17 May 2015



As a boy, My sister was approached to be an artist, when America was still at its high noon, and we had yet as Italians to become so white that good Negros could forget or even resent the fact that the most lynching that ever happened at once in the golden door happened at Fort Lee New jersey to Italian men. I had written this as a play, I know what was I thinking…?, and though have been called anti Semitic, as even flushed and upset and offended Jews, when not…? , like to avoid the whole JEW term, though now thanks to drones and either true or untrue delta squad fandangos, Semite isn’t like many things, the go to word it has been for them before. Welcome to the jersey shore, or is it This is Sparta, who can keep up. But my sister a hippie dippy Pyscodelic artist was twelve years older than I, taught me how to draw, and was seen as a talent by no less than Disney, then about to open a second seedy carnival at cape Canaveral, or at least was then it was meant to be a neighbor to the Space program, I recall seeing the booklet sent to her, and we had yet as an Italian family to fall apart as much as anything, as Father Gore was telling anyone, the American Empire had run out of gas.

One such person who reached out to my sister for work, as nine would come true for reasons intimated at here and always thought by me an eleven year old to be my fault, lets just say it as still open season on Italians then despite the sanctimony of good white folks who’d make it from Holy cross all the wait to the corrodores of others men’s power at the limestone tower, a Tuscan variant unsought of getting that high or being that grand, or holding that many thieves at one time. As I have said, the term Ivory tower is another Roman insult you good white trash don’t know you even use, and refers to the fact that the Tuscans were effeminate, the go to, like ugly women, of all war propagandists, unless Greek history where the men are fierce and the woman pretty  an open insult to Italia by Greeks,--somehow, but like impreailism on Obama on them they think it works, and soft they were, as they could build buildings that didn’t collapsed when hitting a fifth floor, thus giving us the word penthouse, too showing when gods give you lemons…And so, as we find our own tenements seething on cue and then calming down once the word is out, as I have always known you didn’t have the decency of Roman rabble in you negroid gummit workers, I recall the past with a measure of if not nostalgia fondness as 1980 and epilepsy descended as I was an auger warning the earth of the vicious victorious Regan about to slaughter the Turnus of the American republic, Gore was not a waste on me, no sur, my own childish body like old man Tybere, rebelled against the onslaught of microbial antics, and the days of my sister's freeness were soon enough like the days of Gore Vidal as was said by bloated human beer truck Reich Limbo, had gone indeed. 

My sister was given a  paper on Della Famina, Travisino and Partners letterhead, a big time ad agency in the emerald city, no really in Oz the emerald city was New York, to which the heartless or was it courage less or was he wizard in toto, Brady, I mean Bryant was a headed or a leaving. The bald wop made good when this was still available in America, as was warned that the Godfather as a secret clarion call to all they good white folks that these wops, especially those with war records, were always to fall back to Sicilian creed, and couldn’t not be trusted until of course men who would lose eight of the coming elections would deem them as white, which makes me laugh when you injun fucks think you have a gripe against the dread white father. The ultimate hustler, when the garnet city held him and Knustler and Guiccione before the debarking Jews and their blond in laws made it a magical city of tax dodging, he had sent my sister a booklet to gain entry into the firm, and of sire an Italian, of the kings of self promotions, sent a copy of his memoirs which might as well have been called the girl of the golden Vest, a joke I am sure no reader of Rachel Maddox’s barrage of breathless yessims could get. Too, as a little boy I would help her hone my own eye this way, she was to take five ads from a Vogue sent to her, and re block them for their sponcer, to show her ability I guess to redo Ideas already done, as it had to be that idea done in an new way, etc, as once again, I show my ability to speak of the truth of things which causes agreeing good-fellowships like Rachel and Jonnie and Keith recall an America slipping away, as we are inundated with one poor man’s Larry David after the next. He told her that he liked helping Italians out before Mean Streets and the Unitarian church made sure we were all white with an assist from the Hollywood Jews who needed a Western to take over that dying genre, where no body cared about how many or who was being massacred or not. 


She didn’t complete it, not strange from a family whose patriarch was offered a chance to try out for the Pirates but poo poooed this as he said, he had to support a family in Italy, and thus couldn’t play the games of boys and bus all over the Forrest called America and send back pennies when the local mills paid well, there was still a medio causum then before the white girls did Ovid witjhout the charm, even then before Jewish in laws decide that as enough of the middle class from which they had married out of. Of course I thought him an idiot then,  but when see Labron in full regalia as nigger emeritus understand now what he meant, my Roman minded dad, as he knew in his literate heart and taught by fag Jesuit of his Italian creed own that sports have been sued as a way to keep the rabble as boys for millennia. But this was struck in in those formative summer days, and so a few years later sent a script to a producer of Teleplays , and it was the ethos about that firm that ensconced in my mind, and I called it AD HOCK. Again as all things in the Tony verse there as wit and fun and joy and sixties ring a ding ding action, only in this dower sobbing age can the dreaded new York times make the joyous Tennessee into a tragedy, of which they never like Greeks, see enough, as Gore said, as I was only an infant but through the sue of Mad reprints felt a nostalgia for a time now demeaned and discredited with all that gentleman’s agreement and all. Ah, the fulcrum around which all spins, as no body was getting a death sentence for gay queer sex when I a boy, at least not at first as they would in the restoration of Regan, as the good christers sat back and watched the fagots die, but then they have been subsuming germ warfare since the catacombs, as they never buried their dead. It then it is amusing how truly impotent the Semitic see their gods , perhaps this a remnant from how well the Romans made walls.

