31 July 2017

Breakfast in America


             I got out everything I had to get out, and am getting mostly admiration, but some meanness from Lesbians who don’t like me. Not as many as you’d think, and yet still send me their updates, no sweetheart, like that world out there for Coriolanus, it’s the white house to you dear Hillary, you aint getting my 8 dollars to submit anything, toots. She sent me seething shit about how the white woman are the vanguard if this revaluation, meaning I guess this time it matters, or is catered, or maybe that the Clintons put out all the niggers in jail. Hummm, its not quite Lysastrata when Mother Hubbard screeched for war worse than any Maccers ever did. I DID NOT want Trump to win. I felt badly fir him really, as some bootblack cunt on war-TV thinks she is above reproach, I bet not Nielsen’s Hun, as I hear and gather that they at Jew cereal peacocks, the never CBS tiffany, lunch at Kmart National Biscotti Company was now keen on Raccoon eyed, suddenly blonds she should have been Savannah to take the reins of the nightly news war chariot after all. Who am I …Bill Clinton…? In Hoc Segno Bubba.

Not really not because I Love that hag, did I not want trump to win, as no one does, as I can recall when this suddenly ver kemply media was pulsing Trump as hard as he was an only thing that was as they say, above the title, all the world is stage as Seneca said, ask your Husband dear… and She couldn’t attract flies. That’s would have been a warning, but what is…? I didn’t want Trump to win, as I had an inkling in the verily essay here that you were planning your greatest Incognito ever, a detraction of  a billionaire, like that story about Cato beaten worse than like  a thug in the streets and being a senator, caused the people to have what Machiavelli called the frozen moment of realization. No one mattered but him. And Caesar, remember him, kids,…?, always on stage and in the wings Czar, a Hillary with less testosterone, Caesar sprang into action and killed the burley centurions only doing his bidding as he saw it was too open, see, and so who could I not want to see this empire die in a misaim and a parade regimented float and keeping time by some praetorian guard with a stele wheeling Jewish cripple as Cassius…?. So my brother calls out to me as I am making dinner and he said now, according to some entrainment tonight show that Caesar Trump will be a film…so that means what he said, their in it for the long haul or well still be slashing this poor lug and vulgarian two years from now beating the same horse, which he said, has basically been Hillary’s life every day since her wedding night.

Oh, Roman farce is a bitch old lady, remember that, why I hope they win this and place you in as the mother in law of the Pope. CAUSE I REMEMBER lots of things like how this Pollock cow  and that Nance on the morning I recall being 15  and her father, the Prince Of Poland just being there and quoting as they all did once, was something that urged Teddy to run in 1980, ah the dream will never die, unless we drone it. Oh, I’m watching hubby, as when someone is used to not giving some hag the prerequisite respect one should as my ma said, elicit to give a wife, something tell me she is as queen is proudly out of the question…But not so sure that any amount of rain can get that mantle off  of old bubbas back, no tempest tossed can heft him to let that Mantua ho, I take it, as think someone will go into that rain long before Trump, and at the mossy opportune moment  that she will find out who this was all being done for and whim not, as all the lesbians turn into the backdrop we all are to the Bush familia. I have a feeling at a time no more important or even built   to more   than any other, there is evil and viciousness in the banality of life, a third act shall come to pass, I reckon it, as at maybe not so much midnight, nothing so Grimm’s or Calvino but in the style of those Italian folktales loved by BOCCACCIO and made to reflect a coming thaw, maybe at 10:46, maybe in the idle of the day, poof!  All the lesbian’s disperser and all the horses pulling the curriculum turn back into rats and set for lower ground. I DID see the other channels like charley in the morning speak openly of that ninny and that polish princess, who are as you’d expect from the minions of a war compact to be when anyone dared get this close to being king of Sparta when they have a whole kesnnsat full of Jews and white girls willing to send men to die for their right to wear patent leather and purple sashes. But I saw that trickle away as some Jews in black rock and the avenue of  the Americas  started to think, wait a minute, overerrr here, we aint giving the national biscuit company any free publicity what with them having their  own  afternoon yaks and morning coffee tawks that need audiences now too, I mean, we all hate trump, sure, but come on, lets not go nuts…and within almost hours his alertly so hateful and hated  excess zoomed to go away, as here in new Judea, if they don’t own you, well, you might as well be, a dismissive had by Stan Lee and other Jews who lay it on thick, they might as well call you Brand X. 

