14 September 2014

I went over the few pages of Rag left to fill them out and connect the stories, and saw the original apes were fine in themselves and don't like the forever childhood of the Lucas sorts show, as Trey Parker said, lets watch all the charm melt away. I rather liked these pages, and only did some cursory changes to refit, found them fine and lovely in their starkness, but have gone onto the b and w wash of the warren comics mentioned before, and have boned up on all the Mort Drucker I had, the Gregg Toland of newsprint, which again I miss terribly as dreadful comics now are printed on phony baloney white papers like shitty news magazines that couldn't survive Obama. Who shall...? Veronica as is Kemtere is one of my favorite creations of italic arts, a Dan De Carlo vixen invention given life by me, and stripped and how, of goofy smile and sneer, Betty and Diasy Mae need I say, are dead. I garther it together like it and as with AR wish I would have just done it all when with first blush of satirical mojo, as look back at some pages as is seen by phony baloney's now the saturnine poets, like Neavicus, the snow man who appears in both, you see somehow the Italians having their indigenous genius burned away,  and had to be forced to rewrite everything in Greek was their fault, so Ill buy Bounty towels anytiems I want, and poems now seen as masterpieces, decried and dreaded by English watchers, now stuck with Homers and Shakespeares, aborted by the negro schoolchilds they mist remedial teach before allowed in Harvard, or Florida state. So I get back to work to make this 88 page four issue comic as I wished it made, everything with me turns into a  freaking clone saga and then comes the whittling back down to the first inclinations, in which again i was right. As I had an inkling that night when the human spittoon thanked Leapin Hera for that thunderstorm to save Bra's imperium , I call it the march of dimes, that way, and I knew that everyone on that dais would pay for it, now they are all seen as prison snitches and amazons on the pad, and mostly pool soul Chissy and of course, Generalissimo Barry. Too, I saw in the Incognito fiasco, speaking of which that door is opening again, Flavius, that giving this blabbermouth sissy thug so much compassion would backfire when the brunettes started to fall out of the closets with welts and broken jaws, not that the witch council ever notes  anything but Ovids flubbed liens as the play moves on ...wait the dogs bark, but the show must goes on or something like that. And even with all that, and even a week from hell for the less than Roman gladiators, who are exiled if say something wrong to a sissy scrub, but allowed to play again after the pistol whipping, even with all of that, I saw that Tony Romo and his stage almost enemy within swerves to thow a ball at the two on first down while everyone else is blocking for the running back who will never be and all pro as long as Signor ding dong is there, is trending with the most negative comments, the most on social media. I find Roman wholesomeness in this, as we have known what Rice and the others  were all along and the women of the senate, egads, merely do their act as this stage is about to be struck, and that Machiavelli is true than not again and that once you are hated, worse than loved or feared in a line unspoken by coeds, you are finished. I shall watch 'the wolf of wall street' tonight on free Epix, as he isnt in the cat bird seat given over when cobbling together minstrel shows as Gene Sickle said, pompously called art, making gumba commodities, and now Jersey Disney hisself censored worse than I ever can be, and the money runs dry. I shall catch it, as the Roman senator said of Petronius' life of Nero coming out amazingly and stupidly while Vespasian was en route, I wish to read his suicide note.


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