DRAWING CUMAE...

DRAWING CUMAE IN PANEL FORM.

1. There is actually a hatred in me to be garrulous, but I hate that now suddenly and shockingly, the Jews and midnight drunks and white women can so who pretend that they love dark haired women, when I've been a schoolboy admirer of Beatrice's since a boy, always looking for a new Lynda Carter amid the white chicks.

AS i remember when it was just me and Roman Bill who seemed to have any empathy for that brunette that Hillary and her warlocks were publicly flogging, as we both loved Ovid so. Remember Ovid girls and keep him sacred….just like Billy the Kid, loved by both Gore and Me...

2. I want to do my Roman Price Valiant, which believe it not, does bother some as much as a Roman superman does, but then I think why not like that Britannia shit a comic about Cumea...but I dint have ever enough red ink.

3. As seeing that rancid hag on Howard Stern did bother me instantly, and I am, always, Jesuitical willing to be bitch an be distant and satirical, but this week it feels to me the curia is out and out dying, like something in Manzoni, again ask your Husband, dear, that name is on the schoolboys list too.

4. Unwilling to catch the Cowboys, as again madness is doing the same thing over and over, or at least its losing the audience  as #fireGarrett is a shot of that vox populi that men in imperil--sorry, imperial boxes like to preen is never there, or can be premeditated by fat black weathermen who are never upset about black face when they are told its better if they aren't.

I didn’t give Jack Paar's old chair to a skit sky, fake laughing, booze bag. As SNL is everywhere as it never was, and even ,sowers of the Dr. Evil try outs are incessantly everywhere, even giving us the speared on dreaded Fox football, or a new Maxwell smart or a monsignor on the Tiffany that was always closer to Mister ED’S stall. I just tired to watch Alabama lose like a good American, and saw instead someone who made herself an Anne Battes with portfolio, as I recall when Danny and Bill and the company weren't such ass kissers, there was the dude from Allstate, the Fracas in a suit guy, Joe Isuzu footing as they go back to a previous epoch for their master class candidates, as death is after all what democrats have been about since Roe Vs Wade, and bringing back capital Punishment as they did under Carter, who no one remembers as no one was being hung there longer than the Prince would have liked.

And there in some awful charm less car they sell white woman now, a Station wagon like Ma had without the American design, there Fracas was with dreaded Tina Fey. She, I guess now the incarnate of security moms, who like all woman voted more for chancre Bill than they did for his beleaguered now, as she did with Leno assuring us all , like as she defend marriage once, she’s no Lesbian ,--boy tht was close!-God knows, as again, she had the solemnifies as something who did run against aids victims while here Husband was getting perpetually chickedeed. I thought, seeing this, of how I was stupid enough to send her, Hillary’s Aide De Camp, until, like all viziers and hyenas with sharp teeth, she is--not-- a skit in one of her attempts at a patron hood, called again Mother Clinton lights the Saturnalia tree. Me,  again me, showing a knack of augers , as she’d never be praetor-ess anywhere ousted of my satires, as in the Tony Verse, as I did once, to @rachelmaddowshow, joke what the summer of George Needed more to make things best would be Zimmerman counter suing Travon Martin. A joke like Barry the fairy bombing Children’s hospitals and Stonehenge, again- who him…? Shit negro, he,  a lover of Conan, merely bombed Magnus Leptis, which must get under the minister of explaining things craw, if still sensitive and now, by now from a life of good deeds and syphilis, made flaccid and numb.

I saw her, again for me to hate a brunette as she, like the new Star wars chick, as hurled back at some broad, who knew Star wars was our now Book of Virtues, there are worse things than just being about ray guns, Geeeoooorggge,  must really mean something, I felt a pang of sickening nausea, as she was reduced, not by much, to insurance albumen, and again I feel like I’m in an Allstate commercial. And seeing scar face here shilling insurance, as she was, I thought haven’t we come far since her perpetually smirking and eating canary’s on weekend update, again ways assuring us the glasses were a prop, it made me sick to know this hag once comported herself, one of the first, to a Roman satirist like Juvenal and now, like bedroom eyes Dobby at Green bay, wants to talk to us as someone puts a swing into the air and isn’t there when Sissy comes back to the ground, which Johnny and David Steinberg once were horrified at, as the essence of television bad taste. Some satirist, but I guess we have to make those payments on those SUV’s ;like Russian conspiracies once poo pooed by Barry the fairy, but then if there was ever a wooden puppet who couldn’t make it to the blue fairy, it was that snerd. Juvenlia here sent my work to a “central office.”

