that's opera doc.
Going through the channels, I was looking tor something to watch. I cannot abide any more of Erkle the God, as he becomes an electronic version of chairman Mao portraits and burns his smiling visage into every cathode tube in creation. Really, enough. Forget Epic, perhaps a good dose of Plautus would be in order, or maybe Walt Disney even.
I found the great show from when I was a kid, Barney Miller, which is a wonderful show. You kids out there, may not know, but when I was a kid, we had a thing called ''television'', and it had shows on it that were written , unlike the hills...or at least written better. On tonight's show, Chano showed remorse as a cop having to have killed men--in a sitcom no less--, as in an episode a Latin man showed more humanity than seven years of that Erkle paving the way commedia called the sopranos. And then the brilliant actor William Windom and Barney, the wonderfully tenored throated Hal Linden, did a twelve minute scene about the mess new york and the world was in then, as opposed to now, where and when our fags are busily shopping at another Barneys, and all but cave 73 be damned. It reminded me about how on Andy Griffith they would stop and sing a hymn like ave maria in the middle of a show, ...sweet, sweet stuff.
I thought, reminiscing, how my father, who I might have mentioned here, looked exactly like Abe Vigoda, --who is not Italian, by the way, but likewise with Peter Falk, I never took any anger at that...-- and yet still is not hard to believe that an Italian and a Russian Jew would seem to be mirror images. But it is uncanny, down to the dead pan delivery they both shared. I, on the other hand, look like a stockier version of Gregory Sierra, especially around the hair, but alas both are type's unseen anymore, as Shnookie the god is an explanation of the kind of ''diversity'' as wanted and needed by the Democratic party, Ford modding agency and the media, after all. The Erklettes are revolting, and as Barney Fwank and madam Pollozzi are unwinding acorn--Vitillus mobs didnt last the year either--as they concurrently they hurl empty charges of racism. Sorry, but don't hurl that shit unless the nigger won Ohio, as that is Nicollo 101. Cassius, as I warned, didn't like Roman filth either, just as our Rabbi gonnif pimp Fwank doesn't, and never did. I love how now as things seem to unravel at a Minerva indicative rate, how the white trash and their women and niggers and GE bought and piano players , for not ready for prime time communists speak of ''Decorum''. As if.
2. I saw the heated, heinous, sopranos burping in unison on a cable channel, where they were out to kill a man, a human being, a cousin who looked like them, as house niggers like them have both their provolone stinking privileges, and a kind of less than Noble oblige. Five thousand dollars I thought,...my that's cab fare for my man Boiney Madoff...Oh I am sorry, but I think the lasting turns of Minerva are wonderful, especially to Roman me. While the democratic senate destroys both the public option and the funding to one of there niggerized trained monkey groups, I think it all just so wonderful, even as this heath care scheme appears even to NBC eyes as a gigantic windfall for insurance companies, which even took me by sooprioze-- spaghetti! After all, a straw man to Erkle the magnificent is always nothing more than a possible contributor. But there is my man, Roman Bill, Kemetre himself, flying about with Butane wings unruffled, blue eyes sparkling with malice, spilling Gasoline and his own ample apparent and willing to always be shed blood upon fires he will not allow , as the god of arson, for Erkle to put out. Even Beckle, a house clerk from way back, starts to try to dampen fires t hat Kemeter is exacerbating, knowing , as even Madrasa boy knows, that this playing with a fire, a hell fire, which can immolate them all, and yet...a fire started by the snake charmer, strict nine drinker as the witty Savage calls him, that buffoon of power, Carter. It is a slip of self righteousness which is used by Capetian Bill to show to as a Machiavellian, one must never create anything, but merely use the things the gods and others stupidity gives to you in spades...as it were....One can hear him smilingly singing in the recited badly roman night,...''A little bit of Monica in my life, a little bit of Erica by my side....TRUMPET!''
3. I recall how things took another nose dive after 2003, after those creeps at zoetrope, or Mount Doom, literally that is what ancient Italians have called Vesuvius for millennia, - and the fact that I Would use even stolen Tolkien in any form shows the contempt have for them, thought in an age of a coming Babylon Rufus, that I, Tuscan Hero Anthony, Was worthy of being censored. Oh, how that bothered Me....censored, in the age of Ganolfini and his pollock henchmen, by who...you...?...by who, Romanticizer of hooligans, freed man frauds, rites of Aphrodite lovers, pimps , apostates, and Czar Francis, and his white trash matron whore wife…? I don’t think so. It did bother me, as a Jewish producer who liked my work but admitted he wouldn't use it as , ''hey , Tony I have to sell this shit to those who already don’t like me ,..or you, that much,'' he told me to avoid the casa d Coppola, as he was a shnoorer--[the first time I heard that word, meaning a... what is the Italian variation--ah yes a Cornuto, a chiseler, a wimpish type, -] and a fraud.
I, you see,was called by these creeps, as clever, a Jewish slur word, which Jews and wops so afraid of being smart amazingly, like the word Machiavellian, whirl at people. ''I was taught by the FATHERS...'' , I half playfully, half seriously hurled back. Give as good as you get, that is the Roman ethic, as I was taught, and as My man Bill administers to this day. Oh sorry, Keith--and again, why is this sportscaster quiz master yelling polemics at me...Fucking H GAD!--but, I WARN AS THE TUSCAN SOOTHSAYER, AUGER BOY, that Bill will destroy The Imperial Schnook, mark that down, as he can do nothing else, and still avoid the hell to where , lets say, Shnoorers all go. The tie of Monica, Ovid thing, was sweet but hardly, uh, indulgence enough. As for Copolla, Being in his personae dramatias, unibrowed army of affable killers was not something I nor dad not ma, and not the Franciscans wanted of or for me. You see, I SAID Fathers instead of Jesuits or even Priests, as that is a roman loaded word, '' Father'', and the Coppola's and the Erkles who rise in White trash empires, dept down, know and fear and resent everything which I and Bill gleefully open our veins and spill in public. Again, Bill drips only from his roman veins if we are Lucky. No. Better I should do battle with the white women Minerva and her charges, the nuns all hated. It felt to me like being lectured to about morality by a pimp, about pacifism by a war criminal, patriotism by a draft dodger, morality by a pimp. A few years later that all would come to be known as the Obama the cat dancer administration. Fraudulence is catching. Yet still , things could have been worse. On the Ellen Fox show, as such it is, the dweeb who adds nothing , adds spike jones like sound effects of flatulence to the doge's precious fresco, The Godfather. Ouch! Can I be a bitch and say there actually is a fart joke in a book called the Divine Comedy, which never had to place on the airs and the persnickety attitudes that of a man trying to make art out of what is essentially a B gangster movie, that no less than Robert Altman, Robert Wise , Sam Peckinpah, a young television director of night gallery named Steven and others, and even the turn coated Arab who made On the Waterfront, --nigger please --, wanted no part of....?