, or MS, or any of my comic work, I could do things like Alan did, and not have that awful scent of that heinous Grant, who thinks that somehow he invented Satire, or worse that Alan Didn’t, thinks its a message and not a medium.

Still, I have to say everything I do has a level of honesty to to it, and me a Machiavellian, no less, as as no comic consortium would be caught dead the words behind my pictures, like when I was called clever by the vineyard of Coppola WITH THEIR Sistine coming from, listen closely girls, their gumba faggings asking me if my Cynthia’s had to be brunette, and couldn’t be Blond, as know they audience is their greeter ethic, if not trick, and why he is as poverty as I never was or could be. It aware in me what there is no room our in our heinous world of such satirical dreck, as aren’t they giving Alan a hard time, freeing his imprisoned mean Supreme, a recantation of what i hoped for when a young Asian girl saw in my Mister Stupendous, and other forms of vanquishing and victory when it doesn't just mean V, and how she compared it to Supeme's deconstructionist and I, no oaf really, took it as a compliment and didn’t harangue or bitch or Grant Morrison all over myself about any of it. Now I see that that Supreme that was entombed so as to allow Alan to return to the sunnier of world of Binder and Beck, and Swann and Kurt as disposed to the repertoires of Leishfield and Lee and Lee and Lee, has been resurrected to make damage to the earth, what you get when myths are written by men who haven’t read Virgil, or worse, god knows, Ovid, who lurks behind every passage of an Elizabethan summer's night, showing the regards trick of the English from Spencer to Lennon is aping all, and thinking you came up with it...Supreme is unleashed, gods help us all, but not at Mars, or even a Polish Nazi Styx, that would be too, you know, Me, and who needs that, …?, trashing the world scaremongering and viscous until, as shall happen to Batman soon enough, then serfs and the goofs said, what else is on, the magic incantation, and that soldier was canceled, the hidden true heels of all Miles Gloriosuses, the magic, or the grimmest, is always on a pay for view basis, showing as said in Pinocchio, why is this puppet a hit, who in hell knows, …?, its hard to find someone who knows how perfectly to sue the vulgar aftertastes with a perfect pitch, as all in Italian is satire, which Walt hates. As RAG BEGUN WITH HIS DEATH, Arthur Piznez leaves the magic kingdom rudderless, but leaves all to SHIFTY Daffy, --Im in the its all true camp--, and Arthur's rosebud amid the cartoon puppets is said aloud...Pogo...As I write my shitty little sonnets with joy at the bombing of grim dark of comics as Alan has denounced, not quite what Stanley had to do when he read that freedom fighter offered Lucius a crown, the be all and end all to messiahs seems to be the state, and later saw his historically inaccurate money shot, I am Spartacus, like it mattered to Romans who had just killed a hundred senators who may or may not have been in Catiline rolls, they didn’t help weed easting gumba- Jew god of the res publica Chuc—Marcus enough, only for this con to be used by last sanitized house coon, saw vapid company men golfers live out Dan Jenkins creeds, and then fall apart when, as in Plautus, the girls adroitly falling out of closets on cue, our good niggers like he and Barry never play their role, like a pre Roman clown, zero hour Sid Caesar greatness at the foolishness of pomposity, all jingles and jangles and castanet and bells with the Roman aplomb of Claudius Bill.

What bothered me about dealing with the comics creeps and sent me back to Authoritarian.com?, and Amazons first novel construct, as a good priestly student I am perceptual at a first novel though have been writing these since 1982 when offered a contract Harper Collins by no one there now, although I am told by some they remember my name from this and that, was that these hacks wanted someone to loom downwards at some, as I never have. I make friends with anyone, people came to me to show their work in arts school as they didn’t to Heavy Metalist Dorian, who I tried again to be friendly to, but was told of his lack of respect for my ethics,--ha, that’s a laugh!, boy are you off base--as if I were there to learn anything not teachable to me in 1974 by nuns who thought themselves artist, but who to be fair, all read the lives of the artists, which is more I can say for visual communications BS artists. What I was stupidly shocked by was the Todds, again Warren’s diminution may have stuck as none of his r rated crap warmed over Alan ever has. They meme to want to demean people, to vent at an uneven universe for the fact of all those lockers they were hurled into, and who sue comics I supposedly hated as a respite from the larger world that they were incapable of dealing. Me, I just like Comics as all Italians, at least the ones worth their salt, always have, as I said in WLM, in a well received part called Superman, Hercules is the only god that the Italians ever truly believe in, as a dismissive Nobel savage loaning Turkish bath talking Cornelius knew. And Superman has been put on hiatus , as became less a dark grim fable than a Simpson punchline, and even the Jews sing of who...of Hercules. I was affronted by horrid sorts, having an inkling despite my flair and panache that I could draw draw better than all of them, a knack I dismissed as they were truly dreamer of lying in gutters, as acolytes of Jack Kirby, the only Jewish villain in my work, which I have a propensity for, that I truly cannot, and do not like, as not the others, like Mel Pincus, the Saturday morning clown ex Bialystok of Broadway now homicidal clown, entttttahhhhhh Pllauutusss!--again widdd da fingahhh!, AND Ge drone making goiniff. Dr. Eaton, whom I envisioned as the monopoly king as a boy are beloved by me, SO Kirby, Jacob Buckminster Bucky Rosenberg—I can be such a cad as recall when the little foxes hated you too, stand as even in the Tony verse he puts my teeth on edge, like Herodotus and Glenn Beck. So, I continue the epic of Rag, totally without the needs for any composition that dealing with Coppola and collective house niggers more threadbare than I, even, allowed to taint my work. But strangely I do something here now I have never done before, taking truly copied images from their shitty books, and use then rearranging them as a complete and my own new book, though why, outside of getting even, I am not sure.