THE SENATE YIELDS TO MISTER DOUGLAS. 16 November, 2019.

THE SENATE YIELDS TO MISTER DOUGLAS.

16 November, 2019.

I have said that I had a tough pagan death holiday this year, as its assigning how preceppios and almost anything Italian so bothers the good Vicars of now, but that a holiday about death in the fields of Germanic hell holes like Transylvania would be so allowable to the criers, as they always return to their barbarian roots.

I had a nice turnaround in that, as I went from a true rage building up in me, to around the anti all saints day itself. Always a tell from the barbarian rage they wished always to return to, that very day I was accepted with some cartoons I’ve sold of my Witches/ bunnies, the kind Roman schoolboys like, as they have to live in a dower Crucible, and have to pretend that Warren and other lesbian queens and Ms Grundy’s don’t make them sick, which after all, serves them right as rain.

I got some acceptances and the small dream catcher I was sent by the Apache I think, as gave them not a ton of geld as don’t have a ton, but enough to show a kind heart, was a nice swerve of things and hung it up on a wall I’m still not sure I will festoon for Saturnalia, as opposed to xmas that I cant this year as happen When pop died, THAT I cant even pretend to care about.

But I did write a play , I never know how far is too far here in this off ramp of the Milviana off ramp, called SATURNALIA, IN WHICH MADE A TERI HATCHER TYPE a signora Fortuna sort, with Virgil as Sinatra, Terrance as Sammy and I thought perfectly Dino and his dingling sisters as Ovid as her gracious roman gals. And recalled a real incident in Xmas 1995 when just about to go often the deep end, a giant from my youth named Mike Webster signaled to me on a street and I paid him a ten dollar bill for a autograph I misplaced a thousand storms ago as I felt badly for the man who had taken one too many hits to his iron head. Too sad a play, I was told then about Saturnalia, and I thought, Christmas without being sad...what are you Reformed...? And none I’m unsure if I much care anymore, but got through the Germanic death holiday with the nice change of acceptances in a restoration that I’ve never much bought as its queen Victoria is no less a pig than Bill Clinton, and like the fake sexual hating queen of the age of Paladin, reading sonnets of Ars Amora with only god knows, to haw wife at least, whom it couldn’t possibly be.

I saw a face book ad --as I came back to as I said, I’m not being censored again and losing out jobs as I did in my moms last year because now I’m not allowed to compared that c*nt and her hubby to the duke of duchess of Syracuse anymore, as I was doing when smarmy, closet everything, Colbert was hurling death threats at Asian girl coeds, after glad-handing and giggling and braying through the halls at Black rock, fresh off of exerting barely legal gals and itatalate cafés for Louie the lilac.

SO, AGAINST BETTER JUDGMENT, I SENT IN REQVIEM, THOUGH FOUND OUT HERE SUBMISSIONS WERE LITTLE MORE THAN A CHEAPEST POSTING. I HAVE AND CAN MAKE MYSELF, AS THIS CRAP WASN’T SO MUCH AS A COLLECTION OF CHAT ROOM POSTINGS AT TITTY SITES, WHICH WHY BOTHER…? BUT THOUGHT, STUPIDLY, IT WAS LOW HANGING FRUIT AND. IM JUST FOUR LIENS FROM THE END OF THE PAGE TEN NOW ON THE RÉSUMÉ, AND WOULD ALIKE TO GET OUT OF THE SAME PAGE AS MY MOTHER’S DEATH YEAR, AS SOON AS I can as a kind of again-- paper Requiem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, I’m not the sort of barbarian in Roman drag who thinks just putting a Roman word on things is the same as gaining decency or heft, I mean look at that thing you have called a Senate, far Christ’s sake. I don’t know why, but even those who’d liked to ignore me as I through it in your face as a gal friend of my sister told her I seem to have the Clinton and their housemen pegged in the game of as they call it three dimensional chess, though as I said, with the Italianate eye for that third dimension, that made reading hard for me, but had enough brethren who told me not to summon to it as the Hollywood wops mob would so liked, and pushed my way through and sued the Ars that Goddesses high up had given me, its always three dimensional once one puts a knight on the board, if not the board itself.

I sent in after a more trouble than it as worth uploading and downloading and the rest of this shit, was told within hours, id get to that email much later as who knew that sort of watch on the Rhine was so efficient, that a reference of an Italian Mother isn’t worthy of this ugly rancid shit, again showing hat the antis Trumpers had to do once that any underwriters decided to go to the mattresses, much like what happen to the charley Rose show.

They were really upset, as amazingly some filthy are, by this it seemed. Now, this was no skin off my nose, as if I had wanted to be a middlebrow, like reinstitution of Roman Chicken hawk, a dismastment of academic Greek tutors with eyes for the boys, dusted off and laid upon war mongers who skipped on National Guard Duty, a fave of my father Gore’s trouncing of the curia all Romans schoolboys to this day, and remember that, adore. I would have taken that chance afforded to me often since 1974, which always seemed to bother whiter, blonder, faggier,--I use the Caesarean rule of threes hated by Life on the old Muddy coot fool Sam Clemens, wops who still sit and hope I hear die of aids or something like it soon enough as that creep who saw unintended lawsuit unwilling enemies everywhere I wasn’t the one, I never am, who threw that wrench in your giant mousetrap of a life and made you go, like wops who thought fer sure would be Paterno qb’s or at least turned into linebackers, but alas we all didn’t get out of the age of Ted Bissel unscathed.

