IT’S A SATURNALIA MIRACLE!

2 December  2018.


Oh, I don’t like to paint often, only did several pages of MS this summer because a crew of nice un- married ladies, who liked me amid the cesspool asked me to, and it made me feel tres heavy metal. But, here on a desk now gone I am painting something I’d call Liberalitae, a roman goddess of, what else…?, getting away with it. Funny, but, despite a fetishistic strain among the creepiness, towards a statue of liberty than means nothing to me other than a shocker ending in an ape movie, I did complete her and  got her in an Italian art collection, as an exemplification of America, and too, as a cover of a collection of drawings of liberty,which even though it was anti Trump, they still liked the work.

It was a tough Saturnalia last year, so Id like to get a head start and have a nice Roman solstice this year. It means a lot that the last tweet I was allowed to make on that dying site was that I know this country is the country of Monica , the sopranos and Kordell, and yet, they keep sending me emails asking  me to use Twitter for business, at a price, they studied ethics yonder Brother Bill  , in away  showing  what this country was all about all along.

Last year hot a shit load of image comics from art school era, as I saw something on them I COULD MIMIC AND use, I THOUGHT. I looked at all of them, and found them vital, honest, vulgar and therefore wonderfully comic. I have since then never gotten so much of my work accepted here and there,…

4 December 18.

See, having just went through one of Sweet ole Bill’s favourite books, the Roman diaries, you know, Germanicus, hoo boy, is that a loaded analogy, …yes dear…, I read in old paper worthy of the tale, that one says to a Roman general, never pretend or fake allegiance to anyone, the gods will destroy you for it, and never fain allegiance, as I didn’t have to marry that twat. As having read First in his class, know that Machiavelli junior sometimes only called home when he needed bail. You know why I like Donald Trump, and wish him well, as told some cunt, …see I don’t thinks hes capable or willing or has to save a flagging, flaccid, praetor-ship, presiding as master of ceremonies over a mass grave of plebes, the way other suddenly decent crime bosses had. As I once got a like from poppa Jon Stewart for calling the Clinton's, those pigs, the Duke an duchess of Syracuse, and he liked that, Which means I either got him to look up the Boccaccio tale, or he just got it from the gist.

As I said I do find it funny when  believers in social justice take such a glee in rooting against a black kid at qb if Americas team, as I don’t trust coloreds who don’t  like the Cowboys. In when pride still mattered , a book about Lombardi written by Mariness to get the taste of Clinton out of his mouth, he writes that Cowboy coach Tom Landry and his Giants friend, Vince Lombardi were told by the Maras and the Rooney’s and Rozell to knock it off drafting and recruiting playeres from Grambling, Moorehouse, as they were the first to do out, and the nfl didn’t want , I read, an influx of such players in Ditka land. So, be careful Orange men with antimony, as the Cowboys are saving a league from a doldrums of a dumb wop named Kaeprnick, ands so along with Vincent Price if I was you I’d look up a man named Air CORYELL, as remember when a kid, how Cowboys and Raiders left warm poles and still won, and San Diego never could. Id like to know why #me-too has frosted its share of people who winked at the wrong white woman, I guess Louis never had nuns warning him of the destitute of sexuality of fat chicks as I did, but Rottensberger is openly being said by Prime on Sunday night football round up, he will  find someone to blame for his latest losing streaks. Remember the sophisticated coach of the stealers Chuck Noll, better than his audience, as we all try to be as Roman gamers, wanted to draftee Both Robert Newhosue and Ed Jones and was told by the always stannous parsimonious Rooneys no, both times.

 A nice moment every Christmas week since I was a kid, was the Kennedy Centre Honours. In which a nation my father called a cesspool and a wilderness would put on the pretence of the kind of a county Italy has always been, where laurels always mattered since Ovid. Ask Bill. Italy once stopped Victorian era traffic because a giant amend Verdi lied dying, the ny tiems once wrote an obituary for Tennessee when he was still in rehab.

