01 November 2016



Enthralled with work and doing large pieces, I totally missed the turn over from September to October. I love the fall, despite everything, it is a loveliest time, the best of the Vivaldi concertos, but wasn’t ready when I went to see in the middle of the reconstitution of the cowboys as Americas team, a moniker hated so by on the pad paper readers on the cable.

I was confronted by a parade of black and white movies showing it was the season of the witch. As a boy, I noted that as I was out and about, that a father I felt already distant from and so older than I  as to be from another time an not of this one I was in, still, I believed  he had a real contempt for this death holiday that Jews were invited to take part in, and that they didn’t seem to do it with the same manner and the same distain with which they Macys and gimbled up Christmas. Actually he hated Halloween as he hated Hanna and Barbara and other comics, in which he saw a real racism and real American ethic if the good noble barbarian always out upon by the civilizations of the south, the darker types and their love of fascisms, and my father despised the way these scumbags would so openly demean types pf people as they did, making sure that somehow witches always had the black hair of the Beatrice’s and the princesses of Roman epics and roman fairy tales which were engraved an painted when German swine were still living in trees and drinking only when it rained. He hated the whole holiday such as is it was, and older I get the ,more I believe he had a point. So, here I was going through the channels in a lovely time of the year so marred now by our Germanic holidays of harvest and harvesting, and saw a cascade of movies all about death and dying, killing and hurting, manning it was like televising always is, just more so.

I sat as did a lot of work in a few days, and found it seamed, eleven stations devoted to the cult of death, more if you counted the stations that had by now openly sold their souls to Hillary. Her face itself seems a history of Germany in a withered nutshell, like a Mort Drukcer shrunken head come to alleged life. She is an awful creature as I write here on the 12th of October now, she huffs and puffs and wheezes and drones, in more ways than one, and I must say I , roman hearted, am quite so very saddened actually, that a first Black president is actually willing and expected to drive miss daisy to this Rubicon where she is expected to cross as soon as they can put pontoons on her mattress. She is according to Drudge, whisked about everywhere in a sedan which is a bed, a bed ckepot in her van, much like her husband in high school. I was now confronted by one zombie film after the next, one death melody after another, the true edda of the barbarian creed. One after another some film came on after the next, and I ,in a strange blood stupor tehse films are cailbated toc arte as Nero said, bored, tired, fatigued, whatever, I sat there going back and forth  and watched these Phantasms, they’d wish, I thought recalling the flying silver balls when I was a kid, which is a stretch as there wasn’t a god damn Clive in the bunch, much less a Steven King. As I SAID I WATCHED THE FAMOUS TOM SNYDER SHOW when I was  a kid, when he had on the masters of the macabre, including the rather effete man who write the trashy Psycho, who said, famously when I am told, he said, people tell me that they fear the shower because of that famous scene, much more decently bloodthirsty and vulgar in the book, and I read it as a kid, I am glad he said with the humor once a seminal part of the bloody and the vulgar and the thrilling, Im glad I didn’t kill the woman on the toilet. So, I watched this less than Technicolor, more than pulp colored images of killing before me, I said a Roman feh, that so fake, I remarked, as if some inner Italian or Roman love of blood in me was u8nimpfrexsed by the detergent blood somewhere inside of me having seen the real thing recalled and known in my dna, and this as merely Hollywood warmed over crap, like most of the starkest now. Bloodless and unromantic, they all seem rather fake.

Up now was that clownish shit, clowns as I write this are everywhere, as we have a nation of Halloween all the time. A film was shown now, seen before by me, I am amused though I avoided these etchings, it was never out of being scary Or being upset by them, but again a sadness in their lack of construction and or wit and or composition. The film up first was the Texas chainsaw massacre, a dreadful film , as again, I can make my murderers into heroes, ante or more because I know who to make a hero, like Rooster says in the great True Grit, I never stole a mans watch, captioning the basic tenants of heroism, and these miscreants aren’t bally enough to be villains, that would take a faggot Vincent Price Glee unhallowed any more as the queer has become our moral superior, and too, would take more of a victim than a girl in a tank top paying for not wanting to go to the dance with the swishy rat who put up the cash for this film, always allowed and appreciable in a nation in which hags of empire screech about everything you say if they don’t first get a cut or more so, an order to hush.

