HEROBALLING. 19 NOVEMBER 2023.

 

I saw the great Broey Deschanel's essay about the death of Movie critics, and since think I've bothered her enough, still have to say I was watching Sneak previews back as a 10 year old, with a father telling me movies , much less comic books, though he liked Prince Valiant stuff, were one half step above Sicilian puppeteers. But, she said something wise, despite her as just a girl, that there are people who wont there, who can not, or don't want to take a bad review when they lash out at all and everyone, but then the third act of Sejanus cant be as a genuinely funny as this old wop in his dotage, making movies about indigenous victims as a death toll teachers 10, 000 to the chagrin of even the angle of death Bidy, and his cohorts with Roman affectation names, and even Bernie did you cut the Toikey Sanders is horrified, so what was that about the Romans again, dears....Watched again on Saturday, the Peckinpah masterpieces, The Wild Bunch, wasn't Rodger shocked that it got a bad reveiw from the typists at the New York Times,...? The Romans will never get the full Scorsese, thank God, all Sicilians know their place, ah yes the Romans, they were men with sharp sticks as the Chosen People of God massacre 10, 000, and show a God worthy of a rapture of death that was in, as I found, in Etruscan historians first. Just like Christmas.

Not in the mood for the bucket of bullshit that is the Buffalo Bills, I eschewed watching Monday Night Football, like so much else, has seen its better days with Cosell when I and we were all kids, and i'm not going out on a limb to say that Junior Buck is not his father, is anyone...?, and that Troy is showing that they don't make North Dallas forty's like they used to do. But then, none of the house everything and jet sweep fans on ESPN are Cosell, or even Hank Stram for whats that worth, and we are amid yet another cheating scandal, that yet again we are being told is beatifically nothing by Praetorian television. I had no desire to see Everyone all American Josh play hero Ball this night, and dissented knowing my older sister liked watching these shows from her little girl past, we watched the Beverly Hillbillies, which showed when television was a vast wasteland, or lights and wires in a box, but certainly not as decent as today when a smirking queen how was against the first black president and Italian speaker nightly—he was a living satire you know, --brings out members of Parliament and Ministers of the home office, despite the fact that one would think by now, being so vociferously on the side of anyone who is dropped to 27 percent per your next travesty of a Roman triumph, well, you'd think by now a seemingly little twerp at his Daily uncle Funzy fun house would have by now figured that all this, especially with Axelrod as a newspaper with diminishing returns openly apologizes for bringing this Tonight show starring Cassius and I, Brutus to an unsuspecting new Rome, well, it doesn't auger well.

So, we sat and watched The Beverly Hillbillies, back from the age when even old man Paley and his bloody sheets, knew enough to know when Daniel Shoor and Tommy Smothers had to be shown the exits of black rock, after all, as any station that crated Gilligan's island isn't telling me who to not vote for, especially when on cable, he did the exact opposite , probably in heels somewhere along the line, like say being for a segregationist, showing a worse than Clinton lack of devotion, or taking a stand, or even moral equilibrium, which soon enough can turn one into a coward dying a thousand times. I still recall angrily how I was censored for, of all people, this creepy goon who had fallen upwards to CBS, and the Ed Sullivan theater where previously named Cosell did bring on the dying teen age boys, blind and wretched who dared create Superman, giving the always circling the Marvel offices after funerals Jack the hack and idea of what Jewish dirge he would try next to get the credit, bad were he was, and I did get an earlier this year written castigation of him and his inky life published in a non comic outlet showing anything can be compelling if you refuse being an insider. 

 

 

 

I recall how openly disliking this twerp, somehow bothered the curia that he had signed onto, was Hillary alerted that soon enough shed be recalled as toast mater at his perpetual tea party, at which Jesse often made quips about mudville, was she, as I warned in a piece about the burgeoning cooties of power, my having read the Betrothed, a silent masterwork to them all then, while bathroom water toasts were indeed made at Ed Sulllllivannnnns mausoleum, and Christmas fogs, was she even aware that this praetorian goon was planning to always be on the side of the good and decent rapists who came to power, lest anyone recall the black face and the death threats as these two bit Carson's, see Cosell above, had to festoon themselves in and swaddle in , as now stories about the bad girl boss that con artist at Tonight, smiling and laughing on cue, if not constantly anymore, like a hyena.

Or, was my Ma right, a called named or title, Ma, so discordant to the older Felix unger Favorite martian, really Ray Walston is their Guilgud, the fag brother on Frazier so sophisticated once, and now cringe-worthy as the gals would say as in repeats one wonders why no one at whiter that white ring around the collar, rope please, NBC, amid the wars they fidgeted and built el dorados of blood out of, no one saw the awfulness of this prick doing bad Kelsey Grammer takes and going after the pretty but not brunette or sexy enough for me English girl in the play, to the point he was practically a stalker of the sorts once sees brought on Curia Television between trials Vince the Chin keeps getting fed over and is not allowed to send his Lois Lane Chanley to do stand ups.[ this was written before they were sure that they would kick off the Saturnalia season not with an Ed Gwyn Santa and Maureen O'Hara and a curie pie Natalie Wood, or a Messy's Thanksgiving day parade hosted by the pop from Bonanza, but with once again, a stand in for Bush being targeted as the latest patrician hoodlum above reproach who lawyers end up at the end of Ropes, really the word Law is diverged from the ancient Italian for rope, a favorite joke of the smart ass Jesuits, as the filth and the rabble are invited to hurl squashes, or something that looks irritatingly like new world tomatoes offen Tuscan walls of graces, at their fallen figures as they crash to the Terra Below. }

