16 September 2016

SUMMA.





The sending of large comic pages done to the marvel specs, like 10 mbs a page, which I have because I bought out a ream of what are basically card stock at 20 by 30, from an artist on tough times and gave him a twenty for the whole box, has caused my data to shrinkage and so, may again take the rest of the month off as wait for maybe as many as six additions to my resume. The resume is iron clad, the resume is above reproach. Like somehow how Clinton are now. Who knew?



But I did hear from a gal who asked me how did I know to post a line of my hero Lucius Cattiline, about demeaning the populace back a few days before Hillary would again show an ear worthy of Frank Baum, who I also precisely mentioned. Pleeeseeee, despite their in law relatedness as new patricians, and his always being at the vomotorium, looking for Cornelius Comely hee haw brunette Kats chicks Ala Brut Reynolds, as in a Roman sketch written by Al, Al Franken who was the go to trash all ethnics once, our first Borat, and he’d trash now like LBJ, seen as Classical tragedy hero Nixon, you know, just to show he had a good heart, I have seen their type before in pages yellowed and dog eared, as am starting too think the only thing Bilbo ever really studied was a penthouse magazine, and knew enough Tacitus to impress the chicks who write for the ruins of the herald tribune. I did hear that there is talk once again that they photshoped Hillary's eyes to make them more blue, when you are a patsy, alas the insignificant is all you have left, heard this but of minutiae on the radio from closet everything's overnight on ABC, who will defend to their death their right to avoid a minimum wage, or was it George Nori. This all from the good frau who isn’t a racist, so wash those floors well. I’m sure the fat chicks who make a point of such things wont really get into it much, as once again, we have a fronting wanting routine of the plebs, and such is all your ever to be dear, who studied ethics under Harvey Comics or FF Copula. Remember, kids, in moonlight bay all the hero gangsters have blue eyes, like in the Goddfater or its more or less more noble minded telling, or what it retold, BBC Romans make great programming I, Claudius. I LOVE IT WHEN THINS GO CORNELIUS TACITUS, but Robert Graves robbing enchanted crypts is as close as you'll git.



BTW was shocked to hear that shed so eagerly demeaned the angry out upon, set upon to quote Cicero, hungry, departed, misplayed and tossed aside voters for Trump, why all together, they cant get a good bribe, much less what the Clinton are used to. But again using that Italianate history that Bill says he is am alter boy of, you know, I loved it seeing him race to Charlie Rose and throw gasoline on her eternal flame, remember to burn the cooties in the clothes too, Bill, as she the DAY SHE SHOWED BOB HOPELESS AND FAGGING SISSY DIDDLE DEE DEEE LINDSAY GRAMNESTY as her tribunes, why, theirs that forty seven percent again, place Roman general line here, and she spoke of baskets of human beings, is that like binders of women, say, but to me, too close to the decaying and dead off camera of Boccaccio, as I said, more maybe like that Italian painter a woman as good as Raphael, he said himself between making Italian prostitutes into Madonna’s, as wives were dull and didn’t have the perquisite look, a girl if I may, who drew the woman carrying john the Baptists head, Salome was it, and in the panting packed the face of the bishop who raped her. Sorry, but you cant be a good partisan for a rapist, it don’t follow, as again I am more versed in your lessons than you are, thanks to those dead priests. I did though see or not see, the dog that wont bite, that in that commercial of Sister Gertrude’s, showing all the rhinos on her side, making me, Roman Tony wonder what audience coyly you are playing to, do you even know yet dear, are you even awake...I ask, as Bill always learned his Political science acumen from Now Voyager and sunset Blvd, ah again he was always the diva here, he was always Tallulah, darrrrling, and thus now, prepared for his titanic meeting at Zama against Trump, a younger model, how ironic, …As what I saw is that when asked to sign a release, again this might be George Nori, again, the Bush familia, Elder Younger and youngest, all the Pliny, couldn’t bring them selves to publically attach themselves, much less attaché themselves to this mean hating cow and his bumbling Tubercular bleeeeeeechhhhhh blasssssssh yeccccccccch, well now you know how wee feel, fish wife, as once again, dear, if you cant spot the Undesirable in the card game its usually….As I saw the Stealer channel drop the show of the bloated Ladeno, Latin sorry is too good a word for them, like say Senator and is a similar grasping at straws and at Roman dignitas and virtu that you aint got, who lectures us about race as he has a gumba sit there and play idiot wop all day, my father lived in fear that my clownish side would allow me such an emceeing dream, and who allows this Cuban hack to show him, he is the willing Gumba, you know, as a monkey on the set, because you know, Italians have never been demeaned for their proximity to Africa, not by even Greeks who are closer yet. But this replacement player, this Rooney hack bully blowhard aging lineman had the nerve to talk about the Joneses as a crime family in Dallas, like the Sicilian woman, the black Cowboy being what allows the steam to escaping, with that bloated leather face and his multiple molester allegations seemingly fine with all the gals and queens at ESPN toilets. Id be careful; as Roman farce tells us, eventually that idiot will fall down the steps, no matter how many bucket holders there, as you’d all better learn the difference between a spear carrier and a pall barer. Id be careful; not despite but because of having all the idiots and weenies of ESPN like war consortium cable, kissing your ass or hand, as Machiavelli, our Iago for whom all the Jesuits had sympathy, he warned about those steps and the way angels don’t care as you plummet down the staircase.