OH VIV, I MUST TAKE YOUZ TA SEE GOULET IN CAMOLIT. –Bob the giant Robot. I’ve seen it, I’ve seen it!—Vivian Vane, in WHAM 4.

Got the feeling that submit able has been used by me to its best, and stuck it seems now with those who are going to beat Hilary ass as a dead horse until there is nothing left, as saw the nervousness caused by that abc poll, but then these very letters meet something else once fore, like a bigger cheek and something else too. I don’t buy this requiem for a light weight, as I SAID, I RECALL WHAT WAS SAID BY THE BRONCHIAL YENATS WHEN SHE HAD THE AUDACITY TO KISS ARAFAT’S WIFE AND ALL, AND NO MATTER WHAT YOU THINK ALL IS NEVER FORGIVEN MUCH LESS FORGOTTEN. I believe I missed decades TV Studio 1 version of Caesar, a modern dress application, which like their night that shocked America couldn’t give credit to Orson as he was in a lawsuit with William Paylay who wanted to own that famous broadcast, and all that the mercury theater of the air did, even though it was like the grain subsidy or the wpa a public funded consortium. As was  exactly everything called communist in the bloated post war antebellum boom,  had liberals once in America before Billy the kid made sure we a were all on the pad, some more than others some with  as  theyd say a first cut. Still, knew the one with Leslie Nielsen was written by my Virgil Gore, when walking through a particular hell, good to have a Roman teacher how knows liberally where all the bodies are half buried after all. Yet,   still, in this creepy time of this dying hag  pattering as if a  Juliet who wont take the poison, unaware as her husband is that tragedy is comedy that doesn’t knew its exits lines, no one is there….I scant forgo my beloved Della and Perry, every Jesuit I ever knew before they died off and before house goon niggers like those on war  TV  who don’t recall or wont and shant, that those yaw Ozarks pimps one  ran against aids victims as beneath them and dirty, true to their dismal wasted jaunts and hurry up and destroy  trump already so I can see tow crime families squeak in voracious hunger and acrimony, but i.e. maybe dirtier and thus more sanctimonious  than the other, did you ever know me when I ever vasnt..?, as missed mid century Caesar,  I guess, but love Della more, as Antony would say, or alas was it Octavian, who some critic perused what’re the hero of the place, cue the Jesuits laughter, I didn’t miss anything.

By accident, stumbled on some thesis on Caesar later and still am no computer whiz, on a Google book equalizing Caesar on screen, see how, as could see this pop art junk was less than most Shakespeare plaudits, which are mostly things worthy of Klan grand children who went to football factory party schools, and learned some new  words, as this all seemed idiotic.

How soundly in this decade one shown Ge Theater  and remember when that meant  something, this Version of Caesar, that Antony and Caesars  men were shown as fascists, well duh, but somehow Brutus and Cassius were not, ah the fault deer Brutussssh, isn’t in our stars but in our pea coats… --in this I take it Casio was the communist, but Antony the Nixon as you cant believe anything in America if twelve Jews  and Ge LABS DON’T BELIEVE IT TOO, and throw useful  white chicks in there, as to be a bitch, as Nixon is so hated all since kept a cunt and her stinking  husband named Melvyn, always a give away, from the senate as he was asked, no paid to do by the Kennedy’s, then vulgar beagle boys at the time as the senate this pig knew with heredity brown halo alas in tact ,was no place for a woman as much as the tip of his dick, especially when they were that big a dawg, to be Chayefsky about it. Did you creeps  at ge theater ,and actually the anticommunist Jesus freak from holy cross the parish drunk, did you know that in his battles with  Alger Hiss as the priests taught me, that the Kennedy boys were right there with Nixon, as  communist then was a coed word as still might be for Jew, and that family had it tough enough with Happys  husband screeching about them  being catholic and half step  above Italian before bled all over  that  Jews affinity. And, the liberators of Rome as they were epauletted for like three full days, as my knowing that got me a John Batchelor liked admiration for some, as that sort of as Parry would say, rescinds motive, but then we all have to be Roy Cohn, do we not…? So then,  they apparatchiks, ah their heirs, were shown as bankers, or above the fray praetorians as you’d see  at a Bush family vacation. Wait a minute, you mean, who ever this is, that Brutus wasn’t Caesars man…? Or that’s right he was Caesar boy, I gauss. As Was asked as one placed sent the reborn Mister Stupendous begged off though was told to résumé it to their oligarchy publishing specifications, but then as usual someone read my Blog, and all, that’s fine with me, not being one of you has been a forming quality of mine since the gild of whatever cunts were destroying Nixon, as someone always has to be dirty as than she, and god knows its tight and certainly don’t work for a loving. Sorry a living. As Candy is after all Bubba boys still a pinup Beatrice as I think I actually herd him say, but like Kemeter  he  becomes more of  my  own  creation, more and more, as a gal told me I think I give him more credit than he derives. Asked if Id make my Caesar into a comic book, in jiving color evvvvvven, I  beg off, as Mr Stupendous no matter what, he flies again, well enough for comic work, as I knew I had too many brunettes in that, and a giant Robot who sings Lerner and low is so 1974. I dont hide behind someone else’s mask so i can play dress up and be a real radical without my various partners knowing it. I distrust anyone for whom the politics was studied under John Carpenter’s Halloween.