Again all along my fall, this was a nice minute in which people of merit  were noted by of all people big mouth Cronkite again like say seeing the father of a praetor loser actually like Tacitus place a codicil in a living will that hated president  be acutely right there, fuck you sonny, this is important, the Great Santana is dead, lest his funeral lose it state statutes, and he made sure again, even from the Styx, he was a hectoring patriarch  telling his sons how much he was disappointed by them to the end. As opposed to me who allowed my father to cry at my bedside once, with my eyes as dry as rattlesnake skin. I wasn’t as distraught as Jebby was at the old man funeral, god knows, but, neither did I almost seem giddy as I thanked the sitting praetor as an almost joyful W did, as he seemed to be relived as a boulder weary Sisyphus could ever have been.

Now, have heard not only will new Producers of Hamilton be somehow lauded, as when I was a boy Burr was the Vidalia hero and not the conscript fathers in black face, or whatever its called, but then things aint what they sued to be. And mostly disquieting, was that that creep who has made the bumbling republic a cross between Julius Cesar and a Merv Griffin theme show, will also preside over the worst beatification of the month, and that is saying something, as a slew of self important sash wears will show up to laud of all people, Cher, a relic of a freer age, for her accomplishments in the art of drag. Wow.

Received notice on submittable no less that have gotten into December issues of magazines, not only the second part of Other cities other pillars, but too, some cartoons, actually of playboy Patty showing again we aren’t all so willing to become Spartans, as we hod de do and toddle ooo off to unseen, unwatched, wars, and that somehow us wishes too be Roman satirists and not just be on the pad and the repository, as just saw Arrec Barrrwin of all people, doing his act again, as he couldn’t take a break from this kamikaze mission that festoons itself with italic lampoonery, as frankly were I him, id quite finish with the mugging, as wouldn’t want to get into a reverse Roman Passover, which you Jews are never Goat blooded exempt, as id be quiet before sating aspersions and fake noses sand making faces, lest anyone recall that only moments ago am so unstable that I went violent over a parking spot, showing how venial I really is. There is a Roman Farce however faint in our Spartan victory parade, but is sneering nonetheless.



12 December 2018.

Showing the decorum that has made them what they are today, The Clintons, bless their shrivelled little hearts, at this time of goodwill and charity showed the Juvenal line that even Medved thought in the bible, charity begins at home and at this festive tome went on the road to again shill themselves at a much lowered level of graft then they were sued to selling their parts for.

Ah, but there is a fatiguing quality to evil, and so, a circus that has lasted too long and was too often a giveaway, it seems that tickets are not acutely going like hot cakes, and so they open to empty eats as the calliope crashed to the ground. Even Mother Mo has shown an ability to wash her dank hands of the posers  by placing a piece eon the Times reviling them, calling them names, showing again the nuns were right in their love of Machiavelli as he waned in a book hubby pretends to admire, that avoid ridicule, and ridiculers, because now as it suits her hair flipping needs, she ahs empathy fir Monica, big as hallow as all she’s ever done, as write a more decent eulogy for the dead old Cosmo than she did her own mother , as wont touch that one, all Hillary acolytes despite their mothers, more than the uncles who may have diddled them, an ancient story, and she made a point to encircle the Clintons as she once had their victims, Ah, but they isn’t in power anymore, and worse yet, if not are dead as are some, or incapacitated as are bitumen of the Bushes who find themselves eating tapioca in stroke wards as did the elder men of the ole 1-2 as described in sad detail by the meandering Inspector Lugar, they are worse as clomp from funeral to funeral. Poor Byzantine Bill, Roman I said is out if the question by now, as who would pay to hear more of this shit when we have had a gutful and she allowed her life of Brutus to go from anything honourable to belong Schick for afternoon yaks and midnight frat boy fags on dying television.

