20 August 2013


 
 
 
It was the wrong time to fuck with Roman-est Tony, here, as I have been up with now a complete mouth ache—ironical no…?, for three days and I worked diligently to get a dvd box once holding a copy of Ma’s Samson and Delilah with her beloved victor Mature and Gina Lollabrigida off to the AFI. A email came to me decrying my clip, which is used as a placeholder to make sure like at zoetrope—my Machiavellian ethics are always somewhat utilitarian, which bothers the shnooks who think their opinions are made of spun gold—that there was that pesky time stamp upon things that we need in our feral res publica of layyyers. So I wasn’t the mood and thinking this was an invective from You Tube, you see anti Semitism is always the go to when one hates the GODFATHER, a trick by the way started by Robert Evans when back when certain critics, like John Leonard, and even filmmakers passed on his Opera dell jersey, as the playbook has stayed insufferably the same. The Italians have been your new minstrels now since you had to pretend you weren’t bigots, and the dagos stupidly believed in the crap of your America scheme, which is why as I have seen bemoaned that there isn’t any great Italians Boxers worth their salt anymore. It’s a sad time.

 

It turned out that in fact, ME NOT the sharpest shiv in the cell, that this wanst from anyone on You tube, where my fifty fifty split that I encourage and makes me feel I am doing the work of the Lord, Janus, was on display. I made that mistake and then took off my comment but didn’t hurl it to the tow bit guerilla warfare filmmakers—ie unemployed dreams and finaglers—from which it came. It is amusing how spite can dissipate  when one is in need of oral care. Leave it to the Americans to disappoint Roman Antony by taking the fun and the subtlety out of all things low class vulgar and threadbare. The least sorts who should be censorious should be those who call themselves guerillas, but then the overfed fact hags who are swept away by the advent team for College Game day every Saturday wear Palestine checkerboard scarves between Starbucks runs so you all make me sick.  

 

The American dream is that there will always be tenements for those who give their power of attorney to Bag men like Tyberius or Barry or whoever is created by Carlyle group, as Gore said the mgm powers made Ben Hur. First, they built a fake circus maximums, then they built a fake Nero’s palace, then they built a fake temple of mars, then they built Charlton Hesston, and we were off. So our masters now are GE and its Buckaroos, and the Italians mistook the life of Marius, and that a barefoot man could get ahead with enough gumption, only, as Coppola would attest if they had blue eyes, An of course I noticed as things spiral out of control  so much so that Ge AND ITS ASSORTED SOCIALISTS wish to copy write a new word instead of the now decartelized drones,… might I suggest Happy Obama fun bots…?, that I have been as said basined from the Rachel Kingdom, as I always go one marble fawn too far. I was using, I was told, the present website to push and gonniff my own work, a no no in the land of paid advertising. Yes, that must be it. However, my mouth hurts WOP LIKE ME IS DONE, AND Jimmie can crack corn because I don’t care. Like Wendy amid the fat chicks, I have always shone a bit too much amid the double stuffed Oreo eating pool boy needing white girls of that mess. I knew I had enough when some Ebert hanger on after an essay I posted about Spartacus made a point to tell me that his hero Stanley Kubrick, another American ethnic allowed in the dream factory of Technicolor and cleavage, didn’t like the idea of a grandiose Spartacus, that this was contractual and nothing more, and I had of course as an Italian no right, in the land of the free and the home of the bribes to hate another Movie. I love when even there movies are above reproach. Well, fuck heads, I say with blister on my tongue from playing with the pain, this is your dying republic not mine. And, I WAS NOT shocked by the number of Italians and Jewish names who have variously given me kudos for WOP LIKE ME, a sotto voice element that you have all missed. BUT THEN, THE Hollywood goons can’t even make a Lone ranger anyone wants to see anymore as the dream factory becomes a revenge of the psychotic white men, Elm Street not what it sued to be. But then what is...? If I want to hate martin Scorsese  and Francis Copolla, your minstrel show Stromboli's who have the love of white guys in need of an Amos and Andy that can slip through, fir diminution  of the race of Beatrice  and Pirandello, the Sicilian school and the fresco, in a country where Citizen Kane and Dante get one star from trolling Visigoths and white girls dammed it I will.



 
[Thirty pages or so into Mister Stupendous, I first saw Italian actress pin up par excellence W. on sports by brooks and wished her well as an antithesis, as I wished to be to gumba championship wrestling, she was to all the fat girls of the sopranos. Even for me then in 2007 or so, my realization and dramatization of the heroine was complete and changed.]


So, Rachel dear can marinade in the theatrical ridicule, that proves she is smart and maybe not as bought and paid for as she ultimately is. Hey…, lets have a contest like cereals did when I was a kid, lest rename the death flying buttresses that Obams has used more than Bush did, as he has done everything more than Bush did , but paid enough naggers to whistle a happy tune and look the other ways. That on your left is the pantheon, all. I must take a break as have written this all with an ice cube in my mouth, as am out of AMBUSOL, ALREADY. I really have become my old joke of Petronius with a toothache. And the spray of the sanctimonious is meaningless to me, as I have said, their pumpkin smiles and uh huh huh huhhhh are meaningless to me, who misses Father Gore as wonder what he could have made of this morass. You see, in a stupor of fake aspirin probably concocted from left over petroleum,  and tooth paste and ice water, I still know enough to recall that all those Pollock’s who told my father to go back where he came from where always good Pittsburgh democrats. Tired I sat and watched the wonderful restored classic, the Great Race, when girls who looked like Natalie Wood weren't yet destroyed by these who though in gay culture such as this, took time amid the circus to deepen their closets even more and made Batman forever. I saw the grand  parody, Blake Edwards never so perfect again, with an almost unrecognizable  Jack Lemmon as my boyhood hero, Professor FATE! Dere dere, we gotta save da Prefssah... showing an actor can make something out of anything. Rah, oih Rah. Again what the guerillas--not tehw ay I think the word should be sued,  and filmisntas and the rest of the low trade count don't understand is that I am right and theater is dignity,  in the actual doing of something rather than to sit around and bullshit about what could be if you only weren't dying a thousand times.

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