Sad to see Bill reduced to sit, as Roman Boys I thought there were things our ethics wouldn't let us do, like stealing forever once you had enough, destroying every girlfriend, even TIBERIUS got even with Mothurrr is that you...? over lovely Sabina was not it. Or like eating tacos, again a perversion of Italian food to which as my Ma says, too much vingear has been added for the civilized. Sad. But I still hold out hope that he at least will take the Georgetown boys life to mean something as I didn't have the guts or the knees to do, as the old gay perverts saw in me a Knusler, read Working by Studs when as I said your mothers were turning tricks at the pre Plutocrat Dairy Queen, as now we must find our radicals by way of looking at their haircuts, and not another word on that, I did read my Dante well and know like a strapless starlet, a demon and a hypocrite all live off of eyeballs. Go read your husbands Roman library, hunnie, noble savages if there ever were, all the good parts high lit, and cum stained, all probably in a box marked old playboys. I would not be shocked to see the hard sellers from Hot springs crumble as he would want, remember the keystone hero Napoleon that one can devistate anyone if willing to deathtrap himself and dispised and is dispising is no way too have coda to a misspent youth. I hope all end up all in jail eventually, as maybe Borgia should be the new Black.
 
 
 
 







Next. BOOK IV.










10 September 2016

BLOOD SIMPLE



I have a Crime screenplay written here, which I hope perhaps is along the lines of something which your agency might be looking for, or could use. The screenplay is called BIG BERTHA AND THE MAFIA COPS. It concerns an Italian American police detective who has been made an inspector of a dilapidated, eroding, town, which is in the throws of a mob war. As he focuses on relieving his department of mafia cops in the employ of the dons of the town, and bringing and end to this fiasco of a mob campaign, a certain dirty cop and his friend go off the deep end, and send the inspector on a chase between him, a pretty Italianate waitress they grab as a hostage, and the mafia cops who by now are unraveling and have no where else to go.



above 'PYGMAILIA.' 1994

This is a log line as it is called, of sorts, which believe it or not, had professionally written from a larger query, for like fiddy bucks, as became increasingly devoted to the work about three years or so ago. I am on a site where I interact and am befriended by Industry processionals, and there answer ads for producers and the like looking for scripts. One, I mistaken answered had a pricier tag to it of about 40 bucks, as you have to love people in the ivory walls of New Larentium, or is it Sodom, Hollywood who have the time and ware withal to charge 40 bucks a log line read. If were an actual producer would be almost Mamet in my dogged devotion to finding the next big thing, as always even as a nudnick always have an eye out for the next brunette Kim Novak like Wendy, or the next Satire. As its always been the American dream to monetize just sitting around. I didn’t know that this was with a price, as when I thought I was just answering the ad a clock came up, and old me I had five minutes to email this producer who seemed to be needful of crime drams, and had one handy, and using a form of psychology that the girls can understand, making you think that the ivory neon door was closing, I weakly and dutifully went and grabbed by Visa card and spent 46 dollars no less, as some only changed 30 in our new Judea, but again fell for it as I am despite my admiration's by some, still a Italic sucker at heart.

Felt badly when the monthly statement came in that I had spent this much, didn’t even know how much these New American Dorey Sherry’s had cost me, as I was always told even as  fifteen year old when America still stood that when some con man asks you for money you are to stand on principal, and say no, as even websites to this very day speak of Prose and cons and such things, and warn of boiler Rooms that spread out nets for the worked and the wanting, but again, this query by mail and Skype thing has little painted movie poster boxes showing what the people supposedly have done. I sent in Big Bertha, a crime drama of the sorts I grew up with, the original Kojack, the Marcus nelson Murders, Robert Blake’s Beretta, Super Cops, early Michel Chimino, the filmographgy of Sydney Lumet and every movie that the great Ben Gazerrra was ever in, the collected films of John Cassavettes, the Dante who Plutarch Scorsese will die chasing as LeBro will Michael and Hilary her husband, as they aware in the morning light, sure no matter what they will never be that they chase. Why….? Because Dante meets Virgil and calls him his master openly, whether you fat chicks and English majors like it or not. I thought I was getting a chance to be read by someone in some state of power, but as the unerringly growing on me Buddha in their rip off a dying show made watch able now, Jason Whitlock, says, we are drowning in sanctimony and in gestures, strange coming from people with actual power, after all, but as Ovid said, in a republic every man is a king, as Percales did say, putting down the Romans and their innate hatred of prince’s and Kings, something even the Bush Family had not learned of yet, and each man he said, is a leading man in his own adventure and his own play. In an empire, Ovid said, delaminating and depriving the diffused differences between the good old republic and the new brash silly empire, forever, In that new Rome, he said we have been an empire of understudies all waiting for the star to break his leg. This may be I saw in a Roman reader no longer had where the expression break a leg comes from, but Roman actors were so excepted to play to the hilt, where we get the word slapstick, even the Yiddish Shtick, for those who would be bopped on the head with sticks to make a whistling sound, who knows. I thought I was getting read by someone who would actually, my bad, make a picture or send me a detailed, as was insinuated, ah again, that’s my fault for hearing, that they’d tell me what acutely I could do to make this actable or at least tolerable, to those who would allow me my fray back into those servants play or not, soon enough forwent and forborne as the boys of winter, the whiz kids of Hollywood soon enough went the route of just doing Republic serials on and on until they all got old.