I wasn’t the one, Queer ole Albert Curcio, smiling, music room Sadie Hawkins of the low end boy lover purists, bvd boy in socks and nipples out I stupidly, sadly, lacked into that day that veered my life towards this issuing queen, tired out years ago, who made this fag, better than us all, into a bartender at a fag join. You see finally devoted to Juvenal here in way id never thought, I’m a more honorable Roman Virgil man, even Ovid who stands on the purgatories of lesser hells and teaches sonnets to lower end Italian Writers Amazon don’t know to trash, I need these words, and cant like Cobert do everything with Chucrh lady smirks. And not even the kind that the new Yorker was censoring eons ago when they were unwilling to anger all the Jew comeuppance of the unfinished pages of The Answered prayers, they who couldn’t then or even much now get into La Brasserie as the rabbi told my pop, the gentleman’s agreement, no matter waht Greg Peck said, is as American as apple pie and drones.

 

 

 

I was told that so unrepentant as this blank verse, like the sonnet invented by Tuscan writers, I never learn in GiGi Marquez SPIC LAND YOU’RE expect THE SICILIANS TO DO THEIR PART, that my entire supposed account was exiled out,--the wasted time innerved me-- as these idiots still don’t understand that as Ovid said, the play you censor is the play you cant sell swells tickets to, and after all, I’m not the one who is half a billion dollars in debt, and I’m not the one making the Star wars universe have to go to Disney streaming service, which may or may not have as much security as the Bushian watch on the Rhine, or Hudson, after all. I had a scent this was middlebrow click bait, anyway, and again took me two days to bother to get back there to see this, as so again no skin off my nose, as this year too, though deviated to the gambit of the entire page getting done, still walked a ways from a regular gig in a magazine as would be called a ‘sexist’ as because I drew pictures of a playboy bunny who I loved as a boy, and now have to pretend that rapists in Hollywood are beneath contempt since the rapist’s wife they bundled money for when as she always does, sledding down the imperial steps into the gutters, where she always ends up again no matter what DAR pearls she pretends to play dress up in. I wondered why I get that reaction to this, ass again, even those things ignored don’t get the vitriol of some, here in Colbert giant boys room, as that jackanapes will find out seen enough we have too many people rolling their eyes and even Rachel now friend to Kathy Kane , though I liked her as a brunette better, what else is new …now, and in yellow HIGH COLLAR Mildred Pierce costume, isn’t big no matter when she smiled on command with Lesbian drag.

As I wanted to say to them nobodies, again, my love of the audience is Roman, it is whole, ill get my own walls to write on in eager pencil, if not Cum and piss upon, I’m not one of those Petronius’ of the Clinton age, who have seen the Constantinian light, gals, as have a Roman aphorism for every need.

I WANT TO KNOW AS SEE COMEDIES WITH THE GREAT AGED Cerberus OF THE WOPS OF HOLLYWOOD, THE caste system of Cupola and Scorsese Id like to know here all the Sanctified white women and their new found love of censorship will be that day, that will be the day, I want to know where the wonderful world of Jews will be, and their castigation of hate speech will be that night, as Pachino and the other handmaidens show its been a long time since needle park, and we now know one of these dagos on command will and has gotten too close to the white women, and its been a long time since those hags were in college and wayward Gumbas may have stolen all of grams silver.

I want to know where you all will eb that night with your new found love of sanctimony , the Salem that Bill Clinton woke up one day and saw --Yikes!--her as the queen of this horrid restoration age. Hay, I’m not trying to push the old coot down everyone’s throat who carted the first Monica, Anita Hill, way back when Bill was still half soused and singing in the moonlight a rendition of Melancholy babbbbbbyyyyyyy. Ah, those glory days. As I like hurling it like the pies in roman farce or at the great Natalie Wood in The Great Race, that I recalls Bill at his best, and Bidden too and wont go so easily as Hillary like A befuddle but vicious Constantine, a second mention, paid pipers us across the bridge and its burning cross, a signal of danger to Italians way way back and which, like corrupt senates, they’d like to not remember.

 

I want to recall to these dumb wops that and who maybe get Jewish accolades now, though wonder if just remanding the people at the navel of the world, one civilized by Greeks no less, if that will be enough for thief Sanhedrin who I fear, wait, Hope will hold his last movie about queens of the Jews against him , if not his springing up to praise and thus Bury human hemorrhoid Moore, when he was actually goushe enough to bring socialist politics to the second wives and mistresses of a Hollywood triumph.

I WISH TO RECALL AND SCRATCH ON THE WALLS YOU KEEP SO VERY CLEAN , THAT these Jewish hacks and hags and thugs and slugs, who love you so much when not playing Shylock, are so very different than the Jews of that rag who on cue called William S paley a Medici I read that myself, for making Brigit Love Bernie, no less, so take your Fatty Arbuckle from Pittsburgh and the crap that Chuck Loore makes between Christmases with orange trees like a Deli counter jumper Trimalchoio and shove it, a favorite line of mien of Dante’s , though had it more committed to memory once, as I
do recall and so remember that that rag didn’t like the performance given By Robert BLAKE, WHO appears as a sad artier in Requiem, when he played a Capote anti hero and was the last Italianate man allowed to play a murderer, and not for the laughs he could get and not in pratfalls made in blood. How about that. How about, along with mom I recall him, as notice too, that sowmhwo games allwoed to be atlen away from Joe Patreno as to make sure again him winning didn’t get in the way of a fall down drunk like Bear Bryant, who admired him, as did John Thompson, as a bulwark of racial equality, but no in law Jew will make that movie, god knows, now, a team that learned ethics from the Bush family cant be another that has games its stolen, taken away.

