17 June 2009


Cha Cha's Vendetta , Book Three.



As it was in the essay which got my some of my worst reviews, and for which I was hurtled off some movie site still trolling the pimpish craigs list for idiots to write 100 words essays about crap eighties movies starring Phoebe Cates, ’ Statius...'', amusingly, or perhaps not so much, the Cha cha vendetta continued on, with an ironic simultaneous cascade of lovely wop diminution images in descending order. Earlier in the day, I saw an imperial hose jewie cocksucker --the witty Augustus' word for them--from News view I think, calling Ombamala ''a God''. I have lived long enough to see that arch nemesis of all republics, an unraveling, in over their heads, befuddled clerk deified as a god, take root in Columbus' monstrosity. Some one, though, do inform the god coming out of the toilet, or is it going in, that Apollo , he dun slud down ta 56 percent....





I could not quite take ''I, Olberman'' , again, thinking that he is starting to resemble something screeching on a giant Orwellian, in Russia tv dat watches yew, someone should steal his nose, great leader is always right, bullshit, brave old world, lets party like its 1955, sort of way. He always seems to me, to be reading something from beyond the grave, as if he is telling us who his real killer is, in a recollection of the great tv show when I was a kid, and Jim Hutton played the American sleuth Ellery Queen. He seems to be something found in an apple ad, with a blond shot putter about to whirl some discus in his always pontificating face. Who are you yelling at, pal...? Yourself perhaps...? Please, as I said, I have the Gaydar equivalent for liars and frauds, as I spent ten years in a catholic nunnery -monastery of the old Norman Lear era, before fags wanted to be wed, before giggling faggots, of all people, wanted '' o promise me'' and rice hurled at them. [A note, did anyone out there know Rice is throw-ed at the bride and groom at a wedding, because a pretty girl named Ophillia, a Sabine girl, yes sorry, and her sisters hid in a granary from rampaging Tyberian hard ons, and when a bloke named Talassius came to snatch her, as it were, as his own wife, her sisters hurled grain and rice at the rampaging Romans. And, too, this is why the wife is always carried over the doorsteps of her new home, as it replicates the taking of Sabine women into new roman hovels where they would be raped and eventually, cook and clean and be wives--all in all better than the sham which American marriage has become. This tradition, amusingly, made it into the new covenant of Saint Saul, like say the word ''senator'' being in actuality the Tuscan word for pig farmer, which makes sense, hell look at Turban Durban...!, but somehow mixing cement was seen as sacrilegious. And isn't it funny that seems to be the first thing the faggots have left out of their love of marriage, as no man, even a queer, wants to be placed in a position as a Sabine gurl, and these creeps get fucked in the tuchus, no less, but have their standards. MY TELLING THIS STORY EXISTS SOMEWHERE IN THE BOWELS OF NPR, WHEN I CALLED IN ONE DAY AND ASKED A LESBIAN ABOUT GAY MARRIAGE, which I thought was a republican plot then, WHICH ONE CARRIES WHICH ONE OVER THE THRESHOLD, AND WHICH ONE AUTOMATICALLY BECOMES SUBSERVIENT, OR AS I GUESSED, ARE BOTH...? FOR WHICH I WAS QUICK CUT OFF. ] I culldnt watch this sleazy creep, who gives off the vibe of everybody's perverted uncle. Oh, fellows at NBC, do you think I can’t spot a conniving phony at a thousand paces, Keith, or for that matter the warning signs of syphilis too...? I tried to watch something else. Click




