26 November 2016

REAL PLAYBOY LIKE. PART II.





Did a lot of work this month getting stuff out, though I must admit a Machiavellian fatiguing   quality to EVEN Watching evil sets IN, I as tired of the doge and duchess of Syracuse. I did like many leave this requiem for a lightweight to bumble and simmer on its own, as not as Romantically attuned as say is Bill, these on the pad dying circus clowns don’t understand the Cesarean basis ethic of propaganda. If its not read its so much wet leaves, and isn’t even decent enough to be art, which serves the white chicks who called Virgil Propaganda right.

So, because of not being at face book ever long enough to make the barrage of ads worth their while for me I guess, the woman who runs face book, which I’ve never much liked but use mostly to keep up with buddies and see images of cute brunettes that Sorkin would call like Monica the cost of doing bidness, the sweetheart of Sigma Ki, oh that Sheryl woman too, send me a cascade of updates but am alas busily doing work while watching Gun smoke to recall the American ethic the Jews who invented Hollywood understood then and not no more. I was alerted that I was upsetting to the good white co ed cows and pips and sissies and creeps who think at last they can return their world back to the Klansmen that were their grandfathers and this time, be admired for their vices and be masters buying servants and all the rest of the Machiavellianism that Bill has taken to heart and that wifeys warbling fat bloated yenta mob wives priestesses thankfully eschewed as too Italian for their locks. But unlike Maureen Dowd, our cross between Benedictus Spinoza and Tina Louise, I didn’t get my first copy of Marcus Aurelius as a club to whack at the bloated bumbling pig praetor ,who I secretly hated between Italian wedding envelops like Bret Hume, as our roman schoolboy, unlike his wife always knew that respect was something that could be bought at a discount if you didn’t need it to be absolutely real, like most things in America always are. As Gore Vidal said, my Virgil and my poet, that in America, the truth is often the opposite of what is said over and over by our priests, if indeed anything is true at all.

So, receive often these updates, dare I take even a day away from this place, as usually only look for names of art school buddies, particular women with lets say Neapolitan attributes, or film contacts. But did see that one of my posts was hurriedly taken down, if you thought this was still American scene magazine, that’s your fault, as used the heinous word Diaspora as to speak of the hacks and low level garage league Juvenal’s that Jewey Jonnie has flooded the zone with. It was a sly mean joke, as to honest and almost bothered to say this as was given I guess some sort of way to plead my case to the self important  self involved self everything hacks at the growing old new My space, and went back to work, and left it at that. It is no Diaspora as again like in the biblical movies of disavowed Stanley Kubrick, told too late that actually Blond Spartacus had his own retinue of slaves, as a rice you see, HE was never to be a slave, not that there were never to be slaves, a good liberal icon. No, Jewvanal was a good little boy and made sure he gave us one boy chick, fat girl, over hated titian haired wife with a BA in something, negreos who have faces like a frozen Roman mask of comedy, English fairies, sissies, and cats offs from SNL, after the next, as Jews, sorry, like Blonds and Italians like being the only one in the room. I was alerted that this was taken down by communittttay standards, you know, who we once were told to know filth when we saw it as old Potter, and thus any thing said that Sweetheart doesn’t like is verboten, unless it’s somehow Isis, but I guess Isis fighters need spam about ED saves too. I was also alerted some hack bothering me about my delusion of grandeur, so let me race back to Fuckbook—sorry, that’s another account, --to know that I am not allowed to say something as it has been said by our white Ramseses of the priests  of academia who have been strangely sanctimonious and loud and vociferous and pompous just as they decried to Fire Keith and thus try to grab another holiday called new years eve with a lawyer acceptable of College Football playoffs , playoffs…?, for a sport that didn’t need it, but did manage with the pigs and trash and white girls and negreos on scholarship all on board, decided to give America 15 weeks of Football, one less than professionals,  you know so they could keep up with their studies and or baloney snagwiches. So, again I don’t take dictation ala Sallust, he was loved by the Jesuits, of not the white chicks of Amazon, where I have actually won an award, which now seems amazing, on one of their list, and too, I am not being read homilies by the rascal division of a Gulag Archipelago that decide strangely and eventually deleterious, as a lover of Rome, I sense Ruin when it is coming, they decided to trade Joe Paterno for Tricky Nicky Sabine, who openly can disparage and demonize a kid wishing to get away from his inherently shady and flaunted rule. To the safe space hacks like Maureen, she of the year of voting stupendous--sorry Dangerously, there is no other inherent vote to be made in a republic, ask they in the anybody but Clinton crowd, they are always there, as she is supplementing their income, or trying to be radials with all that soot from those drones signed off on and wedding dress ash on their hands I only always say, Who’s In, this time…?



I have no such delusions, as I guess am not allowed the scarlet letter of satire given out now by Zoidbergh, as if no one tells you that The Queen Bee is satire or Funny, you might not ever guess she is either. But I grew up with National Lampoon and Mad and Mad comic inserts, and no one had to sanitize that for your approval we were allowed to be kids then, satire and funny was more expectable then and didn’t have sermons gnarling warnings on it lest that ninnies blow their hands off, as again, it is funny to see you all be so sanctimonious having not gotten your Trojan horse that far enough away from the jersey shore to make Hillatta the Tubercular gagging Cleopatra she dreams of being , ah but I was the auger and warned you over again,  that perpetual fifteen year old Cattiline loving Octavian standing there on the shore, damn sure that this cunt wasn’t taking his Rome from Him, already assured his being heir to Caesar and dint need some half breed ninny with thin lips taking Rome from him, gods knew. See, Juvenal wasn’t my favorite roman, nor is the satire, ironically enough , My favorite Roman form, at least not the way you think of it, but as Ovid says, when has Homer been more perfectly ridiculed, not even when reduced to frogs and bunnies and snarling war haters and fags, but when has Homer BEEN MORE PERFECTLY MAIMED TO LOOK INSIPID AND RIDICULOUS THAN WHEN REWRITTEN BY Virgil, FROM THIS LINE A RUSSIAN HACK PORNOGRAPHER NAMED NABOCOV, great Goalie that Nabockov,  HAD TO SUE THE OVID AGAINST VIRGIL BY CALLING THE AENEID INSIPID, MISUNDERSTANDING THE COOKING TERM, AS RUSSIANS HAVE MISUNDERSTOOD ALL SINCE PETER. Still, I have been more an epicist than a farceisist, and I am a fantasy- er if need be, but can use satire it enough to never be a yentas mob wife like last living Hillary supporter Joy Bahaer, who is the last afternoon yak, who doesn’t hold Monica against her Queen as so many yentas and concerned woman for America do and did, I speak fluent Byzantine dears, and am sorry if have had enough Jesuit in the past and rabbis to, telling my father that I should have as early or as leapt as 1975 to get into Harvard as his own children couldn’t even then. As even by then, the age of Norman Lear, meathead, was told the gentleman agreement was still  in placed,  as didn’t care or ask and knew even then I wasn’t  giving into my fathers wishes, that I get ahead in a nation he called a giant Klan woods, even then I knew as much, and so when I saw that this as all being heaved up, this latest Sore Loser man act, this need to Bushman like merely cast away millions of votes between perpetual wars, I wasn’t shocked,  as  Roman God Bacchus would say, I’m sorry, perfect rich cartoon Jim Backus would say, as Thurston would say, to see this all come from a Yale man. Ah the Bush family has traded to vainly to make his year their last stand, you know for the little brown ones, but alas we don’t recall the names of the famines who trued to rue Italy as they always have, when Dante Wrote, their narks are lost to histories perhaps in that ice that Bill has always wished to avoid, life is the battle for an ideal  which is why I always knew that Billy , anything for, would never, and I mean ever never,  go from  Gore Vidal’s Tarzan Remembered, an essay whose sue by me got a radical woman to find and read and love, as an inner monologue to valiant and decent, as too did the Jesuits and nuns love Gun smoke and Cincinnatus as does Gerry Wills, from that noble green laurel to then go to be reamed as Patty Lupone singing out a Merman like Don’t cry for me argentinaaaaaa……a deserved Coda I say for a well lived life, make Bill first lady I say, as we could drag him back to Rome as the Romans did Hannibal, naked and shaved and walked ahead of Hillary as Flammius, drug through the old city in chains made of Gold. It would serve him so right.  With Joy this dago thug as his last true believer, until given a heave ho, from Legal at A BIGGER CHECK, this cow this slut this worse than senseless hag, this cunt, who WILL WALK off any stage where Arabs are defamed with true statistics, but if you are planning a good mafia show, shell surely will be the honking goose mc for all the calzones and gift cards she can shove in her parka. This is the cow who called Black Friday racial, well, it screechy it is , dear but like your fellow traveler Dago cunt Scorsese you didn’t get the race right. OH I  do hope for one day that dago cunt Joie, I hope she lives out her Mario Puzo Fortunate pilgrim, Max Baer  hick movie creed, I do hope so she is raped and beaten, blood smeared on a slip worthy of her guttural life, a bra ajar and pulled and broken as she would deserve, as Ma told me  its happened to better and prettier Italian woman than she as that somehow survived the great Coppola,  who thought he was making art, as I as an Italian kid didn’t get safe space as much as I got Marty and Frankie and such sorts thinking they were making brass doors when all they were making were jersey barriers. I do hope she is molested  one day as befit her loudmouth ethic, as I can stand there, I am a Roman bitch at heart, to this cunt who walks off sets were Arabs are defamed and she can then honk her approval  like trained Clydesdale's counting 7 plus 5, and I WILL LAUGH SO HARD at her and call her a trammmmp like Joan rivers would before her, because we Roman know a WOUND ISN’T A WOUND UNTIL THE SALT IS APPLIED.


Besides being the auger, and warn you if not too late that the business you have chosen is not conducive to censorship, as Billus could tell you that that letter being circulated by the once and future vice president was for a censure, from that Latin for nothing, and he cant be that and pretend to white girls he loves Aquinas, EVEN THOUGH THEY HAVE NEVER READ  OR HEARD OF HIM, I KNOW EXACTLY WHO I AM, BE, AINT IS, ALL THE SOCIETY OF JESUS LIES OF THE VERB, I know it all intrinsically and without fail or doubt. I am in these days a guerrilla movie contest, that an email told me of as was told a friend in the night like that Roman Tuba, Felt badly for me and my Bad Verses and shown that blew up and so I sit here in the third round of a film movie website contest, from one to another, as some realize that the one thing I can do which all Romans loved was the idea of getting an audience, as Plautus waned, I just never brought the roman ideals of theater and farce to my sex life, well, not that much. I am to be alerted to who will win the cake by Dec. 5th.  I am told by a woman, sorry a girl, from  there that I will be alerted that day should I WIN these chances,  and thus an opportunity to be given to make a film whose acceptance by slamdacne I take it, is augured as first prize. And I will be grateful for the opportunity to win this, and get the camera and the set and will make Roman Mythology,  verboten on both Zoetrope and green light, those Florence’s of the bribers and the on the pad arts,  as a ultimate graffiti on a low level jersey wall as the Italics I adore have done before and now, and I WILL BE THANKFUL FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO MAKE A FILM I WISHED TOO MAKE AS OPPOSED TO OTHERS unnamed who did as they were supposed to, and I will make RM. As I told a gal who also makes guerrilla films, such is what we have to do now as the 50 media coapies who made Bill their Miles Gloriousus and ring master gladiator Hero around in 2000, have dwindled to Five.  They who allow Bush family help, brothers and meatheads to think that the Borgia lasted forever which they assuredly did not. Tell that Jew I can return him to the church of Torquemada anytime I feel it necessary, Cosmo told Nicollo who was a Borgia  nuncio, you know Jews sticking together and all,  or was that Cicero, I cant recall, anyway, the lawyer saint rejoined back, Sure, but, he said, once a stable boy always a stable boy, Your grace, a line which along with Roman books got him tortured.

So, the holiday of the year in which Jeb Bush faggily writes his name down with Helena Gehagen Douglas, Cassius and Shylock and Syphilis the sheepherder as wishing ill so much they didn’t care who they destroyed as long as they lost, a strange end to doggedly pursue, thus making it worse in  a way that Bill never would, to a Roman losing has a dignity cheating like a woman will never keep. We had to hear from old Jebby himself poison in hands, waving the white flag of Italian corporal; surrender when as Levy said actually if one looks at the manifests and the aftermath such soldiers have kept since CAESAR, ONE WOULD FIND MORE NATIONAL SOCIALISTS always gave in and surrendered more than any of Grazianos troops, some who fought to the death. Ah, no prose award  from Ox bridge for you Carlo, just for that. A cop car, on thanksgiving no less, chased a black dude in a car for missing a signal for a left turn and chased him Bullet like, for three blocks, we are all in a first draft of Onion field now, and were so openly sloppy as cops that the car speeding away as the nigger in our play always must, that idiot slammed into an Italian family and wiped them out, just to show the Caesars change but like the gluttons Clintons the victims names are always the same. SEE, IN THAT Italian story my mother compared the Clintons to  which was just eaten up once by some on Pittsburgh radio when they thought Barrys legacy was going to be destroying the anti Cuomos once and for all, see again no Roman stands in the well of the Romans senate an says the era of big gummite is over, certainly if it is,  as we must put in appearances and that. In the tale of the doge of Syracuse, the wife eventually was set out hung in a rope eerily sporting  the hair that hubby had scalped Lucia for, as if to see I didn’t want it, it was all her fault, as it always is eventually. So, Jebby came out on our Testament betwixt the old and new, the WALL STREET JOURNAL, and before God and man and the north star and cows scared to Aryans, now that he thought it over, since 1000 points have been gained in a few weeks, told by his own Bills to clam up or else, he well he gave up the ghost and the poison and the wedding dress and the shell of Tara, again sorry but used that line before Jonnie mouthed similar words, and our prince boy never to be even ALgore, Irony is catching, said he prays for our new Praetor, perhaps on a Syrian temple pointed to that north star, that stars that keep our faults, or don’t,  and all, but to be fair I know as the Italian said of Mussolini all his prayers are by definition requiems anyway, but then I am too hep for this crowd. I know who and what I am and who and what you are and don’t need the co eds or thugs on scholarship ninnies thinking they are Suleimans or Caesars are or wastrels made even worse as  yet Caesar’s wife, lecturing me between game days. As I did send out my PATRICIA CARTOON, AS SHE IS DUMBFOUNDED AND A VULGAR DEAD END KIDS IN Dotage Boiney is seemingly not that concerned.  I print the line at the bottom, to paste to the glorious newsprint have been drawing in since my father got me shitloads at the now closed local newspaper. Save the tiger baby, I write, a sweet aside to earlier posts about our lackluster prince of radicals. Then, I, to scan the cartoon to send it out, I saw in the scanner was the page I had left there twelve days or so ago, a Neal Adams like page of flying possessing in action, studies of ms , I left it there as sometimes I do. And there taped to the page was a thumbnail too late found, the bunny sketch with a blowhard Boiney as a lump in a win button and a straw hat, the last hurrah, as he tells




the bunny, the sort of woman hated by lesbians and yentas, at least with black hair, Boneiy tells her, in scrawled pencil at the bottom, with the inflection of the Loesser and Burrows that he seems the last visage of, I don’t keep grudges, sweetheart , he tells her, as the first thing they teach you in circus, War and politics is how to read a map.  After a holiday more irritating than any blow up, a TV set I had to re-calibrated and somehow got the Cowboys in, and how bout those thereof, as Jimmie Johnson seemed ver klepmt and upset even that the cowboys didn’t lose forever as he was an exemplar of the Hillary lesbian arts of spite, after days of pixleared pink and Macys ads already strafing us with the hard sell, the television winked back on MeTV  in time to see the Minerva glorious Amazonian face of the gorgeous Lynda Carter, in star spangled hag hated silk flag suit, she the boyhood queen of all that was sexual and life. A schoolboy from Rome, and all its colonies in time and space, would , if not the Jews and spics and Sicilian sleazy with the eye on  looking to weaponize marriage as a step ladder to American dreaming, at least us Roman boys would heartedly approve.


NEXT: SATURNALIA, ROMANSPLAINED.

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