So, the times shows it s usual pretence of decency, as they again use their ratty paper to five a living eulogy as they had for Tennessee Williams, writing an obituary for him after a play they were going to savage no matter what, which I read as a 17 year old, called Small craft warnings, which is now seen as a poetic small masterwork, but which was demeaned at the time by them who make middlebrows the closeted thing to Jewish transubstantiations. Sorry Bill, that the climber of people you’re stick with as reluctantly trudged through a Colbert interview as I had for beloved Lauren Graham, and through the uh uhuhuhhhhuhuhs, he is as the Italian said mute when not being vicious, I saw the look that Brother Bill gave him when he dared think he’d sandbag him with the name Monica, if he even said it, or just alluded to a ball of lies, I saw that steely eyed cold, blue eyed, lupine stare that very mint as angered me too coming hen saw him snickered at by a nigger and a monkey faced patrician who lefts broken cement like barbarism, as did he in  OKC, but still a romantic  ruin decked when Isis was not…I saw that look he gave that punk, a look seen just as much as the smirk of Colbert I’d seen at the boys room since literally Cold Turkey as first shown that Friday night ion CBS, and I knew something as over, if it had even started at all. A GLOOMY Lucifer, that moment, BITTER AND SMARTER THAN YOU ALL, NOT AS BIG A compliment BY ME AS it once WAS, STILL YOU ARE A SLOWEST LEVEL OF HOODS NO…?, a look a intake of breath, I saw through a smile will show you as was in that book he mentions cine, The Tempest, no not that one, LA BUFFERA I think it was, it told me all that the time, a last italic poet to make the Nobles committee before it was all handed to black hags and spics who took magic realism and dialect from them and added too much corn starch and buckwheat, your hour has come.

At the beginning of the festive season, a little warmth left to a  wet year coming to and end, we got in an admittedly older somewhat broken down car and went to the Wal-Mart that sits at the top pf a highway I now live at, fulfilling a childhood desire to know the America the trucks were hoeing to,  dream that as now obviously beings saved for those children of the men whose divine comedies weren’t burnt, and who never even thought, as my father alas demeaned, to join any Jew clerked unions when they ere all still socialists.

I rode all the way up  there a probably tenth time since moved here, as am not a big fan of the inferno with slashed prices which is Wal-Mart, another think like republican health care reform, gay marriage, also a republican idler, and Tyson chicken, a going concern that was helped immeasurably as and by a Boss Hogg, having found them a Attlee’s lost preatorium. Although his forth favourite book is Sallust, the good life passages of the heinous Cicero have never been lost on a pig that ran for president to improve his dating chances.

We came into the already busty parking lot and my brother the driver, has broken heels, hammer toes, riddled with arthritis  from a lifetime of playing Bball with the brothers who were his friends  in the days of Connie Hawkins. I had an auger’s instant idea as saw a brown, who buys a brown car..? Jeepish like monstrosity  trying to get as close to the exit as possible, and told my brother  with augers aplomb to let this fat hag have this spot, and go up ways, as I could see through the fat woman’s overlarge glasses making her look like a cartoon of the great  George Woodbridge in mad comix  to life, all scarves and chins and tweed coat, to let this set aside, and yes make a brother who  hurts to walk a bit farther as the fat woman have been on the pad now since given and all clear, as said before all I know is that men who were on television for decades including years of demeaning a brunette gal on television found their black arts of ridicule as comedy made them take the back door out, rather than have to hold Hillary’s dick on national television, which right there should have shown the old bag that hubby’s is still great  at working the phones. Although as I said as have listened to my brother and refuse  to use the qualifier Roman near a word like Bill, I think this was a lot of work, either way, to be or not to be first lady, which makes Roman as a compliment as with me or even as a pejorative  as would be by GE Lesbos and pols scumbags, still seems out of the question.

I knew as much as when he gave a slightly Italianate gesture, that this would be trouble, as fat self important over fed monstrosities as she think they have a victory lap of the last few years, always a mistake as don’t even have the dignity of a last few pages of roman devotion that caused an upset Cicero to demand appendixes from Sallust to  which I  recall he said as I gave said before Trump, that Romans DON’T BLUF--NO THAT WAS HUBBY, THAT ROMANS DON’T TAKE DICTATION, WHICH WHEN ONE THINKS OF IT IS THE SAME BASIC BREAD RECIPE, AS MA WOULD SAY.

Once in I could hear this bloated porcine woman bellyaching away about giving a parking space to a man with a cane and a epileptic, which again earlier this dwindling almost unseen in the rainstorms fall, had to explain to a magazine looking for artwork from the disabled that I sent in  Tonyland to them, and it wasn’t appetent enough that it harpooned as it did in the age of Monica, and age they’d truer forget these afternoon yaks, as it was tough enough being out there for me amid the goofs and unrepentantly childish of comix. Without having been told by some wop who’s  made it the malebolgias and ghettos of cartoons that my Venus and Hercules all looked as I’ve said before to almost hostility from the comic queens, Colored. As said before, parking spaces are like personal fiefdoms the vapid and those for sale.

