01 February 2013

HE GIVES US ALL HIS LOVE….






24 January 2013

I didn’t watch the inauguration, which like so much while this rein of error has happened seems an insult to the Romans, that they don’t deserve. Like how the Raiders didn’t deserve the tuck rule. How even I think the democrats didn’t deserve Obomo, not really, and how America doesn’t deserve being lectured to about class disparity for Ed Shultz who like Obama, took the occasion of coming heath care and boomerang-ing insurance rates coming to fill their portfolios with Merck stock. Yes, look that up, its true, which means its unspoken, to paraphrase an Italian line, but then, what else is America but the paraphrasing of an Italian Line…?

It turned out that I wasn’t alone, and in fact almost seventy percent fowled my cue, and didn’t catch this monstrosity neither, whose strange shtickle of viciousness and meanness was overshadowed by Sally Hemmings again close to a Jefferson’s bible, lip sinking her bellowing between strange American dreams hoisted and hurled at and of the filthy and the dusty, mixed as it always is with commercials starred in, in which she explains her beauty of a high yellow sort comes of course from the French. There is always in mob wives land an answer that Eileen Ford can get behind, not that it has ever helped the mob wives who, like Mario Junior shall find, are expected from the basic salvation of mixed blood, to the point that always Jews at the times can eagerly call them malottos. I know the niggers and their masters white women rule America, as only 99 percent, remember that number…?, of the Bush Tax cuts have been made an article of faith and packed in perpetuity, no matter what white haired Jews say in the well of the Fallen Roman senate, and that fisa bills were once harangued by Keith and their architects, are suddenly dominate. Trojan horses, the Jesuit saying goes, don’t shit Trojans they shit Greeks.

I couldn’t take this fitting end to the week of fraudulence coming crashing down, this cap stone of the all winking eye that has taken its hold on the American  pyramid, as Lance and Te’o and all the rest as enough of a playhouse ninety for me, as after a while, even in new Sicily, one has to, alas least when Roman blooded as I am, one must ask, does anyone here actually believe any of this shit, I mean any of it…? As eventually, and why the Sicilians are to this day hated by Romans, and eventually dismissed by hbo Jews, it would be lovely,  after a while, to get a straight answer even from an empire of lawyers. So a few thoughts as I take the month of Janus off as holy helped no less by Face book who have given me a good thirty days to sit in the corner and think about what I did when I called the less than transfigured president a coon. Actually it was not a coon I called him, but The Coon, Cartman’s alter ego, always willing to sit on the back of any daemons his ego could conger up, which in a empire without the basic understanding of satire, as Gore knew long back, and now that all are so unnervingly white and holy and above reproach, is lawfully worse.

I couldn’t bring myself to view the little man’s transubstantiation into lamed duck, as he is still seemingly unawares that that is what he is, a pugnacious aspect is slathered on his form, much like the purell needed by the gramophone when with far too Roman, but not Roman enough Fagots, as he has an arabesque displeasure at them, as shared with suspicious Jews at the fagots of empire, as he is sure by now none will ever Virgil it up and or cerate anything more impressive or poetic than a marriage licence--and for the hoped for divorce proceedings as every fagot shall here be expected to be more Henry the 8th than Ovid, which is par for the course.

But as all Narcissus find out, eventually the crowd tires of the small package which he and those like him is, and as if ultimate insult if not schooled to the Roman hating affirmative action house coon, as he looked out to see the bay of filth upon which such men of the people as he lives to serve, and serves to life, he looked out and saw that that number of penitents to the church of the niggardly Son was cut in half in four years, and again, in these same football season, a lacklustre speech--the basic enactments of drama are like politic beyond him too--, as those sails had filled with doldrums stillness and hot wind homily, seemingly eons back, was fooled by due course by milling around by human filth, whose efforts at trying to caterwaul and whoop in up seemed so forced, as that too can tire the listless garbage of the imperial porches. Stories abounded about the fact that retakes had to be taken in the oath of office, it was moved, something that seem to dog him,  lest it conflict with the age of the rousing star Kapernick and the last ride of combating up Ray Ray, and so, with the divisions of fat bloated misquoted ghosts of  Mars--in as an because, the games were the thing and a lustreless inauguration to someone we know hates the Romans like all nigger and Jews do, was not must see television, though its similarities to Seinfeld are striking, as the peacocks last attempt at a hit. Curb your imperialism.