This film tonight starred a lovely Italianate actress seen here and there, amazingly in our land of Jennifer’s, named Alexandria Dad Dario, or something like this, who to be nostalgic about it, I saw when she was a young actress on All my children and recalled when she was a lovely young woman in an ad if I recall rightly, for the bell Atlantic yellow pages, having bought a little black dress every ethnic lovely should own. She was always pretty , a comely gal, cute and dark and plucky, and here she was now thirty I guess, and she was bequeathed the murder house as the Simpson’s would say, an old manner that long ago was in our age of Capote, taken from being mere house of horrors to the kind of weirdo play set on which the cheapest movie franchisees are so made. She was from east somewhere, they always are, and she was given this house, which somehow survived in tact after the prerequisite fire bombing when the villagers of whichever Transylvania this is have come to kill whatever monster has entered this little patch of heaven, this Texas – Romania- Transylvania, a monster either camp or not, played by Boris Karloff  or not. She was in this thing that seemed template as  3 d movie, but seen on a flat screen about to give up, still it had a strange but bloody effect of strange detachment like how in the old Vincent Price movies of chiller theater when I was  a kid, in the middle of what always seem to be quite boring movie, after all. She the girl, Im sure as I watch this, WHERE IS THE FUCKING REMOTE!!!, that was on All My Children IN THE LATE NINETIES WHEN a agents type girl I had on my side sent in some work to that abc soap opera to get me a job as a writer there. I would have loved to have written then for a soap opera, I am no snob, as there as a girl there named Simone who I adored as that sort of dragon girl, and too there was this Italianate girl as a brunette ingénue. She also was ye dismissed I an awful show called its always sunny in Philadelphia, which caused me to stop watching that dreck it became, just right before everyone else did. So I watched this film, this Texas chainsaw film, as thought about needing this essay sent to both the gals if leftists that asked for it and a b movie website looking for essays about Halloween movies, though I AM SURE AS I ALWAYS TRY TO KILL TWO SPARROWS WITH ONE link, both will hate it. I am too much a fan I think for gals like Alexandra, and too much not a fan of these horrid Halloween films for the others.

I watched this film with more instinct than Id ever done such a film before. I believe it w a template for 3d, as it had that stage beat and pause after each set piece, and ne could tell when she is a plucky lovely brunette who is somehow in real life a meat cutter, hoo boy, it seems that things are meant to go flying outwards at an audience who would like such fare, sadly, as I HAVE always been too hep for this crap, and I certainly don’t say that as some sort of prude as god knows Im no Hillary voter. The  pretty, lively, girl is given a house, I take it where this Monstrosity took place, and that was bequeathed to us by CAPOTE as much as anything, as she is a last relative despite her Italianate name and features, she is to this crowd a perfect victim. SO I watched this crud, or in watching her than nothing, as she seemed to be the perfect one to be the coming together if the altered and the angers of both Jewish producers and the angers and vacuities of the usual consumer of this shit, again, harking back to the Clinton Campaign. The stretches of boredom were long and uninterrupted, as I take it the prerequisite fluttering of curtains, a visual Pun, I guess, were always floating through the scenes meant for IMAX and fifties Cinerama experience. It reminded me of the Vincent Price movies also done in three d as out of nowhere between quasi gay slithering lisping evil and delicious irony, some one would come out and start doing yo yo flipping tricks and round the worlds, and walking the dogs,  into the camera, for no reason what so ever.
I watched this as long as I could , thinking of doing this very essay in a style like the famed essay of Gore looking at the top ten books for a  week in Augustus I believe in 1973, that long gone golden age supplanted with Regan over seeing the fags brought to the Styx, and so sat and looked at the film in which she the cute girl seemed washed out as much as anything, but in our world of Jennifer’s and such regaling their innermost selfies to get adhered I guess she did as she had to to get ahead. There was a cocffeney of such films, as it seemed at least ten channels were all now this first weekend of counters devoted to our death barbarian holiday, as like the later similar channel would be to Christmas as in a matter of weeks, they would all be having count downs to Christmas for single girls and such, and this to October 31st, was the a similar thing, juts done for lesbians and mean chicks with weight problems and guys who never kissed a girl, the kind who dream of one day beating a kind of girl like Alexandra, the sort of miscreant who makes house everythings angels of espn feel bad when it turns out that the good teams owned by good men so decent and noble aren’t  that differed from the same teams who tried to strong arm the great Lombardi into cutting a  black man who had a white wife, as he a good half breed Italian in that perfect way, couldn’t are less. And thus arent that  upset to see one dismembered on screen for fun and profit.

