25 January 2015
22 January 2015
But I must, I must…
I saw in a site to cartoons and have been looking up Always Wood and Mad as he seems to mean comics to me in a way that two emotional Kirby can not, a bloke named Michel Barrier.com, a legal name I guess, said of Satire, that everyone hates satire, another of father Gore’s demands of a Jesuit like mind admonitions came to me to avoid those middlebrows who speak in womanish sweeping generalizations. As they are either lying for others or to themselves. Satire is far too Roman and italic a thing to go over I guess in America were we are all salesmen and thus devoted as chiselers can be to pushing the product, and satire, well, I have expended on that wholly Italic art form before, before we found out about they who is Charley that that crowing decent and honorable magazine, before heroically spitting at Mohammed, well, they once got rid of an Italian artist for making a cartoon that George Will didn’t like, in which the baby Jesus was under occupation as he would be had he come to applaud Bush and Obamams as he had Tiberius, a small fact that the lovers of the lamb never recall, at least not , as so much in ambrosia addicted America, in mixed company.
The other day, when the usual malevolence of Bellicheck turned quickly vulgar and double embroider, I read The Satyricon at ten, a house nigger at espn made a comment befitting someone who through his shucking and jiving ho dee do act had to ask what Janea did to deserve being knocked out as all black braods do. He, with white translator Skippy sighing and moaning across the screen, called the new England patriots Americas team. You wish, was a first thought, but then rethinking it as the fags and sissies and Negros of the braffroom have to carry dat water sur, I thought, maybe Rastus is on top of something. Maybe, Since Landry is dead and his numbers falling to a conniving surly trope, maybe this team is the gladiatorial team that befits a Obama bastion, As after all, I wasn’t the one who went out there and turned the vaunted Roman senate into you momma so fat, it’s raining men landslides bet Johnson televised swamp bullshit, which amazingly didn’t go over well with the Germans and barbarism still in Tacitus Roman drag and still cant quite pull it off.
The Patriots, deflaterists as they are called now, cheaters, liars thieves and gypsies without the warmth, really think like the Italians and don’t Jew down so hard through your crimes, as it juts makes you look worse, were caught cheating again. Although we are told by spear chucklers and water cruisers that this is less cheating and more akin to gamesmanship, as opposed to sportsmanship , but then how many angels or demons can Dance on the head of a pin or for that matter air pump. Old Midnight cant imagine that a man caught fir cheating legally like only a few times, would be so anal, a nice word for it, in this, as now he like all geniuses feigns ignorance, though lied coming off as the smartest Pollock in the room far too long. Really when a Slav is your Leonardo maybe then Eugene McCarthy was right. Of course the usual peanut gallery that tore apart servile Italians and blacks fluids the circumspection eye of the bribed for Bellyache, im sorry Bellicheck, who has dragged his league through the mud again, as he must have studied ethics under the Clintons, as every one is a cheaters you know, or at least the smart one, although this gamesmen ship and poo pooed nothing tariff is strange in that the tam of Luck, your in the wings understudy you know ho you made through a shot put in the rain while The Merm, number twelve was cheating again, well, shit niggers, you aint trying if you aren’t cheating, at least them. But I recall a man named Richie, I told you he would be the end of your gravy train, he would be the Sicilian last man detained that you shouldn’t have as it would all come unraveling, as Sulla was stupid enough to leave a boy named Caesar alive when Marius was eviscerated, that you had bygone to far, and in fact, no trial fir him, he was defeated and detested and most important, Richie was suspended in mid seasons for something that had nothing to do with the integrity of the game, as this strikes to heart of fairness and thus too makes he who a bet placed in good conscious look like a rube…, ho hoooo we have hit terra forma now, kids!
The boys in the band and their situational womanish ethics are meaningless, as we all don’t work for the War company and even them who did might have bribes going back to apac which have supremacy first in the lists of things which Ovid called the inherent sanctity of bribes. We are not all yahoos, sissy fagots and coons and all don’t dance on the heads of pins, and the social media now destroyed by Kornheiser, who sees this as a mitzvah as he does all circus, is merely the volcanic rock where people write what they really think, causing a world wearily Augustus to say feh and tell his Jewish lutenant to not care, much less white wash the whole thing, as after all, the people say what they say and can at least have that.