2. I wanted no part of it,  and no part of palatial Atwater-less farce neither, as I suspected both sides have been dispirited, leaving us only with the savage and  the cruel who occasionally pull in their claws, momentarily when faced with Harry the hat doing exactly as he said he wouldn’t, but then what idiot thinks a senator is going to be your hero, after all…those noble knights of old are Gone. Chimes at Midday. See, as I have tired of that buffet to quote the brilliant Machiavelli, and not as a gangster who works for Universal studios might or might not. I took to the games as a good Roman- American, and they were wonderful, a true ending to the week of liars in the month of two-faced  sacredness. First Kapernick showed how one wrenches the starring role worthy of a Hal Prince production, as some, unlike Jerry Jones, captain comeback admires Alex Smith for being a gamer, as was he, but when you have a buck willing and able to run on the Roman fields of stadia, well, even brother Jim takes it, and shows the Romans games are at their heart cruel, or at least cold, or at least utilitarian, and strangely it is seemingly conniving and clever Jerry Jones who wont allow Romo to go away, showing a devotion that is strange, showing again when I lair thinks he is doing honourable work, usually it is clever cowardice, or something worse.

I must say I am filled with resentments, mostly at myself, as I had allowed far too many things to walk on by me, from Georgetown scholarships to lovely tall girls in flip flops and jeans, always afraid, a coward I unromantically am, deep down, and I bubble with recriminations. But, I must think, though am a saint, what had I not listened to the Studs Turkle loving Jesuits, and not cared of the people, and though I had an inkling we were all becoming Sicily anyway, I sometime think looking back, if nothings like Clinton and Obomo could slither their ways to these heights, or lows, imagine what I , armed with Roman arms among the dirt farmer lotharios and the house niggers could have done.

Ah, but I am a romantic, at heart, and each time Lesley ensconced in suburban life calls out to me, each time gay editors admire my work about the pre aids Jesuits now gone, as they actually out there start to wince about marriage as their truest calling, and each time Martin Scorsese does go out of his way to censor a nobody like me, and Rachel Maddow doesn’t even when publicly prodded by fat woman with salami breath, well, I am Victorious in ways a house Coon amid a lessening, less maddening crowd,  or Clinton being caught cruising for ass on the Numa- structure showing to him nothing is more sacred than his own dick, I, Roman Antony am made somehow correct. Only virtually weeks after they attached themselves to the jittery and manic Scorsese, it seems Apple is in free fall, even after having cleansed itself of the commercial where Martin Scorsese shows a Sicilians glee at mussing with a phone that was blowing up in whiter hands at that very time. Ah, we call it the malocchio,  and once you have touched it, no amount of soap gets it off, like say Garlic to be mean, and it seems that Mob wives aint getting the level of audience it had not too long ago, like Obummer, showing my distained father was right after all, and eventually the white trash no matter how much purple silk they get themselves are always aware of their barbaric pasts and have to lord over someone.


3. But then I was taught by Jesuits, and so, cant be blamed. Later in the day though, was a true glorious moment, when Ray Ray and his band of merry destroyers got back to the super bowl, the stealers sitting blue and crying alone as they pare the playbill of third teamers, to return to their Irish catholic self delusions, and Ray Ray finds the glorious road to Laurentium, the Tuscan El dorado, which just hints of made me write my epic as I have, without thought not care of any white trash admirations. And too, have to admit the winter of 2000 helped me jump start things, as I watched Al Gore commit suicide, by falling off a white marble variation of the milvian bridge. It seems that Mr Mind Bellichick has gotten all he deserves, Brady too, as if not Passion, revelation is catching. Tired of him, and Bill Cower stressing a smile about his enemy getting his comeuppance, CBS, not one to fuck with, made him out to be the bigger sin than a mere thief or even a Machiavellian, or even a cheat,  --worst of all, he was a poor sport, and that always can make the thumb come out, even when you win, much less lose. Ta Ta, Belly, as your roads all might lead back to Cleveland, which I hope for you as much as I wished to see Obummer deal with being a lamed duck.