I hard the hag bitching about how somehow a fat bloated white woman trumped everything and everyone’s else, which my sharper brother could care less and armed with payment and Sam’s club card, we had to at least start to make a mother still alive as nice  a Christmas as one can get as a plebe, which is what  Saturnalia is based on, and why it pleased me to see our Savonarola die, as my father had to , a much moiré stoic and decent man, ask Iggy the Jewish man whit worked with him at the mill, who told him when I was 15, Jimmie we have to vote Reegan, or else this Arab fucker Bush will get in and make us the client state of Saudi Arabia. AH but back then, the Jews were more willing to be honest, before Skokie doth made frauds of them all. I knew there was trouble from this hag, but my brother who would be quick about things despite his Mahogany cane and untied shoes, didn’t much care as the bleating cow as she quaked away. I was , as usual, upset and noted all of it, as John Horne Burns said of the Irish  in the Italian adoring and thus un-filmable Gallery about Naples at war, they stay hurt forever and the italics have a bounce  back in them that shines, like Bill Clinton, I too, amusingly sometimes show up as not Italian enough.

After Shopping, we came out with about less than a hundred dollars in stuff to make the holiday as best as I can, as left more then I thought at a smaller house that was foreclosed in the grovelling age of the Obamas all but Bill wish to return to as we=they can finally get back to travel bans that Whoopee doesn’t even know of much less be televised in her decorative haughtiness to the tenth row of the millionth couch out there in TV land.

When we came out to the car, my brother saw a note attached to the windshield, usually a sign of some sort of accident or something having happened. No, didn’t see any damage, but I went outside to look at saw that it was a old dollar store bill, on which fat little fingers has scrawled an diminution,  not that that fat woman, now mustn’t  the gals by calling them fat or ugly or sluts, I didn’t even know Bill Clinton was sick…again, sorry dears, but am not being censored or lectured to by Jewanals who billed by the Monica joke. Brining the note into the cockpit there, I went around and saw a left behind thing on the blue of the trunk. It was a billfold sort of thing, a accoutrement called in my mother’s golden age of Gummadi and Ladies who lunched a ‘pocketbook.” I quickly palmed it as saw the big truck like fat mobile that had squealed in nearby.




above: MISTER STUPENDOUS. WHAM COMICS page 4. I had kept this pasted back together this way to remind myself my father and the Jesuits were correct, and that this country at it best, as opposed to now,was a nation as a colony of barbarism, where in fact a gift from Italy, the first republic was actually taken and submerged into the Potomac in 1778. And so again I say as said about a comics reporter who hemmed to never give me a break, this guy hates Pogo and Walt Kelly, so what the hell was i going to come up with...? Sorry Bill, you should have run as fast as you could back to some farm, somewhere, as the nuns told me, never treat an ugly woman the way you would a belladonna, as Venus and her mania will always get you for it.

There on a chassis that was not that well kept up, what fat person keeps up anything…?, a relic, but not the sort that Barry the fairy would take a grandmas glee in bombing say, but a relic nonetheless, a smaller than usual political bumper sticker , which should have been a dead giveaway, a blue and white the colours of the virgin Mary as I recall, or was it Minerva, anyway, a lathe H that had seen better days, and a black from soots  lettering Im with her, not as ostentatious as most bumper stickers have been, as I’d seen since McGovern was playing milk toast while telling voters to go fuck themselves when not eerily grinning in to the camera, but then she has learned if nothing else a certain chastised Undrstatedness , has Hillary, since her wedding night. Ah, one of my go to’s, as a line I use often to shut pompous up without having to resort to censorship, as I know the line of Ovid’s that censorship just means the principia is running out of enough money to play enough people to be true believers. Like say, Oh you mean like the Clinton marriage, see…?, or how many likes did Jon Stewart  give you, or my best at shutting you the sanctimonious  coyly now who grieve fir the dark little children whio might die in busses brought you from Marquez land, and who just laughed like clowns while little Palestinian chidden were made into broken marionettes at Jeddah, how many episodes of the Sopranos did you watch…? That one is alas greeted by the same crickets that Bill must be hearing now in echoing, ouch, who saw that coming…?, amphitheatres that are less than Romantic. Sometimes you’re narcissus in Ovid and …

