19 June 2017


I managed despite everything to get out all I had to when I had to, but since told by some house coon witch that my work would nobly be acceptable to her if  I had a record, something has gone  out of me pretty much, and could sense any boomlet of mine was widening down, as am one-step above  being lectured too about ‘the art of comics’ by thugs who think Jack Kirby is their own private Caravaggio.

But a gal who asked me to do #DEM BONES last July when people willing to tear up the constitution now, were then on cable television with  fish eyed blonds speaking on  how mother Hubbard loved war and niggers were screeching about the crime bill, nomo scordi mae, she emailed me in the middle of the week of Shakespeare in the woods and asked Tony, didnt you….why yes I SAID, AND she told  me her magazine, a radical flysheet  rabble rousing newsletter would pay me for expenses in getting from Pittsburgh to New York to see this miscarry of Roman theater,   as I can recall when was lectured to about what a highline I danced on by alluding to Barry as Queen Dido, who only commits suicide as Hannibal and coloreds often do. Speaking of which, is there something about that name that predestines never seeing things through… That was too much as even lesbians on War inc patrol wanted the secret service brought in every time someone made him the Joker, which I thought was a waste of time cry, as the Joker always to me summed more devoted than this nigger would ever be.

I asked my brother who have to come as Audrey told  me New York would eat me alive, no Rhoda Morgenstern, up, and he said, no way would he go any were near that shit, as now he said wittily its the liberals who are burning crosses, as the priests warned him, even before I. The very next day, someone got on the stage, tres Roman, again quit playing with fires you don’t understand, in-laws, as the anger on your side is hennaed up and bought and the anger against you is real, soo my money this time isn’t on Bill Clinton, if in fact, he as  any money riding on this at all.  I was glad to see the criterion these thugs and fags goy  hurled out, as yelling at the roman wall, how glorious was that to see an angry theatergoer, oh so very La Scala, be that  thing that George Pill and his pressed into  service champions, ah  the  too tall for gummnnit work Bushed queers,  yell at the queens of theater, who thought they were just soo grand essaying the diminution of wops that is behind there alas best Klansman and college try litanies. I said this story, the Romans stories, as I dent hear nay colored chicks screaming about cultural appropriation did you,but as I asked one cow,  who thought shed start with me, ever wear jeans dear...? , because the Italian navy never  saw a dracma from someone laughingly  named Levis. The Romans, though strip-mined by that fairy who I heard on Charley Rose invented the Sonnet, yes Fuuck yu to Mr. Petrarch, even without the ah at a the end you didn’t exist for the middlebrows, and the amazon head hunters, it isn’t like the noose, something you hold  the copyright upon anyway, and told  the gal, thanks but no  thanks. She asked me, it will probably be shuttered by the time you got there anyway, so will you write a sonnet of yours like Dembones about your experience on your Caesar which as I said, par for the course was much better.

She asked if I recount the whole thing as with the radicals all that Hillary does  disgusts them, why you are seeing backing away from ‘Resistance’ always a loaded war  analogy why the Interregnum war loving Bushes coined it, sorry Keith dear, back to sports for you,   as its  something as  fake a severe because I a bitch made sure all knew twas from that gamut of grave robbers, and believe me there are more than just Jewish cripples out there and radicals what don’t have debt to the folding money,  and believe it or not dare there are  people who hate George Will, I am forwarded Petitions to sign as if Id care,  Disgusted ,like say Jack Germando old liberal sorts, who wouldn’t be caught dead on that’s side, no matter how much war stock they do or don’t have.  Ahh the portfolio, in which having one was the divining rod, which told all Clinton what was liberal today. But what is important here and the only reason Ill do it as some are thinking  there thinking about letting me do something for them as said to one could make your heroine another Promythea if youd so like and they said looking  at my work, they have to think about it, as did too much and admired but still have a Roman work ethic in me, no matter what Al Franken thinks of them, as  what is impact here is why it was done or not.

In the late summer of last year, was asked by someone if could make Trump into Julius Caesar, but then I have  read that story since a boy and the Jesuits  again showing me water colored collocated magazines, no, not playgirl, but Jesuit magazines, in which two colored etchings were of noble Romans in ways the fat chicks hate, who rail against Fathers day, how lovely, again I was  hurling out Bad verses because of all of this when you lesbians were still jewingly in the base boards, hoping to blame Hilary eventual wars on Mother, and waited until you got the all clear dears,  so again dont fuck with me hunnies, in ways that would even make me ill, screech showing that when there is nothing you wont do, there  is no bottoms to sink to,  and the Busheis  and the lesbians deserve each other keenly, but the rest of us don’t. See, before Jon Stewart left, and Letterman too,  before they would bug out as I mentioned at the time, and would avoid a year of  sucking Hillary’s balls, they had already engendered to  make Trump INTO GUMBATATTIS MAXIMUS, the only sure slur and shorthand they were allowed, ah but this ship is sinking, and all the rats are taking the side  where the water isn’t, an oiliest put they were allowed, but again Steven and  Jewish alders boys who  hide their Catholicism have shown, like dishwater hags there is no bottom-land. No play within the Ovidian play, per chance, since we all smell of sulfur now.

But, as got a summer of work admired by people I thought would never ever come to me, Arabs, I hate the 300, lesbians, radicals. Etc.,  I called their vile Bluff, Romans don’t bluff, see  elsewhere, and made him, Trump Caesar, but not as a insult, really not as the creepy weirdo who made this play had to back away as you always must, don’t forget cry into the camera as it makes you look less monstrous, easily the best way to playthings America, if you don’t mean it… and in  five days, as is my want, the whole play was  written in full out beat camp, dullavlleahnnnn, really hep man, as I made a certify of it in not  just  modern dress as I said, in Mod dress,  as was just starting to re catch Perry before my television exploded, due to me seeing too much fake death and real on CNN.  So made  it very hep and as I said don’t bleed cool, as much as just be hep and a cat and mod I is, and took from jazzy noir Perry and unashamedly and admittedly from Mad comics who did something  similar in those halcyon days of the America  imperial high noon, before the Borgia showed up. I used Raymond Burr juts re seen then as the perfect Jesuitical Antony, Mackers as Cassgiusssh, The fault dear Brutuussss hissslllaaaaysssss ntiniur  sshhhhhartsbititsin ourshhhhevelhhhhhhhh, which was sad but funny to me as from all accounts CASSIUS WAS A FINE SOLDIER as Romans are want to be, and say what yew like of him, he never loosed the ropes, and was a bit of a prick, but didn’t spend a war in a box.  And this was no slavish retelling as it was Willie who we know stole whole passages from Metamorphoses for plays not even connected too it, much less in  midsummer’s in the Victorian twilight.