I sent this play in, all art deco Batman era camp, and too, in his center was an Italian American Dell Feminia sort, but no laughing joyful hump he, he was soundly taken and struck with how seemingly meaningless sit all was, and how distraught he felt. Oh, it was all here, the man in the gray flannel soul feeling at wits end, the patent leather hair and buffaunts, the succeeding in business without even trying millue, down to yes, Robert Morse, beloved by me as J Pierpont Finch and Tru, motioned in the margins as the Jewish owner of the firm in this Boss ideal game come to life, Sid Bass, and Jerry Lewis, has he hovered been in it, an ad man extraordinary Marshall Greenbergh, with an assists as the grand Keith Olbermann, all mentioned as types, as the button up Piltdown man excelsior, down to horn rimmed glasses as cheating lying stealing and beloved friend of Frank Glissando, as that man still looked like a living cartoon of Hank Ketchum made pudgy flesh. I had the snide smart sarcastic office girl, here and plain and mean and bitchy of course in our English to Yiddish dictionary, and of course, the sexual center of the storm, cigarette girl name soap queen of all and network Pitch woman, busty brunette as I must have in everything I do as a prayer to the Dea, this before Wendy, but of these same characters weren’t stolen in whole, like of course made red heads and an air heads, as sarcasm is the first thing the Jews, more than black hair, avoid. It was about the joy of life and how much fun they must have had there making japs car ads, and it was all more Darren and Larry Tate and McMahnn and Neil and Carl Reiner, than someone than it ever was the awful droning sad Tolkien Reich of now. Actually everything these humps think they have done was done better in the Apartment by Villlah, viullie Villllah than any of this navel gazing pompous shit done now.

I sat doodling these pages for others, as find a wall is hit again, and don’t even get much requests for books made, as have done five now such things, commissions, to one disliked, which I let go, as found I am in no mood to do horror anything as Sy Hersh after forty years finds out that Machiavelli was right and all politic retires to basic question “who holds the whip…?”. How good of Barry to reignite the war again, on cue…oh were the boys of the chorus, …so right when his own In laws, talk about black sheep, Uncle Jeb, not Jedidah mind you, but an other Initialed God, was flubbing around and could sue the gunsmoked break. Sad things are this transparent, don’t think hes not, but James Arness is dead, much less William Conrad whose basso profoundo,  like Orson, made pulp images come to life for chock full of nuts and Quaker state. I was saddened, I am now beyond the circus of Rage as the roman called it, as saw just going through the channels that Mad men was NOT ONLY GOING, but shade with a marathon of days to get there, just to put the extra oomph into this slog. Yes, it was these producers I had sent that script to, which caused them to reach out to me as have said, for a Gumba show blood comedy, that was steering into head winds as names like Spielberg and Scorsese were allied against it, even Scorsese!,  who understands I now see enjoys the joy of the amoral, to the Jews horror, the hoooooorooooor, were not fond of a show. The producers reached out to me one  cold arts school winter’s day needing an interpreter, of the sort of fat girls preening wither devotions to almost as fat cheerleader blonds, a thing I shall and cannot be.

So here was the show eventually made by me a modern script, Pygmalia, as a friendly Jewish procurer told me not without some anger, that things were tough now, and it might as well be in the age of enlightenment and a sixties b movie would be a costumed drama. I am sure that the echoes of which still exists in the low rent low ebb tide servers of Zio Frenchy’s Zoetrope, taken off here as being Clever, as the Roman script was Vulgar, big talk from someone who festooned Verdi operatics to the Genovese crime family, but all we Italians know now about taking that which you can get. So it is in there somewhere I am sure, perhaps the nsa, Id rather be watched by them than Universal or Paramount gods knows, as again as told that the film company I changed it to, and the same fatigue of evil, and the cigarette girl being a DNA swipe of Jane Russell as the bombshell reappears as it does in Ovid with cloning as Jupiter, was all there and is available to anyone who wouldn’t believe me, but then what do I care. 


The shows went on and on, and I won’t catch more than ten minuets at a time of this dreck, another Roman rite inculcated in me, though saw they stole this thing in whole, of course all that shit about demographics is horse crud, as the center of the show is a good white man,  again wrestling with dragons, as all in all English literature must be. They stole this good, except the fun and well written parts, as I was told by admiring Zoetrope cog that it was more stage play than not, a speech about selling out hit one of these polish starlets especially hard,  and the fact that there was no brunette. Oh wait there she is, a blond in a wig, thank god now no black face here, anymore, to make the Stan March like man in the gray flannel elevator, this Alan Brady show writer within the folds of tree martini women who lunch American dream gone bad corroders feel human again, and thus this was just a bunch of Jewish writers making themselves feels so good about the fact that they just love all niggers who aren’t losers of lives lottery to have been born on the Jordan, and have to take the collected punches that no Jew in his right mind would hurl, unlike Italians, at the blonds they have been counter intuitively told to deify. A little blond girl from Raymond land perpetual Newsday delivered to circle of hell,  kills herself, as my mind reels with what could be behind that, our affable lunkhead wop Kermit, as he may be next to go, like Gandoilfini, as I don’t trust anyone who wants their children to match the description they give their pimps.