I received this, of all things, showing that the boiler Room mentality has crept into the imperial water.


Report - Two Piano Films
reply draft. Youd think for over Thirty bucks the least you could have done was get my name right, you gonnif hacks. 

Tue 9/6, 7:39 PM
Hi! Here is your report from Chris Martens at Two Piano Films.
Title of Script:
BIG BERTHA and the MAFIA COPS
Name of Writer:
Anthony Arci
Writer’s Email Address (listed on pitch)

Scorecard
1 (poor)
2
3
4
5 (best)
Pitch Delivery/Format
X




Clarity of Pitch  
X




Set Up of Protagonist(s) & World

X



Obstacles & Conflict
X




Clarity of Tone

X



Originality of Concept

X



Strength of Voice
X




Feedback : The set-up and story in the pitch was not clear and difficult to understand in the way it was written and presented. Feature films are very structure driven and it was difficult to imagine a 3-act story from the information that was presented in the pitch. The introduction section in the pitch also did not seem to serve much of a purpose and I was unsure of how it related to the story as something with potential to develop into a feature. On a technical end, if the writer wishes to turn this into a feature, then the best avenue is to simply write a feature script based on this. From a business standpoint, historical mafia crime films struggle to find financing and attachments without the support of an A-list filmmaker and actors since the budget is so large.  
Pass or Request?
Pass










Oh wait it’s a chase movie. This took place in a invented place of my own, Patavium New York, SO THIS WASN’T, despite their thinking this cost a lot, take place on Jupiter, or worse than that the perpetual  dark ages that Jewish In-laws dream of going back. These were called street movies when I was a kid, Shit, at least I got a three and a half out of five at Zoetrope, and they hated me there, as again, glad you are strip mining the wrecked and the poor here in Obama land for pin money, as you’d think these Beaglemen would know that there is surely money to swim in in the sores of Hollywood, as nice to know you all sign up to grab a few twenties at a time from people despite enough to send in a idea. Ah, but they rascally these days of being in the wings, they have all the ideas they need, Rocky, Star Wars, TV SHOWS, AS s wonderful we are, so much better we are than those who came before, here in Cicero’s perpetual adolescence, I could have for free posted a log line and had people tear it apart, again, this was professionally written for me from a larger query whittled down form a bigger spoon, as the heretics of pool besotted Hollywood look upon a new idea of any sort as if a stage heresy,  too blaspheming to their quickly pieced together gods of lust and vomit. Again as in Tacitus, someone at the orgy and that Vomitorium is speaking about how she has been saved by this new Jewish God who has always had a soft sport for Caesar and the rich somehow, deposited his ideas about camels and eyes of needles, which like so much, Glenda Beck just ignores when need be. A new Low was achieved when Jewish monsignors sneering at incompetent Hillary sledding down the hill again on a trail of Worm’s Flam, that she is heavier and heavier to carry, again no Aeneid here, as she hacks up a lung like someone in an anti smoking Truth commercial, as the dreaded Twentieth Century Foxezzz find their end in her as she bumbles into anchor Glengarry Glen Beck and The Jew York Times made amends and all was forgiven in the quickly, like rats on a ship, figuring out the curia isn’t what it used to be. Hard sell is our business and I do love how Glenna could think he was so much better than someone who has never taken a drink, Trump, as he is that worst of all things as the senator said of Augustine, a reformed everything, no fun at all, and amusingly sanctimonious for his one true achievement in life was never having been decent enough to kill himself or drink his way into a grave, and for that demands admiration. As in America , the true believer is that second rat off the ship, the Franciscans and their love of Rome meant I am forearmed, as in crappy shitty pony less  America every black second story man and every dried out edging Drunk is the emotional equitant to Aquinas, when after all, all our henna women , miss Pangaea shrieking about Trump on command , at least only hair straightener in her Turnus hair and not the henna used by black chicks with apostrophes in their African , ha, names, you’d think they’d know by now, that they are creating Trump as much as anything. But then why give things away for free when producers have figured the Boss arts of what sued to be called gonnifs and predators now called the creative team at Paramount. 


 Amazonia, public domain comix.

I thought of answering this creep back, as was told I’d get a detailed summery of what my strengths and weaknesses in this pitch were, but again that was my own fault for listening. But they have been nice to me here at this Hollywood site, unlike some, although I have an inkling that Roman Tony isn’t the pariah he sued to be once you placed on your plebeian, again ha, shoulders the wife of the rapists Doge of Venice yes its all true and Orson said, so there’s only so far this comedy can go without falling apart. But I lived the piece of advice to make a movie based on that pitch myself, again I am angry that I was that big a sucker, but the clock makes one think they are a thief on a Sicilian road and have to race in the dark.  