You see, I don’t really care anymore about any of this minstrel show and these hit that they have to keep dodging, as Cato the younger said, now there’s a legacy family, as in now there’s a senate, once you start decimating, Caesar, you’ll find you have to keep going

I put a few Ducats on the Browns to win that nighttime game, and true to form, that coach who stands on sidelines and almost gets Ravens to break their necks, while Italian coaches are fired for the heinousness of almost putting a foot out as a negro runs from the sheriff, and I make a few dollars as a ibank account swells up a little but with sold cartoons. I am glad , but noticed again, when the Steelers lose, evasively to a bad Ohio Team somehow someone goes out there and tried to kick a black man in his dick as new matinee idol QB did, showing again, once a stiller your never far from the private parts. That Rock Hudson who is trying to steal a team from a rapist, good luck, ask Hillary its Yeoman work, as in Diana Prince and neither one is, actually is seen trying to take off a mans helmet, and kick him in the balls, and somehow he is the victim to local ass kissers, as I love it when things go Freudian. But to show Bidness is Bidness, quietly as seen on Courttv’s crawl no less, the nfl not having the Cycle year it had hoped for.

And the next Steelers-Brown game has been pulled back to 1 o clock, as the missing Gödel wants no part of that Negro coach and his pencent for throwing punches, lest he have to platitude his way through beieng asked how did you lose to a team that was unraveling, mister sir...? I t isn’t Saturnalia till he loses to a 3-8 team, usually in black and silver. And so now can go back to reading what he’s memorized behind perpetual scared eyes , the same glare and stare that he holds on the sidelines when he is never sure how much time is left on the clock, in more ways than one.

Last week, turned from the primetime Cowboys, should have known somehow a league that lest stealer qb’s rape women in toilets and let stand in’s kick negreos in the balls, wasn’t going to let yet another brilliant play this time done by wide out from the hsoue o0f Bullet Bob named Cooper and like Dex couldn’t stand in our blizzard of yellow snow, flags, I mean. I turned it from them to a show I never watched, called #Bobsburgers. I had never bothered to watch it, sure it was those faceless nameless shows that are cartooning viomitoriums, though it ahs as its eked the voice of Archer, still, wasn’t convinced.

But, I watched it, and thought it was brilliant, funny, and most of all, like South Park, had heart where usually in Seth Mc Fairyland, its just vulgar as a sixth grader that I, as opposed to Albert, never really was.

And not wanting to be a sap and watch the Cowboys, sent to the Hebrides of 1 pm-- don’t come back until you win, Zeke, I was seated there, going through the channels. I saw a Murder she wrote, I thought, with the great American CBS Cincinnatus, that’s beyond you now Bill, you’re just waiting for your comedy to morph into tragedy issuing one of those Roman aphorisms that is beyond good Jews in laws, who now think they’ve finally made vendetta for old jewey Marcus.

In this nineties show, as washed out and drenched in wish washy color as they all are, not as colorfully sharp as say Columbo’s a generation of television before, I saw Eddie Elbert, in his oldest days, a prefect Mort Drucker looking cartoon come to pudgy, skin folded, white haired, but still leprechaun, Puckish, eye twinkling, life. He was I gathered here, a senator, a later Jefferson Smith, in that already then dying mausoleum that was what it was before, but we are in those Roman days of Who among us is...?

Here, Eddie, perfectly Roman ex farmer now purple sash wearer was arguing a shahs been once, since the senate was great and before the powerful started getting first rubber stamps, and then horses in the honorable walls. And he asked then dying off segregationists, who Biden calls a base, I really cant stand him , worse then Hillary, if i may be kind, but then hated the Sopranos and the Godfathers, with only Bill as a Ray Sharkie I could admire. And he asked, what have we become here...? Always a question in even Television Caveats, when these Senate starts to creek and groan and start to smell like the old folks solarium that Caesars called it, and which is what seems to be happening to the Bush Family.

He, once duding shtick with farmers and a Hungarian once a pin up lesser doll, he asked what is this place becoming...? Even this old show showed a Roman bent the Jews had before who knew, they’d all become a bunch of John Birchers, showing again, Skokie was a mistake, as the law addled priests all thought when I was a kid and again, had a father upset that after Italo Calvino was openly campaigned against, that that Stockholm syndrome award be given to spics and negreos who never cared to even bother to think about the distance to the moon. Saw a celebration of that horrid woman writer Toni Morrison was held, and said to a black woman editor hope they at the Jew Yorkers and such send a Kelley girl there to make scat nosiness or something, as they had done to Tennessee Williams and Italo when they both lay dying.

I do hope someone ahs the decency to do that, but then the Andy Kauffman’s in the dying senate are starting to believe their own crap, ah but the be tragedy of Julius CAESAR IS BEING INTERRUPTED NOW, AS LOCAL EYEWITNESS NEWS GOES IN AND TELL US THE WEATHER ON THE EIGHTS, AN ACTUAL JOKE I MADE WHEN THIS ALL JUMPED FROM HILLARY’S TURGID HEAD, AGAIN HEAD IF WERE LUCKY. Don’t dance in the sand for my benefits dears, I read Ovid too.