 

 

But this was different than the usual horse manure and human cartoon I mostly avoid and do night time calisthenics to, as Bidens assault on Parnassus as an older nurse tells me has made the republic never so flaccid, never so pudgy, never so much like the sea of plebes that Mother courage Hillary once called the undesirables that are always just off stage on a Shakespeare plagiarized play, those he was allowed to finish as I almost refuse to use him as anything by a display of Forgers arts, as I was told his supposed monument , The tragedy of Pompey, was ixneyd by the bluebirds and doves, violent birds both, Elizabethan summers and its want for pucks and wickets, and that's why Julius Caesar, to even my boy's eyes seemed like two unrelated, unconnected, by anything but a dead king in an imperial corset in purple plays. This time, and like I said , if TV was a vast wasteland when I was a little kid because of a mod Batman, who didn't takeaway himself too seriously, or too too much to the point he was a farce, what is a drunken, mean, often used amid the stately paintings and hidden dorm rooms, and fireman's poles kept far away from the elderly aunts of Albany gardens. This time, the show that to Mad when I was a kid, epitomized the hart break of Psoriasis that was horrid tv, this time there was a special guest villain as Batman used to show, this time, the show revolved around the whole clan going back to the hills, yet again, but this time got permission to film at some early version of Branson and the American myth that no one understood before, or since, Disney was frozen and yet once again, an empire was laid waste by those trash who thought the golden door was slightly;y ajar for their myriads of SATYR-ICONS, IF NOT OUT AND OUT SALOS, AS I HAVE FIGURED AS MY OWN MA, YES MA, like Meathead and Lil Abner, you prissy bitch, WARNED ME AT THAT LATE HOURS THAT INDEED ANYONE WHO WOULD BE THERE WITH BIDEN, a Johnny Shneck from the times when Italian women were told openly as the nuns told me, only bad girls were raped, and only raped girls went to hell, and I am not kidding about the church of Irish pate-philes, AND that to her Biden was always THE KIND OF MAN who raped Italian women, if not kids, I heard an echo when he was leering at children from the soda fountain, a real Dobie Gillis jerk, and watching the prepubescent with a glee he shares with Constantine and Tyberius, along with the number of dead children I in all ways thought was a strike against him and his perennial Julian needs and ambition, a grievous fault, and how, and should have kept one one sane from redlining with his phosphoric dreams. Well, that and beguine against health care, as nothing personal, but he didn't bowling ball and scuttle my healthcare bill, Hillary darling. 

 

 

During this weeks episode, which was shown on on the cusp of that 1070 that was in many ways the beginning of end of much, the show that dominated CBS television and TV itself for much of the decade of Andy and May-berry and blond Jennies and blond wickets, ways with bad girl twins with black hair, strange when you think of the Mythologies stolen make a witch be married to a googly eyed character actor in a gray flannel suit, the show itself seems to know where things were heeded, as the great huckster actor Mr. Haney would say, despite their successes, CBS would eventually get rid of every show in which there was a tree. Of course this new found love of sophists, and I have my own problems with a show I thought quite sophisticated when I was young, the Dick Van Dyke show, as they put the pretty Brunette wife, how on earth did she pass the gate...?, I have my own problems with looking back, as they out her through much crap and was inches away from a hatred of all intellectualism, at least more than middle brow, and is always one step away from making dancing Mary, Richard Diamond's secretary, into a straitjacketing Chasity belt. But, within me starlings school that self same year, she would show Th-oust hath Conquered, lady Rose Marie. Onto tonight's return on the planet of reruns where the great Mad dropped cartoonist John Sevrein cede his brilliant Star Tracks, with a Srg Peppers tab-lough and circle all the stars you recall. Ellie Mae, the actually pretty Blond with the perfect named Italian word for woman, but kept in a kind of little girls stupor that the General Sarnoff's summed to fetishism, has to be married, YAHWEH BE PRAISED, INTERMARRIAGE AS SACREDNESS, as it funny that the old Confederate, don't worry Granny, soon enough Mario would be dead and anti Busing would be chic. Ellie is at old maid age of 14, or at least its that way in the Biden Home.