I stopped watching political television when I heard one too many lesbians and fat chicks at Facebook and other troughs, who are never censored as they never have an idea that isn’t seeded in the hothouse that is GE electronics and war consortium, about how Fox news was evil. Well, Fox news is a propaganda mill, as we have had since the Romans days of Your, and the least one can do, Machiavelli said is when lathered in lies dripped in fraudulence, is to at least allow others to have their similar lies, too. It wasn’t so much the taking of PEDs that made Lance seem such a prick, but the ploys of names he kept as if a button man, as if as Nero of all people knew about blood, it disappears and becomes so much gray polluted water, and one becomes addicted to the mere motion of clanging tin. I had enough as the gloom of a less than Roman invocation was made up and niggardly was kept going as best as having the temple crashed by fag hating Chuck Haggle could allow. Now supinely according to Boston Charley twas only the neo cons, his paid for enemy, who were against Chucky…hmnn, I seem to recall Rachel making a point that the fag haters nomination wasn’t going swimmingly,  and then with some tentacle after encyclical on GE stationary come down from the Jack Welch memorial toilet, things were, as if he was, and all was fine. No body here but us vultures. And I thought, no, despite having no admiration of Fox, and them getting the nigger they wanted, still, a propaganda mill is not as evil as say a war profiteer, and I work at and would work for neither, so what else is on…?

4. But the time and tides of men and or at least  cable television have turned against O’Bummer is in slight and savage ways. I knew he wouldn't get the number of the triumph last time, as now, the utilitarian always finds himself surrounded by other utilitarian’s and if you think that that paltry crowd was unspotted by Narcissus, Then, if you don’t know who Narcissus was, an thus a perfect candidate to get a show on MSNBC. It seemed to peeve our always dyspeptic lecturing Hector, he assumed as I said, just in body language, when not tap dancing up imperial stairways, to be visibly upset that he wasn’t seen here as a Godling, as he brought in the sun chariots for a bumpy but alas less then Gobi Landing. Perhaps a murder of crows have taken to flight to bring him down, showing at heart he is more Grimm’s than Aphelius, if not more Hanna Barbara then neither. He sneered and scowled more than not, as when you get all you want you want none of what you get, and he seem at moments of flicking through the channels to seem ver kempt that the adoring crowd had gone away, recalled by the sorts of constantly needing fifth and scum that Caesar would end up eventually start to hate as he , like Romans before, saw the men he had to destroy as better than the trash who showed up at weekday triumphs. Eventually, the Senate starts to hate these free bread niggers, or at least Sicilian darkies, and they start to hate the senate back, Caesar swaddled in hate for both feeling himself as if an Atlas drugged, and the insinuated threat of the bilious filth is appreciated by now the man in stained purple. Oh Look, there is Bill Clinton, proving the Romans shit was even bigger crap than when it comes from me, who at least tries to be occasionally True. He is up to something, that is immutable, but by now, were it me I wouldn’t even bother anymore.






Again, showing that the fates or at least Sundance and cable television has turned on him, instead of preparations being made for Imperial Barbie’s Capitoline dream house, for the garb of triumph on Sunday night, after the victory of the Ravens, and a couple of Lois and Clarks thankfully back at the forties like Phyllis Coats age of vavavoommy Teri in Roz Russell, my gal Friday suits and bantering with Hispanic superman in a light hearted and spunky way, I saw that Sundance was showing a film called Me and Orson Welles.

Like CC Beck, Orson is hated for his genius by the lowered brow film nothings, but alas they cant leave him or his creations alone, as if nothing else, there was something cool about Americana and the world before Jerry signed his rights away, Superman being like Michelangelo, sadly an apogee, the thing that distorted the renaissance out of all recognition and dismantled everything after ward.