You barbarians and your Jewish In laws just loved avenging all things Roman and Italian, which is why this is all so funny to Puckish me, I cant wait to see you do to America the same measure of triumph you brought to Wisconsin, On wiconnssssionwsconnnsin, lets lose this more than once! Oh wilderness!, land of  Jewish  senators that Prairea to which the comedy writers in diaspora return. AS I SAW were this was heading, and called it, and made Trump the Roman buffoon you have adored as they had in Miles Gloriosus, but now with a  shtickle of meanness from the bald girlie  armed effeminates  and their manish hags who screech on command and dreamily silent when Roettenbereger does fathers day takes on the stillers channels and we all have to preen not to laugh. Well not me, Im a Cowboy, and am elated to bitch. So I will write the Last Liens of Caesar,  adding my best Vidal, as he said, to eviscerate is  such age war word, them hacks who once wanted  Lincoln to be a plaster saint before even  Steven Spielberg, who despite my admiration of him as a filmmaker, does lay on the American centurions as all great and wonderful thing too much, as heard he was thinking of actually doing the Gallery, FROM GORE'S SCRIPT, as he did Munich as if not to be even at least say an occasional word that maybe  as my mother knew, as was watching  Hogans heroes , or at least left it on while drawing bob the giant Robot, and the  English hack in this, Dr. Bombay I think, said something about who the English didn’t bomb pow camps,  to which my mother I thought deaf,  looked  up and said, with a snarl and a hand gesture meaning thrown shit, like Shakespeare It does sound better in the original Italian, yeah okay, say that on TV, but I was  there in Anzio, boy, where they bombed churches women shelled everything, but of course its war when its them. They now have to admit because of Gore too Lincoln no longer  being the saint walking about with the Mormon tabernacle choir around him, which is strange as he was quite the bigot abet various cults of christerism , would evocatively admit to his Machiavellian aplomb, which if that fishwife of yours loses again , dear  Bill…But what was important to me to recall in this that I will write and send out before the 1st I guess, is the reaction I got, as they were shocked that I schemed to have sympathy for Caesar, no more than Christ, anyhow, I always admire the Iagos and the Nicollos and don’t like the as I said, MLKS payer saints  and the Perpetaus of goodness who alas seem too be FBI informants anyway.  What bated them was the assassination scene, I figured all that they wanted anyway, as I was stealing from all the Italian giants. I made it an Ennio Morricone moment with Brutus, of course just like him an elite smipy silly Bushy Jebby, I have been the gal there noted, steeped in this in ways that Shakespeare fagot had  not, shoots him down in Once upon a time in the old Rome, extremis apart with a tommy gun worthy of Hank Fonda villainy sort, and they asked me, in echoes of George Lucas, where are the knives….?  I posted then about this, I had an inkling the knives  were  all they were really after,  as I  had an inkling that this revolution AND LESBIAN JAMBOREE  was the plan B they had all along,  if they had anything else. I had a feeling this was all about the knives, which why would modern, at least CBS era men use knives to kill a King, amid the Thunderbirds and the chrome…? As a gal who was nicer to me there than the ninnies and sissy above her, a first break in that wall that 400 senators would vote to lock when they need to, said to me, Tony to do this right, would cost more than any of the devoted here would wish to shell out anyway, which to me encapsulated the whole Life of Hillary in a nutshell. I told them I wouldn’t  touch Caesar if I was you, dirt bags, as Caesar shows what happens when you lose the Romans street…I didn’t need my Roman story told too me by that faggot  at Avon ding dong Avon  lady!- but I think the story you want is Coriolanus,  as I stated at the time and will get into later, as his disdained looking down upon the people and the plebes, was acutely what you are and what you think, would be more akin to a family of drunk drivers who all cant believe  they have too actually  get all the fools on the same, or any side, as it is anathema to those who have spent their Paralleled  lives making sure who doesn’t get in, as a way to make themslevs feel like they are as good as they suspect. Or Ill call my essay Up the Down staircase, Caesar as burlesque, or ….


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10 June 2017


7 June 2017


[early accepted drawings. ]

[having read my previous posts,  the guys at the film which is either finished or still in adding sent to my new home  this large print they made of  my work in a nice but economy priced frame from the fake bullpen  and I  found that’s sweet and touching and shall place it upon bare walls.] 

I  had to place here that just placed an essay called I remember Mario, so again am there  to make sure all know what graves they dance upon, as we now see where you all at your most jewesy explaining why the verboten words you made somehow don’t apply to u,  as frankly have seen the Keith’s and the lesbians in lip gloss and the crime family shit nags  all my life, and after all, don’t lecture me, I don’t sit there all day every Saturday in autumn and neither does ABC and fox spend all day showing dog  fights. Recalling one of the gone honorable men, one of the many ethnics destroyed by that awful power mad family of perpetual  war for perpetual peace, the  filthy ethics  of that awful Verona autumn of the republic, those horrid families straining for power, stepping on the plebes.  As the sight of the  Bush and Clinton Families makes  me recall the  witch trials, the crucible, and that piece of the Roman senate that was sent to America as a gift by  Italy, only to  have it submerged in the Potomac by the Jesus freak  trash that started or at least stole, what my father called the wooded wasteland of the Klan. I am starting to want to demand that that hag, power hungry witch Hillary get her lesbian luprcalia, and be put on her head a grass crown, grass if we were all lucky, as want to see the look on Marius face that day. As I said, when see the Bush crime family, I see that Greek no less who was destroyed by a band of Episcopalian fake patricians, so far removed from the scouring the graves for jewelry, but the Medici are never that far removed from the stables that made them, they are still harbingers  of death,  still deaths hand servant, so  see hillary as their best handmaiden they could hope for, as do warn the house coons and the television city faggots and the indulgenced  whose slurs are first drama  and now  just the cost of doing business. If I see the family of losers and 1876ers as dimwitted dimsdales and more Disney  than grimms much less Calvino, what do you think roman Bill sees them as…? This is the cesspool in which not too long ago,I was called a bigot, for actually saying not something scurrilous or rvulgar, George will now sees like Hillary the beasts of the Roman street everywhere, no , but by saying the fact that the Italians of the18th century, like Politziano and Leopardi and others invented magic realism, Mickey mouse…superman. …so how could not hope that this black forest not gets everything it deserves

[an early cartoon of my Roman centric universe, accepted by a magazine five tears after 9-11, when as called a bigot for  mentioning that  Ovid’s metamorphosis had opened on Broadway after the Jews on television and clowns stopped crying. This was seen as an early harbinger of my work, in that the woman behind that comic thought it was kind and decent and on the spot, and was more enlightened  than comics and comedy writers  with Roman sash  delusions then saying eagerly kill the Arabs.]