His past is prologue, if not epilogue, after all. Jethro, the perfect dilatation of that type at least until Bill Clinton showed up Gutenberg years later, is left to go to college at USC, whoso with only a sixth grade education, like Biden, but than that explains how the Bush boys got sheepskins, or at least the dumb ones who became president, as the Roman Key clubbers do not. The old coot Borgia son had the never say die or what, audacity, to show up at the Cowboys game which, since they played a trolley awful team, danced about like the queens of the maypole, Doomsday is here, uh huh, and wake me in January when closet coloreds on ESPN have to do rebuttals that they weren't laughing about how bad a black quarterback can be. On the show was the great character actor Raymond Bailey, as the Croesus of the piece, money grubbing, hungry, greed as gold lust, a Shylock other sued in comemdia del arte, and he had the prefect Cottonmouth smile for it. The homely secretary named for a sixth wife of Henry the 8^th, or vice versa, saw that the banker, always affable and amenable to his hillbilly investors, shameless and without remorse, was in that mansion, as a crew of Jethro's new buddies from the college, used as a clowns, as I notice that the Jews of Hollywood then just hated the beats, the howling fellow travelers, the licey and the dicey, the coffee house finger snappers, whippersnappers, those left to be buffoons after the best minds of their generation were snuffed out, they had signs and signs , like down with the dollars bill, they were against everything, and for nothing, and not a mention was named of anything earlier in the evening Charles Cultural so prefecture, poetically illuminated on the CBS EVENING NEWS, as not a copse in the south China Sea was ever so much as hinted at, as William S grumbled about the Brother mistrials on after Ed Sullivan to monster ratings on Sunday nights.

Then, maybe I had picked up on it as I watched this episode as opposed to many, my sister said aloud, That's meat head, she said matter of factually, and I squinted to see, indeed as a generalist version of the archetype he'd play ion his own Jewish opera, a show my father disposed of, as some cesspool within the larger wasteland of television, of which he wanted no part, there was scion of Alan Brady, and as I said Have my own problems with that show I look back, sadly, and Rob was an agitator, aint they are, as the local rag the Greens-burgh Tribune tries to unreal the Gordian knot of who is behind the riots of another group whose beliefs , as Machiavellian said, maybe more Giucciardini as it does have his more farcical comedy write elements, although Machiavelli was a playwright, too, are a night mare to contemplate to the curia of the bribed. On this relic, frozen in Amber was a cartoonist banker, worse than even Milburn Drys-dale at elast to Nancy Kulp, who was horrified to see the banker in the temple of prime rates before the Cauterization of America, and this is the second or third time in my lifetime you donkeys have stolen the Preatorium with a cover charge of now admitted to double digit inflation, and of course, wreckage in the desert.

The Monopoly man infrastructure of a banker, but probably not by much, the old fat bald over eating piggish man was puled by this all, and the signs that said such apostate verbs as down with the $, all is herascy, my mother said, to those who eat too much Tuscan flour—french Food-- in midday, as they do. The banker was upset so, and with an echo that was made even funnier by meathead being there, he called the radicals and the students for Democratic action, who would die at funerals paid for by inveterate banking, get this, Secessionists, Sedition, as a joke mind you, and traitors, and I thought who and what does that sound like. Ah, my pop said, don't eat shit for anyone, boy, as colletd wops as different as Andrew and Rudy, or for that matter dinner eating Joe Califano, as theyll give you nothing else, and I Wonder where was Meathead this very money shot of time , as his countrymen, for real and for true, are massacring pople with a glee that no General Silva ever had, maybe an Apache, no the year in which the over fed cunts, not Hillary I was told, she just adores Goulet in Kiss me Kate, or hubby does, or husband does love Ariosto, said there were no Romans, the Romans were men with shrap sticks as I said to again Saphic well wishing, who would tell me this year that These girls of Italay , they must take heed of them, was not from Coriolanus, as I thought, but All's well..., and not in some snide woman's studies way, but just to tell me , though if it was Shakespeare, I said it was stolen from somebody along the way. Now, the night that we know that indeed red Crescent hospitals are targeted by the born again Guns of October, even Trump TV weathermen and hair cuts seem all on board, before it was always just a mistake, but don't pull that Gordian knot too much or you'll see a flurry and clammed culture checks come floating to the ground. 

 

A night in which there is a human sacrificed to some God unspoken of , some bronze age monstrosity that pollacks can prey to, depsite his Desert clay tablets of truth, there is indeed human sacrifice going on and the gladiators mostly were volenteers and or killers brought from jails, and I notice as Jethro is the perfect imbecilic actor in this show, and Rob pays Yippie as he would until made a TA associate professor and sadly a co ed abuser, Norman has never been Basile, I see indeed that David Letterman will travel to the Ed Sullivan chatterer, will he whistle the Paul Lynde song from Bye Bye Birdie, as opposed to My Name is Steven Colbert, --I also got What and Leave Showbidness...? published this year, who will perturbed at almost 60 he never heard of it, as they sell off marquees, ah but you sold out long ago, when throw your own secretaries , all bloated Bill under the black rocks, to keep your own sham Rottensburger like sham Marriage afloat. I think back to meas a schoolboy and Ma, and ho she would tape Letterman for me, when I was actually allowed in a Jesuit high school, but was running on Requiems then anyway and Epilepsy would take its toll on me, and I sadly wondered why i'd ever have done half of what I did, if the world would be in the death grip white knickers of a dying old man with wolves eyes as Ma said, that look blankly out there, and were Id just bet shocked when Obama Repatriate David Axle-rod finally told all that the crows were to fly. I this year, actually got more words published than cartoons, and that is a new high for me I haven't seen since indeed those days in the early eighties, as even got my own Satyricon pieces published, and wish to finish at least 365 drawings this year and maybe next year avoid the swamp of politics altogether and finish “Other Voices, Other Rooms” about stories I was told about the New Yorker way back when, although now am sure, as ma said, old lady Biddy, young lady Putanana, and so no one at the now apology touring New York rags witch to recall what they were in the carefree days of Bill's Roma. I took some of the moneta I made off my letters and tales and went to Amazon, and bought a copy of The Neon Bible, the buttress to me of the two literary works as Wills, again something alerady ancient when Robert Graves stole it, and how I read that I think in a Penthouse in which a gorgeous Mindy Farrar was an epitome of a framers Daughter brunette, that I always liked and Dworkin and her ilk trashed as they were being openly paid to do by Hef, and I think no body is committing a veneration of mass death and mega murder over Ovid's Metamorphoses, once loved by Roman schoolboys and as usual, like Moby Dick, ignored by dimwits who just like being around, and are always looking in the wrongest direction.

