VIRUS COMIX.

The ruins of a comic magazine I thought must have, like Mad and Nat’l Lampoon dun been gone, is  on one on the sites I frequent to get ads posted answered, is looking for something they delightfully call VIRUS COMMIX. Now, since got the only sort of lecturing reply I ever got all year, as stopped counting the we really enjoyed your crap and do you have anything else, well, Political shit, I was wondering since made georgics Italian peasant girl, even hinting to spaghetti souse in a jar shiller Cecily Strong was that sort made her angry, but such is elitism at 8-h,  italicate Pin up queen Wendy Fiore into a cross between Betty Paige and Vesta, and have scads of sketches I have never completed of her, as she has become quite the seller for me as the anti-Italian grandmother shoved into hell by Cuomo. I thought, do I send something in,…? With her as the vigilante archangel of sarcasm and Italian girl moxie in comparison to idiots who would actually think voting for a segregationist would give them a high horse as amusingly Jesuit Bill did once…?I mean he is the prince of shady Groves, the doge and star, no matter what colostomy bag pretends he’s queen. 

Do I draw out in Big pages like those Epic comic I had as a kid, do I draw out Bilbo in new Verona as spoke of in THE AMERICAN DECAMERON DAY 27, which short as it is compeered to some, frightens these hooligans of empire more than other pieces for reasons I’m not exactly sure of, although as he bumbles across  a stage that his own dog feel the inevitable arrows pointing at him and barks at midnight and bites at all praetorians, not a good move, is it possible, birds of a feather and all and creepy Heath cliff buzzards still do, like the wild Bunch Fear sweet old Buffalo Bill, and fear him getting even for some unnamed Monica Bellucci who has died out there in the first Verona, near a Etruscan Mars, whose image in the fields Bill could not take his eyes off of as polish pontiffs where screeching at him with dying breaths about the evils of socialism. Humnnn. Do I now illustrate the tale as Bill would tell it of the man who grasps his purple Augustan cloak, like taking oaths of Roman office behind devil wire and chicken fences, and how does the CJ with segregationist background think of losing his post and his position as five hacks are shepherd in to play beat the imperial clock. Now, a variant of the cooties that were Biden 2020, are attacking people with a vaccined arm, possibly more FF Copolla than Manzoni, which serves you right. Now we will find out not only how many but who is willing to die to make a segregationist from 1973 into Cleopatra as her dog shits openly where the Washington post circled kelley girls stand in fear of germs. Leave it to mister two masks to bring dog shit into the marble masuleum, but believe me, when Roman Bill wants to get you, hell get you, old man. And the shtick of politics from a creep who has been shadowing and tailing David Letterman to be to him what Biden is to Bill may find his sqautter life coming to its end, at least on television, and what else is there...? A bit player plays his part to the end. No good deed, my beloved Gore said, as smirking hard ass when I was Jesuit pre law, clerk John Roberts wouldn’t be CJ anymore, if elderly Erroneous had his way and the senate had to install three judges all in a row at once, and after all those boxes of votes and all that blind eye he sent out and all the Italian grandmothers he killed for a segregationist who cheated on mid terms, Yow!, Goes unpunished. 

I figure I can as did for A BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK, take the story and just like mad, print it in little boxes, like my brothers ec comics, my father as sure was garbage when I was a kid,  and then build pictures around it all. But as I take the bricks of words and set them to type to be able at 10 pica to be bold and then cut out after printed on card stock to be pasted on finished pictures. And as I do this, as read aloud the events of day 27, and listen to the brilliant Goulet playing Petrucclio no less, looking the part which is least politics can do as it did with Trump and Clinton and as Gene Siskle said, with Bidey and with Bush brothers, not so much, a brother who thinks I may literally be casting roman jewelry before swine, says aloud, I think, he says, You have that buffoon pegged all wrong. But he said sharper than I, it is sweet, and no body is doing things like that for Uncle Joe, he said, They are just silent for him, and they both deserve that. 

 

a segment of TAD--DAY 27. 

If some diabolical gorse, I said, Was behind this, if some black hand was the puppeteer here, I spoke and took a breath not as afraid of the steep sandstone walled incline, as I might have been, If any one for a paltry purple sash was behind this and in reverse Gheppetto made old ladies raped my father's called cesspool, in his times, suck for wind, I said, I wish them, I said, To crash their imperial yaughts on Virgil's alters, I said, And I wish them nothing but the worst of fates…

 

He laughed, this mixture of Barrister from Rope, Plautus or Hitch, it didn’t matter did it…?, and Herman Munster, both roles I believe played by basso profoundo Harvard Lampoon editor, beloved by me, tile salesman, Fred Gwynne. Oh…, he said as if a child of fates, a Caesarean as there hadn't been in a long while. Oh, he assured me, If one Italian girl here, not your Maw, he said to me, un-meanly, She was 90 bless her heart, no not her...He said looking directly at the kind of gal who caught his gaze since sweet old Bill was reading Capt. Billy's Whiz Bang and stealing smokes on the back yard porch as he still is on, or off, most if his life.

 

If one Angelica did fall to this, he said as he was raising a hand at the cracked moon, the moon believed by me and Gore and yes he, as once closer to the earth as it is now, and not the cvnts of the now scattering killer demons of the new York times, Italo Calvino, the man who was openly campaigned against by the white tied ice people of Nobel and his Dynamite collections. As another Beloved Monica, this time Belucci, the last Italian bombshell, outside of Wendy, in this open citta, smiled that Catherina smile that goers like her have been doing either prodded or unpardoned by a stygian church more devoted to death than the Italians have ever so liked. He looked out, with purple sashes circulating, undulating, and spins of Guido Basile snaps and folds of silken rope and mantle around him, that I just knew that Bidey could never, ever, carry off, no matter he played Landslide Lyndon or not, the rules of Petronius and Jack Warner are still Paramount, hehe, in politics as they will find out at a place where a drunk once tussled Trumps hair, because  he calculated and wanted people in the hinterland to still watch his fake laughter and his constancy of playing celebratory twister every fucking night.

 

As spear chucker’s and cup holders don’t play Caeasr in any dress, modern or not. He stared at Monica from earth one, in so many ways, he winked at her as if she as alive, or he was, I wasn’t sure. He stood there in his poison green suit, Mobius rags of empire and position snapping around him in the Tuscan winds and the Apulia moonshine, the most stringent there’s ever been, that no T men or persistent G men or priests can avail themselves to bust the stills there of and never will. He made a vow, not a position he liked to be in his kamakakamamakamamam chameleon life, and frowned this time for reals, and made that vow no bible was need for as it was named of the light of an early Oviidian moon, how poetic we can be with writs of foot washing snapping off we can be, as if he, Jesuit Bill could ever care of the schemers of dummies and frauds and late night talk show goons who cant quite get the Tonight show, no matter what they pretend they have ever been. Those who deserve it, will get theirs…, he, Petrucclio said, with assurance from someone or something, as Wendy the most Roman goddess played with the paws of a cat whose hair was the color of the eternal mud lapping up from the middle of the earth sea, that was unnoticed below.

 

 

 

DO I EVEN DARE...? 

 

 

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=abH_k0YhL04

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WeiOFZy1dx4