10 January 2016




10. Even my agronomists eyed brother who despises these CBS laugh track shows saw me watching it and snickering and sat and watched it and actual let me watch another with him as usually he isn't big on laugh track shit and watched a and e and H as bullshit ancient alien astronauts conjecture is the closest thing to classics that the Ovid reciting man can find. As Max though be smitten me was the sort drug loving tough chick curvy gummadi he grew up with, CURVY, LIFE AFFIRMING, LIKE HOW THE FAGS WHO ADMIRED HIM EVEN MORE THAN I, Making him read Metamorphoses in the original as a boy, but then no one cares about our abuse at the hands of priests as it wasn't vulgar enough to give the Anderson Cooper the woody he is staying classy is always on the outlook for lest he have no feeling of Charity at all in his eating and spewing life. Faith Hope and Charity are these three graces that GE will pay the anarchists not to have as they push the product.

Sat there with him as we watched this show, as again our Aquinian blood approved at Max though he did lower the remote when the blond was shrieking about something. There was a cute line where lip glossed vamony Max dressed perfectly as the bean pole was blathering about something, and she said, that she was hording a half a vidacin for new years. Well we have both been there as this made my brother laugh, as somehow truth even romance comedy truth got into a sanitized and horrid and venial, better word than vulgar, television in which horrid woman tell us how nobel they are, in ways they once could only do with the assorted help.

Im not your mammy or aunt Jemeima Tina, so, there hun, these two girls seemed to make racial, height, sex and drugs jokes willingly and eagerly and the peanut gallery even the ossified one at CBS, once like the Cowboys and America shining bright, laughs as did me, never even considering this show before saw the blond on some show and saw in a clip the kind of girl I literally dream about, but alas this time can take the blond as she is self deprecating in ways fat news chicks are not, and is despised by the giant Polish woman, which proves again, someone in this set had nuns, who I recall detested the Beths too, ...they are so Beth.

I came to dread Christmas the last few years as cannot stand the influx of relates and a full house, though the days I recall of my mother making patters of a kind of canoli you out there have never had those are long gone, disappeared when I BECAME ILL, and women she had known for decades refused to come to my house, fearing as a blond girl did when I was in school, that somehow these wops on strings would catch some sort of epileptic germ form me, and I am not kidding as the Italians are amiss since giving the vocabulary to almost everything, still many,especially Sicilians are amazingly... my what is the word...?Yes, Superstitious, which again is a given Roman word which only means religion, the religion of our fathers, when held on too after Constantine and his Jewish girlfriend, there is always a Jewish girlfriend, some Max in the past highfalutin it for a neronian creep. I see they made the laws of their fathers and the bacchanalian illegal unless it was the mass, eventually made illegal by a Luther who had become more lawyer sly than a fat white man should be. Look it up. Beard and wine, and the transubstantiation, oh it was pagan alright, but ti was thousandth years old and a rite done by priests of mars when Romulous was a boy and thus 824 years now they say before Junior showed up. Its stuff like that that despite my occasional sneers at Jews or even making all my Christ guild like super villains Jews, eventually Jews like me, for my pubertal anti Jesus and more anti Luther stands. I only liked Luther when he was played by Hackman. Heh. 


11. I found myself finding which stations played 2 broke girls and when and juggled my life accordingly. When my sister came home and thought shed watch this dreck, no in fact, the woman I saw watching Gilligans island like eight weeks ago on a Marython, doesn't like it, and doesn't watch it, ouhhhhc, as it isn't Max who as a fat girl she likes seeing shown on TV...what...?, but it is the blond she despises, and that 500 thousand watt smile, as she told me she would like to kick that bitch in the teeth, and even Max cant save her, though she liked the big blond who was she told me, the masseur who hated George in her household grail Seinfeld which by now, I have taken the pledge to never catch again, like Gilligan's island.