So, another Saturnalia apposes, and I am fine. I did tell You tube, though, who sent me some ad at the most awful time for funereal services, as I look out and try this time dreaded than before to have a Bon Saturnalia without Ma, and my keep dreaming of an old father now gone thirty five years, and who in my less than apocalyptic dream space, I helped dress thed old man into a rarely worn suit and tie by him, and brought him to a fall parade by a Messy like New Amsterdam entrapment...department, store, as I felt he was almost brittle in the cold wind, but there he was none the less. So, try to figure that out Sigmunds, as this time where were no banshees, witches, no escapees, nope EC comics laughable monster mash ups. Send me this poison again, I warned them, at a holiday and i'll tell you what you can do with your vaudeville from homes, especially with Lindsay gone. I was alerted on Facebook a comic book company will be at something called Iron City con, or some such tying, as shall be Neve Campbell, of course who I had a crush on once as her being an anti Blond, and of course, Alec Barrrrrwin. Who I must admit, I have always liked since the halcyon days of Tom Snyder, you know when there was open hostility towards the lifer goon who would vote with 36 other Democrats against Health care. The year ends, or is it a Julian term...?, in which the Romans, men with sharp sticks are demeaned as God favorite foot soldiers, commits megadeath in hospitals and so I asked, no one on is killing in spades, or killing spades, over Ovid's metamorphoses are they...? I am alerted I am off the fairy land of Google in the land of the free, until November 28^th. Its a holiday, therefore, I don't much care. I succor recriminations about those days was watching David as refused to do the simplest thing for a Jesuit diploma that would be a passport to Georgetown , but alas I do think, no matter what I did or didnt do, I'm am not the one who somehow tiled my self into a corner where I must now work openly for the goon hack alderman trash, who only read cliff notes, if that, and I'm not the one who has to as I hear tell, go to the old posting grounds, now sold for parts, and allow my ether-ail blessing on some guy who, when he got the job, Tom Shales called it the end of old television. So there is , as they say while I get more letters accepted than drawings for a first time since then, always that on my side.

I LOVE TO TAKE A PHOTOGRAPH…

 

I certainly didn't mean to hijack the last death scenes of Camille of the one time busboy clown of 

politics, Jon boy, as in the words of the greatest buddy in television history, Jerry Bowman as played

by the great Bernie Kopell, you know who does something like that,...HITLER. 

But still, When do even running on fumes clowns at midnight realize that when your hero , 

the corpse dance about and spit at people for , when they have fallen to 29 percent in the newest 

polls and the curia are losing 11 states in the tossup category, that in fact, you may be throwing good

 malice after bad. Hey, don't bitch at me, girls, Im not the aging Roman prince and his deceitful wife, 

who are sending out aging praetorian cretins to tell anyone ho voted against my health are bill to 

resign before you know, THINGS get uglier. I from the beginning always bristled at the idea of 

clowns and pantomime bullshit artists and goons with old trampolines usurping political speech 

as a overstated act to shtick, as it bothered the little Roman loving boy in me, who got admiration

from the likes of Ogle tree and Scalia , though they always put me off. Still I foresaw with Old sweet 

Roman Bill at the shady Groves in magic realism still Calvino and not Gigi's that those crows would 

gather soon enough before the third Saturnalia , and here we are. In the words of my beloved 

American Virgil, Gore Vidal, who once said Bill Clinton as opposed to Joe Biden is tactically an 

honest man, wow, that's a hit. Just so I get this straight, a colored woman , Talib was censured, 

the U or V is a dead giveaway, that it is more officious than the mere O they save for us, incited the 

senate, or whatever this mausoleum of barbarians and chosen in laws calls itself, for saying 

something its marionette bribed givers don't like, but a man who cummed all over Lincoln's desk 

wasn't....? Wow, what a Roman senate you have in this crematorium, everyone, how far we've come 

from Catiline. 