The Bain of all dying res publicas,  when you have to be caught in your own thicket, so cue the carrying on apologies  as I get Roman centurions accepted By Arab editors who ask me what the bel Arabs were, and lesbian grls willingly and eagerly take my zaftig wonder girl,  so take that red Sonja, and now even my Virgil, Mario Cuomo remembered fondly as not clinging too power and worse yet the scraps of power, as if a  dying old clown, so sad for Mother Hubbard , as I’m not your hubby dearie, and didn’t have to suck your dick and mouth sweet nothings and hold  your hand while getting Patty Fairinelli looks alike pin ups to use the back way. As it seems you all are born with silver tongues up your asses. I speak for America and say that am  tired out  of being lectured to by niggers  on the pad at sport desks and comedy central clip shows and gossip hounds, as I don’t care what porches you sleep on as so much Porch monkey appears in the minstrel shows that appear in Roman literature, the kind you never minded when they were in Martin Scorsese. And don’t think I didn’t hurl that against him as again, as with Bill, you don’t know what magic they taught us in Jesuit school.

[early cartoon of the verve  I  cant do any more, as a magazine called  mudpennys, I think was trying to be a new national lampoon. Even in 2007,  good luck. This was like True facts in NL, and this one asked is it true that  there were more American Italians  killed and wounded in ww2 than American Jews and American Germans and European gypsies all together…? Why yes, Truman says. ]

Thank God Trump is the new Cattline and center of all vulgarity by the step men, and thank God the fact that 240 percent more people are living  in Poverty has nothing to with the Sicilian nature of thar nation as seen by suddenly on the same side oar rowers of  our wayward battleship, as Jewish cripples and lesbians in lip gloss. But after Cattiine was fallen by the Consortiums of then, as I said, the empires change but the Sicilians stay the same, ask your husband, after he had destroyed Cattiline  and got a  reaction he wasn’t prepared for, for three weeks the Romans were revolting and hit  the senate with garbage. and rotten  squashes and a feral riot,  as opposed to those dykes on speed dial, who thankfully were all missing  in  September as we all attack at dawn, but thankfully with  Bill Working the phones, he playing the ghost of Caesar on all of this, we slept through election day. A senate now sadly forced to placate some Livia  cow who keeps wondering why the people didn’t take to a sneering witch, Endora without the charm, who put so many of her base in jail, but did have all that Prison Inc., stock, and all…that had  stupidly placed  its  mark  was all as was excepting people  to kill a senator most  liked, Lucius, the hero in a Saliari comic opera… ah it’ll  comes together in shards of glissando… for a jewish senator no one did, Cicero, now disgustingly an icon of the right, how perfect, thought he had won everything, like the democrats after Nixon. Ah, but in the same way a Reagan was warbling in the wings awaiting his close-up, a young Roman commander named Julius Caesar was the nest to be on Marcus hit parade of the next enemy of the state. Thinking that another Against Cattline would work, they don’t, ask the national Review, did I ever tell my Fabuckley story…?,  as well against a war hero, Julius survived the  roman army treason trials and the dead senators and what he called a mausoleum where old talkers went to die, and he told the suddenly ver  kelmpt Cicerone, that he was no Cattiline, that was aforshu, Marcus thought he was mad going up against the Romans senate, and that this was a bluff. Romans don’t bluff , Julius said, a line later sued by Bill Clinton, why I’m watching him closely, despite being called Gay for him by some lesbian ,and then Caesar the political genius said to all for a dying republic when he said, Marcus you’ll never defeat me, because I can give bribes and you can only take them. Roman calculus and an abacus only Clinton, and only Him, has among the gals and negroes...

Personally think having to resort to too many Comey is a mistake as the great barrister said, a conspiracy like a chain is only a strong as its dumbest link. I have to get two MSes out: one by the tenth and one by the 30th, and have left him in mid-flight a while now, as try to acclimate to this new surroundings, which is nicer than I have had in a long while. As each night between recalled Carson  recalling the golden age  night when someone was on, who may have as in Answered prayers fondled Carol Wayne but wasn’t putting the arm on the  Kelley girls like some men of the people, and then my Beloved Perry, as even lesbians girls who send me accolades tell me that they adore Della street and for many of the same reasons I do, BUT MORE THAN JUST THAT, she is an exemplar of the cold war mid century  high noon woman now recapped by bumbling fags  on duding Dill as dishwater Praetorian television, and in that once was held for  Carol and  Harvey, instead watch Seinfeld. I don’t know why, as I despise him as if a colored, and one gal told me I had the line of the year when said no one wanted to go  back  to an era of  Monica, George Costnaza, Kordell and the sopranos. And in  this toxic spill  in which you made Kramer pay as Lopez never had to, saw in one show in which a cute Brunette for that travstey called sex in the city, always such a loser she  was when compared to the hook nosed yenta and the aging  bloated cunt, was somehow marked blasted with toilet water,  and thus was made a untouchable, she hath cast an aspersion that would never go away, but a for a good  germophobe like slightly faggy St Jerome, who made up for his hatred of  germs by making sure we all knew about his penchant  to scour  the Middelshools for talent like a suitcase agent. Wow I thought, im glad she wasn’t blond because then well Tartikoff, never like Audrey a fan oft his despicable Jewish minstrecy, would have been real sad, and I thought this cesspool in which Italians and colored and others and the Allen’s alley of New York is as venial and as meanly shown as it ever was. This  unfaithful to the creed of Ameroca shit gets to keep apologizing to the ghost of Marley , i.e., Welsh, who started us down this apian way, we vulgar all us in very replay always are and have been and last  night I shot a leopard in my pajamas , and how he got in my pajamas Groucho ill never know…Hillary as buffoon, as a later  stupid hanging on Caesar, bloated and ruined and surrounding by frenemies, with Rachel sneering at her every attempt too be something  slightly more noble than the  hack and the motherfucker she is. As Cato said of the old man in his dotage  and waiting too be sliced in the imperial daylights, there’s no such thing as  Caesar,…he is a pantomime, a clown, he lives between triumphs in a make up jar, as a costume to be worn at the nest performance. Tell me I don’t have that hag nailed. Too, I watch Clinton like olds Seinfeld’s, as a fellow jeusit school boy to see what he will do…and don’t Jew out on me this time, old man, don’t pull a Lucas now, you dying old pig, don’t let me see you at the magic kingdom or its equability with a face drawn and quartered as you had to sell out, I wanted to see what old man George was going to do in episodes ,wait  4, 5 or 6. wait… on 4 or 7, wait…Seven was one,…anyway…I wanted to see what George was going to do, don’t bring in some Jew rat like JJ the grave  diver to rehash and remake everything because that regalia is  different now with the barbarians  at your imperial door…I, unlike the Jewish in laws never saw Rome as a pejorative, neither did  FF Copolla, neither did his minion Lucas, so don’t Jew down on me again, guys, I want to see the farce played out.