This is telling too me, as it is something that our GumbaJews in power, it Constantine or HBO shrimp eaters, there are woman out there like my sister who will forgo a show because of some blond as it fulcrum, and I dint think even Beth was that egregious as have seen worse blond inflected upon us from Television city and the shroud of Burbank the magical remnant in which Sherwood Shwatrz was braised in. May the Shawnz be with you. I went upstairs an asked my brother, already hiding and hibernation from this, if I could catch 2 broke girls with him and he succumbed, again the magic of Jewey Max to enjoy it as we Roman always have. I liked how it is return to television for that vast wasteland was identified by Tina and her sisters the dog, as again there were jokes here as Plautus meant them to be, about short people, drugs, women, poles, immigrants Iranians, Asians, blonds, chubby brunettes, it was indebted, whether Whitney knows it or not , indebted to the Roman farce as it was meant as say Trump is, as I am as Bill Clinton is, a lovely respite from Thirty Rocks which fall on us, another Roman line placed in the mouth of a red headed messiah naivety wants to make black, despite the whole children of Ham thang. Aint Nuttin but a T thang, bitches. There is the promethium arch in the parade again I cant even begin to know who to ask the question of the Delphic Google, but an aside that a pretty woman especially of an each other veracity like Kat Dannings, and even the bleach bimbo mamma played as the blond here, though I did see them true to somehow make street wise and bitchy brunette Max into the dumb one, the lief work of Maureen Dowd, and still it wanst as awful as most television be. Here is something about the healing qualities of a certain ethic groups hunnies, a Beatrice quality, that even Alan didn't understand when I drew a named penthouse pet Dominique and maned her Beatrice in a packed I stupidly sent to various companies and showed both Zoetrope and Fixar, as fucking if they could handle that, and I feel a real serenity just watching this lovely woman, as in fact there is no describable plot, not do I care I merely watch hear and the blond one Lucy and Viv there way through the revetments of Allen's alley, and I find it enjoyable and humane.

Again I am Cornelius at the shows, and just to be a bitch watch some bowls and football, ah the Roman remnant that even the Tinas and the white woman cant totally Constantine us out of, as again, the ladies who lunch at the vomiteraoerim allays feel strange compassion for the winos at the fields, which they don't feel for the slaves who make there ipods whether from the Apennines or china. The more things change. So I watch the show insistently as if each gaze upon CBS television city Laura is a warming of the blood, something done by Romans and done by china-men too, except in the Roman variation, men would lucratively put there hands in fire pits too show ther devotion and touch then bad hand, yikes, as I say again, kids, don't listen to the woman who will destroy you as Juvenal said, they are owned lock stock and barrel by your enemies, and thus, don't listen to the ugly hags and old biddies, as they will detract you, and don't turn away from your martial creeds, and don't make the same mistake the Italians made. I wonder how this show got on the CBS air, and how Steven Colbert stays, as in fact, if an old bag like schoolmarm Hillary and her little house on the Umbrian planes imperial fish wives ever find out someone is carcjing jokes about drugs and sex, after jacking off jokes from thigh showing to Max like a nun, Im sure she could really get her sewing circle if not her lesbian manias to be against it.


12. A few days before Christmas, maybe Actual Saturnalia itself, 13 Dec., I received a large envelope from Tuner Watson Inc., and the cartoon network which our slack jawed yokel with Disney dreams owns. I was alerted by legal that Tuner Watson inc and its myriad o' subsidiaries doenst take over the Transom work, and thus am fir-with warned and scolded that should Tuner Watson inc by itself and independence of my query come up with ideas and or concepts like those in this packet I have no redress of greivence, you see, and blah blah blah,... listen honey, I as Jesuit pre law I know all your bullshit nonsense Success like words of law, and thus it was my own fault for ever believing anything I saw on Reddit, where in fact the post I saw and clicked on said that cartoon Network when don't making vaudeville out of the teen titans I adored as a kid, maybe that should say something right there, was looking for new projects and thus printed out the submission agreement, which covered most of this missive and proclamation sent to me right here.

So, again taught by Jesuits dear, you wouldn't want to see me in court and went to comics and cartoons after being trained in the black arts of the Franciscans which the joke goes in Italy even you Jews must say with a disconnected admiration that the Jesuits play a game with which even semites are unfamiliar. So I place this here if anyone out there sees Tuner Watson inc and Adult swim, adult in the most elastic sense of the word, as if Id work for them, as I have a strange upsetedness in the poverta, when they put on a show in which a satire version of Captain Marvel, I mean more so, meets up with Gore Vidal as a Tarzan loving comic book impresario and a bountiful cute brunette from Dogpatch is made into a new less butchery, butch, wonder woman, and Stan less empire at Anvil comics is played on its head and etc etc, you ll know it came from the mind of Tony. Im kidding, you'll never see that on comedy central or cartoons channels, or anything owned by the slack jawed hick with day issues and how smart-ass Letterman and became a avowed liberal when others would go to jail. No, there are far too many dick jokes and vomit jokes to do in the great circus, the vaster wasteland, which ah combo so virulent and thus beloved by critics who think themselves quite the bad-ass, that we look back at the Newt Minnow days with charm of Archie and hawk eye and Mary and Carol , so again, my dick jokes, like Bill Clinton's are of a more Plautus nature, and thus not easily gotten without explanation too much to a channel that I read once passed on Archer, just to show with whom we are dealing. 