Orson here is in the famous rendition of Julius Caesar, inventing Shakespeare in modern dress, for which is like satirical Captain Marvel too winsome an idea not to be disliked by the gutters of comic fags. He is played by an actor who is a voice match to Orson, showing again that Shakespeare actually can sound better without a Larry Olivier hammy wheeze, which explains the dyspepsia of Englishmen and white women like the awful kissing banging sorts. But still, the image of Orson and a black coated Brutus, a Brutus that is at odds not only with Dante, but Machiavelli, Willie’s hero, but with historicity, still, I would have liked to have seen Orson do a film version of this. But was stopped by a slug from Transylvania, with affected English sneer, John Houseman who ostentatiously, and only in America, could say he held the rights to a play written in the 1590s I believe. It would have been nice to have been seen and be a catalogue and something else four Pauline Kale to hate as only a woman could demean the persona who most exampled her own cockeyed womanish theory, by which all of creation had to move. Again Orson knew well, and instead of taking the loftier role of Marc Antony, or the meatier role of Cassius, or the strangely dignified role of Caesar, he knew his spit curl was more attuned with Brutus, who whether republican hero or Dante monster, still, despite his own coin tricks, showed anyone with a modicum of Roman lesions learned well, the last thing one does is full up his praetoria with senators.






I looked for anything other than this satire of Obomo‘s roman priesthood, this the horrid roman stage set up still as it was by Numa, down to which side of the portico the man of people stands at, again, Barry came up small, not knowing his opportune moment, and gave another peritoneal campaign speech, not even attempting the lofty, as his being  thief and a fraud at heart the lofty is almost a sin and a crime. Unlike Mario, whose son seems to be living out his won Roman delusions in the wings as we speak, it seems Barry knows nothing of prose or poetry and instead hopes to do both in mere screed and spreadsheet.

5. He warned boner Bainer that he’d use the inauguration, did I mention that is a Roman word, and thus trashed by the half blood prince, like stimulus or honour or America, as a way to teach the republicans their temerity at not accepting his capitulations with good grace, though you’d think by now he be up to his ass in shylocks and sniggers, a tower of them at GE, you think occasionally he could use rhetoric, now that the burnish bronze of his godly skin has worn off. Someone should have told Jon Meacham that Prometheus was a god too.

I watched a film on Turner, remembered from when I was a kid, called Cold Turkey. This was a brilliant satire from Norman Lear when I was kid, before was staire was outlawed by decree after the more pocket veto which was due to the career of Tina Fey, before all Satire became merest ridicule, its dumpy fat ugly cousin who cant get dates, as Jewry Jonnie at once attacks all goys who don’t think like his masters do, but always leave room to spit polish Newt’s dick on television, to show what life is like inside the Trojan Horse.

It was funny and sarcastic and skewering in ways undone in our sedated days of now, as one woman after the next is devastated by Jewvenal, who can always return to cry on command or more importantly take back anything said about say Calvin Coolidge or another democratic pol who appears to him by way of fax machines groomed at  the Apak purgatory ala Caesar. I remember first seeing this movie on the CBS Friday night movie when I was kid, as it brings back thoughts of third grade and pretty Catherine herself and the first blushes of romantic and Roman thinking.

It turns out I was not the only one, as it would come to the fore that this second inauguration address, this Numan moment washed out, with only the high notes of the spittoon so grandiosity and so over whelmed, and with legged jittering with the thought of keeping his job at RCA, that he compared it to the agreed upon master work of the doleful arts of Lincoln, his second inauguration address. This showing to a thief and a praetorian, the thought of where Pompey sits in even esoterically pantheon is always fungible and always defamed by the use there of. So, sad to think all anyone is talking about in that needed wanted second transfiguration, so Hillarie less then and thus potent and powerful, is a another of the mille vanilli that you negroes, frankly to quote the great Paul Mooney, after all, aren’t you all Mille vanuilli…? As The triumph that he had based his entire life upon, and for the millionth time in history, someone had gotten everything they wanted, and found it still…wanting. It is possible this was what was in Bill Clinton perfected and brilliant mind as revenge all along...? That in fact, the fact that he no longer has anything holding him back, that Obummer now has nothing holding him up…?