So have several pictures of my Hercules to merely cut  and paste into place, he as Sly  Stallone  as hed ever  been, had ever been, on him it was based as in old new Judea, didy ou know, meathead that not only was I told by a lovely Zaftig gal at DreamWorks, or from there, or who worked there, a lovely gal one of more than a few who snet me her  pinup pictures thinking they weren’t wasted on me  as they’d be on some of the Judds, that only did Italians not have ever  bother reading for superman, they didn’t have too read as Romans in yur bullshit diminution that make your in laws feel, as Gore Vidal said of the trashing of Nixon in the hated an shameful Final Days,  a Wired with geratol and similar ethics, to allow the rest of us to feel so very grand. Italians were dem dese and doers thanks to you Jewish rats in Hollywood , and so, fearful of another Tony Cutis as Agrippa, yundah is da castle of my Fadder, they made sure, and a pretty Jewish gorl told me  as much,  that Marty would be the most Human and humane that wonderful actor Ernie Borgnine would ever get. Yes but, I SAID, sounding like a lawyer Joke,  the jokes on them I told this pretty Jewish lass, as Tony Curtis in real life, real name, Tony Cutis build as much as Rock Hudson was, and for similar slight of hand, like  Tony Randall the Italian names came out for Jewish cantors once, long before the blond hausfraus,  is Bernie Schwartz, again then mafia and Al Kida is never as far from the good suspicious of in laws  as they can ever far, no matter how Pinkish hued the Xmas tree is. I have work to do and once again, the snowflakes have been turned into slush as Hillary’s blood sport never seems to pay off, like Manzoni with the description of evil in  one of the best critical essays of genius to genius ever seem, maybe Hillary is allergic to the money shot, in ways her husband the winner isn’t. And again there sonly so many times you can get away with this Bill,  dear, before that loser stink attaches itself, or worse attaches itself to you. As had to nail here, my brother still looking out for me sadly as old as we both are, he asked his buddy and around with Payroll for a desk as it is cavernous in here. But then he saw some old thing that the import exporter had and said feh, raced to Micheals at the Pittsburgh Mills, and bought me a thing called the artists loft craft desk as used by women who craft, and brought it and told me to put it together, kidddo, as there is only so far the heartwarming goes and I did, and use it now. If  you think  that the old fags didn’t teach us , he  and I and Bill Roman magic,  well, Sweet Ole Bill  still aint first lady, hummmmmm, and as I said, I don’t see no gerbils that’s speak with a mean streets dago brough and Leo Gorsey accent any more do yew…? as I have seen in watching Bewitched by the way even an outet that should have  dissident thought my hypothesis of Trump as Dick York and Bush as  Sergeant Ninny was genius in our National Buscuit  Company world, as  make others remember Mario who wasn’t just  a jar of cold cream and a pantsuit with a   weltered laurel waiting to be packed in,  as that Italian no less couldnt, so fuck off all of you lace curtain everything’s,  as he had ethics God forbid,  didn’t want to be  an  appointed anything, so keep finding new outlets besides the old gray  lardy to writer for fun and Profit Maureen dear, you and  Britt who charge double for doubletalk…I seen in Bewitched everything that was stolen by that hag for Harry Butthole Pussy Potter, including the die if magic schools, moving photographs and perfect a faggy Uncle Arthur to any noseless Vault mort, as this time, Le Bro, you seem on your own. See I thinks its sad and it wont be unnoticeably by us filth that you expect more decorum and forced decency and bullshits from Italian linemen, Keith dear, than you do from broadcasters of  filth and vileness and crap that has the Bush crime family seal off  approvals. Like every Roman worth his salt thought watching a midnight showing of THE ONLYIEST BATMAN, shown in an orgy of celebration of the Technicolor we all came from, that I was glad that  a  Jewish Brunette wonder woman was doing better than any of that Stan LEE shit, sister Barbra Ann, who waned me of  Marvel comics and abortion being a similar plague of and  by hooligans would be proud, that this camp high art, low brow, Dante said these distinctions are for middlebrows who think Comey is Gorshin when he isn’t even Austin, I thought I have to get this feeling I had as a kid into all of this, as never want to be  anyone that the comics reporter can applauder, as I have met the enemy long ago, and it was like you more than not.


01 June 2017



One of the first things sent out in a second go around with comics, which I know now should have never undertaken, known better now and then with actual literary and fartsy arty magazines, like a daffy duck I did with a line of Tacitus on it, my first recreation of the roman Goddess, rejected then accepted seven years after 911, and a Vundergirl with a honey Ghoul, was my mad men satire, posted of before. In this satire the Romantic way, the dreary world of Madmen was suddenly Kurtz manned and in to its dry martini without a twist was suddenly seen Dick York and Elizabeth Montgomery and though it was liked by one,  it was dismissed, as the age of Frank Rich  was just starting  and so whatever the media kings said was hip as hip, and a comic book company, sorry 'company', disliking my cartoons within the Mort Drucker stulus I aped of the Bewitched cartoons of its beginning, made a point to say that they didn’t want to get cartoons  from anyone ever which had a Beetle Bailey showing up, an old  trick  of these masters, in the direfully Ben Shaw like  dismal comics, and too, they didn’t like hearing about anyone who was given accolades by Stan lee in a toilet I explained totem it isn’t god forbid Stan Lee but a dc Jewish gentleman I met at a  at school although thinking it through Toilet was, as Oscar  would say, a perfect word. 

3 MAY 17.

Every Christmas since I was a kid, my brother buys me something for the holiday. But like Clinton,  at least I still hope, we are alter boys  to Virgil’s alters more than ever or anything, and so, Its never  been a toy, ever, ever been anything silly, never childish, as that w as for my sister,  standing in for a mother already too old do all of that again, and too they never were wrapped and never came on Christmas, or  the roman sun holiday, as much as came during more literal saturnalia, a Roman holiday whose romantic qualities was openly hated by a Jewish rat on broadcast row name Medvad  who  seemed upset that the connection. As it was made by me, and later by PBS, but of course as a pejorative as they really Arab-ed it up. Ah, gals don’t lecture me I didn’t write the Bel Arabs. One year, the gift, as a teen, it was the paperbacks with Vargas like pulp harems covers and black and white Raymond Burr Perry Mason Signet Books. Once, it was when I was fifteen and fresh from the hospital with seizures, it was a hardcover of the Art of star wars, and last year it was a glossy book from Time Life about the art of Disney. Why do I think of this...because a woman was impressed that I knew what the Edda was, and as she said, it didn’t seem  to be down  my apian way as my passion seems  to be catching, like a virus. I await to see if can write some essays about Roman and Italian books of the  ancient and medieval days as would like to recall Cassis and Shylock and Lucia again before or at least so as you all get the joke.