But then I have always been a fan of the Roman clown, the Roman pratfall, the Roman farce, as must say again , these were the once of less than golden woolen who as the Jews were busily defining and defending the theocracy, a first thing Washington wanted no part of, they , the early Italians were making Coriolanus into a clown and a buffoon as I have said before. Which I have said a lot here and think of going to all drawings and leaving our lads at Comedy Central and MSNBC alone, but what fun would that be, and eventually agreement does start to make one suspicious, as Mario Cuomo bless his heart said, when two men agree on everything only one is thinking. Or one is secretly thinking, I'd add. The crappy show was now awash in nostalgia, as it hadn’t been before, but again only watch ten minutes at a time, you know like tithe,  and I was saddened by the fact that this  lackluster crowd, including the man in the middle  Glissando who turned out to be not as far removed from the happy days, you do recall this was the Camelot of Kennedy and LBJ when white liberals consorted the earth goddess as fortunes favorites don’t you…?, The lynching like at jersey were done by democrats you don’t recall…?,  of woman beating and bullying as say Andie poo would like. These monstrosities were shown as the Paul Anka song of my youth played. Good morning yesterday…started, and brought up; thoughts of a better yes better America, in which we were all Peppers and dancing, Fame in the street, the electric company, Bob and Emily, Sunshine cab, Barney Millers twelfth where gays would wince at the idea of a weddings, not in that outfit, do not spit on the floor, Jimmy Rockford and his icy bitchy wife not letting him get a word in edge wise, ah but even the perverts don’t need a Polaroid anymore, and this love of gay marriage will come caressing down as it must when people start using petaphilia as the grounds for diverse as a no fault, and that’s not me equating the two that your gate keeper Mother Dowd, who says the two are connected, as she learned when a sportswriter and studied ethics under Dan Jenkins. This was sad a moment to me as the song was in both AD Hoc and Pygmalia, and a joke turn at a wedding forced and needed for the Rachel Maddow lesbian character I had made here, who had to marry to get her money, as there sis something of the love of Cartman and Bender in me that makes me laugh at the things that men will do. I felt bad that they used this, of all songs, but it did show better than most these Jews in the perpetual cellar can always hear when the cops are coming better than even the niggers on the corner. 

What they missed there, as I have the temerity to say now and again be the mad man at the triumph, or the skunk at the gay nuptials, as I bring a slingshot to the dove release, the dove as we know more a heinous bird than a crow or an eagle would ever be, was the point of my story. Glissando is fatigued by the onslaught of silliness and shallowness, a remark and a hit taken by no less well by Pillow Talk and Doris Day Rock Hudson movies, so please spare me the pompous act, kids, and so he takes to the extortion of a woman, alas a Pygmalion out of whole cloth, at first a mere cigarette girl, then a clone of a dead star to show again, at least things never change eventually even  and all but the most vacuous of white women, like Tacitus to their self same angers, reaches the point where one just pines for Agricola, Beatrice anything that isn’t wholly fake and fraudulent as a Patriots win. After a while even the fags of ESPN are moved to wish to see a Chuck or a Tom or a Dan Marino or someone real, as pussy footing Tom terrific might have to back down, check your phone again, sissy, before you start finding out how many angels dance on the head of a subpoena, bitch,  as strangely Doctor Shrinker amazingly for such a brilliant man is moved to that most un Jesuitical of things, a open permeate and says everything after decade of warbling, silence. The Roman walls fall in and the man is left with nothing to say. Not me, I known when one is caught that’s when one should commit to the blue streak. Owwe wee.

I have waved off much, too much a felt now swimming with recriminations at this turn of events. A hump named Louis CK was on Saturday night, too good for a last name cretin poor mans  Larry David act, we are lousy with them, again telling the good fucks how good they are, as in the seventies we were all bigots, I guess Norman Lear is rolling over in his grave, ah that was before Regan as good GE praetor killed off the fags and incarcerated the rest at a profit, as I hate this goon. I hope he pays and pays bad, as he was here laughing and poo pooing those poor dumb Long Island wops in wet tents after a storm that blew and ill wind name Barry back into power. Those people still live in tents, two years later as we have been discovering the horror of team names, so I hope this Chewbacca , although he was funnier, gets his and his little retardo too. I had heard a rumor this was the last SNL, which the lovely Kate McKinnon sort of underscored, so watched as much as as I could. But these are not the days of miracle and wonder, as satire hasn’t been this bad since dark ages you now attest to, satire is a Roman art that like war, you have rescued to mere drone and push button. As during this show in which the great Cecily shines, I recalled the lack of satire for real, in a shitty show where nightly saw the little ninny from mad men so fill of self admiration , when did again the age of Aquarius become the dark ages…? Will someone tell me…? He and the goofballs who are asked questions, as now every comedian thinks himself Croce, by that high yellow sneering nasal faggot negro at that nightly shit, whose ratings are worse than those which caused them to cancel Corolla, and he was just so in love with himself and his detiriorata and his cable truth. The nigger here is insufferable, as I can deal with and play with Jonnie, Rachel, Keith, but this nigger in the words of Truuuuuuuman he believes his own shit, which is insufferable. This nigger between hummmmphs and sniffles was so upset someone would say they would bomb the Arabs back to the seventh century, number one how could you tell…?, but two, he made sure his smarmy little writer got his digs in as the high yellow bitch deep down knows it was the Arabs who started fishing for human flesh in Africa and sold them to the highest bidder. Ah but in the seventh cycle, Rastus, the Italics, the whole that you dear with not even Tuscan red or mahogany skin, with that marvel dark prismacolor peach of yours like a Nubian Amazon , of Santorum who somehow this had to resound back to, ah yes I think T shirted I was a fag for the FBI queer Prop, col. Savage was on as our gay gadfly’s have lost something since Gore, those people those Italians were in the seventh century still adhering and allegiance to a Roman ethic, that was in taters thanks to at least one side of your half breed family, and all the in-laws of Obama and that the Jews had ever had. I cant take this coon and hope he is summarily gotten rid of and quickly, as I cant take this mother fuckin finger likkin, chikken shitting, mother raping, father hating me lotto coon, house everything parceling at me whitish his keeping it real nigger shit which means just read the paper, and as it is written. I LOOK FOR SOMEONE TO BE A ROMAN IN THIS, even a Becket, and take this crap to the Farce and epic it cries out to be, or even honest to the Boss board came I had as a kid. I had to nail this here for what it is worth and hope it is recalled a again a cable show takes is swan song, or is it dive…?,  on a Sunday when maybe hopefully the economy can tank again, as the air is field with Pixies and sprites worthy of Italian folktales, showed in a cop book I wrote was told I had to get rid of first. I hope it is recalled how much more human and fun and better mien would have been, as my beehive wearers had to be a enthnicas, as Lynda Carter unalloyed amid the good white folks and their love of all things that Himmler loved. I have been told I live in the past, but alas am not the nephew or in law trying to keep Hollywood afloat by the sue of opuses that spilled from the fevered minds of Stan and George.