The slip of paper was some embellishment worthy of a Hillary biometry, a lady who over lunches, who was putting on heirs at a wall mart parking lot, but my brother, could care less, as every on like her already with six months of simonising knows and like him as again I am quietly distant. It read that she had a right to that spot, as being white and overfed, the same you’d get from the state department now as a global view as they’d call it as things are different from when I was meeting Hodding Carter, as it turns out the Polish princesses took over the world, cant you just tell…?

He took the slip and crimped it before I could read all of how she was hoying to call the poleese, because someone still like her losing a parking space, such is the world the draconian lace curia old fool just interred gave us with an assault by an Ozarks hillbilly who ran against clemency, don’t mention that to the Times, kids,  and still gits niggers and women to destroy his overdrafts, which as  a Jesuit student could make the argument is unconstitutional, if not unseemly to see a Bloated pig as the portaging of law and order.  8th amendment and all. And I’m not so sure that the Bushes  didn’t push this bit of imperial antimony as they had an inkling that they were about to flood the zone with gimps, whose commercials seen at Christmas time makes me sad for all the fellows that old man burned in his almost Caesarean love of war. But as Byzantine Bill could attest, but who woken us anymore, seems worse than any more Roman love of war, as the boys were always somehow excepted, and only suckers go to the front without armour. He took the slip and crumbled it, and threw it outside, he is already buddies with the cops around here, as an Italian, as was said on Charlie Rose, I am by nature a fascist and yet, hate cops, as said by Polish Prince, see above, Zbignev Brzezinski, Carter’s Vulture, who made Teddy Kennedy run in 1980, as couldn’t abide where the frailness of the democrats was going. So, with a tsk at it all, as this has become a nation where somewhat a fat woman with all that barge and all those nights she sat through prom nights alone gets to put on the airs of a crippled,  to do her shopping at a warehouse store, more easily. It’s a store filled with Christmas vulgarity and over righted ness and yet somehow I still am off put by it as a good Roman boy. I still had the pocketbook in my Cowboys jacket, sure that was a saturnalia blessing and would take full advantage of it at the American GALLERIA.

We stopped at the dollar store, a favourite place  of mine, and many as that house coon pirated over the worst economy in the history of the republic but a rounding error like graph showed us who was winning and whom not, and so, he was justly fine as long as he demeaned both Fox and MSNBC as he did, and  made sure the plebs were always in camps like Occupy and tea parties that Jewish in laws at the times and Comedy central could think were just so vulgar.

I got out and went into the store to buy some xmas saturnalia accoutrements, but saw a pretty thin and thus unsexually appealing to me pixies girl, been speaking to since came up here, a pretty young gal with a nose piercing  and ten fake zircon studs, I am guessing ringing her ears like an African warrior. Hey, Amy, I said, and she nodded, Listen before I shop, I said taking out the ten of the stash, Umn, that basket fill of cheap toys’ for little kids who are poor, I said as she nodded, Here’s ten dollars, throw ten of them in the box, some Barbie’s, some matchboxes, but make sure all the dollies have black hair.



This made her laugh, and she took the bill and dutifully placed the toys, looking for black haired Babies and cars into a large crate that sadly wasn’t even a sixth full and which I had been throwing left over dollars turned to toys since thanksgiving as it made me feel like the Gheppetto that a vicious recoated German nun whose ilk I despise, tried to shame me out of being long ago. I have had enough of that sort, the Hillary Voter, ah there is a unicorn with fat ankles, as said two years ago, after that hunger Christmas that coon made us go through as we now have found out these days, sorry CBS, was undercutting anti Brexist fire arson I guess only his accountant and or hairdresser knows fer sho, something else, as they now do , lifer Rachel Maddox to pretend is fake, again , you see, Like the Clinton  marriage, as I find writing comedy is a natural, once you’ve been as I was, schooled in Jesuitical arguments.