The crowd was half the die, sorry size…the ratings for Barry ascending to the haughty golden dome of Cattiline was cut in half. Now, why this is important and why no white trash working for GE will touch this in the pre death hagiography in which they traffic, is that no usual sneering can be done with this turn of events. No, Rachel cant merely sneer mid ninety word sentences--look whose taking!-- at the rednecks and the hillbillies as did Cicero demean those poor who thought there was a champion in Cattiline,--good luck in Barry taking that as a morality play to mirror--as Barrack only seem to be ensconced in the white rose as if beatified Madonna, but when one looks closer, can be seen that this rose of white purity is merely a tempest of bribe envelops, --she cant just with her smirking coven of witches make the point that only They, and Them hate or dismiss or dared hurl invective at the godhead of the light bulb Consortium.

This was a triumph in every way except who stood in the middle of it. That means, this as a rally or a celebration of that party, not the republicans goons for whom he and his pimps seem to personally dance and want respect from.

Ah the turnabout, when all realised those who you had taken for grafted were no longer, unlike Brutus, aware and caring. It is as Roman and the Spanish steps, that eventually, and no while faced Irishman or mole faced sun god hedonist boy faggot on ge theatre knows of it, or if they do only fear it, that eventually that forty seven percent of the filth for whom you have self appointed as heaping power of attorney, the colored and the trash, the fagots and the pimps, the trash that Jewry Jonnie feels such empathy for, as he believes one should treat the help with respect, such is Jewish indulgence, no wait that Tarp, anyway, that great mass of filth that Rachael feels such compassion for should they feel back with votes for her hand picked white woman, that the things have turned, swerved if you’d like, as Romans know they always do. Is this what made Bill Clinton smile so…the student of Plautus, who knew better a comedy tonight than a reality tomorrow, or a salience, as the optics as they say don’t match the incessant bitching, him knowing the difference between farce and epic as a aging school boy seems operatively giddy while Oromo looms with peevish desperate out art more green green grass of Rome than he had been even expectant to see…?

This is the roman question answered Romanly, and now, after four years of tap dancing and giving in as an ethic and a virtue and one too many rallies with white woman during fiscal shenanigan and now talk of guns, well, like mister Sinatra America has a cold, and isn’t in the mood for this today, and they avoided him, --this all on the democratic side, which is why the virulence if not even shocking level of all at MSNBC, excepting for dear Rachel who feels she has a future about writing books about the sayings of Marshall Foch, has become strangely exacerbated. It doesn’t take a Fred Silverman, baby hunnie tootsies, to know that a drop of fifty percent of Nielsen households for the transfiguration of Barouche into a white man, well, that isn’t good, and it isn’t all about birthers and nimrods, the trash and the rural scum, either, as any Roman worth his salt could have told you, long before niggers and their policies of resentment, the first thing the Roman senate tried to do was cleave the poor of the farmland from the poor of the sub urba, lest again as Augustus said, they’d be surrounded.





6. To gild the lily and show my thesis is right, another slimy commercial of the sorts only seen in politics since this nigger showed up, and tap danced into our hearts, and our student of Janus, two face, has been awfully good at demanding admirations if not for his vices, his wanton cowardice, which is never a good idea. And as Machiavelli, divine Italian scholar from which the line of standing on the shoulders of giants was taken by Sir Isaac Newton to explain his own regarding of things already in the public domain, said, Human action has menacing…sorry meaning. And in this commercial of smugness, abortion is made incarnate, and is after all, a black man, their most hoped for audience, as no one would have to tell Sister Barbara, who told me in 1974 that abortion is an Irishman’s dream and scheme, lest their little Rebecca’s, their name for the white chicks they hated worse than did the Jesuit, come home having been impregnated by Rufus in the middle school where they warehouse the white filth and now the collected and stewarded niggers. Sorry, but you don’t own the truth as much as you like to resell it at a mark up.

