COMITATUS.

After finessing pages cleared to be submitted, when somehow blindsided by comics hacks on perpetual parade, I sent them in to various sites I had been doing well with and accepted into only to get a frigid silence, and not even a whiff of diminishment or distaste. Ah, I take it I have been banished from the comic kingdom, or ghetto, its doesn’t matter, both are acceptable, and both tell the truth. Not caring about distance from the kiss less hacks of comic land, where like Stan lee they think all truth is something that can be found on the late late show, I could care less, though prepackaged these pages as have done since twelve to send off to whatever comics lands I can find, thrown off to anyone who like me is tired of the American ethos of a love of dark ages. As I have said before have been legit in my tiredness of the bed wetter assassin cradlers since twenty, when I first and best thought I was too old for the sissies of pulp, made all the worse by thinking their watercolor image palate made everything look hip.

But, as usually when dealing for some reasons with the comics twerps, there is a underground of comic hacks worthy of a black web, the writes which they all are sue the brightly colored images from Hanna Barbara to hide and mask their true insinuations, nightmares and fears, and so, again my computer as broken apart by caught viruses which seem you’d think by now Id know attach themselves to the lovers of death called the comic hacks and you’d think I would leave such dumps be, as even in emails telling me to go to bleeding cool from some, as if, I somehow had a hp catch a cold, a nd it was ruined. Not that windows ten wasnt already a dagger it saw before it, as that and a DVD app, and photo apps not include in the free pace leaving much of my work mute as a starving Roman, downloaded caused a friction that left it useless, and this time, a quick restoration process, as it didn’t in Victorian England, didn’t work, and may have put things worse. So, without a funnel to the modern Delphi, I went upstairs into the attic into a pizzel maker Christmas box and found an old compact computer that has been lying there since at least when Nicky Tricky Sabin had yet to leave the dolphins that cold December night. I took it and cleaned it of my sisters imatched inquiries as she found she had been placed on a suckers list making me file that idea away for a rom com a bit more vicious and vituperative  than anything Sandra Bullock has ever done, story of my life as have been told I can be funny or I can be touching, but I cant be both. I took the lap top, not a fan thereof, anyway, and it works well enough since I got rid of the strange pictures the pleading I match, erectile dysfunction, on the make, dufuseses sent my sister, who were all looking, trolling, for a desperate broad, and downloaded my own stuff. But a cord and battery was gone, and works too, and all my stuff had been unrevealed since ten came out, so had to go to staples, the closest store that doesn’t have it but can order one, life on the ponderosa,  here amusingly enough I actually this time found what I needed, and put this haphazard computer together. But it took about 200 bucks all together to buy a new battery and works so I could read my stuff, something unable to do in windows ten which who knew they’d go Stromboli, that’s allowed as jewed down is not, and cheap out and make people get a free system and then nickel and dime them for cash needed app, showing the ethics, if Cresses is alive.

But because I had to do this and race about back and forth to staples who since Romney has and knows nothing, we don’t sell windows 7 I was told, wait what…?, and we never sold it, so there, but try office max an affable black gent said in almost whisper, as they have nothing ten computable. Oooohgnnnnnnphhha as pop said, but went here and there and in three days biblically put a box tougher to get on to modern Delphi and be on line, as we all must be. Why I hurried so is a mystery now, as in fact the September 10th deadline for these cartoons has come and gone without a notice, but still I must place this here as to show Warren and the Marvellettes I am invictus, or at least unbowed, and that again, there is decency to the Roman grease pencil, as graffito is after all, history of those men you ignore or shame, and I must make the Jesuits proud, at least a little bit. Silence met the work acceptable only weeks ago, but then does anyone ever look at this shit here before I hand something back in…? The quiet was Welcome relief. But the money spent to put this ad hoc box back together, meant that I was tapped, again, as have been all summer as an enclose of my own money is down to ones and fives again, and don’t feel like doing anything for money again. I wanted to go to the Pittsburgh comic con, but alas could not. Though when I said this, my brother who would have to drive me, said don’t be scared of seeing these comic creeps, Tony, don’t back down because those hacks and ninnies are there, or those comic queers, what is this, these sissies becoming elites now…?, they decide who can speak and where you can go, what are they bad asses now because no one is there to hurl them into lockers…? my brother was viably upset that I might have been intimated, which frankly I really isn’t, but just don’t have the cash or want him to spend it. I have the money he said, Ill pay for us to go if you’d want. No I said, I know he hates those sort more than I, though is more affable than Ill ever be, but I thought was tired out after a week of this back and forth and though as making a portfolio as an ultimate fuck you to the arrested development crowd, didn’t go.