Concurrent with an email that stopped me in my tracks, and but saying  I’m either a unreal nigger  or a true blue wop,  came one  of those Manzoni like placards  of the ratios of power, the  Italian middle ages Duchy the grave robbing Bushes are determined to return us to but without the Fonda at least the original Italian brigantine charm,  as  bring ruled over by Episcopalians is dreadfully boring and why the  merry house of Guelph, as  my father warned me, were all Nazi sympathizers. As was Pops and all the little Bushes. It is a satire of the metropolitan,  as is aw in that brilliant book. Its  been hard on the Italians lately, as now,  the campaign that keeps menstruating but that wont die as Hillary  refuses to  finish the summer stock version of Sunset Blvd, and so will keep this honing until Hubby has  had enough as George and Martha do their high school caliber Edward Albee. Actually unfair as I did a few scenes with a strawberry blond slightly chunky, who again looking back whose advances I should have accepted anything to free myself from the pedestal I placed Beatrice’s on, so take that few lesbians who have even angered by my Patty Cartoons as and thus tell me so but in goodle accounts all festooned with no faces but Bauhaus heads you know so as the fingerprints are always wiped clean.  She was a gal who wanted to be an actress, a gal before hurled out of something called scared Heart.  And did that play unabridged and unadorned, and so they have ever been that good, but then again I didn’t get to Georgetown, anyhow, but wasn’t going by way of Hot springs or a Turnip truck. Either way it’s something I have avoided. I again hope to get this assignment as would like a say in edge wise as the mediaeval here and the love of Vikings and barbarism starts to get on everyone’s nerves.

So watched Svenngoolie as I do, making art as large as I ever have, of this story really recalled from when I was twelve, and laughed uproariously at the  great  Fred  Gwynne and Schnauzer Al Lewis in a Munster Movie , watched it as I would watch Bewitched again, and had watched Lone  ranger through the summer, as my Perry Jesuitical bent mind cant believe this horse shit, as it  cuts too solely to the bone, and recalling Bill Cs fourth favorite book, Cattlines war, ah that number means something girls, as just got a thing called Book IV taken in only because sent the slightly commemorate picture of a wonder woman boys like Bill and me like, but had some much medicine in me would have laughed my way through Shindlers  list. 

11 MAY 17.


Saw gal who read for Wonder Woman I believe and lost the part to some Jap, who is cute enough  but no Amazon, as that was always the first thing the rabbis made sure was an  anathema to their  chosen church. The women it summed in that race where bullish enough.

So, were getting closer to Lynda CARTERISH, as this reminds me of the Wonder Woman made by the batman producers on abc not bought as a pilot, in that some average girl played wonder woman and in her mirror as a better reflection was in fact the gal who played the slave girl with Carleton Heston in planet of the apes. The kind of girl I and Bill Clinton like. I saw it in the sadly gone Goodbye to comics blog by lovely weirdo Occasional super heroine Valerie, who linked to it. But in watching the you tube clip, on loop, seeing the lovely girl who stole that movie in her loin cloth dress, I thought, as I did when saw Parker Posiey play the moll in superman returns and not Lois lane, who has this kind of gal in the payroll, and brings in someone else to play the part...always be casting.

I think as a Jesuit student boy chick forever, there are roles one must face up to and deal with a s after all it was the Italians who came up with Political science, a roman calculus, and not just as Machiavelli, a playwright said, little fairy games gloss withering into men’s  ears, a line taken later  by the great Larry Oliver, who said he relished playing Iago, the Italian Shylock not compared to a Hillary by at wits end step man Will, more than Othello, and yet, that could have been just the as hassle of the cork. As had to mention  that the cycles and times and tides of empire are always working like  a  gearing machine, a dues machina, as imperial clown  Steven Colbert went against the Roman gods again, who the gods would destroy they  first make cheap, who had the prime rib..? the Cyclops is blinded, leave it to Pinky, in the mea Culpa he  placed together to save himself, made the direful mistake of  lecturing the audience already skitzy, when it had the reaction to Comey which you’d think they were  wanting, but nice thing about the Jews being  involved, nothing ever gets too shameless,   and then he lectured and hectored the audience, only hours after the gay slurs, you’ll find out in how I got the admirations of  lesbians this last  year a lot by loving wonder woman, which they  all do and they hate old Red Sonja, SO TAKE THAT DEAR, ah the only person in Juvenal’s bestiary  who wasn’t black haired, of course, the woman. Ah, not a sorcerer’s move. As  Krusty’s says  it just means your finished. Bad  verses  hurled out dear.  Leave it to him to bring a ladle to a  knife fight. Oh ask Rachel,  its why she’s never as Scorsese did  censer me to show she  has for a  lesbian, a good heart. Ill make sure  everyone recalls what graves you soft-shoe on, you little mean fag, If you think Jesuits school don’t teach better magic than that’s hoity little wizards school where all the boychikcs  go, well, funny but after so much Bill Clinton still isn’t first lady hummmm, and you dont early see any commercials with guinea pigs who speak like Leo Goresy anymore amid the sanctimonious do You…?
As have to come to staples to make any emails out, and check for acceptances, which fray have gotten some, but ah my Antonine hart sort of cutout there, as made a longer dissertation  think saved now for Junoalaia, the first of June, Italian mayday, as some black chick as it seems the radical as revolting again, and being ginned up, bombings over, …?, but some hag cunt said to me that it was  a shame that I wasn’t incarnated as was asked  that strangely on the form, and was asked  if I was  a person of color, too, I place Italian,  and they don’t like it, but again as the gal told me don’t  fuck with me over it neither. I did this time put down though, Tuscan red.

But this nigger broad as the black colleges  show as though like all niggers what else are we but on command and all in show business, and what leave now…why the bushes are coming  to look at their handiwork, the Aristocrats are here…stage sad thing ah piped to the woods that Hillaiepoo now troubles, boils and bubbles in, no fan of  Ovid she, no eerily, love poetry amok the dykes anger, as she makes incantations for shame and ridicule and meanness and  wonders  why they go keplock, but  again,  the closest thing to a moral to that farce, not with that Husband.  Still, send something called I  can draw faster than you can tear it up, tru dat  believe me, and this hag said to me, its shame that I wasnt incarnated, imagine that, I hadn’t done my due American diligence by not getting caught up in the Clintons  dragnet, so much like your grandpas, excepting me as an Italian to have only been decent if jailed, a libel of Metternich comes to mind, but this time, in a strange niggardly way, as if that would be my only nobility and my brother told me to tell her to suck my dick, but then they its always thought  him more a sharp  shooter  hustler Minnesota as  Jackie dancing around the table than I could  be, a romantic am I, than I am, and too, he was shocked when some cop who killed  a coon on live television as  Anderson Coopers Hullabaloo, no niggers cried for now that Mumsy cant break 61 percent, and of course showing that they all may be  becoming a crew of low rent  nothings  losing as she did as the gumbasjews are at  32 percent in their vital statistics, which within hours caused a true blue  apparatchik  Shifty to reconsider lots of things, so go Fish.

