28 May 2011


That Fat Pumpkin head bitch editor, she was the one who sneered at my work, as I might have mentioned, was recalling to me The King Of queens, Oy Veii Gavalt...! , in how Carrie, is that the hippy dago chick, was forced to read a thousand page book or some such fat goon comedy shtick, oh how we wops and coloreds and QUEENSBURO TUNNEL SORT HATE TO HAVE TO READ, when I mentioned my Work, Ancient Romance. Egad, --did I just have some porcine woman compare my work to...to...to the King of fucking queens....? Yow, that smarts!

She revealed to me in an email that in this bilge called the king of queens, Carrie, the wife and cute dago girl, though not being blond the household Jews of CBS didn't think she was too good for this bag of shit the dared Kevin James, the bloated goy version of putter wielding no body ever helped me, let em all go to hell except cave seventy tree creepy Jew by the numbers awful Adam Sandlar. Oy and double Oy. And I was told, my face fallen and frowned in the light of yahoo mail, that this pretty girl with the bag of donuts hubby, Fred Flintstone without the warmth, was forced to read, actually read, as in this Bronx tale nightmare, like the sopranos, all civility is something best done for and by faggots, with the left overs sold in Ziplocs by the Jews to the women with delusion of being able to read. The wife had to read a book, a horrid redevelopment this close to the Van Wick, and this editor before seeing my Tuscan properties, compared herself to this chubby little suburban goddess, and this woman having been an editor,... well that shows you why it is a Dan Brown world huh...?

It is nice to know that the libraria has such dutiful priestesses as you, honey I emailed back, again, like Father Gore, showing I may be as mean as I really am, and not speaking in full Linked in Parlance until of course, they cut the check. But, I am the Roman, did I say that before ...? So for six weeks or so, dutifully, like my sister, though somehow from the same literature addled mother, she actually enjoys this shit and reads things like alphabet minded murder mysteries and has since I was a boy reading Julian, I too watched The King of queens every night, Oy, to see this diminishment in whole. As I was made angry, in that, I have been dismissed out of hand by some, in what appears to be as close to compassion as one can get there in the new eternal city, and my back went up as this fat bloater bitch played elite with me, as fuck head, unlike this show she brought up, bitch, you aint gotsa read anything, go re up your netflix account dearie, as a kid told me in 1980, in the days I spent in Catholic high school, that eventually television was going to be little more than a kitchen appliance, like a juicer.

Funnily, in this show, the hippy Dago chick was ver klempt, aren't they all, about her tub of shit hubby, that in the real world Wilma here, even she as a brunette, would never be with Fred, and she was made to read some Russian novel to get ahead in her law firm. Frankly, I liked Darin and Samantha better. But I was shocked how, ironically, the rest of this show mirrored a play I wrote in 1999 called "Guido the Magnificent", where a gumba on a TV show awoke as a Dantean genius, shades of "Charley" and saw exactly what he was doing there and why. You'll never see that on that show, honey, though you'll have plenty of time to catch TV, wont all us Roman rabble-Complainers as Czarina of the Bay lets bars in Pollozzo land are not so sanctimonious and let you smoke as long as Madam Nancy can wet her beak, and I mean beak...As here in America our Innominatos never have a conversion scene, as that love of vulgarity is the closest thing to devotion they have.

So, with a strange dogged devotion, I WATCHED THIS SLOP, each and every night, doubly vexed as had to see their constant TBS inserts and pushing of the even more dread Conan O'Brien show, which they are pumping inherently as he goes down for at least a second time, and one more shall be the charm. One can only hope. I watched this suburban Plautus night after night, this bloated piggish American, to quote the venial Keith, a perfect Miles Gloriousus for our age, this ups salesman, a latest Gleason, so without the charms and or talent and or frankly pathos, which made him a brilliant image of America beyond the spic and span floors that the Jews of then dreamed of getting into, if only Payly could somehow break through that membrane of bloody sheets keeping him back, as any one who would fuck a Happy strega when Babe was at home, well, that is what Grammy Hall called a real Jew. I watched every night until in fact, I saw on May 20th, this spoken of show where she had to get her husband to actually read to her, as our illiterates don't have the sweetness of that Manzonian cult of illiteracy of before.

I did find a moment of what Alan a PhD who loved Machiavelli , as who doesnt but women and connivers,...?, who called such instances of realization as his mentor hero Italian did, frozen moments of recordia. As, though doing the thing I call "pulling a Falco", as saw Edie in an episode of Homicide life on the street before she was struck dumb with her nasal Myrna Turner dagohood, so if you Jews don't know, its all an act, peppered with Yiddish in a way not as self aware as is mine, as again as I told a Jewish producer who asked me, "Tony, you seem so on the ball, what's with the all the anti Jew crap, you're better than that". Uh, No I'm not, I said, back, half satirically, as an Italian in this Empire of White castles and the house ethnics who traverse there as if a temple, I aint better than no body. He did like my phrase though that in America, when it is in Latin it is re-accepted Glory and honor, and when something is spoken of as Yiddish, it is merely a sound effect. In a moment of revenge for me, when the Leah or even the- Gad!-ostentatious Nanny's use Oy as a credo, its to defame both the woman and the word. If Catherine Hieigle was ever to use the epithet Oy, it would make her beloved Jews and fags think twice about her.