But then, I said merely voting for some pervert, family annihilating, segregationist, which is who 

is playing Cleopatra in drag, by the way, while this woman is being drug through the vaunted senate

 Ala Tarquiniia, that would alas be your high water mark, and it would only get worse, like Virgil's

road to hell, eventually your perpetual laughter while people suffer sounds like vomit smells, 

and I know what I am talking about, since I am alas a Cowboys fan. I can say the four sweetest words

 in any non bar-bar language, I told you so. I never liked the idea of a man with too many Praetorian 

clowns, and didn't want to be lectured about policy by stations that gave us Hogans heroes and 

Green acres. 

The best part of this for crow minded me, our Satyrciocn is ending just as I had thought it would,

 with resentments. Niccolo's Mothers milk of politics, like when confronted by the dead centurions, 

Biden’s mind  was elsewhere when The Prince, eagerly devoured by Sweet old Bill, was touched 

upon, like with Moby Dick, something that he was sure could just get in the way. 

71 percent of the plebs, I feel your pain was a brilliant part of political theater dropped by his letters

, and after all I was one of the first to be giants Satanic Harry Potter, though no born again anything

 am I, what and avoid my mothers having named for her beloved Roman hero…Oh, shit,

I wouldn't even be conformed, Birchers. But, as i was going to watch Law and Order, not the one 

not with the pretty starlet daughter, or Jewish Lincoln, but with Vincent, “If I knew you were coming

I would have baked a ham” Donofrio, I saw a station that was often humiliated and demeaned and 

called out for Trump like treason, but on this thing with a talking haircut called Dan Ball, anecdote

 Jewish creatine from a rag named Newsweek no less, News-view without anyone there driving a 

Ford Galaxy, was on here. And I thought, good god, I, admirer but never having voted for Trump,

would tell that hebe to pound dead sea salt before I'd let that Shylock on…so, we are in calculus, at

 71 percent hating you, meaning that 29 Percent ect are willing to carry this bucket of water,

water if you're lucky. So, I am again referred as a Roman radical, eating radishes, we are the mods 

after all and how did that go, again,... oh yes, Wahn I think back on that crap i learned in pre law,

 it's a wonder that I can think at all, and though my lack of education hasn't hurt me none, I can 

smell the Roman piss on the wall, I got a Nikon camera, I love to take a photograph, Mama don't take

 my Kodachrome away…see Lindsay dear, always my best over that Hobbit video, as am back to Paul

 Simon and Chic songs on you tube, that is how it is Romantically done. 

http://antoniusradiocomix.blogspot.com/2023/11/gaslighted.html

GASLIGHTED.

 

29 SEPTEMBER 2023.

During the summer, I truly did get my vendetta over the last year and its triumphal march of D student, duncest and shop class garbage, the kinds the nuns called the sons of ditch diggers and plumbers, that was facilitated by a crew of granger that had somehow made black face work for them, and who thought Biden was a messiah that wouldn't somehow end up at thirty percent and who's falling fast.

During this summer, not only as usual did I get the commensurate amount of pretty brunettes I drew published here and there, some with the imprinters of colleges and Einsteins universities, if I am correct, that the rabbi told my father he was sure kept the chosen out and to get me enrolled over all else, to which my father already if not disappointing in my shtick, saddened by my love of the clowns ethics, said, HES RIGHT THERE, Monsignor, he said to always prick at the Jewish man whose Italian gummadi wife, I take it made him a two bagger, YOU, he added with gusto, YOU tell my boy to do something he doesn't feel like, and see what he tells you back. But, despite it all, I had a strenuous Italian familial devotion, no uncle Shylock would ever dare point at me in his money chaining way and make me a buffalo soldier, as I said I have heard the trumpets of war sadly then perpetually sing and shine off the Plinian Tyber long ago.

So if I , on purpose, would desperate him and even Ma as I often did to my more Romantic brothers dismay, though I was never as bad as many, if not ,most, a jeusitical out I always took like an accountant all Jesuits are, I was devoted to old Vincent and his love of the Romans that this goon, no Clinton he, who is loving out his Eco side of the myth of book 3, would say or have said didn't exists as the foisted upon them Negros had to get the that are patricians at the Ponderosa and the good over fed whitey women had to find someone to be their lower class citizens as Scorsese and Coppola had allied with Jews and white in laws to make the Race of Beatrice, the Sicilian school, and the Roman republic,and so said as much when I said every time the Irish try to get this uppity, no dogs or them should have been a medieval sign on the whitey house door. It usually does end up with the trashy throwing punches at the drunkards, as everything you say about the Sicilians is alas truer about those people , the Sardinia of the north sea, where to be fair, there was was a famine added to their over sung litanies, even though,much like Sicily, it is an island and thus surrounded by fish, showing again, that even white supremacy has its limits.