 

Arms and the woman. 

But undaunted I continue to put this hither and yon unwilling this time to apathetically slouch to get out of it, just attempting it be made as I do place my art on any wall owned by anyone, one step above graffiti, is that it is funny to me that the Hillary contagion again seemed to unraveling, a black death in its last stages of Boccachio's gracious ladies telling stories of humor and love and Roman Goddesses of war soon enough to honestly be in Italae loving Geoffrey’s Knights tale, as  the dead and dying and sickly  off camera,  which is genius there and merely a study night on CNN now. And saw her campaign, as a insult to that Roman word, unreel and bumble and stumble, on cue as the pitfalls and the sawed holes with rugs atop them made our Bill laugh as Plautus has entered the room, bells dinging and nuance blazing as a saddle, and cough itself up on the very day that Sundance Kid didn’t seem that distracted by liberal overt decency  to show a new Sopranos, called an Italian Wire, now guess what showman had their play demeaned in just that way, again showing the direction were heading, and it was called Parody too, when in the midst of 911 rah rah hurrahs, I was wondering if those chicken Hawks now with spittle combed hair voting for war loving Hillatata, and Jews in laws knew what the Tuscan box of war was. As again, it as Jewvanal Jonney and Rachel and Cover Girl Turnus head Melissa and William F and others who liked or emailed me as one can imagine how awful a world it is with hacks and Jewry pimps like Caphius with the lead eyes or Steelley Dan in the wheelchair are like, as what pompous believed and now all is forgiven Glenda don’t know, as we whistle past the Armamentarium,  that colostomy bag called Hillary is going to break, probably using Julius Caesar is a guide, as far from old man Mac Kane as it always has been. I keep sending this out, with Zoetrope maybe a high point of my italic arts, as like America have grown weary of the hard sell, always the Jefferson despised Jesuits warned me an inherent danger to the pitchman, but too, found it telling how SUNDANCE between law and order marathons, such a great Indy film, was so eagerly willing to trash the poor put upon Romans again, didn’t you read Cicero…?, as again the rats of imperia show who they are by using Dark as their worst pejorative for Trump, telling us what they are without having to, what they are and what is heard by many when the confederacy called the republics speaks through its whoremonger Polecat Canadian clubber of new York Values, when value is after all the last thing that they’d offer. Dark as a pejorative making us all think we are back in HS, with good little comic hack droopy jewey Judd enraptured with some blond who isn’t cheap enough to not bring home to Nana. As again all hands on deck was shown to me by a house company man as my father called your type, Kermit the wop, who having a series of heart attacks, no less, took less time than offered to maternity leave, and picked up were he left off, smiling for the camera and sucking dick on command, as we are an imperia saddest without the Virgil on board,  and worse than that we may be a duchy without an Innominato, as the second thought is unallwoed I guess in American dreams, I was taken aback seeing his still fat face scramble back with as diligence usually only seen in Clintons and rats, perpetually looking for cheddar and holes, did he wonder if seeing the face of the music of the spheres did he even take a moment to think maybe his was as Dante said, a life lived that feared and shunned it own importance. 




UPDATE. 'VIRGIL' 2002. Placed. Received an email from the Hollywood site.I had not completed a submission to a producer who I didn’t even know I had queried. Ah but  such is America now, a land of understudies, how bout that Janeane Garofolo kid coming in from the chorus like that and leading the hated team, as poor Dak will find out from the house coons, that black quarterbacks to fat black chicks and yo yo yo  dawgs at espn,  like Italians genius, whatever it is, it isn’t enough. Still was telling to see Tony Romo, Tom Brady and Hilly all off the field at the same time. Goodnight Keith Olbermannn, wherever you are....etc...












01 September 2016

1964.











11 AUGUST 2016.



1. Such was a Query or Pitch I had to do, twice as Max would say, to the makers of a comic book about public domain. When I was asked to make the pitch a second time I had antennae go up, like in the bag on the pad Queens of cable television had when like Homer Simpson, vote yes on prop 8, Hillary said she spaced in an interview, or like how when she said as President Le May she would tax the middle class back to the stone age, it is instructive that the fraudulent slip again cant go too far from her lie, that for some reasons her daily Plutocrats that day, the one from weeping water Nebraska had a frozen look on his bemused Cressus faaaaaaaace, and he became whiter the usual. I could take a victory lap and having read Tacitus… or is it Grimm’s…? Say you’d make her president over your dead body, as she prepares for her close up, You are talking to the great Norrrrra Deeesssssmont, one can hear the great Harvey Korman ghost say, do we derive any better…?, as her screaming and kicking like a Sabine woman …sorry… girl, but won’t here.

I, on my birthday, went through some files, as sent out enough work to make five additions to my résumé, although again not some, as have done almost a third more work never accepted or taken or acknowledged, and in going to find work that fit comic opportunities emailed to me, a plastic sheath holding an early comic of mine, Mister Stupendous, worked and reworked to be saved, came crashing to a floor where the gumballs drop. Once it hit, I guess unfastened , the thing fell apart in pecks, as I take it glue and tape and white out made some sort light mixture that caused it to fall to pieces. I gathered it all up, as thought balloons and reamed Mary Amazons were everywhere, seeing in fact, that pretty Asian girl may have been right, and that in fact, it was better before I tinkered with it, although had to recreate parts.