5. Watching the time capsule that is Johnny Carson, I had the sad Christmas vision as to see the human lump, dago emeritus Louie Depalma himself, generational Steppin himself, Danny DeVito doing an act unchanged in forty years, as there aren’t no Innominatos here. Talking to Johnny about a now old movie called War of the roses, a go to Wop to SPARTACUS JR., he snidely spoke in his what Gene Siskle called a ‘Mob act‘, and how he was playing , true to his sleazily ethics, a divorce lawyer. Unasked of course by Johnny, and always willing to do his act , he lives his act, down to talking about his miserable kids with names like Sophie, if not Roman, as I’ve dealt with them, I could only hope one or two was dead by now, as Ma warned me about the way Italians were actually begrudged health care here in pop’s inferno, and its how Fredos got that way. Like the sopranos, remember, it isn’t a slur if signed off on by the Times.

He then, our little thug who no less than Harvey, I heard, wished to make Lord Montague in that latest creation of Romulo Et Julieytta, in which, of course, both had to become blond, or was it papa Capuletti, does it matter...? Spoke of a last available stereotyping. Living wop cartoon Danny spoke of how he met with Harvard Jew, ah the name has been tarnished now, ESQUIRE Ronald McDonald HIMSELF, DEAR SOLDIER OF REVERSALS OF FORTUNA, ALAN DERSHOWITZ.

To which Johnny had a passing acknowledgment, as the human zit went on in his usual tenth row way. Yeah, the dago ball of shit said, We have a lot of trouble getting Italians in these law colleges, he announced, always doing his part, as Dershowitz agreed that when an Italian does get in, it seems that all there, Jews always forgetting, or hoping you forget, their inclinations towards Mediterranean crime, at least until Tarp, that its the italic somehow at Harvard, who are there strictly because they are trying to save an in -law from racketeering, showing again, never say die , you dago hobbit and keep doing your shtick until hopefully you die, as I wished at least one of your rancid kids were, like FF Copoola or other wops who have laughed their way through too many death scenes.

Maybe that’s because as a race, we have had to deal with trash like you, willing to do things that are called hate speech when someone dared fully asks a Jew if they aren’t Mediterranean all...? Again, these are wops unlike any I’ve known, at least well, or wished to, or have known, as there aren’t as many wops willing to do Commedia dell fare as you’d think. Why again, Martin dear is having to alas go back to a same triumvirate , with a late edition of the operetta sissy boy who no one thinks even looks Italian. Again, don’t know why I’d even care as again, unlike the Grease paint crowd and wops on parade.

6. I was adored by the Jesuits and OFFERED A SCHOLARSHIP, NOT TO PAT MY OWN HAIRY BACK, what else, ...?, but was not only offered a free schooling at Georgetown, I was offered an interview to the then new school of camera, its cinema when they want and puppet shows, as my pop sadly, when they are auditing the books, and looking for a hit, at Stanford. He was upset , my dad, that the jurists of God thought I was brilliant, but to get into a top end school,  again, I could only get in with what was to him, the lowest level of arts, as thought I’d be allowed in an art school at least as could do apes of Da Vinci drawings, and there hasn’t been a commiserate Italian genius of film, especially not any of the ones you’ve heard of.

Looking back, I am filled with recriminations that I was allowed into a Jesuit publication for work such as King Italius, AS the Jesuits read a paper I wrote about the digest of Roman Law, and they sent it to the diocese, and even past that, and I was told to get the small book they gave out to whom they really liked, and be willing to learn Latin and go to Georgetown. I did not endeavor to go,  as alerted heard about their often being visited by the death bringing ravens that Yahweh’s sends to everyone but Jews, the Germans play that role over and over,  but to Arab babies, a crib death loving Mars no Roman could once never have believed in. They loved it, my essay, as I first compared the underpinning of Roman law to Paladin, and to Gunsmoke, which they loved. I knew my audience well, once.

7. As some acolyte broad tried to f with me about their precious STAR WARS CRAP, AS NOW SOMEHOW DECENCY IS SOMETHING, LIKE LIBERALISM, CONTROLLED AND SOLD BY THE POUND BY THE WARNER BROS OR WAR INC.