But now as we barrel toward new years, I have to say, I watch Kat Dannings and even Beth, yeccch, each time I see them available, as they bewilder me with a mixture of sexuality, baseness, Plautus and Roman farce that good Jews and Jersey wops who have made it to the can o pees and to Lake Tahoe and always in levitown no matter yet what the has they wears says, as they calm me in ways even my brother notices. The busty one is as her ilk has been since Dante is s symbol of life, vitality joy, as the trash and the garbage collects readying for another election year of Columbus days, proving their worth by making the antisocial black lives matters bullshit uprisings look less like planet of the apes and more like a stare of a Barney Miller lineup, you know now that Soursos is mental, a sign I see more and more here and there, is all wrapped up in the plutocracy.

Things are not going well for the candidates hand picked by our Jewish college of cardinals, I mean, now that the one once owned by the Borgias were scattered, and guess what religion they were when they had to escape Torquemada like Spanish devils for the never so uptight parts of Italay. And in fact it was there Jewishness, sorry but true, which Machiavelli said caused them to be much more acceptable than the born again Lorenzo left to die on a bed of white sweat as Savonarola, Italian Luther, convinced the mud nickler that the angels of the lord had come to say he could be saved, or was it invents, by signing his power of attorney over to him. Ah but Savonarola, outside of the admiration of a few radio head Jesus freaks, never made it in Italy, as Christ knows if you can make it there...you see , warning to ISIS, he trod first to get rid of Christmastime, did Savonarola, as pope Pius the third did, ouch, and Medved can call it pagan all his little jewey heart wants, it has been since Sallust, and sued in my play Saturnalia, a perfect mercantile holiday and I believe like so many who took it religious mother Italay, in her pixies and goddesses as seen by me in pudgy and glorious and pouty and string Max, the anted up in Max, end up having their heads , if not feet,hung up on a marble walls, where we get the word of impeachment still.

So I not so upset but disappointment as again saw this posted at the place where the ads are collected for wannabe comic artists. So we went to the drug store as didn't want to be out that much today as felt a bit queezey and it was as causally as the interregnum of Barry ends up in the rains he brought with overcast-ed him. Once oustde, My brother asked if the Popsicles or something cold was bought, which I forgot. He grumbling got out of the car and walked towards the band aid central. Stay here, he said, Ill be right back. At the door was a handsome behemoth of a bald black man at the red kettles of the charity at the doorways. I saw him and nodded and he said hello. I took out a dollar and tossed it into the bucket, Thank you, My brother, he said, As its been slow this year. Its a slow time, I said. I stood in the drizzle to cold down from a zap of energy which went through me today. Then as I stood there at the car, an effeminate, or at last a kind of nigger one sees not in the bunkhouses of Crikey Nicky Sabine but instead male versions of Angela Davis used as human shields lest anyone ask why the men here aren't paid in the slave labor of the blood sport came up to me. I didn't know what this ninny wanted, and the large black man sat at the stoop manning the pot of dimes at a neon pestle that shines in the drug store window and was collections dime and pennies for the poor, menacing now in Obama nation most of us all. 


The creepy negro wore glasses one would see on a Petaphile in Kojack, and was emaciated and wore an out of placed gray ski jacket and baggy pants though not the sort that decrying by Bill Cosby would see his life as two bit hacks nigger comics and maybe the guy who runs fubu were behind detaining. As with Joe Patreno, no matter what you have done before, the sanctimony and the scantiness of white tornado butter matron goddesses and out of placed decency of white woman and Anderson Cooper can always bring you down. Now we know in fact that the blond hag wannabe who started a lot of this had her Any Wednesday like apt paid for by Bill, a small trifler that I could as Jesuit lawyer drive a bread trick through even now, but which was just something to toss off by our Torquemada Anderson until, in fact I would see a white haired duelist like Lawyer meet with the awful Gloria Alread, who like many women and niggers of our rainbow collation of prosecutors of that awful channel, who cant make an argument, the woman was no longer by herself making a soliloquies, and dealt with a lawyer who knew the black arts, well that yentas started to actuality dissolve in the very air. Like I have said, I am never shocked who America deans to toss from the Tarpean rock. TW RMS STX VW.