18  MAY 17.

A long time went by, I only stayed on google plus as felt it was best resort to place links to those who have recently accepted my work. The wanted poster like placard on the door was a slip of imperial paper as was seen in the Betrothed showing its still the Dark ages whether you like it or not, no matter who many shylocks are allowed in , or to be correct, Abrahams who are  wore than willing  to become Catholic for a business sense of things as he was in the original  Boccachio, as in all  dark ages,  and with all imperial dago Jews, the only red that pricks them quick is a pen that bleeds red ink. We had to the 15 of May to get out from a street quarantines die to rats only seen now, what white girls saw them now, like the opiates they discovered only after the man from  the Sacramento Bee had been dutifully destroyed by Bush acolytes. We were to show as is said the empires we  had left, decreed by the doges start the same from the 28th of  April, the first month of the Roman year fittingly enough, WHEN IT WAS HUNG ON THE GLASS DOOR. A sad swashed up wheelchair was taken to get  my mother out of this rats nest faster than it already had been, but again some white girl saw one of these awful creatures who always seems to show up with their arabesque smiles when the bull mean brats have killed off all the alley cats, something I heard a brunette hag on Beck TV laugh about which to me  seemed a mixed metaphor no signore Fortuna would allow. Within days we gathered up what we could,  having left much, the house still ours, not that ill go back, just quarantined ,a  lovely  medieval idea, I half expected to see Doctorates with stork faces, but  such is  life in the Duchy of Barry the queer as he disappoints the rabble by  continuing to tap dance but without the money shot of signing republican legislation we start to all wonder who let this fag  in and why is he still here.

In the heat wave with a few  hours left to spare, I took a bundle of unread comics, half done comics, bags of older pastels and crayons, no way most of them,  and shoved much into two bags, one being  the aip black satchel. I brought the Prince, Virgil in English, Statius, said in an essay written by me in admiration lets keep him our little secret, but then realized in the greenhouse bestiary of lesbians should be glad you aren’t desecrating his corps. as barbarians and bushes have done since the saint’s days.  Into a bag threw some do dads from buddies in art school, tickets actually fro a first attempt to get out in to that world seemingly conspired to keep me  out, but learned from a phd who  looked like Falstaff who thought me almost as smart as I thought myself to use a line used against me when was desperate for any helping hand,  timepieces of yes daring, is accoutrement and corralled and romantically ephemeral, as were Tickets to the Roman Forum covering in yellow Wisteria given  to me by admiring and touched by me Jewish yenta neurologist Audrey, a drawing done for me by buddy superior variation of  every comic book man Aaron, and too, how could I not, a ballerina figurine placed on my desk, workmanlike and  without acknowledgment,   as a quarter once was, by a silent Leslie who heard me saying I wanted the thing out  of a happy meal and never got it, as she silently did that and almost glumly walked away.

Into the expanding dusk, I was elected to walk my mother up cobble stone starts to a rather lovely little  loft  home, as saw all the negroes  of the hood as its called in bad r rated movies written by suburban Jewish sort doctors who have never seen the ghetto anywhere but Norman Lears back lot, and I escorted Ma to this wheel  chair bought at  a discount, as my brother gets everything from his buddies like Payroll, so  lest call them import exporters, Swag without the cute asides, swag as survival lets say, as my brother more sharpie and thus more or less  rough than I am.He said  to  someone at the Walgreen’s I  had to stop at as was out of breath, as walked  my Ma in her variation of grandma Moses and emperor Palpatine, as the blue cowboy hoodie I put her in was to keep her warm and wasn’t any FUBU fashion  statement or question, to some hag who kept screeching about Hillary in the oncoming twilight  of her Gods, my brother  in usual upsettedness, Bitch, Shut the Fuck up ,what  is this an Editorial reply...? He had had enough as he asked her, this white wash hag, Dont you know any  Niggers those two cunts threw jail you fucking dirt bag. As I said, more sharp then I he thinks as so do some  lesbians I have given at least one Clinton a benediction of the Jesuitical doubt. Covered in sweat, this sad pale imitation of the grapes of wrath continued until I brought her to the small wooden frame house. 

When I got to this new place, taking everything out, after believing I  had packed up for  Lonesome Dove, it all  looked rather paltry,  but made  sure I took the old copy of the Decameron, once burned in Medveds acceptable America between Crucibles  he is always  there to explain are dreadfully misunderstood. But again, to show like  Bill C am  a devotee of Signora Fortuna, and her beloved son  and her monsignor, Up here,  on a hill closer to where I grew up, received now about ten channels, including the 53s that I had a kid to watch as I recall Sergio Leone to avoid Reagin and his honors which I saw coming before all of you, as watched Felix and Oscar play poker  and too Fate and the great Leslie  in gorgeous wacky racers toys had as the boy I  am domed to be, I was gladdened to know that can say Fuck you to Cowturd and the rust of the espn niggers  and scumbuckets  connectedly beginning shown the doors, and can watch the Cowboys,  an Americana’s  team who don’t tempt fate by saying they cant find a place for their last banner as Jones can find somewhere anywhere for another one, which to  me was a spiting in the eye of football gods who already have then in notice. Like Hillary, Bellcheat keeps playing game a how much will you take, and never sees the penitent about to hurl all over them at the best wrong time. This  was a nice result as  item I ousted of laughing didn’t have to spend a dime in watching one channel out of ten  devoted to some mob mythology bullshit which, I wondered why they had done this, as  it isn’t even election year anymore,  whether Mother Macbeth knows it or just keeps seething,  whither Bills gay husband knows yet or doesn’t, as its been a  tough time formant in the rains and the fact that a house nigger like Leseter  didn’t know that means nothing more than hell be first to  go as she throws them in front of a fuming angered fate who has had enough. When she finally gives in and the parade goes  past her, tired  of her Old lady stink, do remember dear that dread  that came upon you when face planted into that van and somehow they were taking you away from the hospital, its what Livia was thinking as  she bubbled and  troubled  and gurgled  into the Tyber, and too when she is done will it be a madness because she sees the ghost of Caesar and or Monica hacking her, or  as usual will it just be a Jesuitical perpetual  boy working again the phones to his advance, as if he ever stopped.