I smell a mutual assured requisitioning in the dawns of attack now, gals, and to this hag who dared call me something about not liking their Star wars shit, in fact won, as did for Superman returns, a couple of tickets at a comic site for the first week of that shit. I, if can, will ask a pretty gal at the local donuts bakery whom I think is Italianate, if shed like to go, or might just sell them on ebay is such is allowed by an even more sanctimonious thief than Lucas. I told that cow, my hatred of Star wars is honest, and true, and whole, dearie, as even as a Catholic school boy, I resented the life of Sejanus, a Roman Knight who is seduced by a horrid Tyberius, whosoever in flagantes never bothered the sonny boy of God, Gesu, and then is the literal hatchet man for an emperor. No, the mask doesn’t come off at the end, in fact his throat is cut and he hung by his feet, Impeachments aren’t what they sued to be, as Hillie dear demands her husbands legacy be tarnished to dust, and Lucius is replaced by an even more heinous figure named Marcus. But what dos it matter …the Germans win, anyway.

And, it bothered me as a kid, to know that important of a story, the end of a knight who eventually cant do it, cant go through with it, and has his throat cut for reasons the christers made unclear, as you lecture me about Negroes made blue and with unilateral power to crumble Magnus Leptis, and screech at me about cultural approbations, maybe turning Tacitus into Flash Gordon, might be the worst thing you in-laws have ever done.

The image that told me our age and what kind of a year this would be was one of a last dinners I had with my Mom, as we sat and watched a dreadful super bowl, showing like Hillary as their patroness into we have gotten to the point where people cheat to lose. And in that game, one in which Tom Landry jr.  WOULD SHOW EVEN INTO Christmas TIME HE COULDN’T DEAL WITH THE MIKE LINEBACKER, and a holding call wouldn’t be called until 9:45 at night, and still no body could score. My brother said it looked like both teams were told to take a dive.

8. While catching this dreck, there was a commercial I’d not see again all year, and which wasn’t even much commented upon, but then I’ve learned when the ginnie pigs with Scorsese lilts disappear, there is a reason for it all,  the sanctimonies rather not admit to. A Guy, of that commercial sort , the Dockers ad type, even Jerry once had the fake eradication to look down upon, as now every night is an opening night to Disney, the masters of us all. I don’t rust empires whose Pharsalias are done the same way Disney and the Brothers Warner shove their crap at an increasingly yawning Proletariat.

And at an Opera god forbid, an art form the white trash are allowed to hate as somehow there is a difference to big fro’ed black chicks between Tapas and anti Pasto, this creep showing that smirking acrimony all Jews think is Americanism, while watching Riggoletto or something akin to it, the Paverotti like tenor immediately morphs into a blacker then bootblack negro rap artist, to show us the birth of the incessant cool, the shock of the old, and what is square all at once. This was amazing even for this cesspool, but my father wouldn’t have been shocked, opera IS SOMETHING villains LIKE. This told me the age of scions was coming and going, like that pick up with Trapper John towards the starship Enterprise, or was it Farrakhan ,...? I knew what I was dealing with in this not Nova Roma, as the yentas would make Palestinians of us all, with the bushes the captains of the gentlemen agreement always there to make sure we sell the future Arab villains enough weapons to like the Scorsese movies I  hate, make sure they kill each other, as we cant get to them all.

I resolved early in a lackluster saturnalia with only a lighted angel as a small bit of light through the shine of Bob Burgers I watch each night, alone as I’ve ever been, was a sent xmas gift certificate.

By the end of a nightmare week for the curia, another name tarnished with vulgarity and deep down, unlike Landry stands for nothing bigger than himself, the derided Patriots were bemired again in another--gate, as Safire has used the Jewish newspaper eagerly to unmoor us to what were supposed to say. Well, speaking of Insanity, or is it hard sell, is this a manicominum, as Ma would call it, or just a medicine show, where olive oil and Bourbon funneled mixture  is being sold by hucksters from the painted Gypsy wagon, I am never sure. As satire is my heritage, my birthright, and don’t forget it, as a black guy replaced a smirking queer on the Kennedy center honors, that commercial come alive, to some distain, and not the wop it was supposed to unhinge for the galleries admiration, humnnn, again, without a President the laurel ceremony, a senate loses a luster that the Bushes and their new found friends among them who called him a Fiasco once, and among the televised dottiest, never get.

As some try to save the Patriots yet again, Id rather be a Cowboy fan than a Patriots un-indicted co conspirator, as the nun told me, when I was a boy, Conspirator now, with Hillary in the comedy wings shed never much leave, just plain Conspirator, unlike the Roman plays, didn’t say it enough for Gummit work.