It may be time, as it sometimes is to purge these creeps and send them back to being socialists and back to better law firms than they’d ever have gotten into before made imperial contacts in the lobby by Augustus statue, or dress, as sometimes happened without so much as a concentration camp, but just a bloody sheet. So that the Happiest among us tell the old saints of the Cyclopes that deep down, the money men from Plymouth don’t want you around. Are we, Eddie the Senator asked, going to begrudge people health care, this a nineties show if that!- as we make bombs with television cameras on them so was we can kill the multitudes with better accuracy. Ah like Norman Lear a Jewry sensibility no TV show would show in Seal team and FBI lousily drenched crap now, as we are all Spartans now, now that the hillbillies and the Jews are too old for any greetings at which once they’d burn down libraries , good Athenians all, lest they’d be sent to a front, which is just fine for your sons, just not the chosen, by god or by fate , as an axis between Clintons love of signore Fortuna and the Jews , who assuredly have a man god killing childbeds while they hide, is a conspiracy of Dunces that has too many Cassiuses and not enough Brutality.

From that saw a show hadn’t seen in years called Head of the class. Again, don’t mean to caste aspersion but a first pilot I wrote in 1980 was about an honors class , in which I was sure I didn’t belong and didn’t want to as again left more on the table than you house n**88ers pets might ever steal. I wrote that play about a honors class, that here was a middling ABC hit, down to some of the archetypes I used , as noted it looked an awful lot like a later show, done by a house Jew between Xmases in which the trees are all strangely Technicolor-ly colored, colorized as if Turner has taken the holiday, and made less Goyish and more garish, like again what you did to American politics. On this show as a lovelier gal I had a crush on then, a type we know now fat bloated Jewish marchers raped at the time as they bundled money for an old bag who still doesn’t know what her hubby holds dear, as she was implicated in bombing Roman ruins, a Infama as my Mom would say, washing her hands of both, a good Roman might such Semitic vulgarity. In this how was ex Disk Jockey from Cincinnati, Howard Hessman from the first great year of Soap, in which it seemed all were in and again the Sanhedrin at the times decried as like Cassius it is arming when the baldfaced become devoted and patriotic bwteen sneering at the wall.

I saw Leslie, ironically named, Bega, ethic girl supreme as she was dressed in a playboy bunny-ish bodice showing her ample--loveliness, and felt badder than I had already, as I had possibility once, but like Old man Clinton, gave too much in to the hacks and flacks and sister Gertrude’s around me when I shouldn’t have. SO PRETTY, she was, as saw this show as a vein plumed by that horrid Jewish producer and his acrid Big Bang Theory, which it looked like once that creep excised the Jewish weeny, the fat kid, and of course, the brunettes. I was astounded that here were, though Hessman left, sad it wasn’t what he had hoped, shit n**88ers, Robin William’s suicide was foretold by me when I saw a man so at wits end he thought Mork and Mindy was going to be Vidal’s brilliant A Visit to a small Planet...what scripts are you reading...? I fumed, thinking of even then the late eighties and the ethnic girl with white skin, and big hair as the white woman called it before got a memo that they just love kinky hair now, as Jews can always Meathead there way through pesky things they said before, just like How Al Pachinko never shows a Machiavellian fatigue of his part in all of this.

I sat and saw her sitting there with the stereotypes the later CBS macher would eschew and saw her near an Anti Apartheid poster of the time and wondered, like Corsetto avoiding it, that Big Bnag thoroughly and its pudgy blond divas, did a perpetual war ever be noticed by the white kids and wimps that gathered in the comic book store...I doubt it. As what bothered me was a mother is gone, though they love the shtick Italian mommas boy, a more Roman and stoic appraisal of a mom as Mister Jordan in a dream space worthy of Buck Henry as angel and Wendy as Goddess does bother those who still, like grandpa, like to think dark eyes means you don’t feel love or anything as much as they do, as they ignore the bombs that Oliver Wendell Douglas warned us of. And I pray that hell can, as Dante said, be there to welcome this old hags who are till playing their-her same impeachment games as she did by the way, to an LBJ whose great society of equality once disgusted the c*nt who sided to see Goldwater make Cicero’s lovers of all us roman schoolboys who adore Cattiline.

And from making a dinner I couldn’t brimg myself to do this time, a brother calls out to me and tells me them Cowboys won. Feh, I respond, thinking more about the Leslies who have come and gone, when the world was fresh and not so fallen as it is now. As again, being censored by the middlebrows who love war and have to pretend they voted for an old c*nt and its wife Hillary, heoooooooooo, remember Nicollo only got 42 percent himself with the windfalls of Charlie Trees and red money. I have a Roman aphorism for each occasion, and I have worked around the soundly sanctimonious and the trash who now tile themselves into the corners, where midnight Monsignors have to pined they are 100 percent with an old coot who ole blocked Clarence Thomas into the fucking supreme Court. As brunette Hillary seems to be dissipating from stations lest we recall when Jewish Machiavelli’s played by queer Englishmen tell us , who knew.., its would still be important this late that Hillary would sue Bidens son against him...does that mean the dead one, cause she still rails against Germanicus, so...all I know is that like giving anymore fees, joining pages to get submission is is out doc. As if I’ve never believed it before I believed it now more than ever, that the Roman was again write, and all my words come down to one basic ideal...this is not my wall.
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I’ll BE GOOD TO YOU…

You are watching Curia television. Part II.

On Wisc. Vs Mccandless.