The negro here is abortion made flesh, the humanisation of the clamps, this is as close as our dower venial vulgar toilet -nation can come to the light elegance of the Ovidian night courtiers, collected and swept behinds the globe theatres wooden door during midsummer night. And he, our Oberon, holds a rose, a symbol used by the anti abortion crowd, like those dread catholic’s Poles and Italians who know how abortion was used by German invaders, as never spoken to. In his being black, abortion when made flesh, is something abortions shares with the central casting Muggers, poverty and Judas Iscariot. Who DAT, WHO DAT THINK THEY CAN GO UP AGAINST ROMAN ANTONY?….SHIT. I saw where beauteous Wendy, whose wanted videos cant work on a one year old Hewlett packer--yearn, do I yearn…?, finally started getting into various model websites and not that fat chick boob sites, but was dammed on one of those titty sites, as being Too Polish, --I think we know what that means, that her massive breasts came from Jewish stock. Oh fagot pel--isse, her name Fiore, Italian for Flower, ironically enough, should say it all about where that figure springs from. As on wickepdia there is a real distaste to admit that perhaps most of the Roman plays of Shakespeare were stolen almost verbatim not from Greek books not yet translated into English, he translated many we are told as he knew Italian…hmnnnn,…but from Machiavelli’s selected discourses, whom he admitted to as a Virgil, to white chicks dismay. Therefore I know thanks to the roman church acutely what you are and what you try to do. Therefore, thanks to Roman lives and being drilled in Ovid since I was a boy by priests, drilled in my Ovid if I was lucky!, I know the aspects of things, this isn’t my first Rodeo, which the Sabine held to Greek dismay eons before nay Cowboy trod the old west, when Italy was the new world. I am convinced and this connived by no one, I know your every trick, and always watch the other hand.

It was an ad as commenced and shown by women who smile long curved pointed joker smiles on unseen  MSNBC--and don’t think there isn’t a Chayefsky quality of the lack of mercy to GE now that they know that Barry cant attract flies anymore a fatiguing quality to evil and all that, as a celebration of abortion. That’s seemed much too much for the white men who have used the wooden Obama to hide within and get to the drones they need so badly, as it was not even spoken of anywhere but Fox, not quite the audience that the sisterhood of the travelling abortion clinic wanted, but alas, all thoughts of Sparta are of war, and if you had read Livy as kids as I wasn’t made to, not even for a grade, never even for extra credit so much as it was the fagots indoctrinating me in to temple of Janus, and that abortion was seen in this, by the white tribunes, as far too scandalous to Andie Poo who twinkles and turns off on command. I am proud to say about Manti Te’o that when I heard this farce start the first words that crossed my burning mind were HE IS QUEER, and now on epsn and daytime boxes of sportscasters start to admit a fatigue to the story now that it has taken a more Spartan less Samoan turn.






But, this commercial which was avoided so on more middlebrow outlets was shown on Fox, the tribunes last chance, and thus is verboten. Still, its very scene is to be noticed, as to these frauds who go too far when they think they aren’t going an inch, fakes and frauds, said it was  a happy occasion this anniversary  of Roe V Wade, a happy thing, showing again Clintonism is catching. The smug is what someone is when they cant be caught dead actually doing something. It is how war is a trip and a joyous thing to Limbaugh, you are quite the same, in that like war, abortion is only fin if one is a chicken hawk, I’m sorry a lesbian who never ahs to have her guts ripped out and or wear a Vespasian style boot.

7. So, I warn as Roman auger I am, once we have reached the Augustan history portion of our programme and the people without jobs and to whom ge shall hurl pennies lest anyone within range ask that they aren’t making a killing by being a war profiteer, that eventually, at least in an empire worth falling, eventually, the people turn on the gamesmanship aspect of it all, and they start to hurl the peanuts back. Sorry, not everyone wants to be tarred with clever respect by Jon Stewart, signing over their power of attorney, to then be allowed to clean his pool and toilets as he smirks worth Sanhedrin sureness he is God beloved, if not Tom Shale’s, neither is worthy of much,  and you be given a turkey at Saturnalia time, as the paternal various of all of this rattiness starts to make the whole the Popularis Romani,  itch and start clamouring for a Cattiline who shall indeed fall, as taking out a myriad of soldiers merely paid by the pig keepers to guard their shit. I saw for a few moments, the eyes of Obummer glisten but with something that had more acidity than mere self adoring tears.