I was asked by a unmarried gal, as they call them with sanctimonious aplomb at Turner inc., if I had anymore Patty the Bunny cartoons that she could have, as she did like that I painted and then draw atop that with crayon, or oil pastel, as shed never seen anything like that before. I thought, have a unmade Patty in the bathtub at the tine, but instead took an old drawing of a gal in festive saturnalia garb, kinky hair as I used to do, enwreathed with holly, with apologies to Sergio Toppi. And for payment, a gift certificate code, for a saturnalia I am not so sure my Mom would want me to ignore, at all.

I finished it within a couple hours, and went out in the saturnalia rain, a thirteenth that a Jewish Lutheran radio hack named Michael, what else, the Anthony of them, was making particular points wasn’t the Christmas of now, Why I don’t know, as Jews in Italy have loved the feast of Saturn and it’s Roman joyousness to the point that added to the bible was a festival of lights unmentioned , like Burkas, no where in the holy texts. I walked out, just to be in the holiday sleets,  to get it scanned and such, and sent it in. I did this as in those days of getting admired by Jesuit, and my work was once put in hard paper, two color magazines, once printed by the society of Jesus. I was asked by suspicious sorts in the public school I wanted no part of now, to make an angelic figure for the class room, by a red haired Italian girl, with hourglass charms once chased and corralled by the people now pretend they never heard of Big hair, as half breed wives were everywhere and not just from Anzio. In a few hours, saved the angelic figure from the pencil Limbo she had been in, and painted it with water colors of only a few left, which all have hard colorful mud at their tips like a hardened, but indigo like, Disneyland sludge.

I drew her ,and sent her in, as I had once allowed a snide little bitch of a boychick, who was always seemingly there, a queen named Albert, to deter me from doing that very thing, or finishing it, as that little queer was somehow eager and willing to be in my business, as I must have been his type or something we again, may not speak that name anymore, like closing circuses that the Bush family once railed against, as the Saturnalia winds are full of dog commercials and pols asking for money like never before, housing again an empire loses the sanctimony of a bribe. I did the angel and sent it in, as have much I’d like to complete now, and was too coward- iced to do then. This showed, perhaps pegging me right, an art teacher named a Roman Flavia told me to draw and be done with it, and not exude and sweat blood and such, as I often did over things, as I had an inclination to keep drawing on a paper until I saw the wooden desk underneath shine through.

I had made the old saturnalia angel as I should have done way back when I was in tenth grade, as left too much to the discretion of a music room queer who now is , the best jokes take the longest to tell, a bar maid at a Capotean drag bar, showing again, it’s the sophisticated Latins, and not barbarians who speak of future as a tense, or a table as masculine and winds as feminine in a cesspool wishing to get rid of every pronoun, but the ever versant You, as an you may not enter this ivory tower, or we must bomb Them, over there.

But as I thought of various counterfeit Bills, as a centurion I played as a boy, fall again, Id snidely say, even a pratfall, and you’re out of the parade. I WENT TO THE WEBSITE I GOT A GIFT SLIP FROM. It was like a last gift from Ma, which I can proudly say I called her, closer to Rob Reiner than many are allowed to get. Actually to be fair I often called her Didi, her Italianate nickname by a grandfather who, she always told me when he came on television in work as a constant player of the comedies, J Pat O’malley, looked exactly like him, or the man who makes orchids and is slapped by Virgil Tibbs.

When a gal from Bills mafia, and cant that mean different things, heard me tell a sister that she had to call Didi and tell her I was staying in Pittsburgh, a pretty girl lost a long time back, a Leslie Bega sort, at a honors class I never went to, was shocked, you call your mother Didi…? she sweetly asked with MTM charm, as id hear what made that lovely tall Italianate gal as shy and strangely perpetually ill at ease as a pretty girl I’ve ever seen has been. And I still have to remember not everyone in this cesspool had a mother who even liked them in pre and post bottomland, much less like even a stoic father thought it was an insult when I, a born Jesuit was asked to become another copula filmer of melodramatic hoods. I decided I’d get my brother something with most, but did spent 3 bucks or so, for a copy of Ovid’s Festivals, I know a classic paperback, left behind in a rush of moves, as is said. This was a last gift of sorts from a Mom now truly gone, and like Robert Blake and Cyrano, well, I am seemingly, irrevocably, alone.

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