Hey, The Goldwyn Gurls, in on...yes, in this one, Lorelei, a cute good actress who I have been smitten with since Townies, is caught between the Italian professor who teaches Dante, no less, --how did that get through standards and practices...?--, who is actually, a close enough seeming Jewish guy, playing from the Doris Roberts school of wop comedy, and some guy from Seinfeld,as was she, who went from being un-sponge worthy to seeming like a cross, or Chrossss, between Cary Grant in bringing up baby and the uni bomber. And as usual, daughter Rory is always about to cry. She explains here, does cute as a button Lauren, how she wanted to name her daughter Dicks, as another endless reminiscence comes forth, which is all this show is....... Remember when Richard Dix rampaged through the west....? Click. Aha, our new Virgil, our saint of the middle brows, Doctor Wayne Dyer--sometimes their names are positively thimble theater --is selling his collected knowledge of the universe on qvc, all for the low price of 60 dollars, 50, if you use a visa. This sold bunch of revitrovi only has some moments left, as soon, the saving of ones soul will be replaced by NFL shop, and by throw pillows with the J--E--T--S JETS JETS JETS COLORS ON THEM. I thought, of course, of Etruscans who used to have to Haj
BEFORE THE ARABS DID, no fooling', to the gates of the groves of Furrina, the goddess who still gives her name to Flowers and flour, like Ceres does cereal. They had to race around a temple a hundred times at noon, seeing the light of salvation just before they perhaps dropped dead, and note , like so much else, that was one of the first things the fat priests made certain , unlike fillias dius incarnata, had to go! I do believe if saint Francisco, who Egghead here uses indiscriminately, was alive today, besides being a target of Harry Shearer, hed be selling copies of ''the canticle of the creatures'' on shopnbc. I read canticle of the creatures at fifteen, all that sweetness and decency, no wonder the Simpsons hate him so. Click. Aha, there is the left for Rachel, Campbell Brown show. Miss Gingivitis is a guest, speaking of all the innocent men at Guantanamo base, as opposed to Bagram air base, where she has been given a voucher from Bammy's Imam, like Epstein's mudder, no innocent men are, as he says so, and god knows thats good enough fer her, and it is such as she which causes shnookie to tap dance away from faggots, who deep down, make her ilk feel weird....




On a rare late night excursion into the porno-less by my own decree, and thus boring, escapement on the internet, I wondered if I should reply to several places where I , all suddenly busy bee and work ethics, have sent a resume. Aah...I think,....who cares....? Pow Girl was supposed to be a painterly six page Porno cartoon, a satire --oh that poor destroyed romantic word!--of Lois Lane comics. How did it get to 150 pages and still remains undone since 1999...? I looked in the inbox for a email I was told I was sent , and to look in my spam, but I was sent another email , which caught my eye. ''See Carmella Bing naked!'' Ah, these people are nothing if not pt Barnum in their tastes and knowing what people like. Give the people what they want and they will come out, Graucho said seeing the throngs coming out for Harry Cohen funeral in Bel air, all that while ago. I must open this email, God knows, as Carmella Bing is an Amerasian Italian girl, who is so pretty, that seeing her in porno makes one automatically sad. As opposed to big fat blonds, who I always feel are getting somehow what they deserve. She is the sort of person that Mel Gibson would always cast of Mary Magdalene, as a whore who is in need of redemption, as Mary Magdalene, like Jesus she of two Roman names also , as opposed to Jesus himself, is never blond. I see a email next, after truly being disturbed by this pretty image reduced to the vileness of out of focus internet porn, while the nothing translator allowed in brunette Megan Fox--a true nothing-- disses wonder woman for her own masters, sent to me with the header of ''Tetro''. I recall a bic made pen called the Tetra. I used these silver pens to make missing pages of pow girl years back, could this be some sale of them now, which like comics are nowhere around anymore....? I open it. Oh, how lovely, this is a piece of spam which got through the filters for FF COPPOLA's next dirge, his next, and his own attempts to rise out of the vine entangled Infernos of his own. All I know is that Frank, Had I made the godfather--which I never would,--I'd have stolen enough by now to be on easy street , which he is not, but then, like Joey Pinto, Frankie is, to use a word by not unwitty Harry, is a struggling Known. This is a coming film about being an Italian American, or better , a Argentine Italian American. Passion is catching. And someone wishes to pay an indulgence. But it is more than that, as I explained in my hated essay about Statius, and spoke of the alms both poets and generals both had to pay to the goddess head of war and poetry, as this was such an egregious idea, and plus, who expects white women who love Salmon Rushdie, so much that they read some excerpts of his, maybe, to know why or that Minerva, or better for them, Athena, wears a helmet. An email shilling Cupolas next bomb...? Cupola being Italic for Cage, by the way. And Nephew Jimmie would rather say he got that name from a freaking comic book little recalled or admired, than admit the ironic italics of that name of his. You have got to be kidding. Nice to know you kept my various emails in your logs for just such an occasion. Should I wish unsubscribe, they ask...? Yes, I think I shall. Fuck you, wop, and fuck your wop indulgences in cellophane form, fuck you and fuck your devils, to be tres long Island about it, and fuck your white heat meets la boheme. Reply. Subject line. DROP DEAD, PETRARCH. SEND. They know what it means.



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