I thought I was still catching the chainsaw movie with Alexandra in it, as saw a comely and pretty brunette, always a brunette, the Yesiva boys lesbians and weirdoes couldn’t get behind it any other way, like how shows about other crime syndicates always somehow removed from television by legions of decency who know deep down they aren’t going down that Sicilian dirt road, god knows.

I was watching, going back and forth, I think the Simpson were on, and I COULDNT WATCH THE HILLARY SHIT as that seemed a cheaper version of what Eli Roth gives us anyway, and so now back on what I THOUGHT was the movie, as Kat says with nasal cuteness sorry, Muuuuuvie in air quotes, but saw finally we had shot the Virgilian alters of action. Thank God I said something real, like a western….finally some fucking blood letting here to warm my Roman heart. So, as  I said in a similar peace to this called Life of Brutus, about the dreaded Scorsese, its inst his violence that bothers Roman me, but his lack of it, which empire magazine or some English paper called a millimeter off the mark. I take such admiration as in lue of cash and place. So, here in this vomitorium film as Rodger called it,  a roman looking boy, again the Yentas are devoted to making sure that they only go after the ethics who seem like them, lest the in laws get suspicious, and all, and so here in the culler in which such films take always placed, why I THOUGHT, don’t anyone ever have an attack where these tortures happen, but, no, in the celler inn which leather face lives his twilight time life, a roman looking boy man, half naked of course, is hung by meat hooks. I thought of rocky, which again is a mistake, as when crashed a dower show called Old Christine and her lackluster cast trashed the lovelier  Teri Hatcher, made me think of that lovely Lois and how Id rather be watching her than a dying Elaine who had the audacity a few weeks back at the Jewish prom called the Emmys to apologize for the presidential campaign , which is a bad move as it makes people think you had something to do with it. So, don’t bring things up unless you are somewhat calls to them as brining up Rocky made me wonder like with Teri, what else is on….?

But now in a form of journalism which I was taught by jurists, who made me read The Right stuff as a boy in like 1973, and the armies of the night, and other such Norman books of genius hated now by the same women who somehow think the angels wont recall and romancer their having voted for Bill as they forget the name Monica on common, I go back to writing this recollection of the Halloween movies set before me. It was in old copies of Gore in the new York review of books I continued on in my journey down down down the malibolgia of Sunset Blvd and the cheapest parts of Hollywood. The girl I thought was Alexandra in a sweaty t shirt in the various shades of Grime and brown and red that Nero warned us al blood sport eventually becomes, the boy man Roman kid handsome square jawed man, this is where the yeshiva boys who cant get beyond this mentality go to roost, was hung on met hooks, as I said. He was broken and beaten and hurt, as again, I think true is as American as Cherry Pie and despite my buddy Keith and his protestations to the opposite I always thought that shit about waterboarding was middlebrow bullshit disliking it because it didn’t go far enough.

I sat and cited and winced at this, it seemed like someone fleeing dentistry more than anything, as each time the brunette, no not Alex but pretty brunette Jessica, each time he was  touched by the girl, like with Hillary all is spite and getting even,  his pain was immeasurable, and this seemed strange and vicious. Here came leather face I guess, hate that Mask, too Palestinian for my tastes. And he took off a piece of the handsome  man of the sorts that winsome and sissy Juddie has been hateful of since High school. Again we are all trapped back in that high school where Lousy CK and others all had to use humor as a way out of the lower depths of Long island imperialism. Oh I said, aloud waking up a sleeping mother on the couch, That is sooo fake, I SAID, WITH ROMAN APOLMB. I always thought these films were not scary as much as fake, again the same way I feel about Hillary, as again, it’s the chinsey aspects and cheapness of it all I hate.

Not me, I THOUGHT, I would demand that the man on the hooks, that like a centurion would, as opposed to somehow willing to bomb the miserable in aid caravans with righteous bombardiers, that the centurion looking man would take his pain and sue it as a weapon as Napoleon would say, and I WOULD HAVE HIM USE HIS FEET, JUMPING UP MAYBE EVEN OFF THE HOOKS, it is after all Fantasy no..?, and with kicking feet worthy of a  watch on the Rhine, the ammine and the agility of the Romans was admired when the Germans realized that these maniacs didn’t stop coming, here in my version , a handsome man takes the barbarian monster a the drak ages were the bestiary of all the  October beasts and where not to find them, and hits him good right in the gut, causing perhaps a chainsaw , that most inarticulate  of weapons for an inarticulate killer, would perchance make a spin and take off a limb or so of the lather faced creep, why I always thought had latent homosexual issues. Then with bleeding shoulders  the roman boy takes off and followed by a hulking creep, awful, but bruised nicked, as it were, as like great moves when I was a kid, in fact Halloween, Jamie lee has to fight back or else its just shooting fish in a barrel, and seems the sort of hurting and killing less insider or overseen by Diana as it is something Dick Cheney would get behind. But then to show my receptions of Roman Mythology, my idea of the gentleman killer is like so much Sam Peckinah thought, is no longer seen as honorable or decent in our dreaded twentieth, much lest 21st, Century.