31 October 19.


a. When I was a boy, in 1975, the brethren, who may have ridden me too hard, though they never made me a victim of the sorts admired and beloved in our vulgar cesspool of all the bats that fly through Hillary’s belfry, made me buy and read a book then on the Book of the month club listings [and might have biought it through scholastic, as remember resenting having to take money away from my Mad and Capt marvel funds] called The defense never rests.

It was by great barrister, schlock, shyster hero, we had them once, named F Lee Bailey. Now that mother fucker was a lawyer! I thought of him, and that book often as scathed snatches, ouch, of the lasted case that Curia television, and its gaggle of cute brunettes and the dumb wop who is its face, was publicly humiliating and demeaning a possible rape victim in a gal named Monica, as like medieval  Italy, its always telling when one of your destroyed women has that roman name. I thought of OLD Flee, perfectly satirized as the lawyer of Jessica Tate in the luminously brilliant first year of Soap, as television is without a Susan Harris, and is lousy with nonces and midnight choirboys who moth eat their days through what was once a wasteland of television, and which I could make the uncomment , Newt dear, that it ahs left its Elliot kale wasteland for and out and out inferno, in which there are nothing but masks and bees and raggedness and in the center of it all a gloomy Lucifer sits in vitriolic stupor, in the ice of Chappiuuqua, about ready by now to alight on the banks of the Tyber, the Thames, the Hudson with a Fermi like opulence. My money is on a Lucifer getting his groove back, in  that no one figured on when you tried to make the captain of the ABC anybody buy Clinton guard, the smiling creep who gaveled the student body lefty of Georgetown into irrelevance as he made Clarence the cross-eyed negro a Supreme, as they all sat behind Anita Hill,  into someone as impunity for his dead and shitty grafting boys, as was the Satan in the middle of it all.



I recall that BOOK, AS JESUITICAL A HANDBOOK AS

SAY THE Prince or Paolo Milano’s tretese  on Roman plays,  or Virgil’s in English, AND I recall it sadly and wistfully seeing the witch trial  that Gumba Vinnie always has an eye out fer, lest some gal kill a rapist, as that just cant be allowed to happen. I wondered early on why this artsy girl with delusions of femininity not dovetailing with the sense of what women are , or should be in the frozen eves of frostbite falls, fat, bloated, corn feed cheerleader, heifers at On Wisconsin, as I throw nothing away. Those there to thunder thighs therein ways through the latest game you just know if its important the boys of Alverez will lose. As the ghost of Urban, the coach not the pope, has not left the building, and left the cupboard far from bare. It is my consternation it is he and not the direful, rotten, fruit of the Bellychek tree , Saint Nick, who is the closest thing to a games day MACHIAVELLI, AND IS THERE BEST COACH STILL IN THE PLANTATION ARCHIPELAGO CALLED THE NCAA, as it is, after all, still the boys he bought on his life on the Mississippi who play for an Ohio state I’ve never mu8ch liked.

As I have a real inkling that had this gal, who was accounted with a  knife, as even forensics can tell what and who was cut first from the science of blood splatters , but again when the rats of the curia wish the alchemy of Shysters to medevaelly take hold, and gold is turned to lead , a schylock’s magic is announced, and boyfriends disappear into spinning boxes. All I know is if the state wasn’t calling John Hanson, you know the rapist that made her a liar, even though it was the captain fantastic worsted she was seeing and not she who called the 5-o, like is aid if I was ever thirty five after Veronica Lodge, id leave McGarret out of things, but all the boys in this play seemed to be the ones who lived out the lives out of a stock company of Aida. I felt early on a empathy, verboten to all but the tie wearing doge it seems for this artsy fartsy girl, as have believe me seen this psychodrama okaydoke out, without the affectations of the ninny hells angels tossing a woman around, separate they having not voted for Trump, one can tell, they were more than willing, were these creeps to sue this broken wren of a girl, who as some wop said, couldn’t sue the define of say post trauma as , another smiling house wop said, she was not at Falluja , of course, much like him, and others who got into law when I was a boy, and Georgetown tried to weed them out, who used the bulldog as a way to avoid the draft. Like say Doges have. I FELT BADLY EARLY ON FOR HER AND THOSE STRANGE RIPPED OPEN EYES THAT ;LOOKED STRANGELY INTO AN AUTOMATIC CAMERA THAT COULD OFTEN catch Chanlee Painter,  the perfect cheerleader for this curia bloodsports as she sat quietly as a Temple mouse, often getting up to do a stand up in front of the van, or sing everyone needs a maid from Sondheim’s Forum.



I RECALLED THE TOME BY Flee and all it signified, and what we have become thanks to a couple of ozarkls pimps who took over this cesspool in 1192--sorry, actually freudleian typing, I meant 1992, not that , to my father, it mauch would matter. He told me we still live in the echoes of the fall of Rome and imbeciles  like these Youngers erring flight suits, if not Toga Prextareas weeks into a perpetual campaign, as after all the mission was always have the fun was getting the resolution anyway. Because, I saw the peanut gallery of shysters, when the Latin is mute, the Yiddish is a good go to, especially, as I said, with house wops that my father called porch swing fascists, who just love the denial of other men’s sons and daughters  going to jail, or the front, but alas when they are pinched by uncle Shylock, no, not kidding that Venetian Jewish slimy Fagin was once used as a Columbia or Victoria for the old Parries, showing that Maverick’s Gun-shy sat through again, didn’t come out of nothing.