It made me queasy watching this, and the show shifted to the next to do, as somehow these CBS ethnics who end up with prettier girls do nothing but cause scenes for them, as for Mad Anthony here, me myself, I make my own scenes on my own, and act like I'm partially decent when with people and or pretty girls,but that would explain all the lectures I do get. The next madcap hilarity was about this bag of slat Pork the husband actually eying her, his wife, afraid his pretty wife put on a few pounds,...wow. There is after all a discerned quality between Glass houses and glass Cathedrals. I did feel bad in watching the last one I recall watched before having done my mission I became tired and certainly this crap wasn't going to keep my attention. I felt bad as one could sense, she is not that good an actress, but a decent comedienne, it sensed to truly hurt Leah on some level to play fat girl to this bloated bag of salami starring here, a sort my pop called my queer cousin Gino, who he hated, not so much as his being gay but his being to my pop, as a mouth breathing idiot, and called a Choto. Which is why when pompous patricians speak of their children having gone to Chote, I hear a voice of my father calling my cogine an idiot for having busted another garden hose.

And at least I am being now advised that in fact, if I can cut down AR or BBATMCOPS or RM, OR TRMS, or anything I have even more, that wouldn't be a bad idea , I am told by friendly Jews who have always played the role of talking crows in Calvino, often telling me the skinny on the society they truly deep down hate. As I am told increasingly, its a bad time out there, farce is different from epic, just as Machiavelli said, but in this country, its merely because now, they are actually being stingy with the ink, as like the dark ages I was given a warning before of what we were getting into, as the Borgia and their Jewish in laws were raiding the Ficsca, again, from the Tuscan goddess of prosperity, It is all inescapable, and where we get the word Fiscal, they are weighing the Ink, no long distractions of Ariosto or Galileo on the immaculate Moon, now.

I Don't much watch King of queens anymore at seven, unless my sister is home, as I couldn't much take after they had a show where every time the poor not cute enough for Jews Leah was trying to befriend anyone, her bloated cunt and human bag of Snyder of Berlin kettle chips made sure to act like the buffoon he figured Americans dreamed said he as supposed to be. As after all, that wouldn't get out among her coworkers that she was married to pot of mold like him, would it. And yet somehow I have been called a misogynist, as after all, I don't like Blonds.

By the end of the week, a week in which this fat swine and his pretty wife sneered at the idea of having to anything more intellectually strenuous than watching a rapist let his karioki team down in the clutch awhile eating various food products of a yellow orange coloring, On WCBS radio I heard that the metropolitan opera is going to be boarded up. The closest thing we have to opera now is pinched faced fascists hags like Nancy Graceless hounding some girl woman who committed her anti- matronalia, [that is Roman mothers day, lest you think you white trash came up widdit...] sin of perhaps maybe killing her daughter, as Old Nan is our moral compass, and in her world, women who look like Leah Rinini, named for an Italian aristocrats family who played fast and loose with the marriage vows, as in our better world of now, who needs clowns who cry when we can have buzzards who quack about the rule of law, like so much, thought of biblical but actually Roman.

Who needs the bloated flaming colored set designs of a new Amsterdam Las Scalla when we have our Nancy, fascists goddess, telling us , reassure us , that this woman shall be hounded when in fact the woman who packed her children in a microwave, look it up on Drudge archives, or the woman who drowned her children like a suburban Medea shall not, as in our graceless land, this happy island, brunettes kill their children and blonds are lost off the coast of Barbados, innocent as lambs, with too much eyeliner, until and after their bloated bodies come washing up on some niggard shore. Lest we forget. I saw too, Keith Olbermench say proudly, that he is no liberal, a wise career move when O'bama, and look that up on drudge too, is your Tyberius, he is an American. This gave me achita. Liberals are self named by old Cato, hah! again the institute like so much has misread the Latin, if they read any of it at all, for Libertina, the WWI like wall poster goddess of freed Tuscan slaves. America comes from the name of a pickle salesman from Verona. The liar does tell the truth...

A huzzah goes up from the big fans who hide their true latent and virulent homosexuality with giants and jets throw rugs. Oh, Come on. So, the fifty years of various Fred Flintstone's without thawed warmth have lead us to this cultural wasteland Newt Minnow would find repellent. The great talk show host in Pittsburgh Perry Marshall once said that he rarely wants to go to the opera or the symphony, but it was nice to know it was there, But then the Jews, Italians, and fags are always where the Aryans get their civilization since the Medes, with the niggers supplying the dance party music, and calling it genius. ...but there are now in our better time, people who can actually pull off the idea of rolling their vacant eyes at a Yo Yo ma Concert of Bach cello suites, and pass the fried mars bars.....Welcome, to the Renaissance.


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