In the dollar store I bought some Xmas faulderal, some small bits of recalled Roman ancestor’s satyr’s day adornments. I had a twenty so didn’t outside of the toys for poor children touch the new principal I had. Usually get some aft supplies for the holiday so forwent any of that even cheap stuff though wanted to get some cartoons done and sent as have had a nice boom let of acceptances this season and would like to submit and thus get more, as getting the equally I enjoyed your work much Anthony, Buts… have gotted on my nerves.

Outside in the drizzle and the swoosh of crass cars hydroplaning in the vast wastelands parking lot, and the tinny mechanized music of the days, I stood at a giant inflatable green xmas tree that again despite its inherent vulgarity, insetting word, it means of the whole showing that greave robber and killer and others have tried to be swells in mother Italia since time immemorial, leave me as a plebe, honestly, cold. I counted the moneys, as my brother went in to buy a subway dinner for us all and only make a light broth for my mother who is convinced such bought foods have been tampered with and poisoned by a nation that we now know were, even in barney miller, playing games with the rat poison called aids as early as 1970, in their new York subway, off Broadway try outs. This and mention of Moscone, are real sticking points in my comics…

I took the wallet, removed the detritus of this fat broad, credit cards, stubs, slips, pictures of her fat ugly ugly children, as finders keeper I think is codified in Roman law. I didn’t ask for your opinion of a car that is being demeaned not far, like many others as a house coon tap danced to the tunes played by the prophet of weeping Water Nebraska as dutiful a chump as he’d ever been, from how they have to drive in Cuba, till the horses legs fall off. And so, showing again, there is no insult to the willing heres I had just found a wallet left mistakenly on my trunk would have easily been a good Joe and handed it in, at Christmas time, told someone, I decide being a real Bitch to make sure that everything she left stupidly and scatterbrained and womanishly hearted to quote Niccolo, on that cars back was gone now for good, So, good luck honey, paying for the crap you came here to buy at the American general store.

I took the credit cards, which having a brother whose friends  have names like Payroll, Leutze, Poppadoc and The Greek, he might have been able to fence for me, but didn’t want him to know of it, no one exactly, as she was scatterbrained and womanish  enough to go out of her way, in writing no less, to take that much time to be that upset about having to  waddle an extra ten feet, and look down and spit downwards at a Wal-Mart fucking parking lot that she thought of as the Ritz. So do suffer now dear, the latest gal of pale skinned  honour to give honoraria to an Italian who doesn’t belong here in away, not that the wasps do, as those insects sting everything everywhere they fly. Know out there, between buffets, like where the liberals lie between pretending they hate war wasps getting talking points from a war consortium and ignoring Korans burned in the sorties, a fat woman’s dying age, car. You went out of your way to demean two men in an older car to get even, like her matron when in fact, the despicable and the undesirables I’m sure looking at her greasy husband was much closer to home than none she lashed out at. I took the cards and the letters the papers, the check book, usually am not like this, but this time, it was my turn to tear up pages sent as a way to me, instead of you,  and  walked to a grating, ala strangers on a train==no what am I saying, my hero, Harry Lime, and the Third man, I tucked this bundle of shit and I hurtled it into an open grating into the sewer, into the woods, into that dis-enchanted  Styx, where all the unnoticed who died at the perpetual militia fronts went where all those who died of aids lectured by Clintons where were still using good old fashioned Syphilis as a VD, where all the books from Ovid to Lonesome Dove pages go that you hate, and from where I saved my cartoons this year published as much as as they’ve ever been. I sent the crap of a fat womanish  life into the under land, the serge of Rivers, which ran through the earth where old man Bush was about to go, and good riddance, I said in the slush. Good luck this Plastic and tinselm if its lucky, Xmas dear, I thought, as she in my eyes deserved it, as no one told you to get out if a car and go out if your way to defame someone, she called our car a sweet ride, which as strange as the dirt and salts hadn’t decadently not seen her sedan now did they…? Who was this hag to try to demean anyone at this Inferno of cheap goods…? Who the hell arte tu bitch…?, I thought and then walked away, as good Jesuit Student.