And I thought, this is why I cant stand Hillary, this I spit on your gave Bullshit, as in fact, like Halloween and phantasm I as a kid, or at least before saw giants do this stuff and now its just warned over crap, without the flair of before. I saw Bill Clinton do this stuff, he like John Carpenters' brilliant Escape from New York which I studied once as the perfect b movie, not a put down to him or it, despite the reactions gotten back from wpopel who have less to thank Orson Welles as filmmakers than they do Max Factor. Snake or star man, or even Jason, but saw a level of decency that isn’t there any more with her. She is Freddy Kruger, our vicious fairy queen, our destroyer of ethnic girls for the ogling and admirations of dar hags and snipers, an anti hero to weirdoes and creeps who just want too see Brunettes tortured and Jews who I have been alerted aren’t  crazy about it, outside of vicious Eli, will allow it as they can make a quick buck off of it. But Bill, Roman bill, John Carpenter Bill, vicious and yet Claudine Bill, he was like Harry Lime as I said before, he was always bale to fail as she is not, because she has to come back to fulfill her august days consecrate when the machers of Hollywood spew their shit out at the goys and the filth and the lovers of fake blood. Bill at any money moment  it seemed could be caught by that effeminate British M sissy imperialistic creep and thus had to be a chunky, sweaty, gun holding black coated marionette that captain of crime and industry, slipping and sliding and radiant through the sewers of the old broken and bombed city, as he had to ecru through the shit and the piss of Vienna not out of a love of it but reduced to it as she becomes an alligator allowed to grown to fruition in the sewers of Brooklyn, and he could thus lose in ways she thinks she can not,  which is why to sue the words of aging Brinkley, she ia  bore as there is no way she thinks she can lsoe, and like greedy Freddy or the other leather faces, she just had to come back to fulfill the three picture deal. Guided youd think he could protected his paramours fro the lesbians cvene of death dealers called the Hillary may day.

I would say Id feel bad for the hacks and shills trash and idiots who were dirtied by the Clintons, like anchormen and black woman in a cabinet of white boys, but I don’t I feel bad for them as much as I do the Monica’s and the others girls as you’d think a man who makes such a point about the Ram makers and acts like Petronius was his guide that he could proctor his paramours, but alas Tiberius never could, and never can. I don’t feel bad for the lashers of the curia who wake up and find that their money and position is signed away in sixty minuets, never and went s I think the idiots meeting him on tarmacs and the ones getting manila envelops get what they deserves. I never got or asked  anything from Clinton, save like with Robert Dinero, Jewey Jonny, Alan Moore and Roger Ebert and Kartrina Richardson, a few likes , here and there. Especially from him, how I said I took images of Conan drawn by a Neal Adams , and how as a boy,  I would take them and resurrect them as my Roman Captain Magnus. Sad that Bill Clinton actually liked that and said as much, but I never quit when I am ahead, though often try. Gee, gals, no Roman warning inside in any if that, now is there…?


You know I THOUGHT SHE CANT DO THIS, AND DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS UNTIL AFTER SHE WAS INSTALLED as the first woman pope since at least the 1300, or live out her Lex Ophelia creed to its lesbian tragic end. All lesbians are by definition tragedies the priests told me, as this toxic  spill called a Hillary campaign has all the joy to it of the middle aged Doges poisoning the wells of Florence or the gummite once spraying subway travelers with the various toxins that we did as opposed to the Mengeles we could be so superior to. I saw a similarity in who this Alexandra and Monica were sued and utilized by the  thief hag, the witch without Roman abloom as it did bother some wicca hag cow bitch that I intoned that we get the idea of the witch from women who wore and kept the Roman dress and rites of the ancient days in those dark cinchy days of the church pre Dante, as to hacks and gonnifs like Medved and others, amazingly it never bothers these Judea Christian cretins to ever have a first gentleman with rape allegations, like say how the Steelers nation has had to reassess everything.

