24 October 2008

Mister Stupendous rebirth, or re-incarnations, and working on it 's restored pages again, has made me recall that last great time of my life, 1977-1980, before epilepsy and a thousand rivers of boiling mud to cross would make me fearful , dirty, wet, and have my feet singed.I have taken to not using cut and paste as much and merely take pages where I have parceled panels to eventually cut out, and ink a thick el marko boarder around the disparate images, thus calling it a page, gluing in dialog being done with it. I rather like the effect.






One time, almost with exasperation, and not meanly, as one time in my life I was actually liked and befriended by phds and other smart people, but alas now, we are in the dark ages of Mad Magazine, where even the smartest among us dont know from nothing, my yenta neurologist Audrey once asked me a question. "Tony.... Tony, you still bitch about some German nun ripping apart your cartoons, which happened, [-then-] like eighteen years before. Have you ever gotten over anything, Tony, god, you're the one with the Roman stuff...have you ever gotten over anythin', have you ever overcome , or gotten oveh anything.....?Why do you care so much, why are you so damned wounded, Christ you are built like a fucking tank, why do you care so much...have you ever stood up fer yourself...?"

I THOUGHT, seated there wearing an Emmit Smith blue 22 jersey , and cheap Genovese pants truer to the creed of italic sailors pants than anything Levi stole and made a fortune with. Now I read Sardinians are selling these same pants I wore as a Italian sign of protest for MORE than levi's cost, as they have become fashionable, as the European union finds the selling of Italian things, like chesses and sardines and even southern coastal wines, are the only thing anyone really wants from their messhuggina COMMON MARKET. As a producer told me when I said I found a deal for a Prussian panavision cameras, said, he wouldn't trust the quality of cocaine or whores out of that Untermench dump, much less a movie camera.




"A few times..."I said...having stopped the comedy routine I did when with her that made her often jolt forwards with a laugh she didn't ever emit....frown lines and all. "When I graduated eighth grade, or left that Catholicism school which the priests had let me in for free, and never made me pay tuitions because they loved my dad, and came to adore me, I was invited to the rather small, but airs put upon casa of a supposedly rich little mafia princess who had a pool in her backyard, this being a pre fall sign of riches. I am an epileptic. I still avoid going anywheres now, and didn't want to go to this ago bitch's dump, wherein her mafia hanger on father had been castigated for leering at the under age blossoming girls of the seventh and eighth grades. When I got there, I was presented with a pair of trunks to enter the shallow end of the pool, as I had never learned to swim, unlike my siblings. What they brought me, a big kid even then, they brought me tiny shorts to make me stuff into them and stand in the undeep end with her boyfriend ,a wop thug killer in ovo who she would be with as boyfriend and girl friend until he would one night sexually abuse her, which , I, Machiavellian boy, smiled at, as she was a perfect Italian American who dismissed and disdained southern Italians and even Rome, and was somehow unmeasured enough to go steady with a wop thug Sicilian who put on a pretense he was a Lombard, yikes, who managed to possibly rape her. Sorry, It made the Roman in me smile.I am an Apulian more than not, my own self, I have read Ovid, and I ain't never raped no body. But then, the Lombard's were the geniuses who made crowns out of lead and toilets of Gold.

But this night, I recalled, they handed me these shirt small trunks, as I was to get in them , clown around and stand there in their fucking low rent pool and make a fool out of myself for their woppy amusements."




I recall a light went on that night, though too late smart, or to early, and I refused, gaining their girlish disgust, which would inflame in the black lagoon creationism of Maureen Dowdy and Tina Fey later, which were harbingers to me, a young auger, of a falling America. As much later, I saw it coming. " I refused to play wop clown then, and demanded a ride back home then, and said I was getting driven out of this shipowner's type dump in some way, either her father, or the cops after I busted her pollacks mothers dinette set and clay Jesuses to bits. I was driven home. The father , a wanna be wop thug admitted to me, he always hoped this wop shicksa of his, Violet [--as I renamed her in my then comic] , would find a nice dago kid like me who read books and shit, rather than the wop creep she had found. The father, whom I hated as a wop slob, told me he was a fat kid too, and purposely starved to lose the weight and then, bang the fat assed Polish chicks were his. Wonderful. But, he drove me home, and I certainly hoped never to see him or his scummy slutty daughter or that sansabelt slacks boy friend of hers, ever again."

"Well," Audrey said, making a frown face of almost batman quality sneer but in a way denoting admirations, "Good fer yew." Despite the use of words like Fag, nigger, wop, kike, dyke, gook, bitch, cunt, yid, sheeney, hooknose, ginny, never Guinea, Dago, Fairie, cow, hassa, yenta, shicksa, negro, coon, retard, and the rest , every so often, I was admired by these same very people meanly named here, for having a Roman Ethic somehow in me, which, seems to refuse to give in completely.

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