Answered my own question, with all your papers of transit and card carrying and new found socialists I recall you all never were, certainly not four Christmases ago when imperial Rabbi Medved made a point Saturnalia had nothing to do with Christmas, and the hags at PBS trued to  make the Romans seem like Arabs, in one other deliberate little shows in which they were shown as a kind of Bagdad, which Virgil said Naples was the closest  thing in the west, with belly dancers who all didn’t have the decency as in Etruscan walls, and always on ABC TV shows about suburban witches had the decency to be blond. An unexamined, but bean counted to the last penny, life in the shit hold dearie, you aint nobody tell you get them all back, as again she deserved  it as a Hillary voter who abiding a girl who caint say no. Sonora Fortuna smiled on me this day Kid’s and still have the money in a envelope in a copy of Action Comics M, if bundled fir the holidays, anyway. I got home in time to watch Soap, which was before us all, marked with a parental advisory warning that I once recall the swells and middlebrows demanding and deeming  Tipper for, but then, with all the Rachel’s sucking off the imperial teat, they think we are all on the pad, which the given is we are not, and sooner enough you will be saying to some Vespasian, everything Hillary said was Greek too you, no pun intended, as pretend deviation, dear, is worse than outright hatred, You know, just like in your marriage. See…?

I recall that day she was husked into a van, sickened and scared out of her mind, as an epileptic have been there, but being a no man, I was sometimes taken by nuns to the hospital, as can see still on my mother’s old wedding ring of Italian gold, a notch made by me when I almost bit her hand off, so I know, dearie you were scared to death that day, as they were speeding you in the exact opposite direction of Beth Israel, or even Bellevue, where Id call if I was your husband-- cause you’re nuts! I know what was going through her mind that day she was being whisked away from the press, and now dead Jewish cripple was upset that all their handwork as for naught as it seem Clintons and Bushes need the other and can’t beat anybody else, as Barry and Trump have proven. So, Happy Saturnalia dear, as Id still recall that, I was sure was beachside they didn’t want to catalog the maladies that that marriage has left her with, but a smarter Brother thought it was a last ditch effort at vying  to sue the pity for a fallen hag to get to closer to losers demarcation of fiddy percent.

Once home, I gave my elderly mother the pocketbook as an early gift, this made me feel as Roman as I ever have, as wished someone would have made a movie with a dying old hag like Vanessa Redgrave used in Italia as the English bags have ever been--, no wait take that back, she is and was a wonderful actress, who like me said the word Palestinian to much for rabbis who wore no cloths, and called you vulgar between the pie fights held all with kosher whipped cream. I wished someone had made a movie about the italics which  have gotten even with gross northern barbarians, since  that barbarian trash whiz at upon a Roman throne was soon dead in the mezzagiornio to the Romans had come from, look it up as like a Christmas time chirping daytime Kelley, barware italics named Kelley or Scotty I was warned by sister Cecilia, one of the ones who detested women who weren’t pregnant , serenely, and martin Luther who they saw got rid of the berka wearing nuns that predated Mohammad long ago, who revels in her Calabria-hood, as so did Remus after all. Now the sad panoply of the Romans have been reduced to backdrops on star trek, where even there Jewish Vulcan Leonard Nimoy says to an ambassador, cleverness a word hurled against me though can look Jewish, is beneath a Romulan, a race even in fiction thankfully never became a federation stooge, like say Klingons and Sejanus did.

17 DECEMBER 2018.

So, enjoyed the Saturnalia as much as I could, as now the curia has yearned to a seemingly endless funeral, where a Lethe flows and Rachel Maddox can, for a stipend, pretend that she never heard of crime bills or Willie Horton, when mere American plebes were targeted, as they soon enough be by niggers playing with drones.