I had to call a girl I knew, Queen Victoria, who is coming back from Paramus to be here, who noted to meet with me, and called her and sadly found myself walking away from the cute girl again, which serves me right. She will, if she even comes, will get a autograph from Lou Ferrigno for me, as she knows the story about how the dismissal of him and Stallone as uberman so imposed me as a kid that the idea of the body builder Italian superman was born, hence Roman Conan, no not that one, an antithesis to my beloved cc beck, but filial piety on display. In this I predicted the later image supermen and atomic wonder men, but again, I got there with much more panache and warmth. Though cant get a response from the comic hacks, really this is low level and the smell of sulfur if not sweat makes me ill, I do have an opening from a pulpish publisher for Rag, as the original Mario Puzo like paperback I envisioned, and have several floppies which holds it all, but pages in apache and brother wp, but i should get even by returning to words.

I watched the game on Thursday, though a fan on neither team, and turned it immediately when saw the con was on with how the black coach, like the black quarterback  before him, was devastated by the medusa of football, so vouched for by bathroom boys and Jews and house coons. As even Mud bone couldn’t stop googol eyeing long enough to ask the always seeing jealousy  everywhere in everything,  Kornehiser around him, always willing to come to Bellicheat’s defense, as it protects Tribesman Kraft, don’t think that isn’t involved, but Mudbone couldn’t make his fat lips curl to ask when clicking off dynasties for whom this wasn’t done, ah the names Landry and Americas team wasn’t mentioned, cause again, niggers are born con men and that was hitting too close to home. Lets ask if Landry was cheating, you know, between Billy Graham missions, shall we…? So again, I cant stand anything Roman when it becomes this Greek, and since calculation is only a half note from conniving, that

only a half note from cheating, and thus do rei mi, I said enough, and turned it off to some movie, as find your bad versions of Rome have bored even me, but then I know all the punch lines. But, this was spoken of all night, as he was warned by low rent, babblers, oh finally the threadbare bothers even Franciscan me, yow!,  one doesn’t want to look like a sore loser, the credo of cheats and bag men since Isaiah, or is it icarus...who cares. the coach finds his one honest moment as unheard, he is the latest  black victim of mister mind, Tom Terrific and Sharon the football circus owner, but I couldn’t care, but was glad to see it continue, as once you carry water, get ready for the dislocations to start, Marius barefoot Roman Clinton shaper than all the swells were, said with his usual wit, and this was a best f off in week needing them to all teach all step men who unromantically thought they just wanted to blood sports to start and begin, that Bellicheck like the Clintons would only stop when their act got stale, boring and repetitive to the circus land. Id say like Gore they’ll only stop with embalming fluid, but it will end long before that. As if that meant anything, as if, I Roman Antony , who saw that occupy and the tea party would have their revenge against ninny lipless wonder Barry, as if I, who saw the Clintons becoming the duke and duchess of Syracuse, he ends up strangling her over a scalped beautiful Italian woman he has destroyed for madam power-hungry, oh its all so Roman, but not quite, I made them not ready for Boccaccio players, back when lesbians were making fat jokes about a Jewish girl who didn’t matter, as though I didn’t know that just playing the games couldn’t indeed make everything worse.