I believe, as said, I had missed the decides reechoing of a modern dress Caesar, which is strange, as I only have eight channels but then as said am stuck in the midst of 1974, which is fine by me as is a nice respite from this lamest Caesar, where everyone is Cassius and no one dares be Antony, as belief systems, we know from Billy the kid are for suckers, and the poor. I missed out on it, but like the CBS  night that panicked America Orson’s name had to be scrubbed from it, as I  said always interesting and instructing when the rag that gives is Raising Kane is decided someone is beneath them, and the apologias will come later on anyway, and so…


The infernal heat of the least summer has been ameliorated by a cheap Kmart air conditioner, that has made the one story, small, almost as if something in a grimms fairy tale vista, pleasant and takeable. Having the chance to resent out the play I had sent to the upper state comic book movie makers, I had  to make t no more than 48 pages, a teleplay really, dovetailing to those lovely black and white kinescopes seen all month on decades starring the great actors of the last  mid century in dramatics not  seen anymore. I defied to just start over and leave the story of Victoria and a stand on Kurtzman be, and start from a new beginning,this time, with another ethnic everyman hero, Joey Mars, as would rewrite what I saw as the  beginning of the end of America,  in what I ahd come to see as the relic  and ruin called the Joey Bishop show,as it an American tragedy, ad which the Jesuits had warned me of all along. 

But had to think a way to have like in Roman leathery literature tomes, a narrator hero, a Pseudolus, a con man, a fraud who could tell this story and show what I already dashed down as  the bare bones. CBS as  the American colossus brought down by the vulgarizing in answered prayers, as he openly turns on the low hanging fruit of Bishop as I heard and read he had, in a  sea of blond genies and blond witches  only amiability  to  the Christers and  Shyster in laws,  in the hinterland and because indeed they were blond, as read that I dream of genie was brought to Palely, he is the vane Caesar in this as was a great effect by several roman writers and  sued with Napoleon too, by  best Italian writers, but was  unheard of by hard sellers like Tolstoy and others  who  slaved away in a dog language like Russian to cobble that sewerage into literature ,  first as was Jeanie brought to the piggish man unallowed into golf clubs and 21, ah the driving ethic if all from Levittown, as magic as it had for the kids Superman was stolen from, was a no-no as they and their gonniffs at dc never understood why Capt. Marvel  sold so well in those lands at the edge of that bridge to nowhere.

But he and Stanton, his Sicilian bag man,  made a point they wouldn’t give into, not for the tiffany of networks, into  mere magical sex symbols, as I take it Jews think blonds are magical enough just as is, but that he tiered it all down. Mostly he turned down as  did the porters a young Raquel Welch, fresh from Latin Quarterish, Hollywood  palace circus, for the role of Jeanie as the peacock network and Sarnoff I take  it had no problem with making a  short busty blond into the avatar of an ancient culture, much like how  all the Romans speak the kings English. He turned it all down, especially the idea of Julie Numar, my Moonbeam beloved, as the sorceress as that couldn’t be, as how would the defective apostate of her be, the cat woman as a blond…?,  as she was still and always a brunette in almost all things she did, so that couldn’t fly, Yahweh knew. But strangely as he did have an eye for  such gals, did as I researched, make a show  in which the magic was recalled by technology, as Julie would be recast as a sex machine  in  My Living Doll, with a one time  Hitchcock  admired Bob Cummings, hero in dial m for murder against honeysuckled  voiced Ray Millan, as somehow the magic he eschewed was okay, if could be ecumenically replaced by the technological advances of the mid century boom, who wouldn’t if they could in a laboratory not build a Julie  Numar capable of circus dancing as the hillbilly cat suit as she did in Lil Abner. She on Broadway evvvvvvven,  brining down the winter garden hosue each night as she  did, as was seen as again, to enticing and sexy to play Daisy Lu, as these casing idols are Talmudic, if  not Byzantine, whats the diff…?  My Living doll was a rare and half harvested attempt by  CBS to deal in the magical craze of lesser networks, I take it, as they had I guessed seed up all the Jewish approved  magician all still allowing for Hogan and his aced heroes to come and go out of a Nazi  prison camp with easy impunity. 