12 May 2015


‘What if on the dark side of the moon and the center of the earth isn’t a noble poem, but instead a couple of Joke Books. …?”--Tennessee Williams.

As America becomes a Ed Mac Bain night mare and the onion field takes over the earth, we now know that Mother Hillary, witchiepoo herself shall not deign to call the people for whom she bled only seemingly moments ago, as the Middle class. Somehow in our injustice department where women wear Noam Chomsky’s old boxers and cleanse our language of all but what is need for ridicule and business, they have decided that the midio casum, the roman word from which the idea of the middle class comes, there’s a shock, is verboten. And this is on both asides and includes she spic who may be the next other to be Caesar as like Hadrian there is no pesky patriotism on the part of a Spaniard Roman king, and mostly no devotion to any conscript farther, whose constitution is in the witches and patricians way, coyly that pesky fifth amendment and eighth and others as we head towards a Salo, but with a shmere of out of placed sanctimony. Al, Al Franken, and other Jews making it up from Levittown shall be our lady at the vomitorium, extolling being saved by Christ, one that Billbo can write the gospels for between pops, all an image that is better than any to describe where we are now.

But I couldn’t watch the living eulogies for Brady poo, our latest sociopath to come crashing to the ground, as I have had an inkling since Richie Incognito that the Roman gods just under the surface of Catholicism and Catha especially, the boy charioteer who would not lose , is out for blood. Instead of hearing the Jewish hacks tell the house coloreds at the boys room what they were to think now, I saw ‘the departed’ was on that loop of both Tarantino and Scorsese this channel seems to engage in. And with dollop of the Godfather in original form, I guess it was bloated enough, making me wonder what the Jews are about to steal now. But I did watch it as have the mater key now, somehow like Dante if I may, who was being taught to hate all things Italic by horrid Greek teachers, pushy is as pushy does, as in Italay men were killed for not believing in a Ptolemaic universe predating Christ by a thousand years… and then had a fagot named Guido, before that name became an acceptable slur, who taught him that Virgil was no mere Poet, a dime a dozen title, like how ever niggeress is a diva now, or the fact that Rand Paul holds the same title as Cato, and taught him the glories of Virgil as satirist and historian and the revenge of the saturnine poets that the Greeks burned and thus turned on Virgil whom they had described as a Roman Homer. And then he want and wrote out the Trojan horse episode that Homer uh…missed. Myth Greeks were in their Nazi text book glories here, and the first Roman looked down and disdains the men of the horse as connivers and cheaters at warm ad to Roman ears there was nothing worse. The prefectures of the lawyer and the advocator also believed in war as holy, and the games a foot below that. So, in that ways, not to seem sacrilegious I watched the whole Scorsese puppet show armed with insight. Leo Decapiro is a game rooster plucky and available and decent amid the horrid basstan accents and even Martin Sheen elderly badlands boy, shot deserter in dotage, and in fact, was the voice of Ovid in a laudatory special on the Romans that the PBS hacks soon enough tiered of in their own toilets, and fag weddings, as the Romans, bless them, saw the prevision of marriage as something that the fascists get to, as did Augusto demand the fagots be married off, you didn’t know…?… before the queers did bend here, where they were all dead from aids and no one could say basta to the idea of the cotillion meets the bathhouse. So I watched this film, intently, as blond Italo Leo looked more Irtysh than not, and yet still always has that italic streaks in him keeping him more human than the dreaded Joe dirt.

But I couldn’t catch the end of Brady, as heard a discordant note of Fredrick March with placards and old biddies coming town with banners all unfurled and drums and stanzas of Brining in the sheaves, we will go retouching brining in the sheaves…I can only hope like that play that Brady has the decency to drop dead at the foot of a tired old Keith as liberal lion, but of course no Gene Kelley here as Menken, he is dead and all smoke two dollar ceegars now, as the Jew babies tell us that caught as a cheater somehow allows you to be the best of anything. Then, having had enough, heard Jeremy Schapp, second generation bag man, say and reassure us all that he, Tommy Tomorrow,  was no Arod or Peter Rose, you know the people we are allowed to hate. But since I didn’t get molested or aids or syphilis from the Priests as a boy, the least I could do is not accept verbal jock struck bunting as truth because Jeremy Schapp says it. Of course to go Jesuit as I am want to do, it was worse what Shady Brady did than anything you destroyed Ray or Adrian or Richie for, all of whom hereto not allowed a fifth amendment that the new sheriff  in town Gödel didn’t know he had. I wonder if Richie knew he could say no when they came for his phone, aha hbut teh yoyoyo mudboens and negreos wasnt fer nonna dat, well, when you struck out at hazing and bounties you made it sound like you were better than mere lunkhead gladiators, you know while men die in mud holes and the queen Dido mules cash from the tennis shoe king, ...hmnnn...as the collected Negros of the bathroom have come to their faerie queens deftness, even with a shrug as aren't paid enough to be truth outraged by anything. American Hokum. It was worse than any peds, sorry Skipio, because, no one who took peds, no nigger or wop, no Giambi or Barry, none made you take anything or worse made you take a pill that made you weaker as a pitcher, you could and did take the same pills, whereas Brady, yeah only him,  made sure young lions like Flacco and Luck threw shot puts in the rain cause, look everyone, Aeneas has small hands and cant grip the ball. Ah I love when things get Freudian. It was worse than anything that anyone did who got worse, but then Brady has always been the kind of girl they want to take home too Mother, though to be fair when a lovely woman named Anne Bancroft was brought home by Mel Brooks the mother monster emeritus made a point she was going to commit suicide, so Brady being effaced, the name of the demon in AR back before I found the insatiably better African name Kemeter, must go down hahd…pun intoned. As now I know the Roman gods if not Yahweh was always on Al Davis’s side anyway. I have said I am not a football fan, I watch the Cowboys. Which if Brady gets special treatment will have to face a team once and future Americas team with a owner who grumbles about things with a way that makes the cheese whiz king look like a Lutheran. As a Good Roman I love a spectacle and so will watch that first game on where else, NBC, as there hero boy is gone and onto the field will come clomping and bumbling fat Ben, Rottensberger, who got the same penalty for his third rape…oh what a Roman moment that shall be…!

