12 October 2017


In our unraveling, lace curtain Trimlachio is coming for perpetual dinner,and damn the plebes crumbling ,lovely age as again there is Talk that Bill, always a Roman playwright and willing to give notes to Medeas who cant carry the role, I feel for you,fatso--and now, Rose McGowen is actually suspended from-Twitter, which lives up to its being an institution allowing creepy, fag hating, queer Colbert to use the word Twat on national television, to show how low wed sink. The clowns refuse to say something about the fat pig whose corpulent corpse, they are certain, shall haunt them, what with this close to lesbian Christmas, from his Jewish purgatory, as now its just the personal vendetta stuff they fear, as like I Claudius, this always ends like Sergio Leone, with a mass death. I am having a ball with this.

As I could be a bitch and say that I wrote a play seven years or so ago, which was soon torn off a site called Zoetrope, in which a fat bloated Jewish burgermeister goniff Hollywood creep, written with the fat guy from Curb your enthusiasm in mind, who had an Italian Hollywood hanger on as his pimp, hummmm... shades of The Apartment, and then, a Beatrice always, a starlet emerges, as I always do have, and he falls for the belladonna, always, and thus sadness and snideness ensues. Called Glissando, my Any Wednesday, written for pretty Jewish italicy waitress Kat Dannings, as had only seen her in Thor, thankfully whose Viking figure  is never botched by  the red paint hurlers, it hearkened back to a time before we came so decent and stopped noticing bombed red cresants, I am the king of subtlety. I thought it quite sweet and nice and actually though he, Pete Glissando, as a Hollywood pimp avbetter example of  Italians than anything that Harrrrveeeeuevey showed, as the rest of the Jewish Curia quakes in its Gucci boots.

But so, as I think of script blastering it again, as bothered me to know I have paid the anti-Trump rag merchants almost fifty dollars all together to get e-read at sumbittable ,but have had a nice response, and a sixth of my submissions have been accepted,though always for art,never for essays. Though, I read enough Petronius as opposed to some to know when to strike when the poker is ice cold, it is sad that all the late TV clowns of mars, the monsignor, the English fairy boy, fatso  Jimmy whose sanctimony about spitting on the grave  of Hefner is unbecoming a piggish boy man who once had big titted woman called juggies dancing for him, no Goldie Hawns here, and Seth who must staccato and echo bad punchlines with a uhuhhhuhhhihuhhhhuh worthy of a narcoleptic Charles Nelson Reilly, it is sad to me,and like Editing Bill, --i have a line about Virgil,but why use it for that hag power mongering Idiot, like Bill, may I use a Roman line of Plautus as he did to always defame the fat chicks and the lesbians between ties worn as tribute, that it is sad that we, well not me, I was watching my beloved Della again, but that the republic such as it is had to wait five days to hear castigation from that smiling fag ninny who for some reason that bothers me, has to come with a persona and a narrative like Achilles, or is the worst television personalty I have seen since I  was a boy and couldn’t stand Jack Carter for a similar affectation. Can I use a Terrenceian line that we have fallen to a point where the ninnies and clowns, have to be circumspect and quiet before they act like women, Ouch!, cause if bothering you’d find that line in the Romans sonnets somewhere, not that Hillary or the rest of you ever, we know now,take dictation from Roman Bill, which must have made him thank he couldn’t stand being attached to an idiot like that,  just out of general principal. Our Machiavelli with an eye for the Lucias also knew as early as September she was losing, but after all what did she care, as getting even is the best revenge. Now if I knew that story enough to write it, and again be  a combination of Titus Livy and Neil Simon, are you telling me  that....? So again, Rose proves  that again we  are all But Monica to the power mad, as I paraphrase Cato. And that bloat Harvey has the Beatrice taste that i warned all Jews have, no matter how many blonds Judds marry for business, and sadly to me, and maybe to Bill, is the idea that we now have pimple faced geeks who called themselves satirists, like Horace and Juvenal and dare say them are Romans anything, who cant-even take a Trimalchio when they fall and crash right into their laps.



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