Then, along there, tired and beat, I watched a binge on the nostalgic exercise, which  is television watching as want no part of The tragedy of Julius Caesar   as played by the stock company cnn if I  even could get it as don’t ever wish to spend another dime that could be cut or biting into pacoes to let  a bobble bit get into the hands of Tuner  Watson or Uncle Rupert ever after. But as watching this roman circus, I have come to sadly adore, there was the answer to my own attempt at a student one like playhouse ninety percipient the second or third done this long hot summer. There he was annunciated and visited upon me, as I said before, a ghost of Virgil from the old ruins of cathode tubes and video tape. Id watch etched videotape things with a fixture of sadness and glee, or joy and regret, like all nostalgia, if true must be. As I watch as if a excavator looking at a lost civilization, with the same way I as a dissident on a more Roman than cathlci school, read all their ancient books I as was sure that Nazis sic Germanic nun hags lesbians would burn soon enough, as I early and often thought this and saw William Fa Buckeyes willing and ecager to destroy  all they could  everywhere, no kidding, as sadly again gave them more credit than they deserved, as cunts at Yale , except the black one giving me my due on the down low, hadn’t heard of Statius at all much less to burn him, but am sure get  to that poem of transvestitism, sorry I always take the roman werd when available than that jewie sludge of yours. One moment in watching Perry, there is Raymond and Barbara AT THEIR MID CENTURY FINEST, they’d get older each night, and as Hopper would have to do yeoman’s work as she was receded to a few liens as still as vogue and hip and cite as ever, and he growing fatter and growler by the scene, too tired to be the villain made good that’s sometimes like in Marty the Jews would so allow. There would be Valerie Harper as a ingénue with Madonna Ciccone cheekbone cuteness as a killers wife, or  some such thing, there would-be a Dan Rowan rewoven as a Coriolanus war hawk idiot, that some creeps on Amazon refused to acknowledge  were part of the Roman cannon, the miles glorious war buffoon as now that mdeaved and Rachel  have made command cause all saddlers cue fireman are heroes, just  don’t call them when you are spitting  up your lungs from the aspeteos of the pippin wars that family beget for us. Then…

There he was, a hero mentioned before but now almost a Godsend a raved truth a mixture of Tasus and Scaramouch, there was my answer… Carl Reiner. A hero god knows before, as a boy dreamed of being just like Alan Brady, down to the scowl and the growl, a genius of comic proportions, in black suit and blacker heart, a mixture of Art Fern and the Jackie Gleason Mother fetcher con man he was stolen from, a college boy Jewish huckster. He came to me, in mid sundae comics in the laugh in marathon, as if a fully formed creature creation, a Gideon on a Escalator  like Trump perchance, a mix of liberal arts and outcast ragtime ethics. Carl was seen by me as the perfect spirit guide for my latest play, in which I openly ask when did Rome, or America or whatever this is ever finally go off the rails?

He was the most prefect image, to see as I watched it, this Monday night cavalcade of comics first recalled seen by me as a seven year old boy as thought laugh in was  the most adult thing id ever seen,  intently as if seeing a Olivier BEFORE ME, as the last time felt this way was in fact when had merely scraps and a image of a blond daemon accosting it seemed  a pretty Italianate girl of Etruscan walls,  in unmet adorations, you see they were the white trash tell us devoted to death , not like the Romans or Prussians, as all we have left of then are their necropolises, and the conscious second logical question in a dump where something’s called the Clintons could get even this far are never asked. This is important, because it was in seeing Olivier when still had cable in 2004 WAS WHAT caused a merely idea of a italic demon on a wall to turn onto that bounding jumping caching soul of war tome propaganda angelican brilliance and joyousness that I turned into one of my best ever credo betokens all I ever do, actually, as made Kemeter, my heart anti hero the same exact way. Not acute as vociferously or as devoted as I did the play   about Victoria and Mud magazine, again I am besotted and devoted and addled by that time, as seen in my 12 hours of straight laugh in almost, then by seeing the late great Rollin Hand the next weekend as watched Mister Phelps for a weekend, as watched Martin Landau give a comic book tv show a level of crimes and misdemeanors dignity, I did the faster draft of Tonight, as I called it with Sylvester Pat weaverish irony in  five days. The  last time I had clicked into that cascade of perfect  voices plugged into in my heed, I yodeled like Lawrence Olivier to get to be in the top 250 in an Amazon contest out of 10,000 books so say whatever you’d like now, girls, as Antiny my name sake would say, oh now you cry…?