So, unwilling to watch the longest death scene since Camille, I watched ‘the departed’ why I am still unsure, and heard that moment that made me wistful and sad. In Roman Mythology a script torn from trigger street and zoetrope for vulgarity and violence, though there is more vitriol in a shampoo commercial  and purposefully so, I had a scene where Clementine Macedonia, an important name before this too was pilfered by the Indy films hacks, all dreaming of eventually making Batman shit, sing the anthem of sadness from Van Morrison, ‘comfortably numb’ as she does , a wanna be singer we Italians have been made all wanna be everything as the Jews were much less given to satire than us, as opposed to Ridicule on demand, and she sings this lovely song in  a white dress, in which the strap is fixed with a  purple ribbon from the roman tie worn by her admirer, Brutus, showing a scene of sweetness that some couldn’t stand. It was out of place in our gumba world, as the Jewish hag to keep Robert Di Nero  books said, Italians don’t fall in love and then tread to get me in Trouble at the arts school I was at, as when niggers like Dinero or Thomas get in, the foist thing they do is throw the ladder over the edge. I felt badly at this moment when two Italians, blond and Milanese like, Vera and Leonardo weren’t quite Wendy like in their sensuality, but had enough that this actually bothered those white trash matrons, who have always made sure that their admiration of Martin boiyee comes with a demand that hed be cold and analytical, no Naples oranges for him, but like I said, this is the interesting stuff in his overre, as he fills with worse recriminations than I do.

The book is recalled in me, the Boccaccio book that tells that Dante found his genius in those lines of the Aeneid, some lines of Virgil as Tennessee called it,  if he may be called that by the priests of middle brow, and it isn’t just for German music savant hacks and Duke Ellington, how one finds everything said by these teachers are to be avoided are as Gore said, useless and awful, and in fact, the Sabine helmet strikes back, mother fuckers.


My father and the jurist queers he sort of handed me over to for indoctrination, all thought America was a swamp, to be made worse as the Jews and wops and Irish thugs as evidenced in the assembly of kings now, would be nothing but bag men for their blond whore in-laws. They both died in the eighties, my father as a ninety year old, tired and let go, I sort of dismissed him and his bullshit of advancement, no house nigger Barry was I, but the Jesuits were only in their forties damningly dying of a pandemic whose droppings if I may dehumanize, would now all be reciting vows that the priests Were sure were made only for women. The first thing to go in gay marriage after all, as recently  the awful Birdcage movie, was that someone would act the part of wife. Only so far we can stretch shit. But they wouldn’t have been shocked as I, their survivor have seen their warnings come alive as insanely gumba Jews and TV magic queers like Greenberg and the oaf, no problem here, is there ever…?, and Yahoo queers like The Zabe, whatever that is, and Skippio, all read from a similar script to save their hero, Americas junior miss, Tom Brady. One, at easy me, taught by the ghosts of sodemites and lovers of Ovid past, can see when the machine is oiled and ready, as boys in the band speak their ventriloquism arts, such as heavy handed is repeated about a decree from new York, Clown car, the parrots do their bidding, double booking all the way, as again nothing wrong was done by anyone who mattered, as the Pollock’s of the washroom are sent packing. Ah, but if it wasn’t for dichotomy we couldn’t have a civilization. Ah but Tom, recall the Jesuit training…wait are there Jesuits at Michigan…?, about hubris. Take the deal Tom, sit down like a man and take your punishment, this isn’t a sack, you don’t have to screech at everyone, like your soul was bruised because Terrell hit you good, till the drugs wear off, he the nigger dumb enough to think he has the dignity of a Gladiator in this Jewey land, where our entrainment is stoning the broads and keeping the prime interest rate at o.o. See, as a Jesuit pre law boy can tell you, when you instigate the summons, and you sue, as in Ill see you in court, the burden of proof as yours, and so, that phone comes in, and the Salo and boys that might be trapped in there like a fairy Phantom zone, become eviiidensssse, as I never bought the Zelda love affair with that Macedonian tranny you call a wife. Take the deal Tommy, as if Shiva herself comes down and says it, as if you push it, well, how many angel’s dance on a head of a subpoena boyeee, the world may never know. Eventually, all is Roman, and Gödel like a Caesar will be angry that only Ritchie and niggers can be his victims, as found a Roman book I might make a comic that the Baltimorons made me recall. Caesar appears in one of the few times, the great monster is in the Tony verse, and eventual demands the head of a man thinking he can be hated by him, and still have impunity. No heroes, as Virgil taught me, as Caesar screeches ILL DESTROY ANYONE I PLEASE to Antony. He might come to demand your head on a stick, just to show as Machiavelli said, power is the trappings of power, why always laughing and stealing Billie said of the NOW they, women, don’t have imprimaturs to give or flaunt or prick…ah Georgetown before the fall…and so, take your medicine tough guy, and go away before you spill the bag and break that is inside. Now that’s like Juvenal. Not that it helps.  

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02 May 2015


22 April 15


In doing a comic quickly and compactly and still gibing in to an occasional flourish, I out of order do a story called Mr. Immortal. Though something of a batman mullue, still from the name make him a strong man as I am want to do. But he is sad, and am true to the writer as best as can be, no Kirby elbow throwing for Big Tony, I realize in the beginning was the word not that gag.