I did see a similarity in the way she acts and the shameless mercantile nature of these awful Halloween films, again nothing Roman aboard her or the Wicca’s of her coven, no compliment from Roman me, but then I had to rethink things, as watched this awful film I thought, just like Harry Lime, and how Ana at the end of that film, how she still loves him, the wayward rouge, the playful smirking king of deceit, how she cant go with prissy sissy Joe Cotton and isn’t it on cue how eager Barry is to lecture us all about making sure that the woman he beat can finally fitfully her destiny like Alexander the great or Eli Manning. Isn’t it lovely that he is so giving and open and willing to carry water this first black president seem more involved in a race than he seemed for himself ah but this time they fear nothing is in the bag as last time had a good tomato can willing to know it was never his night and wouldn’t even care enough to bring it up in the cab with the blinds in the back.

I thought isn’t it sad that for all of her fake devotions, I thought of how it was that that same victim brunette that is desisted by her and her minions, who they were willing to take it for racing scheming plotting Harry, and how they werent for her. How the edict women she brings to herself and the good wholesome Dar types, the pearl wearers and the cotillion givers so much more American than the brunettes that Freddy and leather face are charged with killing, I thought of how when push came to shove who woman who were disgraced and demanded b lister yenta hags on afternoon yaks, who they took it, how woman’s whose name we don’t recall were willing to go to jail, willing to be debated, willing to be destroyed. Monica lost a real port in a storm when she refused to turn coat on Bill when the BUSH Family still hadn’t yet switched and not fight to let the woman who dusted poppa in to her what Jonnie called, her ancestral home. I thought of how the girls we, he and I, BILL AND WE JESUIT BOYS have always adored how they took it for him and how witches who think themselves so wonderful and decent and wholesome and good all went states evidence and all went Nolo Contendrae, I thought isn’t that funny, like how Gene Sickle said all the Hollywood creeps and cretins who make I spit on your grave movies, all throw a cotillion and give self made awards to Gandhi and such to sleep at night and think themselves so wonderful and wholesome. I thought of this, and how your coven all turned on you at first chance old lady, and how of all people  to come it against Trumpy that it would be a bloated blowhard like Arrrrreccc Barrrrrwinnnn, who had his own troubles with leaked microphones ,sanctimony and decency and preening amazing with that blowhard standing right there behind her, a perfect Brutal position to give a gift that will sing through the ages as happened in a Roman Sprig not so much of miss Stone, but on stone in 44 bc. As. gals, there isn’t honor among thieves, but there should be empathy. You’re gals are them who went states evidence dear they all asked for impunity, and if you had the roman inclinations of those witches , called hags because they could write and read the ancient books the bishops wished to burn away, burned away as alerted as when Rachel Maddow was in short pants. I feel sadly that we are left with this witch queen, and her dastardly icon smashes and redarwers, always willing too find the trap door, and there is nothing Romantic about that.

Witch. EC like comic done for a writer named Delarose. Eventually the gals liked both my hatred of Samantha bee for hating Wonder girls, and too, they felt a kinship with me for having my empathies with the Italic witch, the strgea, who if she isn't sexualized is juts a vicious unmarried ugly chick.