I am addicted to some words today, it says it all, they immediately find that technicality is after all law, and they start to ask , as I was warned, how many angels who speak Latin can argue on the head of a gavel. I recall F., as Jonnie called him, as that and he seemed to be the essence of being a Philadelphia lyre as I was meant to be , or suspected to be, but couldn’t pull that  cleverest trigger…I just couldn’t. And now I feel badly that the old men of the school I was destined to avoid, Georgetown,  a backdrop to Clintons true and fake, as both Bill and Wil Gardiner to go there, and be smitten by Brunettes who may or may not have succumbed to the circulatory systems of evil, or at least Dante’s -pretense and the silliness and meagerness of malevolence, as this channel Curia Tv, is lousy with the sort of gonniff and shysters that I was told I was supposed to be an antibody if not cleasing answer to. The man who was taught Ovid by the brethren, as I was, brought to the point that a simile narrow saffron tie could be like a prop in the Metamorphises show that opened Broadway back up, after the ash and soots of 9-11, really tell your house of deputies Omerta cleaving gummad, and her new found hags, she as highest ranking Italian ever beholden to men to get seats to race agin her as much as anything, this stupid old crow, take your  hags to take their new found berkas and shove them, as the Italian women had burkas foisted upon them by our own Umbria Mohammed, Constantine, and if you think Mohammed was something, well ask them at the Milvian bridge when the true and real Roman army and not his killers and assassins were beat barley, but then were all burnt to death. Perhaps the sun he had seen in a dream, or the sky, if one is catholic and a burning cross like the Sicilian outfits ironically later dem senators could act, like Shakespeare, was something they had come up with. Maybe that was the sun he saw at night, like Pliny’s stars on roman spears, amend may be in Latin he misunderstood and it was chance or just dumb luck, and not Chritie who told him In This Sign Murder, showing where the classically world was heading until a caveat and a caecilian packed on it all by German monk , who after all, still liked Saturnalia and Latin more than his Nazi brethren ever do.

And now, like Constantine, Billie the kid again has become history, both admired by father Gore, and now a genuinely vicious horrid little man with Hansel qualities with an eye to rub against the gals and hair plugs and capped teeth, a Art Fern of American politics, as opposed to Billy’s Reggie Van Clinton the third and his love of gals, who answer back like Etruscanite gods, that idiot, that slime ball, that born vice president, ahs the nerve to think the devotion that woman and others had to Roman Bill is somehow his birthright,  and bewared to him , when in fact, and I will not forget this, he was the captain of the Anybody but Clinton cadre, the old senatorial cabal that Catalina and Bill despised, as hating the Romans out there, somewhere, and so I don’t have, as I did last week on  Detroit and found winning isn’t everything, covering is, any money on this latest nothing , as there is no specter of a foolish blared old crow of a wife making him make common cause with the ninny who likes bombing Roman ruins, almost as much as he does like travel bans and tariffs more than the curia likes to recall. The empathy Billy the kid, again a first comic book of mine as a kid, shows various Monica’s is gone now, recapped by c students who think the earth and everything in it is, if not theirs, can be billed for.



b. So, I write this before know the outcome of this trail, as again , like old batman’s,  they preparer for of all things at CTV,  another go around with an NFL player who may or may not have actually exposed himself to some white woman, as the indecent Ghosts of the John Birch society sadly didn’t live long enough to know that eventually they could dammed and dehumanize us all , anyone getting too close to the white woman for whom this station will weep when Harvey is buffo box office, and we are all asked for sympathy for all the Gwenethes who were virginal hero for the Jewish pirate whose own hustler bloods were only quickened by a snake wielding Hyack. Suzy Cream cheeses  and others who they will cry for, as try to keep the Annabella Sciorras and others out of the shot like Mandela’s hammer and sickle. I am no fan of Harvey, but have an inkling the starlets who have found the courage of the herd, well, I have a feeling he has kept all their Answered prayer like pictures on Yachts and things, and I’m sure for some he kept the receipts, as there’s no pesky hair pulled out by the roots on any car floors in that tax bracket.

A troop of sickeningly brief scribblers, more conniving as they beat the clock will somehow show these starlets more empathy than they showed some poor gal who had to kill to be with some man wholly wasn’t acutely the witness for the prosecution any Bailey would want or need, but eh got in his shivs, though the whole things looks unseemly as a man as salt and peppered as Superman on earth 2, was out there hanging out at Pops chocolate Shoppe with Betty and veronica. And so, leave them in mid drone , as found it funny, and a bit off putting to see an old man berate end harangue a young woman, they should have had a placard, these cheese eating, fatso, millhunkeis, a card reading A child is crying… is it yours madam, as Gore has truly and now my mom, left me totally alone, it seems in more ways than one. I think her promiscuity was what was really on trial  here, girls, remember, don’t hurt your attacker, girls,  and if you Tarpeas do, well get them help right away, as something tells me a person wishing to murder wouldn’t use a two inch blade. anywhere but in a scene choreographed by Twyla Tharpe. Because, you see, uhm, the last time I saw a woman have to prove she was attacked by some cretin in an enclosed space where the monsters dwell, it as the fulcrum of the casum for Ben Roethlisberger. Ouch. That’s one circle below  Bill Clinton, who still thinks he’s Paolo and Francesca, and sow again don’t think that house of deputies Roman impeachment goes anywhere,  as that is another of your star chambers that roman boys come to hate, as again, and wont let you forget it, Sallust isn’t my forth favored book.