I wanted to make the wife for whom he pines and sadly misses look like Suzanne Phlechette, I mean don’t we all…?, as she exemplified a anti-solemnities sophistication that the masters have redcued to queers at the cotillion. I don’t like gay marriage, as it seems a death knell to the American left, where over fed perverts in over catered affairs released the doves, or is it drones, and all can be made acceptable to white woman matrons who sued to say well I never and fainted as then did as dowagers in Plautus and the Simpson, a continuous unbroken line, don’t you love farce, oh wait no you don’t. I wanted Ms Immortal to look like Emily Hartley, as the essence of a lost Ansonia which our men in drag don’t even recall as they demander the sign of barney miller bathroom be made official for all. Ex Officio, it’s what fags have been dreaming of and desire really since Nicene, as it is an off shoot of the basic dick joke in said Plautus. No Miles Glorious here, we weep for the soldiers like the fags who can’t see the doctor this week either.

But while googling drawings of Suzanne , went to something called ‘Stupid comics‘, another snide testament at humor by the mommies boys, as in if you are stupid I am by default witty and if you are evil then I am good, and thus drones and tax cuts for all! In this site of a since I got from some as old as me in arts school still hanging on with both hands to perpetual youth, as in some there who older than me never heard of Beannie and Cecil, the Phantom, etc, this snide hack, remember the are the stupid comics, kids, books written and as art no worse than anything for children, where the hidden messages aren’t all about bathroom sex as seen now, made a point that the drawings of Suzanne were taken from mgm era 8 by tens. As why this is a demerit only the closeted and their hairdressers know for sure, and she was demeaned as a minor celebrity, in our age of Keeping up with starlets…? , no, no Bob Newhart show for this tree hosuer, we are far too snide for Bob and Emily and Jerry and Carol, the terrific Carol,  as we live out our lives in reruns of the horrid soulless Seinfeld toxic spill. I downloaded the pictures for later use, it is amazing what one ahs to do to find treasure in the shit hold of now, not shocked that this ninny didn’t like Emily, too pretty, and too sarcastic, always a mistake  when around the closets or the weddings held within, as am sure this valued customer just lives for the latest plagerism by Grant Morrison, who still steals from Alan, making something called Pax Americana, which seemed to offend me more than before watchmen did, and see them try again to amok Captain marvel, or is that a woman now like the rest of us, and say leave CC and Alan’s creations , you hack, alone.


Again, I am bursting with recreations goodness as see the faltering of America as more early or surely seen by me than the equal Romantic mistakes and falls I have made. Over Easter, we sat there to avoid the relatives and their gloom, and we watched The Wolf of wall street, Scorsese answer to a question no one asked, or even hinted at. But though once I was commissioned to write a review of The aviator, and admitted that I didn’t bother to see it, my best kind of reviews, and this was an anthemia to the white chicks of honest brokering, though I admitted I didn’t see the shit, as opposed to Anthony Burgess, who wrote essays over books he didn’t bother to read or of hios own work,  add just knowing what they were, I was asked two questions, who did I think I was and second, whose is Anthony Burgess, always lovable to know one is dealing with that middles of brows.

But I did watch this, as this time the usual suspects were different, oh, there was game and handsome Italian Kid, Leonardo Dedcaprio, who did a yeoman’s job, a virtual corpse man, throwing him self here and there with aplomb as if a yiddy Hamlet, the hebe ghost of his father, meathead, afraid that as it always doesn’t all would come crashing down, as the Jews are after all the born losers of a lesser God. But I noticed that again I was right, and he ahs his bag of tricks, his go trod scenes like any hack, the brunette wife left for a blond cunt, who always in the end regrets her dipping her toe into the middle sea, a need for action, the distain of those on the subway who have the dignatus, vitiates and gravitas of working for a living, as my father told me fingering you all, Sicilians would rather chance death than work for a honest wage. All the god fellow shit here worse than ever, as mad man huckster Jew Jordan Belfort, heyhey, tunnels his way up from Tetanus ala Lucifer, not Kemeter the Italian poems from which Milton stile his really irreconcilable  scenes with the turgid and awful Genesis, or is it Long Island that the Mercian dream came up from this time. Funny pantomime was here as to ethics with a half ethnic blond who cant make it to pin up status looks on, they almost kill themselves with Ludes, is the new copy of National Lampoon in, …?, as having watched the special on ‘American greed’ first knew that the boyfriend of Jordan, another Jewish hack money grubber was hardly the jewey fat bloated silly and clownish Jonah Hill, but looked like a decagonal frat boy, but with Sicilian knives or is it vespers at the ready, Scorsese sued his every same end his every trick to get even with the chosen who wouldn’t let him , and this is true told to me by a Jewish Hollywood insider who came to like me, but told me Roman Mythology as unmakebale as after all, he had to deal with the goys in ways I didn’t care about, haha!, wouldn’t let silly slimy little Martin make Rag time, and not Amadeus, nor a scipt written by Gore Vidal, no not Justinian, which was one he wrote but not for Martino, but in fact, Billy the Kid, a hero to us criminal class  everywhere, which Martin was unalloyed to do. Aha, I sing the stereotype electric, and this time, perhaps looking at the death of his artists life less a Virgil than a Leo Gosrey, he defied that the West End in Rome, where the farces played, yes you white trash have come up with nothing, was the meanest street of all.