You see the people start to gag on free bread, it is Machiavelli said, usually day old, if one is lucky, as the passavante keep the warm stuff for themselves, especially when Caesar brings in white man senators through the back door, like Cab ready to sing and sing for meal at the cotton club, door, abortion has never been their true sacrament, we are not all lesbians and the duelling death cuts of infanticide and guns caused the senatorial class to festoon themselves with children and flags, lest we know what abortionists and chicken hawks have stolen the republic. Note, as Lincoln has come hep now, though not in the suspicious way of father Gore, which can only be used when dealing with Italian artists like Ariosto or Leonardo, that Lincoln, who would free no one if that’s what it took, never spoke of the Republic, an afflation even MSNBC hoodlums do, but of the union. Well hell it was union, before the Magna Carta, a union is any Kingdome of disparate precincts united behind Numa, it isn’t a republic and even that syphilitic dower weirdo knew enough that his was no Amealius Paulus sort of endevour all. This is the dirty dark dank secret of hero to coons Lincoln, that if one makes sure that the union is everything and not the republic, well then, sir, anything oen does, vetoing haebeus Corpus, any level of Czarism can be acceptable, as its only so much real estate one is hoping to slave, the string around the seven hills as placed by Romulus, still holding a bloody plough, that the union all that matters, a similar thought as aspersed by Mussolini of all people, con le unita fah forza, humnnnn, and if they can just get to that, oh how glorious that haughty temple can shine, as we have taken the side of Cicero in the retreated last struggle of Rome, before things settle into an Augustan rut.

I place this all here as a sign that I brought an end to my book, In this golden age, and frankly and never thought such would happen, Barry has , like he has with America, tired me out, and his small package, in more ways than one, is causing even the fifth to go, feh. May I say I saw this coming, …? As in having had the guts to keep Newt as a devoted standard barer, you might have actually saved your con. Now we hear true numbers and un-Nate silver like number crunching that in fact, rather than gain 800,000 jobs as in November it was said to some apparent eye test failing, that same number was lost in jobs, at least of a union house hold variety, which didn’t matter because Barry never got a majority of white union house holds to vote for him, as they might have gone for Newt, and you might have lost, but too, not to be roman about it, you might have won.

Perhaps I was always more attuned to my father and the Jesuits and the Franciscans and the nuns than I would have believed, for in the same way I think now with the cast of Caesars we have and their cheap bait step men all looking out of the confers of their eyes, all waiting for who falls first, as we have made the poker game our invocation, I think too, that the reason I never put any effort into getting ahead was that I do feel above this all, too good for any of it, as white women seem to think is an insult to me when they hurl it back at me. Perhaps they were right and all these things policies and movies, even books, are all but puppet shows, as that I was to be a Jesuit in their image, but with girls on the side rather than boys, it really didn’t matter to them they didn’t before aids think of the queer order  as a pressure group,  and didn't recruiter queers as they do navy seals. Maybe I was more devoted to them than I thought, and refused to be one of the fools who dance for peanuts‘, who now even the people themselves have tired of the circus, as Juvenal would warn. But then, who was it who spoke of virulent strains of Cholera and serum resistant aids bubbling up in the swamps of Jersey….? Suddenly even on TV land, there are commercials for getting home aids tests, something one would have thought was over before the age of children sexting or has that exacerbated things in our decline, as the woman and niggers never are aware until too late…? Aids tests, hummmm, that’s interesting, as if aids should bloom an awful garden again, and uncle sap having primped the filfth their free drugs, thinking it a perfect way to get the niggers and the white trash divvied from a untied hatred of Tarp, that will make us all see how much they meant or ‘ meant ‘ it, as old yenta Bloomberg starts to horde the aspirin. And you wonder why you end up in camps.