As left the televised show trials, literally, and had enough of Lonesome Sicilian Roads on CTV, and went to nightly shot of nostalgic ampedimine...or is it morphine…?, Green Acres. AS LIKE WITH Rachel Maddow it’s the same basic plot. And ironically, as had enough of this ash lawyers who are so devoted to their client, or at least what they thought she represented, as think Germaine Greer, the defense council thought she was going to get Boys Don’t Cry, and instead got what we basically call a nymphomaniac. If that. But she , and neither did smiling Jack her attorney, remember to get a writ of a remanded verdict at the end of the states holy case, as ,maybe she was at the buffet, or in hair and make up, as it s not my fault you didn’t even get Jesuit 101. Wow. In the episode I watched on ME, fittingly, Eddie Albert, put through hell on his show, as the one sane man, was in court against the Bill Clinton of Hooterville, named on the shanty towns that Hoover made dot the land, where they shamelessly made a new Rome for a dreadful Coriolanus, that my brother told me sadly, will you please stop giving these crooks ideas. They aren’t like you. As I saw as in his Times where they took a play based on a Roman life out of Plutarch, whatever it was, whatever it said, and basically turned it into the Blood feast that Jews in laws  make for every Halloween, no matter what gonniff falls or is arrested, or not. And on GA, in the court room, with a judge who was perfectly a bloated bellowing man from Twilight zone, too, the great Irish character actor J PAT O’MALLEY, MEE BOYEE, played the lawyer, shyster, barrister, solicitor thief, perfectly as he was doing his best “ Spencer Tracy” I.e. was snapping his suspenders. All in all not much a worse performance than these awful lawyers gave, though Semma would never admit it. As just a Jesuit player I would have asked, was this gal mirandized in that hospital…?, as you had and she said she had now ay of knowing, on face value if she had just killed someone or not with not as much blood on her as I would have argued she should have had, you know, busting humors in a jugular vein. And if the old coot who studied law under Jane Eyre and thinks woman only kill for men, a nice return to the sicgnat paperback days of Lesbos on the suburban prowl, although Lesbian drag was big in this show, as again, this old man Ada was what I’ve been decrying since I  was a kid, old coots like him, and their crucibles, of which I wanted no part even then as a boy, when sued F LEE  and CC and SUSAN HARRIS AS VIRGIL’S LEADING ME AT LEAST TO THE BETTER PARTS OF Hell, like where like Ovid resides.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1d4r9awjKE

Its been a bad month for the curia. All the missioners, where the wild things portend they are civil and uppercruts, have been unraveling as of late. A Dallas Flavian amphitheatre was  infected with a lesbian hag gatekeeper burdening a stupid old man who wasn’t impeached as there was no Muller report for him, as killing 3000 Americans was less a high crime than a first man in the Principate to act like Rape and disfiguring women was a price of marble hauled admissions. A wife, stupid and befuddled, doing the same Mildred Pierce act she’s been doing in her one woman show, at least  every night at three am when hubby was gods knows where, went after democrats this time as she has been certain since Goldwasser that the Kremlin has spies everywhere, alright a thing to say now that both Alger Hiss and Walt Kelly are dead. She, married to that can of chicken of the sea with delusions of being bakala , a man who never fought for anything but his rites to destroy women like noble savages did, she want after of course a Brunette, muscle memory, who had actually fought for this cesspool, as my father pegged it, and soon enough as both decried and defamed and dismissed by high yellow occupants of the marble walls, the kind who demand Klan members who wrote songs about the southland be taken out of all private and public institutions, until of course , they get a call from Various famiels of Byrd’s.

The Cowboys lost a game they never should have showing the Jack Davis Hex and evil eyes in the stands are still there, as they just started getting back, and don’t think that lesbian will be held in disesteem for that one, no matter how many Jewish toilet mouths come out to do interference for the already pulling guard. And lately, as the week of Halloween was awful for me, more specially than not, and filled with fitful sleeps, Barry the God was asked to come out and tell the sanctimonious hags and white trash self important swine who he never liked, to cool it about canceling and awaking a culture, the white paint of Augustus is out,  that my father would be surprised to know you even have any kind. Its been tough for the priests of fiancé, Hollywood and academe that father Gore again seen as a ghost on ancient almost Delphi like Carson, hated and someone seems out for blood about. But, as I said, I didn’t take Coriolanus and turn it into something with more blood than I spit on your grave,as after all, that’s all you Jews and Lutherans  have ever dome anyway.



c. As a week devoted to death and a trial that a brother, a fellow Jesuit student couldnts stand anymore, went on, as thought, like a good annalist, devoted to no one, thinks that woman is crazy but ahets this judge who cant make a decision,  as after all, fair is fair. So, it was a tough week, as see that here in barbarian land, there is never anything solemn to the lesbian angers and white trash  dismissive ness to a holiday about death or war as there ever is for a Love holiday the Romans gave us in February, when they remembered the dear departed, and serially the woman that got away. And I was filled with rage and anger, to the point had to stop watching Curia Tv, as would yell at the collected notary publics there as if corrupt Refs or dumb couches, Ah DON’T PUNT! This year their death holiday bothered me so. But then on the eve of Halloween already a noblest savage eve, I got an email saying some of my witch  cartoons got in a Halloween collection. This made me smile, as was really crumbling and growling and painful. I was pleased again a belladonna escaped the censorship of Mother superior Hillary and her hatred of the cigarette girls at her husbands perpetual Stork club in a perpetual Toots shores that the Spartans cant close. At the afct that Ma said they only started  hating Halloween , these stregas , when the brunette witches started to be sexy and pretty. And then a second time in this week devoted to the death inherent in the prariea of Europa, where apostolic sun doesn’t show it’s enflamed Horse, I got, this close to Columbus day, a day hated by the same fat woman who hate circuses ,  just like their Mammy Yokums did, I got a parcel with my brothers mailed Wall street journal as he has left , like many, the sanimominius homily between the Bulgari ads, alone.