I had never sent these pages anywhere but blogger, so, take the mess and threw it all away, feeling badly that I managed to give in to those comic snerds seen in reentering comics and not finding the caliber of people there once, such is America, and will if need be remake the whole thing staging the pages done for the public domain comic, and others. But I most post something heard here at speak for yourself, which is less insinuated to rah rah as is Espn, which should make the Hillary sedan carriers think twice. Not only is the understudy Tom Brady getting and taking his medicine as fat bloated white men on around the horn say, but too, after leveraging his company to have slave labor make a billion dollars worth of canvas shoes with Le Brons image in them, like Christ on toast, gee I wonder what he thought was I the bag…?, it seems Nike has Hong Kong gardens and tankers filled with Merch they cant move, backing up, while Steff, Lucifer of the epsn frescoes, and his under armor stuff has sold out. It is what I, Roman Antony kept warning you, and you can become tired of a circus at anytime, and merely walk out.




I found myself feeling badly in trying to watch the Enshrinement, another Roman word the barbarians use no matter how many negroes and Causeway GumbaJews show up at the ward. A great player named Stabler, was finally allowed in, posthumously, which only mattered once when it was PETER  FINCH AS THE MAD MAN OF THE AIRWAYS THAT GLENDA BECK COULDN’T BE WITH A BLOOD TRANSFUSION AND A BOTTLE OF VITAMIN B. Stabler was awed in late, too late, as I recall like Bullet Bob Hayes a gnome named Myron Cope set his dotage trashing every Cowboy and Raider to allow his vapid meaningless horrid choirboys team to have second stringers argued for.  Think we have tired of the bag man, again after a while do watch the Lone Ranger and human CC BECK smiling hero Clayton to recall the gilt of those comics I did adore. As I utilize the Romans books cued as primers for me, as Doc Savage himself , the man of Bronze Desilu Fat Freddy Zachariah magus his ways  to curse and be sanctimonious at the same time, showing his monsignors distresses at Hesperianus or is it Bruno, trashed once at an ox bridge where the next scapular of its venality would be having to let Rachel Maddow in.  So, does it matter when one is on the pad…?, still recall him laughing it up with venial vapid Jewvenal about the dead fag persist jokes that bother no one, and say if there were Jesuits at the door, you Arab-ish huckster, everyone in America must always be Ish,  filth, once they knew you were a plagiarist, Aquinas again, the sins of the mind vs the sins of the body, he would have been discredited, demerit-ed, distanced, but all that only seems to work when a black woman was involved. So, secret outlays of cash to Persiopolis –make sure you know where the cash is, Mac Keen,  like the pieta, lest you bomb your unopened citta—that cant be good as again, there is filthiness to this that the queens and the henna sisters and consigliore Praetorians, and the fairies sue green laurels of plastic to hide. I have to send a few more things out then I am done for at least a month, because after all that work, my hand is starting to hurt.

2. Ah, but here is the Romans knowledge that I openly admit to as we are surrounded by rats and theirs strangely catholic bishop keepers, and why that woman made a point of recalling me and what I had said in February, why February?, I recalled, my snide ness appropriated, in the way that she had seen in my own utilization of the tragedy about Julius Caesars there were echoes of Roman Ty beyond a mere clever device. I had used Orson Welles' modern dress about Caesar and its connections to Trump, as I said, it’s the same story of lifer senators being upset that the Prince had started to have sympathy for the squalled and the rats and the filth.

Cute line, my one time more drilled in ancient knowledge brother said, that both he and my father and the Jesuits were sure they were burning away, sad they didn’t get it all the first go around, why he gave me Julian while others were reading porno and the remnants of ec comics as hoodlums, that they were trying to make sure Martin Scorsese blotted out, as Mister Burns Hillary’s god father, would try to blot our the apostolic sun. Knowledge, my Brother says, as I get from him not so much laughs but a sharpies audience to a con mans admiration that I get a That’s funny. Ah, but more than just that, I repined to show my Roman brilliance in that seeing the tragedy of Caesar play out about buffoonish thus sympathetic Trump, and unaware this was really more rigged than even he or Berne could think, I subsuming that self same ideal of the Romans tarred are as they are, that I looked around and asked, where is our king, Brutus…? The question I am sure no lesbian or queen or half wit or middle brow could ever ask, where was Brutus, I asked, back, where is the coup de Grace, where blusters and growls the unkindest cut of all. I didn’t see one. In that, where is Brutus to give the partisan, parting, partita, paramour scorned shot...?, the money shot, the grace shot, where is Marcus Brutus, no not Junus I said, getting the admirations of various William Fs who found too late and too soon, too quickly and too often and too ruined that Rush thinks Aquinas is purple and they do not know as opposed to Gore whom Cincinnatus was. Ah, too gloomily to play his role as Bush should now you’d think he’d take his bow as first complicated hero, so loved by Shakespeare when he wasn’t just slavishly transcribing that which was placed before him in Livy and Plutarch, if indeed he ever read anything but their gist.