As I said, I have said and been a lot of things, but am not now nor could really ever will work for a mouse factory that told George Lucas to take his created universe and notes and shrivel them up his ass, as they know how to destroy fairy tales with more roots and magic fairies dancing from them than his. He is now according to a lovely show from the one who survived Attack of the show, @MIGDNIGHT, Lucas was told to pound salt as the Copula like affection of beginning his trilogy on Tatooine…?.. has been axed out by a company that famously turned Sicilian Pinocchio Swiss. The shameless rule the earth, which is why I turn to Machiavelli as an interpreter in a land of Bellecieck and Jersey senators willing to overrode any veto of impudicity Barry if the Jews tell him so. I won’t work for a war company, the girl at Disney called my work fabulous juts not, you know, stuff they do, as Machiavelli in Love was something that would later be called Super bowl XXVI. I don’t get paid out of any drone fund, I don’t work for the mouse company and the evil it dark aversely serves, at all. I don’t have to cut apart games by when one was cheating and the parts where one supposedly isn’t, a strangest mea culpa no Jesuit would ever attempt, the smart mans needs not lie, the Jesuits say, there is after all so much gray more than fifty shades, in the world gods knows, to say a team really won once it stopped cheating or rope a doped its way by making Luck tired as hell by throwing a ball each pass with two pounds more fore square inch on EACH THROW, while Mame was tossing a plate, and when won not and compare the scores, wow, sorry Comics reporter but I have never kept scores in such a…molecular way. And now Epsn won’t be showing Brady come out to face the music of bastion writers, sorry Basssatn writers or more allied to Newt Gingrich on the daily show, as Jewry Jonnie admires him if only for his peach tree brilliance and then sucks his dick.
You see if youy can take away victories from a giant named Joe Paterno and call him despicable for not going as operatically over board as you do about everything, excapt when paid not, or you’ll get it, maybe unwilling to think the worst of someone who had worked with and unnarc as opposed to Dennis Mitchell’s father Olbermann, well, Keith dear, before you start casting speciation abiout anyone, I know you were the one who was on television and allegedly democratic tv, and said the word Drones not once. You better get rid of coach Alan Grayson, and golden child boy chick Tom terrific, see, get on that bandwagon, if you could destroy Richie and Ray and Adrian for personal issued having nothing to do with the legitimacy of the game, I have seen the roman walls, you better get rid of plausible viability bulls hitter Bellichcik, or you are even more hollow than usual. I lay the Roman brick thick this post more than usual, but it is such fun to hurl that leather Sabine helmet back in Gödel’s lunkhead face. Again I’m not a white woman who got an envelope from the league telling me to buy or at least rent my siclne. See if rape means so much to you as a crusading cartoon out of Milt Caniff, show up when the fickle finger of fate points to a Quarterback and or a president once in awhile to show some good faith.
The boys in the band speak of draft picks as that worked so well the first time. But as a four time loser as we have had these dogs not barking before, he has to go. Kraft, our Jewish messiah bloated birdbrain hack, he is a man without scruples and etches, like his coach and no amount oif bloody bed sheets or Matons on the make Happy Rockefellers can make him into anything but what he is, a counter jumper Jewish hack pig despiarte like the Irish trash for an invite into La Cote Basque, where Anderson Cooper’s mother doesn’t recoenegnise his father, now forever in print in a ruin left by Trrrrruman.
You better if you due understand a whit of Roman this, better get rid of Bellyache, as he might win, and then what, water carried by naggers for the new Americas team as the perpetual cheers episode called Basstan tells us what, this time it was for reals…? Shit. But during all of this, as sneakers, I’m sorry Senators flush with saturnalia cash from blue states couldn’t up to make sure the studied Negro doesn’t do what the amen corner wants, as he is packed in having to be angry at BiBi fior his black vote but not alienate the Jew bankers who won him thanks to Ominous bills, those spectra six points as gratuity can and have dipped like so much lemonade on the shelf coon, ah a thugs life for me,….Still, I couldn’t take the step men and their contact praise now from two stations telling us what we know isn’t so. Instead I went to tcm and saw a Bud Shulbergh masterwork called A face in the crowd. This silver nitrate brilliance was shining And cackled with Elia Kazan cold war brilliance, he was a turn coat and a snitch but still knew movies, and in the Chayefsky like satire, the stuff we all hate in the sub urban hell we have become, the brilliance of later good guy Andy Griffith as the hack hick parody of the American chiseler was so apt so on so prefect Tony Fransiosa as the wop desperate to get ahead, and Patricia Neal, true to her Roman name as a daughter of class and distinction, wow, it was nitroglycerin in each shot. A sheen in which Andy, Lonesome Rhodes comes to be saved by Patricia, who has become distressed what the monster she has created, this in the over-dramatic world of Hollywood, as now dyspeptic and bloodless emails are echoed as my man Jerrah Joens still smartening wants his pound of fresh and not being Jewish will not be abated, as Shylock, called here Abraham the Jew, was not in the bloodier more comic storey of veneration merchants in Boccaccio, the censor is trader as Dante would say. See, I am going heavy on the Romantic just to turn the knife. In this movie, Patricia Neal is as beauteous and pretty and sensual as anyone ever packed on screen, depute her baring and her age, she sparkles and seethes with bedroom intensity in ways tire fires and bags of donuts like Mansfield and Monroe never could as they were too embalmed as all blonds must be. I sat and enthralled in this film so pertly timed again, but then in a decline and fall, as Ovid intoned, when would it not be. In the film, a fantasy as any others, the ending is just and honorable and even ec cosmic in nature as comeuppance is given, and Lonesome Larry, the Glenn Beck you kind of actually, ala Harry Lime, root for, gets his, as this is not allowed in the new hays office of sniper movies and the like, as the monsters never get their comeuppance any more, they cant and thus Bellechick, and Glenda Beck, and Obama, their circuses reins never end, their calliopes never crash to the ground, which again leaves me in a sport of self awareness as I know thanks to Aquinas that there is a fatiguing laity to evil. Or was it Machiavelli …?, I get them conflated. Or deflated as the case may be. Heh, I understood the stupid espn hakes and buddy Olbermann A WARNING shout that what is Roman as honored is always made worse when a pratfall, as Shtick comes from the Roman attribute of all clowns, a magic wand filled with marbles and whistles to make the fall seem even more laughable than it was as the original Coriolanus, the clown of the state, his fascist ghost hated by Romans and Italians never trusting in the blackface of epic and who hated Homer before Blacks ever demand he be taken out of syllabuses, I warned that the Roman joke is always worse than the Roman honor, and that that helmet would get its payback as all things Roman always do. As once the jokes start, Plautus knew, you were done as a door nail. Or as air hose. See, next yup is the underwriters wondering if this hack holding a trophy isn’t far too satirical from the humorless mob.