So, we watched and I rather enjoyed it as this time, the clown shoe was on the other foot, but certainly not that FAR from Adriatic,  and could see why house ethnics like Kosreghiesre so soon after Richie were so ver kempt by its horridness. Again, purposefully and with a pluck I didn’t think he had, he slimed those Jews good, as if that book could by Catullus, the reason that all critics were superfluous. I watched him delve into depravity and vulgarity, he had the acuity some survivors grandchild said,  to call it American Salo, dear Martin did I teach you nothing-- oh that’s right you censored me out of hand, turnabout is a favorite play as Caesar said, hehe!, but I could have warned you they don’t want Amercing Decameron, or Commedias, much less the depravity of them who stole power as the fiasco empire state days dwindle to a September song of sodemy. Sing a song of crows in a pie, as the fable goes, Martin…gaiety as he never had before, take that Ghost of Dore Sherry for all those minor arts you made me wade through, making sure that I had to return to Matawan new Jersey and piers of cardboard and rust when I still attempt of Calbiria, or is it Calabria, which a attuned Jewish office gal in Hollywood with a massive rack ala Mad men, and who sent me pictures of herself in a two piece where were I guess an primal version of Jdate but alas am so far away, as this time, from Jerseys heart he struck back at the Jews in cooperate as to save his wayward rotten sunken soul. For years Scoreasy’s balk arts, as now he is Brutus, you more than when he was merely giving the boys from Columbia someone to laugh at, Jewfekllas was a disaster in ways usually not held in Hollywood, in that he was a loss leader much of his life, a salon café hack, and now this film about greed made 400 million, and was his best take ever, which armed the staff at the Daily show, now even more scared.

I  know of Italians who were easily losing their jobs when believed stupidly in an American dream, and who like my father wanted nothing to do with this late minstrel show, as back then, the human handmaids didn’t cry for slurs as they do so now, and Whoopee and her hags were silent on the matter, if not mcing mob wives. So now you get matrix what I said you had coming, as now, Shazam!, you’re poor, you’re living in new Messina, with doges as Dante said made of self made shit, now it your turn at the Godfather Parade with dollar bills if you have them pinned to the Virgin as has been done since Etruscan Menvra was strolled through town by men who dressed ironically And amusingly like a  later Klan, again showing you came up with nothing. Now, after seven years of carpet bombing company queer hijacks, now Betty Pocahontas and Boyney did you eat the toikey and unrevealing hag Hilleary who will run when she’s dead, now they discover the poor and fact that ninety cents of every dollar goes to the rich, ah the joke in the essay Life of Brutus unnoticed  by the censors at the Napa wine cellar ex film studio was I wrote it in Present tense, he was always about to unfurl a flag on hills over there,  and even future tense, as much’s  the vulgar English tongue could allow, as warning, I is the auger, that Martin baby, steaming and angered, whereas I was placid and Antonine, it means a name later of a man dignified and yet beaten, a name taken in the Augustan history more than Augustus was, ah too late wise, too soon old, --was about to as Brutus always does amid the coinage, blow and he was pointed at you, not me. I merely looked away. As now you know this, after years of throwing Jonnies in laws on wall street in our face…ah an election year looms. And now, you’re poor and Roman Antony just adores that.



Having acquaintances in low places, I received an alert by email that were I to go to Bing, what the hell is bing…?, and not merely Yahoo, and not censorious Google, and packed in the search bar ‘Wendy Fiore, [then an exclamation]“ , I would see the unicorn for which men such as me have been pining. On a short clip grainy and colored all in oranges, I saw a pretty, sturdy, dark haired woman being fucked by a lounging man, and saw immediately that this was either Wendy, or a look-alike, And Roman gods know, that was close enough. It would have been harder to tell had she been nude, but since she ever wasn’t, I was apparent immoderately it was she, down to her own poverty arts  by use of the same holly golightly glasses, ray bans, god this broad hits all the major chords,  she had worn before in a similar hair cut, as I saw it was she, that was apparent. I saw this over and over seated there as if watching a zepruder film, though she in  nudity or lack there of never bothered me. Of course my first question was were was the rest, as I cant be a good American pervert who dreams of marriage as all,  like a waltzing lisping Sadie Hawkins and unfairly for the blue noses, I adore sex as an Italian can and might, as Metternich that German we may not quote now to make it seem Hitler somehow curdled German ethics than reveal it, said of napes that it was a modern Babylon, as you blue nose boy lovers and Jews are so want to do. I watched the clip and knew eventually it was her, gloriously, olive skinned, called orange now by those clerks who may not say high yellow at the trough,  and wished I could see the whole thing. As she true to an Italian princess attribute says ‘Basta‘, how in gods name did I miss this, not being queer I have no desire to have insurance companies commercials pester me intro being lame, Italian for enough, and she does look the part of Roman diva, as in Italay sex and its goddess has never been as amusingly insufferable as it is now to the fags of marriage and the white women who like senators of the yenta class scaled Scorsese corpses of plastic, but close enough for closet Satanists, to beget to where they are now.

I have made a point not to go to these awful websites anymore, though to show the power of Wendy, she is included often in lists of x rated clips, though little more than fifties cheescake, still she shines within the vulgarity oif vthin women’s gyno exams. Even when she is only in a yellow swimsuit or something like that, showing again I had both America and Rome pegged in a book called Ancient Romance, where the old pontiff recalls the girl in the bay of Naples swimming in a sea, that no puritans or Prussians can ever really take without being poisoned by a  gay lover as did happen in the ancient days to the German who thought stupidly he had conquered, when he had only sacked, Rome. The fact that these websites of low end filth occasionally and more often than that have a glowing shining image of Turan Italic Wendy there dressed and not being fucked with crullers like the fat chicks often are,  is as close to the recreations of a dying empire that we can get as the daily show Jew rat unravels, carrying water to the end, no Becketts here, mistah bones, the bribe is all, the paycheck, in a land of poverty is miracle, and we have all had quite enough of his small craft warnings caused by Aeolius winds of self congratulatory applause and gusts of wind. Howl.