In ten days, I received more accolades, as the warm Sun that allows Bill to as a Roman would, let his article slide off his shoulders and a bask in its apostolic wryness, oh how that bothers the Jesus freaks who have suddenly like ante war lesbos on war television made common cause with Medved, but alas the god that is the sun, acceding to even Cicero, has allowed Bill to be freed from his season of discomfort. How do I know,…?, w ell, in ten days, not quite seven days in may they had hoped for, but a turnabout being as NAPOLEON WOULD SAY fair game, in ten days Hillatta Madonna herself, has gone from reason to burn the digest of Roman law, to merely another punch line utilized and needed by that queer little effeminized bitch power monger lover dick sucker on sadly the once vaunted as the Roman Senate CBS, and no a mere plank in a sanctimonious  and spitting outwards eye. The Cyclops is blinded, mister Reiner, that those days are done and gone, Geraldine, like Irene Dunn Dunn, and so am locked back there again trying deteriorate to recorder at least requiem those days before the Jews and Italians and Jesuits were allowed like Liberace to die unnoticed and even as an object of ridicule and dammed by colored and rearguard hacks on comedy central fake newscasts la da de daahhhh. Unintended consequences, in farce the smallest thing can balloon into a pie fight, the lasted thing unnoticed even accepted in ones mind can at a moments notice turn to abject shit, in  ten days, I saw it all swerve. As had an inkling when fat bleated prop baboons  dykes had the audacity to speak of the insult that fathers days was to them, oh that wont stand as even a child knows playing Superman, there is a time when the magic falls flat and you just explain yourselves to the dogs of the local gods of the playground, and you cant dues ex machine yourself out of everything as I said, which is a  strange  line in Latin as they detested that Greek ideal that the gods of circumstance are always on their bloated boring sides. The grand dame has stayed upon the stage one money shot too long, like the Arabs camel one never knows wane the last punch line will make the stage fall in from the weight of her fattest ankles and so, after seeing the lesbians screech of father’s days, and were buying you a tie… It not that much you know, it just our way of showing you we think you’re a regular guy, you said that it was good of us to bother…oh I knew that moment on of my buddies sent me that image of old bachrd to pushing itself, that one pratfall too much too far ,too awful I knew all was about to swerve but then as I told Kartina Richardson, I am the Auger.

Thinking she was in the midlife her devout and devoted star turn, she played Madea too often and too long, she came out again thinking all was American confetti, and with the swan song worthy of a Patton duding in George C Scott, not leaving well enough alone, our Camille, came out and told America that she  is writing, I’m sorry ‘Writing” a book about her exploits as with her husband, there is nothing that serves a cesarean mind as outing yourself in the in cold bloods you cobble. Ah but this time, kids, and foils out  there in television land, oh god I can hear that fake Carl  Riener  cadence still in my head, I used it well, as a gal told me this is incredible stuff, but.,.ah yes but, they always lie, close to a Jesuit lawyer joke.  So, grandmamma, between shilling t shirts for red heads I know I recall trashing her when God Obama entered the room backwards, as usual, and doing her act by sending out paid spokes models, ha!, who all wore the cap from the busty girl in girls with slingshots for some reason, she acidly, and death to roman lawyers or comics, didn’t take the temperature of the room,  said she  was writing   a post Mortem, what else does anything she do is…?,  about her careering careening off, as if we weren’t getting that venom for free so why buy the snake…? She called it ‘What happened..?’, eliciting from  me, as you’d think, a  good line I said what’s it about --her wedding night,…? But it illicited more than that, and much worse, who WOULD HAVE FIGURED…?,  and from first among equal’s, that fagot closet everything who isn’t quite the heir  to Paar, or even to CBS late bight which was alas better when it was late movies and Kojack, as better than this sewage. He was along with many who she stupidly thought were her acolytes, no one is a stupid as you think they are, dear Ask Bill, he’d give you the jist of that medieval stuff  that Jews at hbo don’t make into series god knows, and so, they all took the shortcuts, just waiting for the chance to show, no rye drinkers  they, that’s from the Rope I think, as rye was a cheap variety of liqueur I gather, must I explain it all…?, and look Mickey this slave ship is taking in water! Eagerly and meanly savaged as she had to be because you see  the world, Mister Beal, is a bidness and the democrats of Democracy inc, well  the sewage treatment plant they have become, this jersey joke they deserve, it has been in the red now for three consecutive quarters, one more and they feel, the pinch of a recession they thought they were ascertain that no one important was living through, as that they thought Beloved Obambam could get a third term, since basically he had broken the Boland amendment easily, too.