Where...,  I asked this girl in the midsummer’s day of almost poetically Roman light where is Brutus, where is Jebby, and I want it too read Max Power, where is little lord Fauntleroy, where is blue boy, where is monkey shines, where is the Rufus of our time, whose so much more capable brother, yeeeowww!, beat him to the praetorshop, as in fact Bill may have beaten his wife in that strange one busman ship game that is peculiar to these family of now, that the Kennedy’s even never emend to have, as always got the impression that even an attack dog like RFK, who equally slid away from being first chair for anti communist McCarthy, ah the joys of growth when the radicals have no where else to go, and they already spent the check, I cant believe his venial these married in laws and blood brothers are, all for power. Where is, I asked in email to this girl, where is Brutus, the boy king, primacies the republic as if a bauble his father would buy for him, as illiterate serfdom Italia thinks the plutocrats will now, as an alley cat I think sings in the alleyways, all Mack The knife or a drunken red nosed Sylvessssssssrettterrrrrr.

Where is Brutus…?,  I asked with Roman aplomb equestrians virtue in a summer that’s hemmed to again try to equate the Romans with Nazis as to make things easier in the coming holidays, when Shlomo shows up at Mister and Mrs. Creamcheese’s house. The almost Bushman need and love to excise and delegit millions of Votes is almost Augustan, the destruction of a republic to that ninnies family of monkey faced queens and sissies, the Blizzard Kennedy’s, is all so horrid and beyond mere sad, as much as it is the way we live now, the way of deluding badness, the Sicilian stock and trade, the Jewish theater full of clientages and over wrought sons. Where's Brutus,… I asked this woman, sorry Google, where is Jebby to his monogrammed bejeweled Persian knife and plunge it into Trump, …? He seems now no where around, his smiling goons face once as inescapable as Mao in the forbidden city of pagodas and February fire works, neither here nor there as the B team or rhinos has emerged in stampeded, fiddle deed deee Lindsay Gramnsety, and old man Erroneous Mac Kane, in mid growl always, and their bag men, but I don’t see Bush. Well, the woman asked, maybe he is behind the scenes trying to tarried Trump, as my being at least somewhat honest makes me infinitely more fun and interpreting then people who are told to shut people up on  the channel which has become a bathes of Curricula where the ninnies and simps and the queers do their nightly bombast with strange bedfellow fat chicks and glasses wearing cows who were once ensconced in the folds of The Fox malegbolgia, where they , as my mother said, the clever rats and rattier useless saved by fur and largess of mother natura, condisolacoda, or wipe away the tracks they made hither and yon lest followed back. 



I begged off, no I said, I didn’t think so, as I said, tapping into the zeitgeist, Trumpie made them all look fools, which is the major part here, again, despite what use and his Irish hacks on cable TV think, having learned the meanness of a screen street which is just if not more fake than any Atlantis or Rome they can build out of particle board at HBO, I think nothing is business and all is personal at its core, at his sulfurous Infernal core is personal, to the ends as the Roman general would say. I would think that they would relish the way too go after Trump who as I write this is such a disaster to the Rhino herd as opposed to stiff sweaty plutocrats cult members who call half of America as Porch Monkey trash, or were the first to believe in socialized medicine, which didn’t other Glenda and his My Favorite Martian, Visit to a small planet is out doc, antennae. I would think that he would relish and take a great deal of joy and patrician filthiness and smarmy monkey faced glee in trying to Questa e per tea to Don Creech so his own family saga can begin in Ernest which is a legitimate insult from Roman me, as comparing that horrid family to the Sicilians is the unkindest cut of all. Dere it isss. But he is out there I emailed this gal back, as a Roman by taught out of Collodi by a Roman addled Marc Antony and Cleopatra reading in the ordinal Italian mother, as I figured there is no Brutus in our modern dress play, once a thunderbolt of an idea and now just sued to cut down costs by hags who steel puppetry from the Italians to make of all things, Titus Adronicus, one of the few Shakespeare plays that actually has a pulse. As because, drum roll, please, she cant go on and win this, and thus leave Bushy on these side lines when in fact she was minted to be his road kill, grandma got run over by a Curriculum, but unfortunately for tin eared Jedidaiah, not his name, it was conman cored, someone chosen because they were filthy enough to make him as a befuddled idiot fascia creating war loving Bush be queen, but now god bless Trump for at least this much, a bloated brigand fight fluting THE AMERICAN took that sissy down. 