I nodded, thought maybe he was the kid I went to school with who was the son of a police detective, who when he sees me acknowledges me, and then will do old Richard takes perfectly with me, but, it wasnt him, I didn't know why I wasnt sure his visage and demeanor bothered me as he came outwards me with a kind of hanging arms, both with a kind of GI Joe kung fu grip, which caused the large black man who I had the feeling knew me but couldn't place him stood by the red kettle and showed a Superman physique. Can I help you...?, I said, as there was a strange vibe in the air. You come up here to scope out your bitch Dago, he said, no fooling even I cant write dialog that bad and that stereotypical, something I have always avoided. Its why I loved Homicide, life on the street so much. What..? I said, my heart starting to race, a problem I have had lately though and less than I have ever been in many ways, and when I was fat didn't have these nocturnal heart racing, but I felt strange and upset even by this Erckel that stood before me verbosely. Still at about 240 pounds or so since my last physical, I could still squash this creep, but with my new found whiteness and he being an acrimonious nigger of course I would be a hate criminal, as some pigs are more pork than others here in animal farm.

I said, he said, with a strange set of lips that looked wax and a hair lip and looking like Martin Laurence after the flu, Did you come up here to scope out the nigger bitch you want to pimp, mahn...What....? I said, again now irritated. He seemed upset that I didn't speak fluent Soul trains, or I did nad this coon didn't anymore, as after all was listening to my brothers Parliament Funckdelic and Ohio Players when I was a boy. The girl in there are you up here to ask her to be her pimp, wop, he said. Is this a joke, I said. The large slave like Country looking John Henry stood up, I think you better get the fuck out of here, pal, the massive chested man said. Naw he said, with the kind of aplomb that his ilk has been taught by their white woman owners, This dago here is out for Nefertiti, in there, and I turned and saw her pleasantly check out my brother who was darting around the store to get what we needed for Xmas. 

Are you her girlfriend, I said, causing the man in the fire engine red sweatshirt in the drizzle and coolness to laugh. Get lost, buddy, the large man said, He wishes, he added,and waved him off. Naw man, this guy has an eye for Nefertiti, [her nickname as another black girl who knows my brother and says hello to us who doesn't interest me with red locks is called Beyonce.] He wants that chick, he said of me, I know what you wops is about...he wants to pimp that girl , that's what these Mafioso do...He watches her like a hawk, she told me, She knows you had a hard on when you were standing there looking at her. I was suddenly not scared as much as I was humiliated. I didn't ever recall having a hard on when speaking to her, as lately have thankfully taken to wearing under ware smaller than what I need by accident thankfully, as don't really recall having a hard on when speaking to her as much as the usual flustering that I take on as Bob Newhart my way through dealing with girls. This was more vulgar than EVEN I AS ROMAN ANTONY COULD ABIDE. I didn't recall even being so effected by Nefertiti, a girl called Ashley, whose hair was even more niggeraldy than Lorette, a cute girl who more like a co ed, with big tits on a thin frame, yet who has become a friendly sort, and sadly as they always seem to do with me, browned and straightened her hair, which is always a deal breaker as has been since the great Leslie. But now I felt sucker punched by this nigger, the sort brought

in to learn just enough Latin to be an alderman , maybe President, and I was on the verge of tears that the pretty girl I barely knew and tried to just be friendly towards would have been laughing at ,me as some sort of wop pimp sort with these effeminate negro street hustlers.

I am a big G man, the ninny said, making the big bald man laugh, me groan, again, I have always tried to avoid the acceptable to Jews TV tropes colloquialisms, which is both my charm and my mistake. Plautus was right and critics even more than the mere mezzanine wish for that unencumbered Encore to allow them to whistle the same tunes they came in with. This affectation from the coated man causing the big black man to tsk and smack his lips in disgust, And the thin creep said, Ill start trouble with you if you go after this girl, mahman...I wanted out of here and and went to our Ford FESTIVA AND I OPENED THE DOOR TO GET AWAY. But then, thought the better of is as I did with those horrid women who spoke of their hatred of masculinity, a Roman ethic in me starts to ember and burn bright. Even I slammed the blue door shut the nigger started to jump back. Then my brother came out and saw this. Hey, Chickie, he said affably to the black man seated there, Hey Tony, this is Chicky, we went to school tight, a great football player he was, lest get out of here, ...he walked towards the car and saw me frozen there with that coon across the parking lot and a large woman who saw this and stayed at the doors. Is there a problem here...?, my brother asked.