22  may 17.


The first few days here were taken up with keeping much bundled up, why I wasnt sure. There was no curtains on the walls, and someone took all the wooden poles out of the closets…?... and the nights thus were cold until could get a heating and plumber  guy here, and the sixth night finally there was heat and we could sleep. Back up on the hill I grew up upon, I was able to now get extra channels, and rook advantage of that and spent long late spring days watching the old TV of a sweeter time, when the bush patriarchy was merely a CIA apparatchik having liberals shot in the head and who would soon enough get the Jewish hack who wrote the Vomitoriums sketch, again dont call  me a bigot, I know they alas spit on your  Pantheons, to carry his water, in ways Im  sure that patrician thinks is just fine, showing again the resentments that eternally eats away at the best lied plans of such men since at least Aeneas.

I sat there and let the days go by, imbibing in this channel that was more Norman Lear than the more western centric METV, which outside of Lynda and  of course  Perry and Della this time in the morning, I  abandoned. Outside of Laugh in, and its sweet recollections of when the National Biscuit company wasn’t wholly owned literal subsidiary of War inc, I left Decades be, and allowed it to wallow in its love of the  mob and the only mythology that  Sicilians are seemingly allowed or wish to seems to take. As the worry a bit health care, the republican  con spitting on Hillary’s grave, ask your husband dear, as I had figured in the duchy left by that house’s of nigger who of course can not show a decorum in place since Brindisium, and must smile away and tap dance on the cover of magazines that once had monochrome background covers devoted to the new Superman or Valerie Bertinelli in the glory days. Showing a lack of said decorum, he calls the new president  Trump a Bullshitter, luckily for Barry his honeymoon didn’t end, the only thing he can think to put him down with  as she docent dilly dally with a couple of hello stupids, our bag man nigger is  always willing to shout bombs away. So, it takes one to  know one, as I recall again, wasn’t it Roman Bill who with dog eared  copy of the Gesta Romanorum with a touch of telling the truth we Jesuits are always encouraged to never reduce ourselves to, called his campaign of step men and peeling away niggers the biggest fairy tale he had ever seen, which w as killing two vultures  with one copy of Pliny. So, without a desk and leaving the recorded MS in the  midst of his fight with  Bob the giant Robot, suspended in  black and gray sketches of his saving Ubermenchian girl friend Vivian Vane, her name when I was a precious little kid, who sees in his creation the old days, of pulp and a Phyllis Coats past that is gone. We had to use my chipped and batten and splattered with ink wooden bared to hold up a television set, which I used as if a Onyx oracle as seen in satire, and I use the word both gingerly and correctly, called live from Golgotha. I SAT there on the swivel chair I had brought up here, in what seems like a grimms little cottage outside and inside is a empty space as seen on channels about real estate ungotten anymore, as the words of these plasma screens and Glen Glenn sound reverbs off the stucco walls.

Saw most of the day the blonds in the Capote age sense I recall as a kid, no mean spic am I, I don’t have to hate hater blonds to raise Brunettes or vice versa. Jeanie was seen as she was when I was a boy, a lovely blond woman, still had enough of a exotic look to believe she was from Baghdad, or at least Van Nye’s. After her was the beloved Samantha the witch, also made blond in the Jewish jungle of sixties tv, and she was a lovely woman mentored by as I said in am essay of two that got some traction, a mother named Endora who seemed a last Amberson, and I  notched stead there as  was with my sad and beaten down old mother on mothers day, whcih again she, Ma, refuses to acknowledge as American hokum, as to her as a Italian in full measure, every day must be Mothers day, and so feeling badly  I had brought her to this point, is at with her most that day she doesn’t see as anything but whatever May Sunday in ordinary time it is.

I left it on channel 53, sure to make  the  signal strong for the Cowboy games to come  in soon enough, as summer camp approaches, and I noted, that each time the bewitched opening cartoon came on,  each time, she looked on as she sat there tiredly, and each time the Darren was the great Dick York ,she said leave it on here, but each time it was Dick Sergeant, she said a disgusted Feh, and that somehow and me see as the auger where the anti Trump movement was headed, with Trump as Dick York an idea which has done well for me as bullshit sadists on te once as vaunted as the Roman senate Columbia Broadcasting System, which now as an big as Necropolis as the feast became when Tactitus called it basically  a bank branch to the swells as this one too has become. I saw what we had come though in watching a show I barely recall, or even remembered all, a Joey Bishop  show, starring a rather pretty gal I was sure  he would not have picked, a blond variation of Laura Petri named Abby, who showed a level of comic  timing  wasted upon this Levittown shlub, as with him was finally seen by me Corbett Monica, whose name seemed a joke and now was seen as the kind of  company wop , despite looking much like a younger version of my father,  which I had never seen. And of course there is shown here a last living STOOGE, a thuggish house Jew named Joe Besser, I believed who I recall as a boy when my father took me to see Paul Shannon and adventure time as a  boy  in these days of Cavette I remember, I recall as that boy, as Paul Shannon brought back the stooges as much as had anyone,  and recall him sneering and screeching at the crowd, no really, before put on  fake joviality, he plays into on this mess of a show, this low rent Rob Petrie show, showing that fake smile all  Jews of a certain time were always told to perfect

As now later Bishop of this horrid  time, Colbert tries to lay it on thick as the last show in color I saw was the pope himself old man Milton coming to give dispensation to the already cancelled Joey, almost with  a chipmunk toothier  revenge or at least relish, as Colbert tiers to save himself as I write this, by brining the old cast back together to again shamelessly tell us all we were  all owning him  for having been so willing to eviscerate, the favorite word of the perpetually vicious democrats whose wars are always the quality of kindness and therefore sacramental,  all those republicans when jewsey jonnie wasn’t sucking Newts dick, yyyecuuck, still a sad money shot coming when this simp called out Rachel so soon after the Dyke Drag to be a human shield, as the complaints pile up. As i said to a course of gals willing and accepting of my work, people think i am a satirist, or think i think i am, but again, am nothing close, but do know as said in more than one venue suddenly open to me as a lovely respite from being told I somehow let my forbears down by not being a convict, I think my brother telling some whitetrash cunt  in the Clineque counter to go fuck herself , after  all.