This is for you, Tony he said…From the Apache nation…? Oh. I had on duo tope or some like broker placed a piece  in a contest of sorts , to a collection of indigenous peoples mythologies. I would have liked tro tell the woman at Yale WHO LIKED THIS FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, I HAVE FINALLY MADE IT IN. But that was at least ten computer crashes ago, and hotmail is a merest memory. The lady who was nice to me and who hated Toni Morrison, but loved Alice Walker, now the Sanhedrin of the times demand a flip on that, but I don’t recall her name, though this time Kemeter was placed aside, as  blond Italian devils are still verboten to the vineyard makers and their Jewish brothers in laws. And this second acceptance this week that was being saved, I got a letter from the elder putting this together. Anthony, Elder Jojo, like a sisters name when I was a boy said, making me feel the warmth of a Sabine sun in your awful gloomy death panorama, We think you are an exceptional artist, and have accepted The tragedy of Dafne as  for our collection of indigenous myths. We, when it was read weren’t sure what you were up to here, as yours is one of the few to have people in it, much of what we got was stereotypical talking wolves and German elves. But, we kept reading on, despite words like Pontiff and Turnus hair brunettes and Silvia and Aplu and a misspelled Dafne, and the year 1147...but as we read on we saw a lovely piece here, which your girl becoming a tree will accompany, as we loved it, and think you did a lovely job. We weren’t sure what you were doing as we have never heard of the Etruscans before.

Ah, I thought, that’s the reason that fat bloated old crows make a point of how evil Columbus day is, as like my Mom said quoting Aquinas, a lack of empathy is the beginning of evil. With this came a cotton papered cerficate, naming me a honorary member of the north Dakota Indian nation. They liked in my letter how I mentioned how sad it was that the glorious vestibule of God, the black hills, was disfigured for a kind of granite colossus of slave hoers unseen since Nero. Anyway, I got this in, and emailed back to Elder Jojo, That’s very nice of you, but I have enough trouble in this impoerail hell hole just as an Italian.



They sent me a dreams catcher not that dissimilar to a medallion my mom hung around a Mother Mary still  left here as got rid of a lot of stuff she kept that I didn’t keep in a folder of her little notes and pictures of mine she kept with arts school buddies and such. I say this not to suck my own prick, but will send them something to help them through a Xmas I call Saturnalia, that I thought would be harder to get through than the hallowing that turned out nicely. I held the dream catcher in my hand and with a twine loop made it like in a Capote go Spindazzlespindazzledazzlespinsoindazzle…SO, I DON’T REALLY CARE WHAT OLD COOTS AND BLOATED WOMEN DA’S do to gals whose real sin was not adhering to that Springstein fetish of the inherent decency of rust. I never liked that shit about the lone pairee that I’ve never bought into, as said in my script to a now even evaporating  Good wife, as apparently, the ethics you hit people over the head with previously, aren’t the ones you think you need now, always a bitch for the curia flatterers, who know which way the winds blows. I gave the Dakotas sixteen dollars as usually don’t anymore pay for the right to be demeaned as some do I noted as think their opinion and demission is what you’re paying for whereas  again, gotten best results or even a fine ignoring for free. It was getting a snide respond to a mothers requiem, Publsiedh somewhere now, that makes me forgo giving a dime to these middlebrows. But I did for and to the Dakotas, even this close to Columbus day as again its always the Hillary voters that call me names, as see through their bad verses and can only think what uncle Bill thinks of these  hags. But, there is a rag that’s been quite anti Trump, but as said when he was till not a menace to the tabernacle, but on the cathode waves of the national biscuit company that  magazine now all in as this day was more than happy, more the willing to allow me into its fold as it were, for only the meager price of sixty dollars, buying me four issues of a rag that looked like a cheap version of the Kiplinger Washington letter when I was a kid reading F Lee Bailey of the rumple, or whatever… the worst moment of this awful trial was when capo Wonderful, the boyfriend, played by Marc Rufollo in the lifetime movie,  who used this girl as much as anything and helped get her snared and set up like an old Colombo , admitted that the artsy shit heads of this phony bistro in sausage land, the hipsters of the NFC NORTH, GOOD GOD!, have unisex bathrooms where they public demeaned her like something out of Marty, as they call women dogs in perfectly politically uptight and thoughtful places do the hags and ninnies write graffito, Our aim is to keep this unisex bathroom clean…The old coot and house wops saw in her saying after all that happened  to her that her name was Monica, was again a dodge, we are all lairs here now, whereas I saw it as revitrovi, just like Bill Clinton will achingly achieve  as a sweaty, aged , using clown in make up and open toga, with the barely legals around him, wishing he was noble and Ovid again reciting boyhood and not middlebrowPhilosophy, as Augustine isn’t my friend. The  Capotean Prairie always bothered me, as why I am a Dallas Cowboys fan, as wonder if they’ll get sad, wilted, Ezra, again a name that ends in Romantic A, in this ugly, squalid, death aged, Prairiea, as the brethren called it, for phantom hands to the face.