The grinning face of networking at the triumph Senator  Wall street, always one eye open to the Idea of those camps being set up again, smirking and chiselling tells me that I was right and the more Jews one foists into a Roman institution like a Senate, it is heinous, as Roman, by its own heftiness as a loaded word is chock full of corruption. But too, at its best, it is filled to with at last the presumptions and the pretence of decency, like the men transvestites--Roman words abound--who in make up and wig, with the smell of puke and the potato liquor the Sardinians made eons before Mother Russia, can think back wistfully at the lost Eden of Tuscany, subsumed by Romans wishing to wear Italic helmets of feathers, soon enough themselves to be eaten up by Germans in the perpetual games of can you Obama this…? Too many Jews with Roman fashion, too many in the mausoleum you call a senate, as Italians are regulated to niggardly minstrel shows, the stoicism inherent in all things Italian, as supposed to Sicilian,  not on the payroll is gone, and chucks demand tribute from insatiable suspicious and despondent Rachel’s, who must bound out there and jiggle and smirk, in case the steak has been irrevocably burned. Soon enough, it isn’t just Staten island which comes filled with Kirby -ite self premonition, as Jews are great at crying only for themselves, but too, the hidden vigerish of all chosen people and master  races, when one says Chuck Shaman is out for anything,  he is out for Chuck Shumah. And in fact by the end of imperial trough week, Obummer capped in as head of the sec a woman, days after the now infamous frontline show, a woman of course, now he is clever in a zoetrope approved way, Who was personal Consigliere to JP Morgan, and here I thought he was dead, like Caesar, alas prove of my less racist than clannish thesis, Romans really did do this better than you niggers and  our white woman maters, see above, as let lose from current Brunette seeking Spitzer!, comes on Rachel, hoo boy, and with the sad distaste almost close to the Roman recriminations I mean, went all jewey on us and said as his ilk would have to as he plays musical cable shows, that he didn’t have enough information to think out loud what he problem thinks deep down as we all would hearing that the Torquemada of John Gotti, as who is next to be vacated their fourth amendment rights  by crusading bag women and now devastated Rudies, showing that it isn’t the second amendment the gun haters wish to white wash as much s say the 5th, the eighth, as they disallow the right to council,  all such probes the empires change, but the Sicilians remain irrevocably the same.





Who warned that Our Virgin of the perpetual safety was a tissue of lies back in October when Te’o made even me, Romantic me, groaned, I like with Obnama, can smell out a fraud at a thespian space, especially when they are shameless. As then ND was getting every call as the nigger holding NCAA plantation lived in abject fear of another Ohio state blow out. Oh, yes, that was me. And Joe Paterno laughs from the music of the spheres, as espn has found other stories that the oaf and the always dick sucking Jet Jew must ignore, despite my laughs, while Anderson Copper simulates sex with a shrew d lister. Happy New year Petronius! But then,  I am just a wop who talks shit, as a suddenly less vociferous and less antagonist  and less bellowing fat chick said, the sort who now find themselves in the usual position of having to support a pardoner who is about to place one white boy after another in his Imperial gaze, as he sends women to the front while his half breed ilk can watch batman movies, when GE owns all the socialists, marriage and warfare are our only needs and wants, you know, as we are surrounded by Greeks, and men, as problobly hasn’t happened since Barry was amid college experimentation. So what Do I know…? I had a card that gave me ten free ipad downloads, though I don’t and will not have an ipad, still, caught up some Sting, Vivaldi, Raydio, you’re the only I love and yew caint change that, youre the only I need and yew caint change dat, a great song by the indigo girls called Ghost, our faggots used to be our poets at least in Rome before we started getting Max Newmans everywhere, --oh it would have saved Adolph to have just gone after the gypsies and the homos, the lame and the trash and kept the Jews as imperial clowns as they were meant to be since poor passed over Marcus. And it took all day to download Love Reign o’er me, and then found out it was not the divine Who but always swallowing, fronting, Eddie Vetter, a prefect end to inauguration week, but still even they cant screw quadraphonia up…But I have been quoting of all people  the anti Catiline horse trader Cicero who said wisely at the end, when he realized that the bucolic republic he thought he had saved from Catiline had been handed over to men not nearly as not corrupt, that the cabinets ethic of gumption and in fact stealing had given way to Freeware queens who as could be seen in previous dwindling triumphs start to ask for more the screeds and bits and scraps. He said, wisely When the people  are Hungry-- the gods are mute. And one week into the this time i mean it imperia,  the consumer confidence has slipped to a new low. Lord, oh, though those Roman aphorisms do usually end up so correct….




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