So, during these too many or mot enough, smiles of a summer night, saddened and tired of the propaganda machine they have been made to be, even though their trickle down bribes are alas clotted at the top and more in the hands of those at the armimentarium to wrethan those pretending to be a the NEWARK-ER, AND BOY DID A CARTOON REJECTION FROM SOME RAG HATE THAT, somehow as I have become used to getting cartoons in of pretty Beatrice I have legend-ed from old sixties playboys, the kind as I said that Jethro would fall head over heels for tying that Lil Abner cartoon made real on CBS, what wasn't then, only Roman senator for life caught in his face, Tacitus caught in the minstrel show, well, not a minstrel show, but more of a, no wait that's right, minstrel show, as Alvy Moore did shtick as it was meant to be since Plautus laughed and not taking sides, Eddie Albert in Green ACRES is the only one show from throe halcyon days, that does-st make me as Dante did amazingly to William F Buckeyes, make him sick. Poor heralds of the twentieth century he and his frenemy Gore didn't live to see the chicken wire among the Roman ruins, moire than they've ever seemed, and that old Nick segregationist leering at the under-aged at the pick up joint he has often made out of the local 31 flavors. Wow, he really is garbage, Hillary, and so, my mom was right, as she warned me, before any old lady died of his ambitions, if you let your husbands biggest enemy in power as a FF you to the playboy after dark, aqua Velva reeking, human one man orgy named Bill, you'd find out, as she warned with Italic brilliance, the fake and the con and the arranged marriage of convene is the one where all things can be adjudicated, and the romanticizes of mere fights and strum and drang of married life become too easily a course in contact law.

With this background that I have espoused before, somehow these summer days, I have gotten accepted and sent back to me Published cartoons I have done, called eagerly and with admiration “Cartoon art” in the tables of contents, cartoon has never been a put down to me I assured one of my buddies in art school, as it has been to some, as it only means in the original Italian, that a drawing has been done in ink on a sheet of paper, rarer than than now, but still cheap enough to be the fuel to a Renaissance, like the sad and buffoonery of the Romans, fat over fed white chicks now hating Joe Campbell as much as I did as a kid, --it was an anti Josephs Campbell screenshot that made me actually watch in the myriad of swamp water that is sent through the pipes of You Tube, the first of many Maggie May essays, but all, as I could have told you, the latest round of Brunettes aren't the cutie pie smart asses that they used to be, but then I have felt that way since looked about and saw no Lynda Crater or even as I said, Lisa Segrums or Jo Anne Phluge or any of the cute brunettes that were sued on that truly toxic show about Hillbillies at the mansions that plays now like the television poison that it was. And with they saw that the Edy Williams I saw in an old Playboy image on the internet as have used those pretty women here amid the fat bloated bad skinned cows who alleys unlike raped Italian woman left in freedom land darkness as victims before and then after, the sixties girl with short black hair and Della Street skirt and white blouse, impressing one of the editorship there to call her just that, that girl in the white blouse and the long skirt, and thus more sexual than anyone but Patty who was in that aging rag playboy after 1985, and it as accepted.

She is the cover girl of a play I wrote, didn't I write one I think, ...i don't know as a newer computer and vulnerable files from a schc card can't be bolstered by anything I may have posted at Ello.com, as it seems gone, and not juts to me, I paradoxically look up no less, where a CBS executive in the mist of a writers room lock out, hummmmmmn, has to put something on, and so instead of the dealings shows and game shows that cyclops land Jewish doges and hostages would eventually do, he sadly but with a Roman devotion unhallowed on television probably since Vito Scotti, he puts on a performance of The Rope by Titus Plautus, with her , his executive secretary , Polly, as the kind of dancing girls that see above Senator Cornelius always adored enough to trudge to the unfashionable parts of Rome to see. Like old Roman Bill, eventually the more Italianate among the counter jumpers, as opposed to their wives, cant quite stand the either the stink of toilet water, or the babbling effects of talking women at the salons, and do have to go back to where the pretty girls, as my brother said of Calabria to which he wished to return haunt and are. So, I got that one ion the resume, despite thinking like much, it would never be accelerate to this cesspool that somehow the Clinton's more than not, have wrought.

 

 

But with that drawing, too, the same place did accept a rarely written fiction piece of mine, that I was sure like Tony-land, a collection of drawings to gives the lie to the leftists and the radicals who have somehow newfangled to keep a stolen superman out of the public domain where he deserves to fly, would never be in a file cabinet I called "Published". Somehow, as the charms of Biden fall into a disrepute and the entire country turns green not from a Ansonia like garden, or Volcanic rick being the reason Italy is so Fertile, but from the fake gold pyrite Jersey that Biden has been selling out of the trunk of hos bloated vainglorious Crown Vic all his misremember, bag man for the DuPont family life. Even the clowns are quiet, a sad ending for the baby boomers no...? And along with other pieces this year, they have alas for a thousandth time in his-tray the water carrying praetorian have had enough of this old coot and his spreading of spittle, phloem and dried dandruff at the C students that Sweet ole Bill never much liked, knowing this was the lowermost level of rats who ever shuck their way into a Preatorium in a long, long time. With her came the story that was far too pulp, thus far too real, for the sanctimonious secretariats of empire, as I was on a Petronius kick then, and I was sure and certain to make a Satyricon of my own. And this tale was the story of an aging Italianate ex school teacher, a germ of a story Id Robert Mc Guinness up with ruination and recollections of the jet age my own self, who had decided into being the kind of man that Hillary and her coven mates hate when not is use by them, a gigolo. The chapter about the bought and paid for escorted with some beehives matronly old bag, the kind played by Eleanor Audly, no thinking back, Kitty Carlyle as seen on a free station nightly re showing of To Tell the Truth when i was a kid, was as Orson said, far too dignified and far too lady like to be the Patricia Neal in my if not Breakfast, at least Brunch at Woolworth, and the male Go-lightly I had crafted more out of recalled notes kept my mind mind instituted at 1980 as much as Cato's theoretical war chariot of Caesar's struck in the ruts and the juts of 1981 and my own sixteenth birthday, as say the whole of the lagged economy seems now, a Worst housing market in 43 year is another bulletin that make the silence of the anchormen almost deafening as Biden's own lackluster attempt at spreading commercial over the hinterlands done back in 1995, mostly due to the fact that so in pocket of Merck as this old man, he couldn't in good couscous vote for any legislation being supporter and crafted by an old first lade, as opposed to segregationist, he could support. The fact that this of all things was accepted, along with bits and pieces in which television is like Mad did when i was a boy, I really must get away from thinking of myself as a boy, and not in some perverted away of those at Disney at those magical Costello did hide a myriad of abuses but cant be called Groomers as say Jesuit were, ;lambasted with the line of a smirking queer on CBS saying My name is Steven Colbert...

I was shocked to see that this of all pieces was accepted, it goes to show I guess, and that my adherence and my love of thesis giants of mid-century literature , Tuuuuuman Gore, Norman even, the age of Dick Cavett to sue a line from that radio windbag Rush Limbaugh who scared senators a might too much along the ways if you asked me, and now are awash with Negroes wielders and drag queens, over a man who again, whose name will languish on crime bills vetoed by Richard Nixon, sorry Rachel , take your Pepto, and the linen scrolls of the Hyde Amendment , as when again I was a boy in that age of Janet Cooke, which my father had to ask, probably a Roman fascist bigot, Why was this even looked into so much, why weren't her sources sacred, he asked as if answering a question to me about who and what was what in a land that would decked into making a Queen out of Anita hills inquisitor and had worse to say about her than he did Oliver North, but then I stopped watching even reruns of DESIGNING'S WOMEN ONCE THE BEGUILING AND PLAYBOY QUALITY DELTA IS FIRED FOR BEING FLESHIER THAN JEWS EVER LIKED WOMAN NOT BLOND. And, when did that rag of the Washington Pest ever vigilante things whispered about presidents as much as some junkie, they care so much, said of Presidents as much as this, but then he was still an old man smarting over Nixon, too smart a man for this cesspool as he early on thought Carter was a decent man just complainant, but was glad to see him cut the line over Teddy, who sturdily and drunkenness as topping the polls had Nixon just been aloud to finish his term, but then a myriad of a sea of trouble follows whatever goon that CBS and the other archetypes and wool-gatherers decided to steal an election, yet again. See cause if you HEARD defund the Popo... 

 

 

Well, a few nights of wild-ING under a segregationist, you sleep with Mother when your wife throws you out as ma said , but half of her sonnets never made much sense to me , but I would repeat them often to nuns administration and the brethren ultimate dismay, and I guess like much it makes sense of one don't get too close, a gist that the Italians have used to save themselves from the penny dreadful imperialism of Globe theaters ghosts and haunters , who have as I have said, before been little more than Roman drag since and until Orson put Brutus in a navy Pea-coat, a disquieting insult if ever there was one. Th fact that my nameless, stole that from Manzoni, gigolo is on Rome on the Independence day that have which correlates with some ancient Roman day, 6 June, of all days, sees a pretty girl in a trattorea and with the battleaxe he is using starts to become intrigued by this girl was delightful to me, and it meant that maybe I wasn't the only one who was repelled and put off by the snide reaction to, of all people, Wendy Fore, My Sybil, the Galatia of pin ups being so openly demeaned and disliked by those cretins I saw in the scant few days I went to high school at all, again, all errands lead back to those days, who made sure that pretty Italianate girls, and even some tabloids Blonds, where always Murray Slaughtered and made fun of , but sissy goons who we know now, and how are lately told to my brother were fagg*ts all along...well, who couldn't have figured that out...? Watch what I say... for segregationists who voted against AIDS Funding and people who threw out death threats and did black face,...and pretend the Sopranos meant nothing...? 

 

The fact that this tale was published despite the caterwauling of those decent enough to have voted for a dyke wife of a committed rapist bloat, who now, sadly, shows the Romans meant nothing to him ever , as he allowed a stranger enemy of his, and not even with the fig leaf of being smarter but just more corrupt than he, and how, yowee!, to be in a paramecium that no dead James bond lookalike anchorman Peter Jennings said at George W's inauguration a going over by the Praetorian sanitation was in order, was actually a gift of sorts to me. I managed again the smart ass kid I always was, am, and my love of pulp fictions, and turgid paperback covers by Robert Mcguinnis and John Meese did have a moment in this piping time of Kleenex and old man stink. Amid the Johnny Depps and the Cuomo boys and sanctimony that has the smell of decay to it, I felt vindicated. It was sad too that It would have taken me this long to get the scribbles of police chiefs and gigolos and Newwarker talk of the town parodies like National Lampoon, again, when I was glad, to get to see the laughter of days. This means the only piece that I haven't gotten published in a hell bent for leather, never called murder you see by the Jimmie Choo loving shoe fanatic fatsos, is MY SUPER-GIRLS ALL LOOK LIKE GIRL IN THE HAYSTACK, in which I am not ever sure if in still if its my dismay at a house everything cooning it up as war criminal Caesar, as I have packed a codicil to the piece, in which I have optioned that a negro Caesar hoo ddde doing as a third word Vini Vidi Vici, has been repealed by some screeching white bro man speaking of shillings and pushing the various Italian Sola Brusca card games ten of cups black jacks, and don't forget to play our eternal slots. Aren't we all. Joko la carde, as ma said. End racism, the gladiatorial class homilies us, but we've found a cog, mister irrelevant, who can take dictation and you're off to Dallas. There is, alas, worse.