19 January 2015
THIS JUST IN…
Despite my Roman foreknowledge of such matters, still the nfl went ahead and put two heels in the big game, misunderstand ing all that is physics about farce. And within hours, the looks I saw being given in that bowl of bigots called Boston Stadium were made clear to me as I could sense that even CBS hick and mannequin knew something was going on. It turns out that Bellicheck, mister mind, the worm strikes again, and in fact he will do anything to win and not go back to Cleveland, only Lebro was that stupid, where the great sinsetro was a also ran no body who once with a twenty point lead over the Steelers, kept having Vinci Testaverde go back to pass over and over, but all that was before a trip to Hell, by way of radio shack. It always bothers me as a Machiavellian not when one cheats, but when one is caught cheating, a discretion that others don’t like in all the parsimony to make. How many times can you allow a man to cheat before you are just by definition complicit, well, ask them at MSNBC, and where did the three name house coon with the leading chin and the sing song rap bullshit go…?
So, two week of this, two hated teams and I saw the twitter feeds of us Cowboy fans, i.e. Americans, being as deflated as the balls that we now know that the Dracula was issuing. National radio hosts were laughing about this and not in the good way, and yahoo sports the only local sports coming in, was busily carrying water and couldn’t believe that the reaction was what it was. I’m sure that many morning meetings are bemoaned had at espn, as masters tell you all what you think of this, your concern will be fwded to you, always not much, and old white fools like sour mash bag Ryan and the Negros who take a good dirty look as the best of ignitions, will think little of this, as poo poo everything, as it doesn’t ever matter, which brings up the question of if it all had no conduction to glorious winning, why do it and thus again embarrass your league….? This might be the career--sorry canary dying of coke dust in the salt mines, once a Roman game, as I knew you’d all get yours, Irishmen and negroes are far too addicted to tragedy, and pay!, to enjoy a good Roman game, and I knew when this unending trudge was going to go off the rails. Weighty affairs will just have to Wait. Ha. When Brady, then Americas junior miss willing to do anything, and I mean anything, to be a big shot, and have a wife that looks like a Transylvanian transvestite, all is pretense yo see, always dangerous, surpassed Montana for a record, which if we all say Tinkerbelle’s alive maybe cheater emeritus Billbo can equal Chuck Noll, won’t that be fun…?, house coon mud bone made it clear what cans of worms you were opening by saying and adding the caveat that this number was wholesome and good and in fact, all this tds were legit, -presupposing many who would sneer at that. Lets have a hand for the real Comptroller. Idiot. That ball was all in all deflated since you were such sticklers for the lawyerly over the dramatic, and took that catch as it was such from Dez, not understanding that first the Wendy looking Signora Fortuna would send one of her brunette lovely’s to just Wisk that ball out of that packer’s hands, payback is a bitch, no really, a literal bitch, and too, some demons told Bellicheck to openly cheat again, the south park cartoon still a salt in the wound, so openly and brazenly that even a hack like Simms, the regenerator of completing the catch as never before, to notice as did I, what was happening, and I mentioned the looks of displease to a brother who wanted no part of this unromantic drivel and boy chick dullness, this barracks of Negros betting slip shit. Really in a game such as this, despite the self righteousness and Irish dirges and self esteem, on a day set aside for one of the victims of your emporium made holy, maybe a little Plautus couldn’t hurt.
But we know from italic fairy tales, that things like the Bush Administration, the dragon and the woman, that their tail dies last. So, having connived your way into this, you know get rid of Team America because of Detroit sour grapes, but do put the spy kids in the big game, really again can anyone here play this Roman game…? God knows what Vlad the implorer and sweetheart Tom can do in two weeks, as some point, carrying that water starts to make your arms ache. Ask Keith.