Again I must say I am taller broader, fatter, thicker than my more wirery bother, but again like with my shorter wirey father, they are more intimidating than bloated me will ever be. Of course, the negro was automatically intimated by thinner and bantam Machete, as the affable black man called to him, a crip before the handbook, like many who had known my brother since 1973. I was upset and at wits ends, but the always burning always quick, brother said looking at this creep, They let you out of the Oval Office, Barry, …?, as he and others here in the low rent sub urba call him Barry, as I initiated.  He said to the frozen moron, Do you have a problem...​​​ ?, causing the other black man to laugh. He got into the car and told me to get in. I stood there. Is something wrong here, is somebody bothering you, Tony...he asked. No, I said, and I got in the car. Then I got out and the smarmy sissy ran like a black deer who would of course be the villain in a Disney cartoon, Yeah Youd better Run, I said in my best Zoidberg. I with equity went to the man manning the kettle and took out a five. You gave me some man. No, I said, This is yours, i said.  Mine, he asked. Fer what...? You stood here made me feel...okay. I walked towards the car, thinking who are these awful people who bother me as some sort of open need to try to actually think they can intimidate me as I am more upset angrily than I am shut up, as again have had a Byzantine to English dictionary since 10. 


I felt humiliated and remanded, and had to get out before this girl saw me, as I dint think this was anything more than a pretty girl, like watching Kat Dannings on television, the dancing girl that has been loved in Rome and earned on no less than some Jew comedy about Rome, in which like the carol abut the Christmas dunkey was turn from the air by Jews who as Plautus said, didn't get the gist of the audience from the jump. I felt awful and sad and beaten down, as this was the year that I felt badly about Mad men when my own Ad hoc on which is was stolen, no really, this time, unlike imagination-land, this time the three named fake from the sopranos who made this had read my Ad hoc long ago, mine  also about 1970s ads, but much scrappier and more decent and honorable, and about why were ads about cigarettes taken off when ads for vodka weren't, but then I never made a point of the bright lights of the big city or of white mans burden. I felt badly that somehow it had come to this, a dick joke by this pretty girl with some house nigger who thinks himself a G...I felt badly about it all, especially now, having dealt with this nigger in this year of Bleeding cool and other shit having to deal with the censorious and the censored who end up having been nothing more than gangster film makers remaining Italian films like Mafia and Django. I felt awful about everything and alone and beaten and reviled and remanded by creeps who think they are something because they only mouth the word nigger or who think retards have now know be palmed on football fields,dressed up and paraded like Etruscan hostages, lest they never have proud parents as Life only goes in one way and one set of rules. I called Lorette and told her I was nuder the weather and wasnt going to redeem the star wars tickets and again with a cute brunette, of sorts, who is interested in me why again was I falling head over heels overs one multaoo girl always as Coriolanus said, somewhere out there. Even in the farce version. There was again that someone else, no not Kat Dannings, but one can always hope, though I aint that psychotic yet.