I am more of a Oh how noble were the nights of old type and if you don’t know what that means, ask Rachel, or at least Bill, but who knows anymore. But because of that, I don’t have to always  make a  joke, or a witticism and sometimes can tell the truth and nothing more than that, and that can usually shut the loudmouths up well, as once again, I say I keep and eye out for what our ace in the hole will do, old Roman Bill and I mean Ace and I mean hole, --we already miss you Kat--, as I warned in one of those moments of unvarnished truth that this royal familia bullshit is over, and was doomed from the start. By chance I knew and know and especially from the reaction of he Bush elders to the death of Cuomo mention here before and what a giant he was, tres Inherit the wind, and how bestially Bush the eldest would tell us all what he really thinks of Bill, if he has to, they are such germaphoebs for grave robbers and are perpetually over washing their hands, unabashed, I have  known how low the consider that bloated pig Clinton. And lets see if he is willing to wear that white tie and white gloves for his masters, as that family of borgias has had a hard on for Bill being the one, unlike more dignified and decent Cuomo who  let them have their republic as sandbox or den or wet bar, or Pill counter, and so I know that they have had a  hard on for that man, and wish to destroy everything about  him, from  his viceroy to  his wife all sent up as road kill, so well see if Roman Bill allows this petulant family to to replace Trapper with someone perpetually telling us about how he daces with his wife, as a gal told me she liked how I could go so artlessly from Beatrice to Mary Ann and Darren and Jeannie, it was sweet, she  said, as  im still that boy impressing the nuns with the idea that Dante said all art is pop  art, and  its  only the middlebrow who beloved in genre or strata, why Hillary was always doomed,  you cant play Meadea well  when you sound like a Neosynefrin ad, but there is  a  line from Dante about that, in the same way I  tell you no Clinton or Bush, much less their on the pad satirists  unwilling to take a bath, is my bag of shit. Destroy Trump of you’d like. So from Nixon to Payroll and Sugar Ray  and Pickie, nigger friends of my brother we are all in that Clinton dragnet, all but niggers to the scumbags who  once  put their names so gleefully on confederate flag pins  as you desecrate tombstones with the Jews as usual as   lookouts, not that it ever is held against them. I have seen this comedy of errors before and don’t much care, but know this to democrats warbling in the wings, according to the Physics of comemdia delarte, every Nixon is followed by a Carter.

The first week here was spent watching these almost forgotten shows, seeing the primadonnas once on television now lessened as the gals of 2 broke girls art sadly Gone, as is said in some  interviews that a gal told me seemed to attracter bees to her hive, Virgil Reference, the kind of gals that both me and Bill Clinton  like. Saw Jackee again after a while, and saw she was a little cute pie of this sorts I like, womanly, before we all become the kind of women a lesbian can bring home to a republican father. And saw Orson, again, remembered that early light of the 1970 sun drugs and little girls named Beatrice,  when it might  as well have not  been Pittsburgh bit the Italy that Medvead and Beck would shame us out of always thinking this new marriage was going to be weaponized correctly. There was Welles, so brilliant and Magnus like with skeevily  Cavett,  who my brother was amazed was allowed to so constantly impute people, no David Susskind he. Saw the blah blah guy, Kenneth Mars,  on Laugh in as a semi regular who would later show up with Teri in televising Superman before various Judds would make 9 11 the leitmotiv of all comic movies, before Zod became Butch Cavendish without the warmth, and was sent to sleep with the crystals. He played the Nazi playwright in the gem called the Producers with brilliant Zero sadly and sweetly shown with Ruth Buzzi, the Tomlin with a heart, in a sad new years 1970 where I have by now published 6 of the original twelve issues of rag. This burly man would also play Lex –Sorry Max Menchin in Its a bird its a  plane its Supeman, a musical encouraging the whole of my childhood dreaming of that real city out there. Is this that Coriolanus Out there I have been thinking about since1979…?  And speaking of star wars evenings, on these cable channels made me recall more a nostalgic time that will be the pull against this  attempt to replay  the tragedy of Julius Caesar AS I SAID With cuttings for drive by makeovers and Guy Fearri here to make grinders. It is the Friday of the first week here. and  have fallen asleep before my beloved Della and Perry each night,  going to bed after a channel 53 Seinfeld which again, makes me wince as this hag  bitch on here keeps apologizing for people not wanting a republic about nothing, and hope at least she or her don matron Frank Rich is Raped in a deliverance style just to make things even. I am tired out as had to carry my mother this time up the gradated steps showing again  the Jesuits were right whether  you cunts like it or not and the Virgilian is all ways there, lurking in the middlebrow sea. I thought of the jurists not scholarship, but a magazine, called Forum, focus, I can’t recall, as it was read  by red hared Father John, as Irish as Paddy’s pig and he showed me his copies of them kept in brass holders, Thought they just read Oui, whose slightly chunky, slightly less washed than Playboy showed we already shared a taste in gals or I had caught theirs, two colored, each issue, red and green or blue and gold, and the ink real cheap and the paper so cheap it looked expensive,  like the construction paper I use now. I never  bought that issue i was published in at  15 much less keep it or show to my father and mother, and still feel badly about that as our imperial hooker is out there slicing in the Tuscan verdant fields, a gal told me my silver leaves stuff is quite nice, and so buy up  now each lesbian newsletter I can crash, and the Oak clustered logoed literary editions that somehow don’t impress comic reporters who never liked Pogo as I was always suspicious of. He did have room  for a  picture of Christie as Christ walking onto water but backs of men, big talk, as heard  nothing from our valued costumers when Barry was  tap dancing over the Corpses, as the Korans  much less the wedding dresses that are burned up in Barrys constant egg whites omlettes making never bother the stomach of dear Rachel, whose guts by now, and staffing gals for a bloated pig must have by now made them  iron clad, Youd suppose. Sorry but even vulgar brudder Bill always showed much more decorum this Near the ruins of Laurentium.

Before  we left in a huff, my brother taking charge of this lonesome wop thing, took the phone we’ve had since 911 itself, and unplugged it and hurled it into the garbage, and said SHE’LL ever call Here again, and looked at me with a glare more of sadness and disappointment than anger. Of course, he said, every pretty girl worth her cunt knows--[and has known many, already a  cute mixed race girl alsa moved here  by the This marrage shall not stand aldermen of the church of ericles,  named Amber waves to him every morning, he’s like sixty but still a wiseass.] that when  a shlub falls for you, you  either accept it, use the jerk, or let him down gently. so I  don’t know, he said,  what this shit was. But I still keep the brunette Barbie, whose existence helped me make a story about toys, too winced at by a dream worker, no  Pixer in the rye, who would gay it up, a dolly kept by  me  in a strong box. I had to get four essays out to accompany my seemingly eagerly more acceptable art works, but we get home in time to watch Laugh in, as am tired out. I get when even the loaded diced become  ice old and backed away, but did have to mention I saw that Barry the fairy said he is  now in  fights with his wife over closet space, and thought, nigger I have been reading Plautus since ten like Bill, I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole.