VERTIGO.

 VERTIGO.

1.

Wed, Oct 19 at 3:57 PM.

I'd say this was my least productive year, as I only got a few cartoons here and there, and no writing at all. But, a lesbian girl who likes my take on the Clinton's, Sallust isnt my favorite forth book, she looked at a Wendy as Sybil on black rock and asked me if this girl actually existed, and gave me a Wow. But she is in rumination of a piece sent called A rainy night in Metropolis, as she likes where I seem to be heading as i said if you massacred a legion of Italian grandmothers so as a goon in Plebeian drag, Fettreman, could find picture of oafish leftism in the suit his father was buried in, and with his hand over his heart in mid Colonial Kurtz heart of dankness, well, you'll pay for it.

As I thought he was a Trumpka/ Hoffa sort who night schooled his way to a degree, but alas my sharper brother said,umm no, this goon is a little lord Fauntleroy from the T, where chasing negroes with shotguns who jog to close to the crown Vic is the American dream. He spills and eats the stage in Cato’s cold cream and uniform and John, sorry Brian, Fetterman will crumble if George Will  has anything to do with it. Ah, back to our confers all. But, I am on to something, she thinks about Pinocchio, and Disney's response to it all, which was amazingly an unwoken none, as Fettreeman amusingly and dunce cappedly and with usual bullshit seems to keep talking about Jersey and Turkey and Gucci Shoes, and morbidly Obese hags who have to be cut out of their dens, bloats with charm, saying Ferrgetteaboutit, amusingly crude and yinz eared,...when in fact as my brother said, he is less a hooldum than a Gilmore girl. I'm glad to see John did get that vaunted Honey boo boo endorsement, as ye gods, can anyone here play Roman games...? 

As the only trigger warnings I can think of that became so important somewhere after wops were openly mocked on blood cable television comedies and the fact that a hag whose husband loved bustier brunettes as they did Ovid couldn't play Caesar in drag, the only ones I can think of are that both Jane Russel and Joe Califanao are bothered at all ,and I know the coven and the wickets of imperia have a problem with both. Also endorsement here, you may have voted for a segregationist, before your bestest clown, aging movie ideologue had some internal hidden desire as all accidents are dreams, of shooting a woman in her head.

Re: submission of art and essay

Yahoo/Trash

   

Radon Journal  <radonjournal@gmail.com>

To:Anthony Acri

Wed, Oct 19 at 4:50 PM

Dear Anthony,

Thank you for thinking of Radon, but we do not publish creative-nonfiction essays in our literary fiction and poetry journal. Additionally, we felt the images you provided us are overly sexualized and not on-theme for our journal and so must decline.

Best,

The Radon Team

radonjournal.com

To:Radon Journal

Wed, Oct 19 at 6:04 PM

I wondered what exactly I might have sent as don't really like or want to do pornography, but who knows what that is now the Hillary has sent out her flying Lesbian Monkeys --we must watch what we say of college coeds, you know, not like my Mothers race, god knows, so when I saw some mere cheesecake, playboy after dark era pin ups, the kind of Playmates that were important when I was a kid, wow I thought...Is it the Nose or the hair that makes her Overly Sexualized, I asked, remarking that its a word so coined recently it isn't even in spell check, I noticed.

2.

So, aren't we laying it on thick now, as say the Anita Hill Guy is running out of Turkeys and fifths jack to spread over the tenements of his perpetual adlerhood. Jesus I thought, girls in one piece ray ban swimsuits bother the self important, self assured, self everything thugs of Middlebrow, I thought, haven't I, we, the whole fucking imperia come far since I was with another goon's wife I was trying to get to be my girlfriend. I see myself as a anti husband and a way some women get even with the men boys who cry at their wives laps  that they promise  they wont be picking up teenage girls at the local middle-school ever again, Hun, shit...I was dubiousness by this eradication by you middlebrows really, as the nuns were right when they told me that there are chicken hawks and dykes, they'd know, who just love death more than anything, they love knowing someone somewhere is being evicreated,  a favorite word of their used on their Jewish cap Jon Stewart, until he had to like, apologize to the curia...

But, wow, haven't we come far since I was there at a sons of Italy in 1991 and with Peggy, a cute little blond, i saw a young Arkansas Governor as he winked at the Italian girl hostesses as she smirked away as usual, and I was amused as he seemed to admire Patty Fairenelli, again an Italian playmate of my boyhood that the good Bush familia never had to want to admire, death dealers them all, and Cattline's War, as he called it amazingly accurate  to my Jesuit trained ear, almost as much as it seemed I did. I can only image the hell of New Salem crookedness wokefulness on our last living Roman out of the Satyricon.

I FOUND AFTER A LOOSE KIND OF TRUMP ERA BOYCOTT OF THE GAWFFAWING BUFFOON WHO MANAGED, like a barbarian, but always within reason, to stylize Jewish torches of commerce to shutter every bookstore he might, they still don't understand the Barbers always ignore more than they burn, often to their own detriments, and since every acceptance is after all Triomfi, I did go back to AMAZON, AND PUT A CARD NUMBER ACCOUNT IN, THOUGH I WILL NEVER GIVE INTO ANY primes, OR DISEMBODIED VOICES TELLING ME, OR LISTENING IN, TO FIND OUT OIF I AM OUT OF bounty PAPER TOWELS YET.

I had to do this to buy a feminist leaning magazine, the very day of chill subs sanctimony being hurled at me as it has been somehow teleconferencing with fatso white girls cavalierly and willingly on the side of a wife beater man in the gray flannel booth that was Johnnie, as I felt it as the least that I could do. The year was nothing without some of these acceptances and attaboys don't make me as wet as they sued to. While there, with the card my brother handed me, I bought one generation removed Xerox of Flashpont, for eight bucks, Good, just to see where they aren't head anymore. An ad on the site, they are all such democrats you know when busting unions now, at the great river of sludge, I was accosted with a gubernatorial ad Hitlerium ad absurdium, at least the Clinton and their minions called it once, as the Andy Sambergh running to make his Mahhh proud, and who never shows his born with Judaism face in his own Queen for a day sullen and vacant and tragic ads, birds of a feather swarm together, he is showing a man with a vowel on the end of his name, a Catholic and an Italian as dangerous, as he is shown as wears a scarf in wintertime, that is meant by the cleverer little prosecutor Shylock at the confirmation dinner,--in Boccaccio, Abraham marries his daughter off to a Medici, becomes a believer in Jesus and all is commercial viable-- to be a stand in for the checkered scarfs once worn by suburban Fatties bond over fed shoppers at the wal mart in feminists devotion, as he must be a Tewwwowwist, WHICH IS FUNNY AS LIKE the other dangerous Italian, again dangerous as isn't middlebrow or blond enough, they didn't mind giving him an M-16 or a Blond wig, if that, and telling him to pacify that sand dine over there as Uncle George insensibly bombed the clay tablets upon which Gilgamesh was written, and from which Abraham so unrelentingly stole.

This is your party AOC, so, don't blame me when jewey little rats say shamelessly, If you heard no more bail, ...as my brother's colored buddy from high school that he played Ball with, Payroll has told him that now that white girls are being shot and killed by crips at bus-stops,and this close to an election, n*88ers please, the local Gestapo are tossing salads left and right and the local hoosegow looks like some Hollywood jew is making another Tarzan movie.

3.

As this wet dreary year comes to its always baked in the cake rancid, poisonous, third act that a goon like Biden was barreling towheads the edge of a cliff all along, I heard theta The Acme Incorporation underwrote his billion dollar need to be Praetor no matter what, and as Ma said, when an idiot spends money worse than a drunken sailor, hell end up spending three more for every dollar he spent to fill the holes he dug. I was again true to some hidden creed of mine, and found again, that this magazine I dealt with so unnerved they are by images of pretty brunettes drinking Cokes and a smile, although Santa Baby making Coca Cola, or Copa as it appears in and since my own Pow-girl, bit they'd hate that busty reaction to wasp waisted Black Canaries in coal mines wouldn't they though...was indeed as they always are when overly upset by the imagines the nuns told me wasps hate anyway, were indeed Anarchists at heart.

That word as its always been, since the priests decried American socialism as Fidel with a Master charge, or as Ma called them The devil carrying a Gucci purse, --boy, as a seamstress did Dora hate the Valentino's and their Cinceretta sweat-shoppes, - is a dead giveaway, it meaningless as in Wall Marts imperial parking lots, it means nothing, and it stands for less, it is political absolute zero, a false face, if that, maybe a kind of Brown face as Tad and Muffy an the rest who, by the by, were not ever pit in jail for screeching and howling at electors who should, or even might have voted, for Gore Vidal's nephew, a Vietnam vet, or others who didn't Yahoo and screech their way through the states were off to Panama, all, I HAVE ASKED A QUESTION THOSE WHO DON'T FESTOON THEMSELVES WITH THE BOAS AND THE FEATHERS AND THE DRAG COLD CERAM OF RADICALISM, why WASN'T there riots or anyone placed in jail over the fact that a monkey faced patrician goon stole the Millennial deception. I mean why didn’t the always screaming and bleated and over fed lebsos, why didn’t they as they so love to show up urban strife, at least not too close to the Saturnalia tree or god knows, the Apple store,where everyday is Saturnalia, why didn’t they show up then for Old Al, Al Gore....hymnnn, did Little sis need an opens eat in 04 or 08 that Al winning with a record of peace and prosperity that the Negroes hated by the Tribune review hated, didn’t jive with. Well, that open seat was stolen by an old man who, as I caller back, SHE couldn't stand during Iranamuck, AND ASK OCTAVIAN IN DOTTAGE, YOUR HVSBAND DEAR, A Trojan horse is below a Roman's contempt.

Hummmn, I have been gaining some traction with asking that, but then again, I have my share of Female, if lesbian admirers, who have taken these oversexed and thus dark haired Amazonian and Camilla, as it never bothers the Democratic aldermen with turkies and fifths at the ready and are unsure how to stop digging as any unleashing of imperial, ie Armimnetarium Gasoline will not hit the Esso signs of my imperial 1970 perpetual vista by Christmas anyway, as the Delaware Bomber, shoe box carrying King, has never been too far from the mausoleums walls to not be so akin and almost fine with the stench of death, even megadeath, that it is even notable anymore. Closer to Stan Laurel than he is to Disraeli, closer to Danny Devito than he is to Machiavelli, or one book holder, if that, goes back to a series of digested laws, which unlike me, do not go back to neither Justinian nor to Paladins any eon of them,as he has basically been too busy just giving elegies, so many, that he seems now to be cutting into the reason d'tra for why Clinton ever steam roller-ed him in 1992, to begin with. Ah once again, girls, I was there.

And I was right again, that the unanimous among us are on tooth decay patrol, hemorrhaging sanctimony and bleeding preening, those perverts who don't have to drive for hours to find baby formula, or who haven't yet consecrated one of the plaques which is now, like Persepolis, unpolitical to bring up as old man River just keeps stumbling along.

Again, the magic Haoma, the biorhythms or whatever the now dastardly and despicable computer science they use which somehow wont let you say anything about them but will let some cvnt say the Romans didn't exists, again, one half step above little green men made the Sphinx or taught the ape man such arts as ceramics, I mean, who else...?, and the injins found out that when they discover blood sport and stone fountains and aqueducts in the motherlands of empires of the sun, well, no more decent Apache noble savagery for you, and dutifully the Hitler channel will label the Incas, worse than Rome as a cartoon now owned by Disney would say, Empire of blood. Right this way Mister Haley, into the Delusional fiddlers with such cribbers as Virgil and Ovid, until, of course, we found the scurrilous parts of the epic were indeed as Macrobous said, a better satire of dread Homer than ever there was. Ah,  faint-est praise, sometimes is, after all, the best that they'll give out.

I was sent a new Lindsay out of the blue or the white and red of You tube’s stratosphere, as the summer wanes into the quickest snowfalls that I can recall, Belonnna, or better, or worse, and a darker haired Mama Gaea has decried, like the house of Saudi, to show this old coot and his worse than Hillary wife, easy Missus Dukakais, just count back from a hundred now,...that the very zephyrs, like the lightning bolts have turned against him. I was sent the lovely and affable one time Cracked magazine writer, who'd have thought it...?, alas I had a subscription,Maggie Mae Fish, pretty and Bitchy, why cant I ever find one of these who is straight...?Oh, a Catholic girl, ah that does explain much. My brother asks, as I watch it and he tells me to find a broad, cute like that, on these websites, alas,...sheeesh. She is funny and witty and industrious, and think of how the creep and his Twin Peaks essay which she hates, in which a blond hairdryer, lip-less wonder sepals of the one time boyishly adored Sheryl Lynn Finn, a Demi who was full, whose Black Dalian persona I think caste just for that before we all became House n*88ers and black face wearers like, well, Ma If I bring home Capone or Jolson, it's Al.

He doesn't like the Mrn- Alloys that she sets off, as I recall Twin Peaks, and how my sharper brother, like Wiseguy, then, only let me watch it with him in his place, because I liked it, but like Popular and Gilmore girls, I think he came to like it as much with me, although he knew enough criminals in his shady life to never want to even bless the Sopranos or Breaking Bad with his presence, Dante-an stoicism abounds, pass by the demons, he said, a hand out, as he is always more Romantic than Machiavellian me. I liked Twin Peaks very much, and showing what a hermit I've become, I didn't even know that they came back, but always thought Lynch had it in him, as thought of Clerks maker Smith, that they, like me and my brother, weren't like Maureen Dowd and other white women were, ensconced in their cul de sacs, in love with the idea of the operatic of the basic Criminal, always somewhere out there for Drive cred. Is there, like Copaganada as somehow who I didn't waste a second on, is there a similar sort of thing Ill label Hoodagrams...I asked? I was sure to pencil that Id make an answer to that on a still like so many unmade video as outside of drawing the goddess that Barabbas saved haven't much liked, though who knows...?, haven't liked, since they shoved Roman works, mere copies is how the nuns assured me they'd get around that one, into a bloody Tyber anyways, or later in an age of laughable enlightenment, would take a bronzes Bellona given to the Capitoline by the Doge of Venice in 1780 for their attempt at a bespectacled newest republic, which again, this item was drowned into the Potomac where later still, the mistresses of Wilbur and Tallmedge and Biden would soak their feet in Tidal pools.

Did I over educated, over react again,as the white women so worry about, this wasn't the price of bacon now was it. Did I take it too personal...but then what else is there, Fredo, or Cosimo, whatever. It made me think of tom boys and nuns and their censorious perversions and despite Andy Sam-berg for Guvner now sucking Catholic dick, I still disposed of that church. I must get to the scraps and rags of video all collected on a phone somewhere, and recharter a chapter of WOP LIKE ME, this time about Pinocchio and the response by men who have spit on Collodi's grave, and yet, this time, haven't sent out the usual Jewish alter boys, Olive Oils and Green Hornets to tell the people they are yet again wrong, as at least someone has realized what is going on to an empire state, where the woman again who was placed in as much as anything by the flying Monkees of a tear jerking Wicked in which the dykes live, again, I have been admired and liked by those unmarried women to whom my “1964” and the knowledge I had that yes indeed Joe Califano was after all being hectored at a La Cote Basque Mother courage Gloria Vanderbilt juniors didn't want them at anyway, as Anthony Bordain is after dead, and, etc. As woke up while my brother was out there doing due diligence as there is, to his antenna a feeling of flying Buttresses crumbling, scads of money being burnt to ash, Manzoni politics again, and he is determined to stock up through midnight goon's praetorian laughter, he throws me a colorful box of cheap crayons. I see on there is written the credo Made in China. I know you like those, Tony, he says, Finish your fucking Cartoon Decameron, and throw it in their faces.

I'M STILL ON ITALIAN TIME.

26 SEPTEMBER 2022.

Egged on by the images of lovely sketchbooks shown proudly by their , usually Asian and girl, but not only them owners, I thought about taking one if these challenges myself as the summer started to want.Its been a hard year for many, especially the curia which like the dwindling summer must hear the dying crickets as they get closer and for tell the end of their area it marbelled, purple silk striped lives, as meager as they are. This is now, more than not , a cheerful response to some who said I was either better at poetics when not dealing with screed,or didn't get the attempt to write like Catiilus famous elegy for Cicero, if despite seemingly looking down on pietry, women who didn't seem to know not care who Cattlius or Cattilne, for that matter, was.

Hey, it doesn't take a jesuit, much less a Roman to get his greatest atagonist ememy in power and as I said to some had as being lectured to by darkies and wops and hags who voted for a segregation is never had any charm to me, it's nothing personal about this goon in power and my disdain of his baggy pants farce, as it wasn't my crime family name plastered all over the healthcare bill that he, always still a good alderman if the partita of jackasses as my pop delineated them, it wasn't my wife he humiliated worse than any dancing girl secretary ever did ,by vetoing my health care bill on his haphazard, catch as catch can, molesting, polluting the Ohio with T fall Run off, always crying at the interment of segregationists and dixiecrats, very own. 

So knowing my brother was going to a Pittsburgh wharf called the strip, where for decades the ethnics have gone to get expensive cheeses and this time to get Sardinian fish salted by the archipelago of neighbor Greece, I found out, again like one of these admired artists on You tube, that there actually was a Dick Blick around that area. I asked him if he'd get me a 500 or so page sketchbook of sorts a cheap one, as was tinkering with the idea of one of these massive attempted at demanded art.And he bought me one, but I found , like a few Asian girls on this video bazaar, that it was more cream colored than not and placed it up more than not to press down upon my sheets of giant The American Decameron in various days and images of Wendy as Sybil amount the creatures of this newest Decameron of italic fairy tales. 

So talking to myself as I sometimes do as planned this all out with probably more thoughtfulness than say a dump wop like questa la Faucchi, as Ma called him, a latest stupid dumb dago who realized when it all seemed to come crashing down when he was mercessly booed at, of all places, the baseball stadium at Seattle, showing again as my father told me the end of all political farces come when the pratorians won't eat another spoonful of crow no matter what precious metal out if which the spoon is forged. My brother hearing thus, then said aloud up from his morning facististic cheery more dreadful rag, You waste that book with a scribble a day and I'll throw it away first.I spent ten dollars on that thing, he continued, And I'll be God-damned if it's filled with squiggles. You, he said,You draw fast enough.  

Then where I placed it seemed to have it's say as the giant still to me despite the cost, cheap seeming accoutriment, it spoke itself as it were as how I placed it seemed to have a two cents to add. It fell from the perch where I placed it , causing pictures done of Mr.Stupendous and Wendy as Sybil, and a lurid paperback cover for City of Sin by Don Hollenger, and Jack Davis marionette like Superman and the Mort Druckerish Joe DiMaggio I sent into the New Yorker, whose secrets told to me as a little boy I still wish to someday La Cote Basque before, in his Plutacrasy cheerleader out fit Andie poo Copper makes as all forget about how the swells like their brussel sprouts and their democrasy, and all came falling to the floor. 

Well, the book itself, I knew was cheap as double billing and such has become as American as Cherry pie, Saturnalia in Havana after the brothers New year's kiss seems to have not received but returns again. I was certain this was cheap, and now spined, and the leaves falling out of it's binding for telling the sad and wet coming fall, as ages too close to the dried leaves than the snow which will sock it to, one can guess, a Nation who used up all it's reserves of even the basic building gblocks of gasoline, to shave off a few cents off the interminable price of gas in the Summer time, and leaving the poor and the cold of their dwindling blue state Magna Grecia, a crumbling power base where as I, jesuit admired once said to some consternation, where Epiphanus means nothing and you won't be the first college of Athens, no matter the grandiosity of the Roman set MGM mausoleum that a Chaney daughter feels she must Cammilla like protect from the plebs outside, who are finding out that maybe those people who wanted no part of this Iranamuck goon anywhere near that Orbis or Urbis Bill Clinton once too it upon himself to protect from yonder Cassius, or as close as this alderman fit the costume, after spending a lifer's terminus in that marbel hall handing out turkies and fifths of Jack, to warehoused coloreds he didn't much even like.

I have heard the chimes at midnight girls, I do hope to see the gal Triumvirate of Sarahz, Jenny Nichelson and missed Lindsay Ellis to speak of these thing I have written out now, and I must express how seeing the whole kit and kaboodle come crashing to the ground, I don't know why, I thought of when I was a little boy and my mother, whose require of constant work and attempt has come to a grinding halt, and her reading to me about master Cherry bringing the magical wood to oldman Geppeto and his Woodman's shop and that preeminent of all Italic folkatles. I decided as the showers of more wood pulp than artsy fartsy paper were there before me, I almost heard my mom's voice tell me in some Sinora Fortuna echo I have sometimes heard, that I had to take these pages and save them and color and ornate them, and make them part of the collection of my devotion to not only her but to the other old Italian women massacred by aldermen who would never learn as I warned all along, once getting the scent of carrion in the cobble stoned streets, the crows if not worse, would come to determination eat again. 

I decided then I would as the story my mom read to me out of an old Italian book more sacred than any Bible will ever be, as the story I believe was taken from old fountainhead Basile as the tale of a warring Knight puppet called Brademente I think who was a suit of empty armour and became the greatest soldier since Rome , a story in Calvino I think, I decided these off white pages had to used and taken and though it was now all tattered from what it was and the first twelve to twenty pages or so we're beyond repair and I gave some of them to s previous artist of the family, a sister who had her own American troubles, of which I am not the only Italian family to have to deal with ,so I won't be the only one who foments resntment like spiritual 'Chita when, I , like others, more purple and more Indigo than I, recall a legion of grandmother's killed off so the Anita Hill goon and the cretin who gavelled my one time admirrere Squire Olgetree out of order by collected bag of gout as out of order when it seemed that the Regan administration was as bullet proof as an Irvin, as no calamety that befill either old coot Raygun, again who my father hated,or Poppy now dead as a golden doornail is M, as long as this aged gnat of the senatus was there to clean the floors. When I once said the Roman line that the men if the people were there to sweep and mop the Senate floors, some Hillary hag was upset about the sexual intonations, but I had to spit back, As if my beloved Romans would let a Woman into the once vaunted classic, now that was. Fucking Roman Senate.

It was ironic to recall this mother's lullabies of  Collodi, especially now, especially in a year in which though as subtle as I can be some doomed same can't who couldn't take I thought she voted for a segregation still,dated to think, I, Roman Tony, if all people scored and adored by the society of Jesus, the brothers, whose soul was argued for and defended by the nuns of Claire who thought all Jesuits systers in cheap clothing with pins and buttons and bowes and megellada Dell  Oro, that I would ever dare to be on the side of anything German, I who have added to Huckleberry Fiin and Love in the Time of  Cholera that that screed and creation of the Roman Senator who saw decay it at least heard about it from his ivory tower, De Germania to a list of books I'll neber crack open as this Dick Blick sketchbook had been. It was ironic because this end of summer has seen come and gone the Disney Corporations latest attempt at pissing on Collodi's grave. And I had to remark upon this strangest swerve, which even I, the auger, as my brother calls me, never saw coming. 

This Pinocchio on this conglomeration of self made criticisms was universally panned ad deciatati gly so. The bad and hard times of we mere plebs has been nothing compared to the seller dwelling swels who thought by now it would all be back to some sort of newest normal, ah but far too many hags lost their Nana's, the ones they loved, and shitting on Collodi's tomb, as the cvnts at the New York times did in father Gore's brilliant elegy for atwoods disliked and unadorned by Stockholm prizes given now eagerly to less classically minded cribblets with darker than olive hands,  Calvino.I think now they had no idea at the Rat Squad how idiotic and diabolical that was. Again it was Ma who told me as Biden proves, sometimes one can be so stupid they vergeo per la diboloco. I liked the perverts and America better when they and the now also corrupted and coddled and thus controlled Simpson in all their smarmy Conan, the less funny one, Titian, Tina Louise, Pompadoured charm thought, as I belive Lesbian Bellona once said that Disney was a proveyor and polluteter of warmed Over Medeveal Grimm's, in over colored plastic.  

I spent a week watching a onslaught of self-made , hated by those who harangue on Payly's crypt, first a seen as a vast wasteland  now a worse Infernal Duchy, but like the previous ones, their Sejanuses, though perhaps recast in outer space, seem to be losing their footholds, people whose pages I haunt, with names like Captain Midnight, The drunken Scottsman, Comicsands and others.Everyone who said who regrettable and heinous this thing really did seem.Ah the stink of too much boys piss at the perverts seminary, a sad choice of wordings, too much like hags and middlebrows sluts and waitresses at Calvino' s interment into the sad Turinian cement, an affectation unseen by suddenly decent and not in the darkness I'd see said as given by  Dantean rival Petrarch and his Sade niece bridesmaids. For some reason I noted, these people,often demeaned by the dreaded Mouse factotum, they all came to a similar ending, a TLDR by many, like I said I await Jenny's take,at keast, as somehow they all felt the same way. Something evil, beyond mere Bad taste, it even the hypocrisy of suddenly awakened lovers of censorship, from the people who made sure Wilhelm Grimm was never recalled speaking if the less babysitter aspects if the cycle epics by Italian shoe makers and babblers who cobbled the whole thing to begin with. 

I come by my disdain and dislike for Uncle Walt's Imaginarium freezer Queen, Sunbeam, boys school quite honestly,as I said I was a lad when my sister wanted no part of working at that second most happiest place in the world,back before they decided tommarow the world, now there were some national socialists sympaticii, and before they took the grand last epic of.George's, and made the praetorian guard if Darth Vader be in a kick line of dancing shells , and they wonder why it doesn't have the same oomph anymore , but then what would…? These Videographers seemed , ah the in medias res, the heart of the atter, they all seemed to understand that something awful had occurred here, and Diney had been true to some barbarism, that even these no Italuans, or especially them had seen brewed in these witches pots not too far under the Bambi lousy snowdrifts of their once lead painted backdrops.

(My best Jeffery Jones. ) 

There was something awfully off place, off cue, off toned, about what was done to this little Italic tale about Magical puppetts, and mostly I think the mistake was in using the exact opposite of Magical wood, it even mere Italian puppetry, or Ray Harryhousen stop motion, it even the honesty of Gumby and Pokie claymation, they used their new coin of the realm, the lonious attributes if CGI. Pineeyes wasn't a puppet, certainly only not made of that magical wood PBS tried with all their might to explain the brilliance of a Stradiverio  fiddle, it couldn't be anything else then than the wood of liguria, what else could it have been an Italian Craftsman, niggers plueeese, on then on bigots took as a given all along. The story,  stole before was a saniized mess, strangely made it remade with the mayor of Hollywood, sanctimonious ex bosom buddy Tom Hanks, I always like Peter Scholari better but what did I know,  now graduating from living puppetry to Italian master woodcarver and if course the Blue fairy remade as some black chick BAP, which strangely for the once Lilly white Disney consortium, as happens before, the blue fairy now somehow a brunette,remembering I read the story once by a mom , as also Brother give a five year old Tony a Playboy press Decameron asitaluan counterpoints to achurchone adored at least before Vatican 2, and the sharper sibling hated and saw as the clowns and the perverts and aldermen and shylocks collected  of a lesser, lightning bolt wielding, God. As in thus Manzoni like paragraph so hated it seemed since I was 15, I saw this was something different from the usual dislike which, outside of fuming Lucas at the parade, is often dismissed and demeaned by smiling negroes and their masters, usury Jewish sanctimony dripping comic queens and bloats who seem every buddy I had in Art School, who somehow you are assured are doin the work of the Lord as they trash Santa claus in various  tweets looking down on Ogletree's Prarieana, it do so at least until Uncle Walt crypt gas another Santa clause movie coming out with a drug dealer, who like Biden nolo contendere to live out his best life. I got some liked and notice by asking again still 1980an fifteen, aren't we all, I ask again to now the most sanctimonious than these pimps who my father said we're worse than lupoet shows and that they were pornography that raped brunette daughters, why didn't Gheppeto and the blue fairy get played by All Pacino and Wendy Fiore, wouldn't that follows…why wasn't that even brought up…? Ah ever will I know that my pop was more correct than I gave him credit for, all along. Another reason I am gagging on my own smart aleck hoodlum ism.

Most important part, those siming goons didn't appear, no one was sent out from the central office as neither and none came out to take a theatrical biwvivervresating the once always blond or at least gray haired Mothers and fairies in Disneyland with some black girl who as were write all, one must censor much when they vote for a segregationist, it worse did the black face Carson never had. Quietly, and without the rigamaroll of what father Gore called American Hokum, preening, proselytizing, putting on and piling up, the whole thing was packed up, boarded as much as things can be in streaming circus land, and sent to already decaying wasteland of Disney crap and detirius that us in step above the Zippididoodah and wistlingbold slaves of the talking rabbits without Bronze accents of a termite terrace their square ducks without Jack Benny malice and hated by the cows who used the baby sitting qualities if old Uncle Walt just as he had used a fledgling ABC to hope. Somehow the basic understanding if the story was gone, instead of an island of mischief delinquants, where the boy puppet, who kills Jimminy cricket in the original text by the way, is such a bad boy he drinks root beer and takes skittles.so take that Coca Cola, pop is evil unless sold at the Mickey's Dinner for seven dollars a paper cup. My mother did warn me about hags like Gummadi Nan always yearning to get up in the imperial land, they'll burn any canto, laugh it up with any Coppola, hate any Veronica, smile and clap as Juliette or Cleopatra returns to being played by queers that the dancing girl living Senator Cornelius came to like the plebs dispise. As they worried more about you and what you did than they did what and who their husbands were up to.

So, there are all the wood colored pages I have saved, back up on the collected smaller boards I did during the plandemic, and collected from those too short and torn to really use. The late summer gas spikes,and shortages caused me to remember my mother in ways I thought I'd be Over with by now, in strange places and with strange occurances. I found myself tearing up about her for no better reason that in that described YouTube channel I placed it on one of those mixes sent to me of all things Fleetwood Mac , and a song by Stevie Nick's called Say you will, which made me think of a previous script and a doppelganger for a girl then, now woman, named Leslie made me think of my Ma and what a chump she thought I could be, and I don't know why that effected me as it had. My sharper brother, a more romantic than more Machiavellian and Jesuitical me, gave me a section of his cherry neofacsist rag and the book section as there was a write up in their about my mother's,'s beloved Book The Betrothed, again an Italian fairy tale that my mother thanked God that Uncle Walt and his hated lesbians had never heard of to begin with. Alas making a dinner for us, an Asian melange doing my best Marco Polo, I placed it in the floor before the stove, making rice for me is always a Ricky Ricardo sort if endeavor,  realizing that I used what I thought was the Style section and placed it defensively in the floor. He said realizing that, it would have shocked me as this clerk at this bookkeepers newsletter actually thought it was as big a monument took the art of the fable as anyone ever said it was. I was saddened to know I spilled rice water and garlic and herb sause all over it as it would have been a nice respite from thus awful year although they are in a curia devoted to the sacriment to of free money finding out that when bacon and eggs is a luxury, payments of bribes to aldermen dwindle quickly to almost nothing.

And to those who this year dared say the Romans and dark ages never lived, or died mostly, or left shining helmets and tattered standards still found and narked as world Heratage sights,  taken by the Moma out of Italian mucks,  I say sorry dears, sorry ladies, but hours after papal nuncio George Will came out to sneer at his own created monster Buden ready to tax him back to the stone age, as was given the go sign by the newly disappointed chamber of commerce, think of  Hill house if not out and out Salo, Mother Speaker Gummadi Pillosi made a point that he is keeping her options open for whom to support in 24, perhaps from the holy see surrounded by Swiss misses in Michealangelean drag. Also Col.Kurtz, so ashamed of dismissing and demeaning lipless wonder found a picture  wearing his father's suit, in more ways than one. And should that now maybe you white women might oat as you thought you'd make those Italian grannas, Oh look, Patty Murry, house streaga,  reprisentitive in Keds to punks and junkies who never learn, who started our age of a lack of decorum, well she is underwater now, as the price if Bacon Trump's, as it were, any marked cards Colbert reads offen. Disney is in tatters, after a spring and summer in which it's fortunes were tied to the sort to that  of Carney that Uncle Walt did hate, as I know from my reading he did hate that Marvelous Long Island charmed world of Stan Lee and whatever artist who was around stealing credit and thought the words, which is what sold these phamplettes to begin with as DC thought it all scribbling, didn't matter. And here , as Virgil said, was the rub.They made another attempt at their pretense why sure they've stolen everything from Grimms and have done more than their share of adding to the blondness of what my father called this cesspool, but you know now suddenly the perverts have taken over the magic kingdom. Cinderella Is a transvestite now, only Romans were decadent, well at least until the moneypox swab comes back, why Danny Devito himself was a circus owner, though if I recall Gene Siskle correctly was not allowed to play an Italian count in either the English patient or, of all things, Romeo and Juilette,  as I guess he's too much of a clown italian and thus was better off with flying elephants. I do so hope to see Delightful sarcastic Jenny's take on a Pinocchio, that I'll never see, as I read the book.Or,as I said, had it read to me.