The days of the holiday were shown what was what when Trump stupidly, rather decently, tried to bring solders home from their incessant Hike, Back from their hundred years wear, that it seem slag sides are willing to buy into and commit, as when need be, all thoughts of human brotherhood can easily with Jewish aplomb, or is it effrontery…?, be reapplied by again towers on a loop burning down. All of which got less of a shrug and certainly no interpretation as movies now try to blame Chaney for everything, which to my Machiavellian lent ear is worse than had Bush just been vicious himself, as he heads for a limbo for never having fought for anything that couldn’t be installed while he still in the gym.
Again there’s nothing about the bushies I haven’t seen in Cornelius Tacitus, or better the don is dead. As saw the youngest son so distraught about having kept the Principia down, we almost had a Hillary Regime, because of his fathers mean need to trash everything connected to that vulgar, Roman adoring, President what dared raised a hand to him, who gets weathergirls like Nora O’Donnell to weep for tyre Leader, ITS WEAR WE GET Tyrant, who made it to the elaterium all true to his graver robber ethics. He is a orphan and alone now, fittingly, as the dumber brother seems with a weight off of his shoulders as the earnest Santini dropped dead and demanded a train carry his body through the hinterlands as a one term Lincoln who fell to a conspirator who heard either too much, or not enough, plays about Caesar.

Take him away, Charon, a little travelling music Uncle Sam, a cartoon image I used to beat them all too years ago when again televised yentas didn’t even hear about UNESCO defamation, much less cared. So, burn in hell, Savonarola, where you belong for giving us Clinton as much as anything, as Willie Horton showed a little schemer with delusions of Sallust that any conniver= err with confederate flag pin, could be president, and as my brother told me, the Jew York times isn’t about to let you make people remember when Maureen and Howell were duping yeoman’s work on that Virgiless black ship of state. A gal told me some hag there called this remark racist … want isn’t now that Gandolfini is dead and somehow we laugh at a crying Jordan for a black Brutus more than Jesus who still calls himself the goat when not speaking of Jew cash and little Harve’s, on the same said as Arrc Baldwin, all hands on deck, ouch, asks openly and shamelessly maybe Le Bro didn’t understand the hemorrhoid like sensitivity Jews have to being called everything that Jason Alexander is willing to pantomime. This was about the time that I got forty years to the very almost day that Mister stupendous was accepted by gals who don’t like marriage and a guy who revels in pin ups, another thou shall not as priestesses of war  lectures us from the war nest, but it shines my charms. I Placed a curse on all the anti Trumpeters when received that colourful paper back in shards, meaning what exactly,…? Forty years later, and am still having Romances torn up by Sapphic overawed and not washed enough hands…I put a curse on you then, and as your curia fall apart, shows the Romans understood magic more than any barbarian in Roman drag or a brooks brother suit ever could.

In the week of Roman Saturnalia, no less, a self censoring temple of middlebrows called Tumbler made a point that like circus, art of women naked is verboten in the new Duchy Reich, as somehow the 46 percent of old wives who gaited for the stargea, as ma calls her, thinks it is Go time ,as losers always do. I did get a girlish image censored, done in 1995, I’d try to forget these days too, but did defend myself, as did Albert Brooks, and go it back up, as censorship is big talk from the people who gave us the flicking Star report like a newspaper insert, like vulgar version of the Spirit, or comics, as art and circus and all things Roman are to be excised, which is funny coming from a place eager to have perpetual war for perpetual peace.

The bodies of Venus are now verboten at one of your upturned social media rocks thanks to you know whom and blame, I mean, remember to thank Gertrude, a pejorative I’ve sued since grade school for a hated nun,  for being the ultimate bad loser despite as I said. Having lost, as she has, since her wedding night. As did see already the season marred by a bag woman at the times pretend their crimes weren’t her own, or at last, as the Italian playwright would say, admired for them, which is just as bad. So the body of a Wendy is to be censored, as the bodies of men being blown to bitts are ignored as they might show up and make false note during a late night drunk who is playing twister and reading tweets as free material with Mila Tunis, and somehow, that goy is beating the seething Cassius Pinky, as not long after a mea culpa about being too much like Jack Paar with Nixon, and decorum, Lil Stevie awoke to a full page ad in that rag in Medici gold leafed thanking that sweaty rummy for beating the Saul at his own loaded dice. And the sin was again Oviddian committed, he is a bore as all true believers always are, ask Daniel Shorr, showing again, you ignore the Roman playwrights at your own detriment, as again, just like the Clinton marriage.