3. He couldn’t show up now and give the coup its needed oomph, Grahmnesty, like Turbin Durban, is a bore, Brutus isn’t here man, none of them, as I named my own hero in my own epic Brutus, which made me wonder what that meant, but still, I named my own hero Brutus, as I named my detective Ennius, and my superman Curtis, in ways just to tick off the white chic’s. See, I think he didn’t show up as Brutus for his garret star turn because it wasn’t Trumpo who took the presidium from Poppy, it wasn’t a bloated vulgar mean and gorgeously horrendous Trumpie who strode up to Parnassus while mcing the gallows and taking his prick out and hurling it at every Kelley girl he saw. It wasn’t Trump who took the Goddess prudence away from Dad, that must mean something, lest you are nothing but a bribe taking con artist, you want Sicily bella sweethearts, you want the port of messina, you want familia politics kids, see, I was thought to be brilliant by the Jesuits cause again, I deconstructed, as they say about great books and club sangwitches, the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, so then not yet as hated by white chicks as it would get to be, as I was warned by the nuns who Rachel always saw in my posture as it were, and never quite banished Big T fro the coven, by woman whose the only sonnets that were writ for the ever were the bills from their abortion providers. You’d think if there really was a right to privacy in the constitution that abortions like libraries and lawyers would be free to anyone who wanted one, as I said in a schoolboys debate at the local Jesuit Boystown, sorry Georgetown, recruiters and receivers were at a dump called sacred heart were looking for Jesuits as Joppa looked for Linebackers, and said this to a black man, was it Ogletree…?,I recall it as perhaps such in the cold slush of an 1981 unlike any years before it.  I was loaded with admiration from them, as I was a born shyster, and could connive far above my reading grade. This eyeing the admiration of a whole new crew of Jesuits who saw me say that to a hyper broad woman with good grades who was an early version of the gals as beards fancy Pools Bathhouse all reciting Homer and their love of war on cue, vestal mustaches, a joke for too gals too, hidden by the thick Nixionian pancake make up needed by fat faced prosecutors, so as not to show the Jews in always mid Shvitz. Oh, but again, dear, lets not go nuts, it I after all a mans world. The brutal scene didn’t happen, leavening a hole of sorts, it didn’t seem as vociferous as the destruction of Monica or any of Bilbo’s adventures on the Mississippi, and ageing dying Huck ever seemed, and certainly there’d be no Oviddian neckties at the end. He, Bush baby, our missing Brutus, I think, couldn’t show up as the gods and physics of Farce would demand so as he couldn’t bring himself to allow the patsy thought of as the perfect foil to go on and be the queen while he, never any good at this black art, was left behind, as left behind as Trump Voters and the left wing have always been by the Clittin convoy, though was a line of trash and waste management trucks that thinks itself a fleet of Mercedes.

So, as they try now to all fall down and implicate and complicit the others, as no one is left now, but Bill C, again, like the Hep, and her warbling dying, ancient needs, so defaulted for money and free labor and place and war that all bets are off, all stops out, all asks gone, we all Jew down now in accordance with the wills of the fat man and the faggots who are owned by them at the bathhouse, the dance party drug worse and least and kicking and screaming to Glory as she is, a drunken seeming hag a whore of power carried now physically and literally towards a praetorian made of canceled checks and Velveeta cheese spread, where all is perky and puny and fake, as we erecter the America that Baum saw coming, but the emerald city now is made of plastics he and Matthew Harrison Brady never imagined or dreamed they could make crosses out. Just recall kids, when this is over , and she is fit into the presidency as if crowbared into her own spanx in mid ticks and tremors, as Sister Gertrude bumbles and stumbles her way into power now that meathead is somehow like all the Jews predicting that he is still some sort of radical, while the bombs are dropping, thank God, on Arabs’ remember my wintertime’s recollection of Julius Caesar, as know Trump and JC battered more than any radicals schleps doing floppy books for alphabet soup zines, as was right about those senators and their disgust at the people way down there below their Harry lime carriage, and yet raconteur less joyless ivory towers.

Remember that Hilly, you bad check, two bit, queen, was in fact one of the few people openly for Goldwater once, remember that dears, Negros and fairies, scum and trash, do recall that that she was once the Goldwater Girl, while Gerardo and Berne and even Michel Savage did social work, trying to alleviate some Police Squad era squalor, the despair in Tiberius Tenements that sooner enough would recalled than Archie’s and disco as a music fad that like the Cltins doted too long around, and would be taken up by white kids huffing their mothers cleaning supplies as the afflunenza and vomitoriums of that age are now gone and no one but the Cereus users have any scratch, and all are openly rooting for the Cretin blowhards from the sewers of Hot Springs, they one had too often pretend to hate, while he and she made a point they were targeted between the girls falling out of closets, the hidden emails about startling really nickels and  dimes once they got that high up from the Ozarks, ah but you can take the Hot Springs out if the Wigger, but….

Just recall that this cow was a Goldwater girl, you have to waken to go to war and sign here, Madam De Frage, then back to the hypodermic, she will be much less fun than a younger catty catting cat house of a hot tin roof Tennessee like hero Pollock Stanely Kowalski Roman Bill, still recalling when dead Caesar to Augustus, oh must I spell it out, as Subtly inst my art, that ghost gave him that handshake and that map to Parnassus and that copy of The Golden ass, as always havens. So, when she reaps all her husbands epiclesis and not even with the fake decorum of Barry opening the jail cells, sorry that was Bill again, proving even mercy isn’t for the poor and suckers, a few doors at a time, encumber this when she struts another Clinton plea for Dragnets and Welfare reform, their church has again shown it isn’t that far from Sistah Soldiah, or was it Lucia THE WOMAN whose hair that the duke of Syracuse scalped, again, you Nobel savages came up with nothing any fun, and Romans were rain dancing and scalping when you were busily and insipidly tossing gals into Kracatoa, remember this epistle please as Think I am tired and wont post much more than the pictures I Spackle back at face book  were I have found my old buddies and business associates, and of course, the brunette starlets who admire my hatred of turgid, vulgar, closest lover blonds.