Then I got a shit load of interpretations, emails, many admiring me all at once, and all I did and tried to do. Many people unprovided by me in any way other than my usual queries, even if they didn't want me to do their work, still, after dealing with Tuner Watson, still, they liked my shit and my work, and this made me feel okay. I felt a anger in me stocked by Bleeding Coolers, the lords of flat-bush I always hated. And then, after my brother had done most of Christmas fir us as I was in a stupor, we sat together and watched the Christmas eve football Roman games. It would be a great weekend as the Packers, the Stealers, the Giants, all the teams we are told are decent and honorable lost the weekend that Concussion came out, as the Stealers Pollock army are out trying to explain why it was that they let Mike Webster a stalwart and a giant, let him die in the cold, whereas much pilloried Jerry Jones hated by niggers on cable television, got great linchpin of his championships, Charles Haley bi polar medicine and gave him a lifetime job as a consultant. It was seeing Mike Webster in 1996 on a trip to Pittsburgh, at a bus stop, that was the germ of Saturnalia, the lunkhead left in the cold who tells Marius a joyous Noel when he stands and steams and unravels in the snow. Though weathering a Cowboy cap long replaced, even still I asked the sweaty older broken man for a autograph I kept as a talisman in a red art folder. When I got it, I smiled and offered him a twenty, though am not rich. I am Roman heart-ed and though not a Stealers fan, found this like the admiration that Catiline and others had in the senate for being a man. Sadly, with broken affability, he took it with grace and sweetness and wished me a joyous Noel, like inspector Luger in Barney Miller as I felt equally touched. He told me the Pittsburgh pollacks laughed at him, for all the light bulb jokes that you'd think they'd avoid, behind his back, sometimes in front, as Fixers as seen in the play were soon to have to give bags of cash to pizza shop owners whose daughters and Angelinas and waitresses had been molested by Bloomfield Eddie, Big Ben, whose sins and cretinism don't register at ESPN, whose numbers in this year are off almost 8 percent, as Julius Caesar said, the first rule of propaganda is it must be read.

Then, on Christmas eve I sat with my exhausted brother, who fell asleep and I watched the boyhood team I watched as a kid, the Raidahs, anyone but the Stealers, as they played this last home game at ironically enough the Colosseum. And black shirted men pulled out a win as the Cowboys never could, sadly, my other team, and the Raiders won, bless their hearts and the Roman farce Saturnalia night, or is always Halloween...?, the black shirted fascists Saturnalia carnival sued as pejorative by Hillary voters and bag men like Maureen Dowdy, I could see Angelas who look like Kat Dannings, almost hard to stay a flight, pout and gorgeous came down and even Beth, that horrid blond who camels toes and shrewish, they did their magic, and the raiders puled it out as the republic might too, no Bush can Streisand his way about, yet is still there, triumphant, unrepentant, as Roman genius collect at the stage door, with flowers for the Julia's playing Medea or Maxine, if alloyed anymore, as they always did. As the Colosseum was finally true to its Roman roots, as scary to the middlebrows as the Romans and Peckinpah have always been, I saw a moment that was immaculate to me.

On the jumbo tron, as men in Kiss army like make up wearing proto Roman Armour, but hardly shining, men looking as Curtis must have looked all that time ago when he went into the breech as a Roman would and not like Jewey Jesus who knew supposedly hed come back as the first Zombie, and so to grin and bare it, as he begged Pop God Yahweh to spare him, proving right there that these gods in three parts are never equal as neither was Gaul. I sat and saw this quietly, my exhausted brother knew something bothered me and left me be, as the 2 broke girls as pixies of various hefts were off now and I take it that geek show had come on, sadly, I watched as the will of the pirate smiles was appearance as the place in all its money ball poverty was rickety and rocking, and there on the screen came the visage that pushed them all over the edge. There was the Myron Cope enemy, crabbed as Ginny like, yes Im not kidding Weakling Myyyrin, who showed me why my father hated him, called his enemy Al Davis, a Ginny and a wise guy on the radio, but then there is an undercurrent of racism to the Stealers which wouldn't go well against Cam or Rich Sherman. Al, who dared to win himself, the first sorts that the hillbillies hate, they can dish it out as it were, but cant take a sock in the jaw, and Al as returnee here as Roman paternalist saint, would, decked in a track suit greasy grimy hair gelled saint, a black saint, a Machiavellian hated for knowing the score and he said in this pahtoem zone apparition way, Just win baby...! And the palace of Negros and firth, and those not good enough to put on airs, the res publica In hole, the trash and filth Caesar loved, the Roman farce existing sill under the weighty droning of Greek anthology, exploded as audit means hearing and tarorium means Bullpen, as Jackie said, and our saint appeared from the ellusian fields to win and wink and advance again, the wise ass persisted and it made me smile and laugh. THAT no matter what Ill never be like you, ill never be a Myrin asking for the love of men that go away and leave him in the lurch for daring to feel empathy for Kordell. Some comic hack wanted me to though not using my work still wanted me to jump through hoops and somehow explain myself to him. Those days are done, I thought, and with silent joy, watched the Raiders win as they were meant by their lesser God, a god who likes the pirates but not rapists, to do. The Raiders won, a Saturnalia miracle, and there was still beauty in this muddy empire.

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