Because I warn here as the auger,  I did not want to say any of this until she was placed in by cabal of despite and desperate at wits end and at loggerheads curia, as I wanted too be cleaned of anything close to the purple seat, by again as am in the middle of trying too get MS remade again. There us a reason that Roman Bill shall never allow this, things that Maureen cant understand and get as she buys cliff notes of the mediations of Marcus Aurelius, between snaky dictations of bitchy lines and always checking her account to as we now know as Bill circumnavigated his wife’s fear of Julian the apostate IN WITH WINDS AND WENT old school Nat’l Enquirer you know, in an expectable of auld anng sine. I know why our her Roman Bill won’t let this happen, despite the vicious vicissitudes of the sandstone temple of middlebrow and 21, Dave Garrowway and J Fred Mugs, the Texaco Star theater taking it upon itself to make a president though it still hasn't found a replacement for Seinfeld. He wont let this happen as I KNOW AS A GOOD ROMAN SUCH AS HE, There is a Roman suspicion that he wont give into and like my mother refusing to say the very name of Satan, ill leave it well enough alone. She quotes Aquinas easily, as opposed to radicals and christers on cable TV, so I wont be complicit or dragged into it, but I know its there, in this season of lesbian frolics, as there is something right about my father so dismissing Halloween and I am not cut in or dealt in enough like queens of empire perpetually in short pants to ever forgive or forget what these to hillbilly  swine did to my father, as if they could have, and as if my father or any of the wops he knew and was of would like Cuomo be able or willing to allow himself to be trashed as Hamlet by hags cons whites of the new York rags who we know like Brit Hume and all  the Brits and Brett’s and Brads and Bantams and Buds and Happys and biddies and sissies and white boys of the confederacy shall rose again Red states of the Republican war theater which for a political party seems strangely suspect of and by the caliber of people Trump has rallied behind him, since Cattiline the demagogue is the threat to the patrician owning the slums, even Hillary is upset as a life long republican, at the matter and measure of ethic slobs and thugs brought too close to the flowers of Augusta’s womanhood, they always keep an eye out for Guido as much as Mandingo, and think it  is sad that the wall street journal is so willing to allow a political party to constrict and construct to the point that they don’t mind losing national elections, and will keep their own numbers low, like say the Peoples temple or the shakers. Bill had red it to begin with, ouch!, and we know now the Petronius of Times square, the great Saffron satirical queen is always between her writing of quips like so many have been, always with an eye or a phone call to her bank too see if the check went through.

You see a good Roman such as he, he is extremely suspicions no amount of Medveded overfeeding pan in law Christmas can ever take that away, sort of like his love for tuchus, no sanctimonious  second husbands or blonds of Fox can rail against him or his roman rules, NOT YOU HAGS, AS SEE HE IS Superstitious  as am I, we make signs to ward away the evil eye inculcated in us by more Hesperian and Corsican than not mothers who weaned us not to give into the hidden sepulchers of imperialistic crooks, as have seen our Roman hero make signs to ward away the wife beatings Satan, and too had heard while was being lectured to about some such bullshit by a dying, befuddled aging Pontiff took no heed of any of that pollocks edicts or encyclicals, as Roman Billie was too busy looking out thick glass Vaticanus windows at the felids of mars just beyond the cement angels of entrancing Etruscan thought.

fixed. ARC mascot hostess Astro girl. tore off the face pasted on with larger smile went back to a more Kat like Mona Lisa smirk so hated by the in laws of ethnics.

He wont lest this happen I packed here now, as to hell with it and nbc chimes thinking it a dirge as the truth is forever and though long dead the CBS Cyclops still thinks the NBC rats are infesting Kmart, nothing is business everything is personal is my true italic credo, and so say here no matter what, if this election is stolen, believe me it will be stolen away from her as he ahs shown a propensity to admit to picking locks. Our Bart Simpson sees a world given mad where he a once Dennis rhe menace misdeameaoring lil bastard and now sees corruption done by each and every creep and thugs of the new Palatine, and thinks, shit bitch I was a hero once at this, and …youre not. He wont let this happen, I say aloud, as see this and turn it from this direful run film before the gal in the black ponytail gets it as the cards of screenings in the parlor thinks it must, he will not let this happen as he is not tempting fate, how Jewish people do not name sons after the father, it tempts fate, he will not allow this lesbian to take his Jesuitical mantel from him. Because she is a lover of death, perfect for this barbaric holiday of yours.

She is a lover of death as all lesbians I was warned you like it or not priests she like this before they all died off and somehow of the Plague of dis only the white haired anchormen and bball players survived. She loves death too much, as there is no bifurcated strata here, no, the delusions heinous to the Franciscan nuns but necessary to the American away of life are not in her vocabulary. She is a dealer and a procurer of death, why she is loved so, at a arms letch of course by a family of patricians whose whole being is in marking the earth with their imperial ruin. That’s why the bushy babies don’t even hide that there are no such things as morals and morality too their perpetual war for perpetual profits, she adores death as all lesbians must by definition, as their wombs are up for sale, the only thing allowing the woman superiority over the man the ability to beget children and thus life is almost seen as a sickness to their overly masculinized view of things as she loves death in all its forms, she makes no apologia no too much Mea, not enough Culpa as Dole said of the night of that tie, no will not forget or forgo that, no matters what its aid it all, she aodrates and adores Death and dying, as war, partial birth abortion, capital punishment, she loves death anyway she can get it, she wants to be the last man standing, the only man, the beast man, the bester man, the best man, an anathema Ovid said in a republic, what does that mean to us…?,  ah but dear, in three thousand years of Roman republica, if being the best an ever mattered and you’d know this f not a drug addicted brain fried scowling clown,, if it ever mattered being the best man,, youre hubby would still be an alderman in Hot Springs. Though it is your dream to wake up like Ovid and turn into a man like freak show realities rats n E channel  married to daughter pimping cows on TV, sorry hunnie, but your husband has done yeoman work, as Romans do, to bring the Best man over and over too his knees.