Because as they try to regret America into what it was before the Great Society so bothersome to the bloated pigs of that new Democratic crowd so desperate for power, or at least the parking space near it, an like Jewish husbands unwilling to have anther thought their own, so beneath this contemptuous two, the didactic duo, remember this, when she gets in with 43 percent of the cardinals as the curia, which I am starting to see more and more, cantors wont cleans their hands fast enough with Boraxo, that Goldwater in a Gore Vidal piece I believe that caused him never to be used by the New Yorker again, I believe in my holy writ called United States, read like Virgil and C.C. Beck, cover to cover, that old Cicero, who once said that there was black cabal of priests running secretly America, big talk from a man who changed his name from the Goldwasser department store, lest anyone in the American Apennines called Arizona recall that he was of a family of hucksters who sold people sofas that smelled like cat piss. And Goldwater, who this hag came to like a bee to honey, showings again God puts like and Like together, told the Roman aware Gore, who said Goldwater was wrong about everything he said, not as a opinion, but in facts, he like Truuuummmmnannnn, no wait Truman, got his facts wrong about Cicero and the rest, Barry who we can not escape as Hillary and Jebbby both call our stone faced idiot their Virgil, heartlessness becomes a fraud patrician well, once called the Glass Steigle act as Communist, until of course without ethics, Bill got rid of it like another Brunette. Remember this, kids, all you loveable dark ones over there as Poppy called them, and trash and meatheads all on the same side as the Bush Family was, against the rabble and the goys and the filth, this woman this cow this hateful stone, this worse than senseless thing, at least when she, like Homer vote yes on proposition 8,  Spaces and those ticks are becoming more notable by the day, perhaps signora Fortuna and the Roman gods demand a better campaign than this from that hag, remember this, that she voted for fake war loving hack Arizona Cicero, yes he quoted Cicero much, the cow palace growling idiot who MLK said with a shaking head, like Flavius, who is this jerk, who once said that darkish and minorities ran America in ways that Trump has never done, but her hubby mainly parroted too, you know, fer the white man vote, remember this dears and gathered witches of the coven, she was on Goldwassers side once, as young still, did vote for a man who jellified the worst of republican ideals and even Nixon, and my father a fascist, couldn’t believe that that big an idiot, remember that was her Virgil, as once the Great Society in the most heady and halcyon days of true southern giant beloved by me, Milton’s Grand and tragic Lucifer, LBJ, she could not even as young, not be a witch, care enough, to get behind the Last new republic grand city of a hill, retaken as his own by b movie hack Regan, also disliked by a father who thought Carter should have been shot for treason, for letting a rag headed Ayatollah be equal to the Czar of the west, even that one, so no bleeding heart he, still, even he couldn’t abide Goldwater, and she dismissed LBJ, even before all the body bags carted coming home, as tribuned by Moreley Safer at the hut. Remember that Meathead dear, when she takes worn and double booked power, shell say anything, just give it to me already, as she comes down the steps wearing that curtain rod across her fat bloated hairy back, size thirteen clomping down the television city steps, and is propped up and in wheelchair like baby Jane, is told where to sign to send the Roman centurions back into war, remember that kids when she takes a header into power, and bumbles into Fortunes favorite robes, with or without as I said, Spanx. Yeeeeeeechhhhhhhhh….Remember as a young woman, f you Disraeli, the ideas and the gleaming conceit of a Great Society, and yes I keep saying it as was taught by masters how to make a case, as my romanticism messed with those lawyers who just hemorrhaged adverbs for cash, and don’t have to be a florid GumbaJew gimp now finding sympathy for a devil, certainly not one that he helped cast in the part, yes that Great society of the Initialed daemon Landslide Lyndon was beneath her. And should she slither with that hack regressed in, it wont be fun this time you Larry and Mortys, and the quiet will make itself, like the sex jokes did for him, if you know yet or not will be deafening, like a missing Brutus now, so play your draughts, you, as Ma says, shuffled the cards. But then, I am exquisitely sad, recalling my own lost brunettes, lately, as did too much work at once, and scraggly tire from pages, and tore off the cape and M, I was made to make white for something that fell through, as my heart is in that caisson with that old republic, and I must pause I guess until Hillary burns it as a dreaded Viking would. As it seems to me, like the story of Caesar beginning the kind of thing both Shakespeare and St. Luke could really use, as Go-go Marquez would openly use and utilize the Italians distance of the moon to use magic as a spic and spaness jungle creed screed against banana companies, as for the source material for much, the key for me as usually been those wondrous tales no rebirth of Disney of rewritten Star Wars taken from Lucas, who screeches of his work veining more atoned with Gioberti and Ariosto more than Hal Foster, dc comics, or the CLINTON IMPERIUM CAN really out do, especially if they think they can do without, those glorious Italian Folktales, for it always has been.

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