I got tired of them sites when seeing her there, defamed often as she was a tease, when in fact what would it all be but as it is the apple life you think is reality, and we all diverged  when we seemed to differentiate and fish tale from each other on the definition of the word fat. When I say fat I mean it as a girl means it, womanish and zaftig. When they say fat they mean it the way the brothers do, i.e., really obese, and who needs that…? I did look it all up chasing it down, as loved the mere Idea of it, the sun goddess as fuck buddy, especially if she, woman on top and born diva decided to say stop because as all Italian women have been since Rhea, that’s right Ma Rhea was mother of Romulus, she is in charge, which mainly doesn’t have to as it did with the Jews make you a eunuch. Of course, it was Wendy, and I watched it in awe of the woman, as saw now densely which should please find the rest, according to her names who I had noted make a point of how beneath she was to their tastes and acceptability, every girl superior of being jacked off to by the dickless wonders of now, no,,, still I saw some of those names recaptured with a clip begged to see more, needed to see more of this girl, as another clips showed she , a bit litigious about things and the vomitorium, stupid wop girl thinks she has a right top her image, welcome to the ncaa !,  she wanted no part of to excise this clip, proving to me it was her, as this was nothing half the tramps of Hollywood hadn’t done and more blue nosed times than now if possible, as seen in a book that never finished it self, here I refer to called a perfect Answered Prayers.

I used the poverty of the age of Obama and his bankrolling Jew in laws stealing 90 cents out of every dollar, something an anathema to those now like Bernie and Warren and even Hillatta mouths the words of reformer mad man Catalina  without much gusto, and I placed that all in AR, finally written out completely when in 2010 did first encounter the perfect Turan that would make a demon cum, Wendy. But now, with that is taters as so much, cant find On Roman warfare though an agent seeing this whomever wishes to see it as is a Roman aficionado, yeah, now, who isn’t…?I tire of poverty, I am sick of drug store artfulness, as Roman auger warn you again, you’ll find out what happens just like survivor Cicero when the people are hungry and you make the mistake of getting on that high horse, as the Romans said with distain of all Greeks, had the Trojans been smart, one match would have given them the world forever.

I send the Clinton pages, The dinner with the praetor instead, where the Bill C of the Tony verse, Claudianus, explains at a dinner the story of stories of an Italian Bible, that has surged and will survive every Luther and Isis that the whitest can make. I send it there, and a few other places as was told of its sweetens and dignity by black women no less, as after all, even those I am said to hate come to admire me for never ever giggling into my sleeve, and don’t take the side of a regime that nobly months ago he was pillaring and humiliating in his first attempt at moviemaking, where he knows the real money is, but alas, Jewry Jon has forgotten all about Rosewater too.

I hear that soon a dinner of Trimalchio standards will be headed by sweetheart comedy gal crush engendering Cecily Strong, the perfectly named priestess of Versa, with a sarcastic edge, wouldn’t it be funny, if this siren, how we know like Hercules a Italian deity ‘appropriated’ by always helping himself Homer, what if she, as if called still a mania by Roman loving Freud, was the dark haired cunt leading Barry to his doom, as he fell off the edge of the earth, as Sicilians sailors once the rival and bane to even Phoenicians, believed. Sorry, but the insolent requiem of one black hoodlum after another fomented by suddenly tethered to the desk Negros agitators means nothing to me, especial like coming this close to Sacco and Vanzetti, saints I was told by fascist queer priests, have been suddenly trashed and reexamined and ensnared by creepy Jewish hacks cripples always the first to croak us towards war, and thank god Mad men is finally gone. And damningly with no shame, pencils sharpening essence toady and hack Chris Matthews wistfully speaks of having “warehoused” the niggers, how sad our doge’s vizier be, he and his partisans, has sued for generational shipping to the polls, sadly that they had been only kept in pens, admitting as much as the Jewish hacks and black chicks look on unwatched and unwatchable, as the tenements start to bristle and seethe again. I hope for out and out revolt. Alas, this isn’t being fomented by Soursos, I think, yet another negro requiem, place Cicero line here, a true suspicious move this close to elections, as Cattline told Cicero back, the banks will take care of themselves, Tully, its your tenements and ghettos which you should have worried about. In the end, as when forced out of the senate, poor Romans threw nails at the Jewish hack from the Italian Apennine hills, to signify the purge of the senate of all men who didn’t love the rich, and the crusade, meaning a line of crosses that had been packed up by the decree of the man of the people. All we have is niggers. As a Roman, I love a parade.

In the image of greatest witch, good Wendy, even in this grainy scene, this vignette that shines with the bliss of the undercurrent and the disrepute, maybe especially in this, I see life and joy and sex and humanity as Hillary trudges ahead, expartea for Tara, or did they forget about all that too…again, big talk. I adore this girl, this Roman dea, this Turan that could make a daemon cum, this outrageous and yet still pretty anathema to the fat blonds and their transvestite creeds. I adore this gal, and needless to intone, was out of high speed by the tenth of the opening month, as washed this over me and over for reason that went beyond merest sexual, and inculcated and incarnated all which I love in a single bounce, and single epithet of perfect Italian, the inflection is not Spanish as one said, as I adore her as she is everything that you all hate. She examples all that I revere, she is a human vessel of life and joy and italic sensibility, a Venus is she would, a woman as seen in renaissance art as the center of everything, the she, her above all, and I am saddened to know I sat in a tower and finagled with thousand page stories that even affable Jews tried to turn commerce, and didn’t understand what the hell I was talking about as those poor fucks just wanted another puppet show or toy line,  as I was waned and they didn’t understand my churlishness. But as a woman who I showed her picture to as the perfected  Big Bertha, revenge goddess against the outfit, based on truth,  in a play I wrote, the woman producer did a double take and a wow elicited, and she told me, theyd never go for it, as she said, the ditz and the hag had recalled the bombshell. I full with self anger. The Italian nymph flies back from the water, the Italian returns, life and joy and heat and breath and sweat within a world too addicted to its cold battles and its iron thrones and medieval dice.