Well, I think I must have tempted fate myself as wretched this crap when made a point to a lovely Asian girl that I was above such styrophome horrors. The rains that have been incessant our season of the witch had taken the dish that brought satellite television to the house and made it snap off the old roof upon which it was screwed. So after days of a sad darkness in the house, I managed to get some semblance of Television back to the house and a light there with three television all of which were useless black apices of Onyx, like the television in what I thought one of the few pieces of Satire in ours sad besotted world, Live from Golgotha by Gore ., a satirist before anyone a mere Office Girl who took dictation, unlike Sallust,  and who now make faces on television for the democrats thought they were Juvenal. I must have angered the Romantic gods being so willing adne eager to watch this slop, though I did bug out before I could have guessed that Alexandra would be eviscerated in living color, which is after all a favorite action word of the whooping dunces in the mezzanine that doesn’t have a ring master to tell it when to whole heartily agree.

Eventually, finagled the TV enough to get at least somewhat of a signal and some sound and fury and light that I have come to know and love since the ancient days of television meaning something. I fund a few stations commingling in, including NBC, whose shamelessness was seen coming by the big macher of Black Rocked CBS, LONG AGO FALLEN DOWN ENOUGH TO LET one of the comedy alums from Disco Stu rat their ways in. I cant take that station of super train God knows, as think it is that a station can think itself a college of cardinals when in fact is little more than the tower of Milty, a placed whose to me every show seems to be brought you by the T zone, and geritol, good for tired blood.
Its a sad time in a sad age, a rainy fall chastising the pretty dying leaves to go away faster than not, as they become a wet swampy mess amid the cracks of concrete, and a giant harvest moon shows a Diana I and Roman boys like me see, trying to revert itself amid the artistic trees and bats and rats and ticks and spiders of our time and season herein. I  felt I had asked for it as having even watched this crud so eager to be dismissed and demeaned by low renters who are always looking for someone to hector, and lecture,  as my brother warned me they wished to look down on someone as they are looked down upon so much. Still I sent off to the El Rey like b movie site before I SENT IT too the fetishists who incited it, and got I guess like the TV stopping what I deserved. It seems that they like the b movies than I, or at least, like the crappy one more than I do, as not loving these she hating killing films of detergent bloodlettings wasn’t what they were looking for, but like a muse to chase in possible in a résumé is cat nip to me. Also, Comparing Hillary to batman as they said was bothersome to them, though they didn’t explain that if that was an insult to Hillary or to Batman, but like all good Machiavellian antithesis  and analogy it was meant as a insult to Both. The television now flowed with a cascade and a palisade of nostalgia either just my speed or too much for lil ole me, as I was now set to watching the shows I SAW AS A KID, AS THE fake Forum of blonds and creeps of Fox was replaced by these ancient comedies of Plautus, no really, they owe as much to him as they do to Dezi, and I sat and watched the whole panorama of television city ,as  ancient respite and response to a Halloween shows satanic and lesbian and vicious intent was starting to be a bit much.
I cant watch Kat Dannings anymore, but stopped watching that show when I saw despite the Italian names of carters of this, who willing and eager they were to defame the patria and the acre when even havaing a grl like her, a new here the enxt her, always willing to make jokes abut how hairy her snatch is. The leftists love me for that, even if others don’t, and so, cant watch her and the woman that my mother calls La Bionda strimpa, yeeeeech, the eyccch always an accent to show, and so now I find myself  staying up to watch the original goddesses like Maryanne and Emily Hartley and even Bill and I most beloved Venus, the mother of all goddesses as seen in Ancient Romance, Lynda Cater as the perfect swimsuit wearing goddess. She shines and is immaculate as a Minerva in an unrepentantly colorful flag like suit as wonder woman, again explaining to me why it was that feminists wary and suspicious of various hags on television found that they were upset seeing this gargoyle,  screaming at the wicked and the hungry took yes Big Tony’s side in the moon girls question. Again, the dancing girls at RM’s page if not hers herself,  thought about putting me down until told them the again the way nuns told me the witch was something created as much by Ovid, but taken an ionized by Luther as much as Grimm’s.