But then, we are in the Hinterlands, and Prairea, such scoundrels as avouching to fat blamed human zits taking their cretin calls, but then, fatso I wasn't the one comparing Hillary to Imelda Marcos as an imperial on some fish eyed blond cunts show, showing again, sometimes its best just to leave the bard alone, and not try to make t hat play if you don’t understand it , much, leave the Caesar his due, don’t put a  orange wig on him, as after all, despite festooned and slathered  decedent nobelss oblige of the Bush family, well, despite battlements by ugly old maids, heist a rapist on their shoulders as if a  Marius the great, certainly not one who disfigures his victims like a  sociopath, not a drunken  driver, we learned about that too late, those of you in tower 2, all so deposed talk so very decent, decent cause they assault, sorry, salute  the war flag and sing homilies of Homer at all the right times. I hand not up for that shining old man, not an Antony like me, as you see held by another dog in that drink. As I knew all along women the con stipended were as much as spear carriers, the chuckers  all have as  I noted around here still fathers and sons  placed in jail by the Clinton dragnet  as Dante forwent more of humanity as worthless drones unwilling to take a fucking stand. As I story of figured early on in this, the setups and pages about erasing the republic had been stuck like sesame street in mad, as does the antimony, as you were never on her side, as she is after all a two time loser and one more loss and she might  have to go too jail like all those niggers her and hubby pitilessly slammed in jail to save the democratic party from being the senate party and leaving them at the end of their spotty reign with nothing. It was as I told another admiring gal, really never thought this would happen such, it was never  Julius Caesar that was the play you and your company wops and household Jews should have ever mentioned that even my enemies cant hold my typos too much against me as have read it all, and still if not sweep, will,  kick the dust behind the Golden door, which still ahs the holes where you democrats had to drill for the locks when you need them. See, It was never anything  so Roman or honorable AS Caesar, you deserved or redid,  as dying old men stand at the prodeeecuem and vote one way but sonnet and predicate as Ma says in the other, to standing ovations like something  out of I, Claudius, Seutonius, as Gore knew, is beyond you. It was never Antony you wanted and needed, at all. It was not even Coriolanus, damming and pestering the dingy of Roma, only good as the anointed variant of Cannon FODDER, ASKED TO DIE WITHOUT ARMOUR, AS BATMAN SUDDENLY DROVE A TANK AND NOT A PIMPED OUT RINKIN CONTRENTAL, AND WHAT ARE THE BUSHIES HAVING FOR DINNER TONIGHT, I WONDER. By payday of the week after that shocked poll, democrats openly in that rag said they needed and wanted the Trump voters back, no longer dogs asses I take it, as I think now that the rich have left as bushie could have told you never Trump merely meant double booking, I take it you have to make it up in volume, as new Judea becomes more vulgar and long island by the day. With ass jokes made by ninnies as if the Romans weren’t adults and did care, it was not anything even like a comedy tonight, as I sent my play about CBS in color off.  It was Glenn Garry Glen Ross you should be mouthing and all that that curse ridden brilliance entails. It was never et tu or there is a somewhere somewhere out there, in even its most vulgar and terrific Roman vitiations as seen as general Bull Wright by the grand and sophisticated genuinely decent  Dan Rowan in the laugh in that I watched and imbibed in recalling when we were an empire with satire, before we became what ever shit this now is. It was never Roman or Latin, or curt gambols or dogs of war or the time and tides of men’s lives, it was as always Put it, my name, on that fucking board, it was always Rickey Roma,it was always Denis Franz asking again the poor dumb black kid where was the coin at, and it was always who had the American Buffalo.


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