11 December 2016


Had my Christmas tumble as usually do, when its good its saturnalia when not it reverts to a cheaters Christmas, as it was four o’clock in the morning and for some reason was sure that there was some sort of warfare going on outside and running to the door, I was sure to mattress, I went tumbling down the thin railed steps, down the staircase into an immovable desk which has somehow petrified to the shag floor. I took a third tumble this season, this the worst, and went and took a header down the steps, tackling dummy into that short but studded desk. My brother awoke and raced downstairs to help me up as I mumbled something abut having to shut the door in a stupor, and he started to call this hospital. I woke more up and begged off, and said not to do it, as this Hilary dear is what people do when someone they love is hurt, as unlike her we have all been touched by the Jesuits in this house, my mother going back to the nuns who made Catalane a hero way back and as late as the thirties, and thus it isn’t just a hieroglyphics sued like pig Latin by various in laws. But then I was warning all along about the essence of hubby and what he was and more imprinted, what he wasnt going to allow but what do I know. Although  to be fair the last few times at Face mash,  I have been thankfully left alone by the horrid cunts and sissies and coven and salon whisking to betrayed the republic for a  Goldwater girl, and who want me to sign a petition to save her and their flagging party but of course with my pay pal account. I only give that out to gals wishing to pay me if want to for my cartoons, as again I was taught by a caliber of Jesuit that Hillary only knows if through her husband’s incantations, an honorable Latin she mistakes for tawdry Greek in the night.

Despite self medicating with Advil and Coors light bought at a black bar my brother has been buddies at and with since the doll days, as when we went to the supermarket, to buy some beer for me, the girl behind the counter, a pretty Italian Girl who spells Paula with an O, a dad giveaway of Neo-Platonism that and that she shines with a peach loveliness and leaves me stuttering, as always drop a paper or a box of cupcakes to her delight and cute laughter. She demanded, well asked for, id, from a sixty year old brother who said it was easier getting beer in America when he was a juvenile delinquent, upset he said, but this making her smile, but that was an America then we have replaced with sissies ninnies, fagots trash, CNN data cooks and creeps all waiting to try to Virgil walk us through a interminable bowl season, remember it isn’t Christmas, even Saturnalia, I did get my share of shit over that and no longer need out self made  cards, although am sure that if all things sent back to me by some, these never were, as Saturnalia,  which Medvenianly bothered some white hicks, its not duck season or wabbit season, its bowl season, and don’t you ferget it. So, have been sucking this rare, only passable to me beer, down and still hurting, but refuse to not do all which is needed to have a nice holiday as fat bleated Macy's balloons , human cysts like Moore and such try to give out primers on how to ruin the holiday, but stay tuned for that big hoped for Saturnalia game between the Sabin Girls the pride of Ohio, Ohio state, which showing we don have the ethics if the Romans, it didn’t matter if they lost to Penn state, rapes went on there, deep voiced closet everything’s tell us, on cbs radio,  as opposed to The north side or with Jimbo, and so, I tired to warn along back that when people think that the contract is sickened, fake, a new word found, that they stop watching, but what do I know. Too many Gödel’s spoil the blood sport.

I SHOULD HAVE  not gloried in almost 8000 views for part one of this Saturnalia diary, as with that and a computer virus and waiting three days to get scans done at the staples, I almost lost out on the first of three gals waiting for my work this Romanist season, which when the Arabs take over the world, you’d better ace room for the days of the invulnerable sun, as the christers did before you ,as what is never learned by Jews, Christers and Arabs is that no one really wants to take marching orders from a Semite. I should have paid more attention, but got it down, as I am a roman at heart, no longer even joke that use Spartan,  never much liked that word, as we become something akin to Sparta now, but with an overlay of adoration and defecation of the Homosexual…you know, Sparta. There is a love of war and marriage that has lamed us all up, causing CBS stations to show recollections of theta golden age, and Jerry Paris auras as our Saturnalia ghost this time, with italic smirk and next door neighbor aplomb as his name is rather noticeable in this Mary Christmas. I TOLD THE GAL AT THE one looking for chubbier images of women, fine by Patria adoring me, and fine by her too, that I was a bit off, but she was kind enough to let me Spar—Roman up and ran to staples with a brother feeling worse than I driving me there, in practically Robe, at which I demanded the scans I had dropped there in Monday and this was Thursday far Jesus Fucking Christ’s sake. It is after all Roman Christmas. But I got into out and sent as I said I would. I said to this woman one of many to take my side against those hags if cable TV shows who hate Wonder woman, she is one of many who love my Camilla, I spent the night making a fish in pepper and tomatoes sauce demanded by my mother for the advent, in which most years, you lamest ducks try to get things through hoping no one is noticing the usual curia’s as needed up as it always does with all the hacks of empire going in the same direction. I watched MTM all night as did this for her, and made a thick bread pizza, as watched these lovely images from my boyhood, and said to the gal here, it , with Laugh in too recalled and watched, was strange to me to see an America replaced by this arctic fortress of solitude now, this barbarian gate , if they had one, despite and besides the trees, as was watching men and adults who liked Scotch openly, satire and Brunettes, all of which ahs been replaced by a dwindling and dying Steven Colbert, who show sums up his bonfides and his good heart by catching himself on mid racing out, lest eh be sued by those who if he didn’t sell his soul to at least won the rights.

So I am Informed, and thus do not read Newspapers. But my brother and mother do, making stacks of newsprint I believe are only good as cleaning the kitchen floor. So Ironic for all those ad of Bulgari on those just cheap as they ever were, maybe worse, pages. He reads the Wall street journal, a rag,  which after one of the most  anti- Roman summers I can recall, that alleged Indy movie channel reveled in anti Dago bullshit thinking it was killing two birds with one stone, still in mid correction as they knew that had made the ultimate mistake of Roman theater, miscasting, a always b be c casting, and that dying warbling bumbling Goldwater girl hag Hill isn’t the one able to play Sister Gertrude as they had needed, much less Camille, as this death scene like Patton’s was interminable, they had to back off and say that the Romans weren’t so bad after all, as they didn’t build walls, famously all had to be about getting back to Rome, they built roads that the Jews and the Greeks and  the barbarian only built cull de sacs, and they didn’t hate immigrants and at they, they they..., Ah too late, as I HAD Veronica say in my comic. This was like putting on A view from the bridge, sorry, too many Sopranos, too say The wires, too many mistral shows you allowed yourselves to show as tell the yentas hag cunts at a bigger check, you see, if Guido gets to be a pejorative to you death mask cunts, well then so does Pedro. It’s the physics that Mother Hilly never understood. Its Roman calculus, dears, girls, qui Bono, who did it benefit, is the question that is not only unasked by verboten to be thought by the books that Medved Jews and their uncomfortably tolerated, ah thares the word in its realest meaning, hurl at each other as pies, but filled with blood as opposed to cherries.

So, have spent a lovely Saturnalia despite the soreness watching etched in silver nitrate wonderful old comedies, as a Roman would or should, as again saw that the games of Bombardment by hags and fags and sissies and scumbags who voted against Hillary more than they did and wanted it to Mean something the one time they did, sorry, again this is what Machiavelli writes like Galileo or vice versa, depending in what white woman is talking. I don’t bother to read newspapers, nor watch their dying televisions shows out of no sanctimonious strand, I couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care enough t be a Kunstler as the fathers so wanted, I certainly could nit be a Juvenal who had skin in the game as Barry was so intent on saying, but then, who gamed his skin as much as that tap dancing little drone riding nigger boy queen did. We know now that that horrid sissy ninny , the unknown comic was getting secret sealed orders from this ragged wicked white house selling the story, but parading to be satirist, I liked it better as a Roman Boy when you hated venal, I had to open by Bigggggggg Mooooouttttth,  that might be the only sin a Roman heart can commit, either be devoted or don’t, but don’t try to sell the shit through a smirk, that don’t make it. As such for the shit about being a satirist, no, according to Juvenal’s own ideals, that a satirist on the payroll of power becomes by necessity merely a womanish ridiculer, as we know you all were, which would explain why he went out of his way so often t make fun of all those democrats in the senate that Barry couldn’t shed fast enough, and who he always hated and deemed as below the Horiatus of the clock room, is it safe to come out yet...? what a hero, as to be fair and right, HERO begins life as a woman. See Coriolanus elsewhere.  I knew as much as  said it then, to the chorus of hags and witches which has gone away.

But I have gone to the dollar stare to make a semblance of a saturnalia to show again despite all their attempts and their moldings, little pun there, since you were so willing to let fags die once as opposed to know making housewives of them all, it was always the Franciscans and their love of the decency of poverty I was closer to and more akin to all along. Its at a dollar store one can by the boxes that they say Christmas  doesn’t come in in sickly smarmy doctor Seuss between the Macy's hard sell ads, and there that I found a tithing scene of sorts in which these poor people so dismissed and emended and ignored by a party that amusingly thought it was going to shove a Goldwater girl down our throats, oh that’s whey Teddy who needed a VW bug instead of his family Otter like sedan,  couldn’t bring himself to ever be a clerk for dear queen Hillary all along and I thought it was because of the fact like Liiva with Germanicus, the prince beloved by the old man didn’t make it back from the alps or was it the drink, whatever, I knew and saw that had Richard Nixon been allowed to finish his term, that the next in line was Teddy Kennedy, there would have been no Carter thank God, no Reagan either, the republic would be saved,  and that he would always recall this and that smarmy little cunt Jimmy Carter, incompetent Jesus freak, so much better than us all, as he wrote off every dirty war he needed to, that uncle Ted would carry that never was, that to the day he died, and would make sure that all those in that house committee who voted to bring down an American President for dirty tricks his brother called Tuesday, would get theirs. As they all have and if you don’t belive  Roman Tony,  look up how they all ended. Dopes like Trent Lott merely bumbled their way out if the ermine robes, some lost the preatorship ala 1876,…etc.  

But it was a first few days on face mash, in which I just go back to here and finish up pages having to have to do with Love and winter a strata for Roman Tony to bring up winter 1970. It was having been there a few days, and was getting likes more than now as now only get likes from old buddies, fellow comickers, and pretty brunette starlets I am always on the look out for. A  always  B be,----And then in 2011, or some unholy unroman year in which such attachments could be done, though again to be fair it was being befriended by the likes of Jon Stewart that really did turn a tide or the trick for me as Bill Clinton or at least Mary Magdalene would say. See unlike Steven Colbert having his dread dire comedy written by Dude, where’s hers my country, I always liked Bill Clinton because his farces seemed to write themselves. And in them first days, I said that I had, as a little boy stol—found-as many Marvel comics as I could …find, and unwilling to enrich Uncle Stan and his thievery of the word Marvel from Pete Costanza, and mostly Conan, I would take the Conans and steal the imagery of this bloated vulgar barbaric man, drawn so well by heroes like Bushema and Neal Adams, seemingly then a favorite of Barry the fairy, maybe that was giy he dreamed of, because that was his dream boat, like Bill I am a devote of the smear and the Roman joke, the ones gals don’t get, and I would take the images of Conan and remake him into a Captain Magnus or MS or whatever hero I was making. And to this post and showed my ma and she was quite impressed though she thought he was a disgrazato, but sharp as a tack, the devil always is, a Nicollo, she called him, I got a like and a thumbs up from Uncle Bill Clinton. That I as a boy took a barbarian hero, to misuse the word, who amusingly has  black hair like the superman of Neapolitan comics of the gilded age, that got admiration from Bill Clinton and that is absolutely true. I said that no one who dealt in that internal dialog  I saw exalted in Gore Vidal’s Tarzan Remembered, as I get wayward liberals to recall dear father Gore and look him up, and by doing that keep what would be seen as a windfall away from the collected pages of the New Yorker, now languishing to the point they’ll give you a year for six dollars as they keep posting at me, as if Id bother to even give a die to them, f you creeps and your lives of being now without what you need to live a life In Cold Cash. But still in that essay known to me and used by me to examine my Tony verse, one doesn’t go from the life lives of Antony, played by Richard Burton, and hasn’t dear Bill always been on the outlook for his busty Cleopatra, one doesn’t go from that to every part ever played by Tony Perkins. See what I did there, gals,…IM BETTER AT THIS THAN YOU. Right on Mrs. Peirsaw.  That’s who you were dealing with girls. So watching the brilliant Phil Silvers and his great act including some of the best TV actors and comic faces of all time, Zimmmmmerman….this televised human Top cat, caused laughing out loud as television doesn’t do anymore that its become a wholly owned subsidiary of the constant voter drive of the democratic party as it in turn is owned by GE, I sat and watched the great Jewish Comic, the original Plautus before Zero in fact, we are all so interchangeable in the city on a hill, my warning all along, that It was great to see the clown morays and his sleazy act of a gonniff unseen now as the Jews now out Lutheran the Lutherans for being Lame. On the show as was readying for batman, I saw beloved boyhood goddess, dimpled leggy, thick torsoed,   heroine, perfectly named Julie Numar as a lusterous con of Bilko, placed as a maid in a gorgeous outfit, statuesque and gorgeous, as I wondered how has that marriage gone on so well what with Hillary having voted as she did for Goldwater, no it was in a piece I write called 1964 one which a gal who ran a leftist website told me people upset at my even being allowed anywhere near the pages, Im used  to it,  there and the acrimony therein, well, when I noted that and they had no idea that they were being asked to support a voter of old stone faced Barrys, Hillary voted for Goldwater I was asked…?..., yes I sad, She was the one, and suddenly upset and scansions co eds left me, and by definition her letting me in, alone. I guess the bribes didn’t include such a roman thing as standing up too much. And, I wondered who would ruin a familial thanksgiving because some woman  you vetoed against like three months ago would be that vapid, and what with  the fallen prince having been so important to the young man as the man who gave him a wooden sward and a dream of imperial wreathes. How have those thanksgiving gone, as fat bloated pigs tried to fuck up the holiday for her which didn’t shock me as after all they were the pimps who did come up with the idea of welfare reform in an alleged Democratic party, as they had in the middle of a boom time, as pigs like they would. See, in the wall street journal in a small note a caveat if you’d like, that it hasn’t been the same America as twas before these two pigs showed up. In fact, a level of poverty as unseen  in America is now called a new Normal by hags and pigs, cunts who look like living Modigliani sketches come alive on stations unwatched, as they lecture us, and ask again for your pay pal address to save the republic, if not their expense accounts. Since 1996, poverty in America has expanded by 240 percent. Happy Saturnalia to those having to shop at the dollar store, as I gleefully catch Bilko and the comedy once Jews did and made as roman farce always has by those who haven’t reached the folding money yet and Bilko has been somehow recalled by Shumars, each one less funny the next. And there was Julie in her dimpled gorgeousness, a Franzetta drawing literally come to life, as she was an artists model for the ghosters of Al Capp, alas she still as pretty as any ghost has ever been, there with this gonniff whose voice was lent to Machiavelli  in an inspired, if probably over the heads of the kids it was meant for, always the best Chick Jones cartooning,  in a perfect show by Spielberg called Hysteria, there she was in living incantation of the Roman line by Plautus, that every man can use a maid.

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