But what I felt sad about was hearing some Wicca witch substitute teacher of herstory on some radio show screeching about sexy costumes and sexy cat woman outfits as if somehow that was a truest heresy, heh, at this Moon dancing watch holiday this love of death that America has become so badly that I think even Jews receding the days of Norman Lear are queasy about being out and out war loving cripples. Ah sorry, but you cant destroy Monica and then preened that something bothers the sensibilities of the good and wholesome pigs and creeps and thugs of empire who made faces behind the back of the first Black man running for praetor or who sang a song of bombing or who said that half of America is worthless and to be written off, and one cackle about Catholics  dear, as Gore Vidal intoned when he warned that every day in an even Julian year is Columbus day. You can have all the weenies and bushes and sandmen republican willing to take you in, ah but dear, see, like your husband and his love of Rome, a turn coat is as Dante said, but a traitor, and nothing else. I felt badly that this gaggle of hags so unwilling too do any for her as they did for Hubby, were now thinking they could be powerful enough to take from the holiday they thought their evil barren Christmas for killers, and take from it the sexual aspects that all drinking holidays by definition must have, as decking in the dooms and baking chidden into pies is out doc for many who have to get up for work in the morning.  Like when these same coed screech of paying the ghetto trash who are meant to play for nothing everydayness our gals will always back down, and didn’t hear a peep about such things again, as things are dark enough now, and an image of a gal in a swimsuit though and insult to a woman of that sort, well, it’s a moon girl moment of life, the moments that Roman boys like me have followed in dream or in fact, as we all like in that Movies spoken of, I WILL SEE a pretty girl, like Nero at the orgy you think is life, and watch someone of that sort really washing her hair as an antidote to the vulgarity around us and the smell of cum on the badly tiled floor. I get a scent in the air, that things are too dry even for the people who brought you the isolation Booth and Van Doren and handing people answers and such, but you know that was important and a game show not like the future if the republic and all the people this sea hag will get kilt off in her perusal if not quoting at least doing as Caesar did. See,  that peacock needs a snow strum to clean its wings, ass I GET THE feeling we are done with this, and have a inking no less than Roman Bill has had that thing we all have at the Roman circus, as I again intoned in LOBRUTUS, we have had enough of the circus, enough of the blood, enough of it all, and it is nice to take a break from chuckling hags and creeps and bloated pigs yelling at each other on cable television as recall an America in these shows and this essay that Roman Bill, like our Virgil, wowee who could have seen that coming, will lead us back to in the best recitations of a Roman Clown that has had enough, that word that says it all when the big shot will take no more, whether you like it or not. So, I avoid the holiday of the witch, and the Wicca who took the Roman priestess as its own that saddens and dispirits me, like seeing a hack named MacKane called the roman tithe of Senator, it’s a demerit a sad thing , of like Harry Butthole Pussy Potter, and recall the hags the woman who remembered the Romantic italic rites and rituals to the end, the nuns who Luther saw as a idea to thwart and wished to remake as sexless wives, Roman Bill shall ride again, kids. So, maybe hopefully he rides to a farm having had enough as a wife seems as all American wives always do, as see in Della Street, even the seen imagery of a pretty sort of woman no sweater or courtroom decorum could hide in our Once Spillane age, as here was Della, insatiable and pretty and alive within and amid the bored and boring and such as girl Friday to the  Queen with Bogart’s face. AS A KID, I LIKED  HOW HE as the jurists wanted me to always do, thought the cops and the da were losers an were always willing to railroad the innocence. But now Anderson has his untied colors of the prosecution table telling us who wonderful is the unreformed state, the curia as faggy as ever. I liked Perry Mason as a kid. There is Della, the older cigarette girl a lovely woman in mid century, in cold war liveliness of a sort unseen anymore in that great age of American nimbleness, a shapely woman a pre Plaything womanliness, a starlet of a certain age, still vital and pretty and stacked under the gray of Christian Diore and CBS monochrome prettiness and a smile almost a pretty smirk as is called Beautiful by her both brutal and yet light on his feet and masculine boss.  So as said before will say again, in the words of the divine Orson hated as all so alive is by hags at the dred and unraveling pompous times, That’s no Martial….Its Halloween.


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