So, I hold out hope for that, as I am never sure if the worst name mentioned in it isn't Paolo Milano, or Joe Califano, but is indeed the recollection that is alluded to of the great last Brunette of Hollywood, gorgeous movie pin up doll, Wendi's are now unlike Sophia relegated to Free Ones and porno sites where masterbators bitch about she isn't demeaned enough, f off old man Scorsese, as I place this all as post Delta post scripts we've all come to learn about as the CIA Indeed just as Frank Church and his commission did warn when I was a boy, see America as an corrupted land , but then hast what Imperator literally means and I didn't sell my soul for a healthy satchel of GE stocks. As Ukraine monies, for arms that send up and always get into Isis hands, are they still a thing like the John Birchers that Biden used to tap dance for...?, he said he will send his minions into Europa land, as terrorists showing again , my brother notices I was right all along, and this whole thing was about a Chechnya WITH FAR TOO MANY blonds TO HAVE AN ARAFAT. I FELT BADLY DESPITE MY TRIUMPH OF VIDALIAN PROSE, this t shirted clown thinks the Romans of then or now, who there are laws against marrying his precious Baltic Cyrillic hags to a catholic, that somehow in my life as a boy till now we , or I , therefrom the noble virtues poems of Beekeeping Virgil, the smarmy, snide satires of street-level Juvenal, the sweet and delicate poetics of comeuppance of Ovid, Bills favorite and who makes sure that the mention of Augustus and his Jewish minion Marcus is never too far way from his receipting of Jovian rapes, we have gone from that to this old coots old man stink, and to the sad liens of Cassius Dio telling us all that all smells like piss and rust all for a lamb of God that like Hercules but worse, barbarians could extol and pray unto, as they keep making Conan comic books. 

 

Over the summer I got my brunettes hither and yon, as all seemed to change from last year and its truly diabolical sense of Trimalchio dinners thrown through the strike breaking and the Delta dawns, as I asked openly, some dimwit who thinks politics can make you Sanctified and that eventually if you laughs and smirk hard enough and somehow amazingly do the bidding of a segregationist, they wont recall when you ere doing pigeon englesss as ma would say, and then hurling death threats at any Asian coeds who dared ask where that sort of impunity came from....didn't you see who they w re now lauding , dear...easy Roman Bill, if that applies anymore,. My brother thought it never did, take some strega, principally, a aperitif, witch this time at least will ease you Tummy, or at least that's what ma said way back when. She made me as a boy a drink of egg cream but with liqueur in it for a bad stomach, or with coffee, depending on which as needed by the Italians somehow l;left to their own devices thanks to the barbarians who knew, were servants of a falser, or blonder, or blinder God all along. The priests just loved my returning Roman law to Plautus, or at least Gun-smoke, and looks the part of white trash hooligan, that it was done with the transmutable sacristan of winter woods in this Hillary Halloween, lesbian Saturnalia, that wont end. Me,the Germans sung of Hercules once, tell that to the bloated fat masturbatory suicide who created Conan and then found when you live by a paper sword you die of a real one, any hated Italian could have told you, Texas Burroughs. Not me, if I make a sacrifice to a Roman God, it will be to one, rapist or not, like a democratic president, it will be to one who can sere where he is going. As ,a boy, I cant get away from it, I once bought a copy of the elder Edda, what passes for Germanic literature that frankly wasn't written by a noble savage needful senator who never came to the august hall in beach wear our god knows dressed like a hoodlum. I took the book and burned it in a tin my seamstress mother paled her confined of buttons in, just to sow my heart was in the right place. 

 

 

We went to get my physical at a new doctor, as all my doctors as George Burns once said, if not dead, they have retied from the COVID fruited plane. I looked for a Jewish MD, even a Woman ,as long as Jewish would be fine, Ill go to doctor Ciccerelli when I need a gunshot kept off the books, as I am that willing to throw dice, but settled on a subcontinental Indian, hail fellow well met who eventually warmed up to me and I made laugh though my still again being sixteens and fearful somehow that I have too much hair on my face, as I guess the vestal mustache women in dropped commercials do have an effect that cant quite seem to get a huge chunk of people to see Trump no less, as a Pompeian victim of a family annihilator who got too big for his baggy pantaloons as bumbles his way though I am the very model of a modern Major General, as that name Heliogalablaus just has him, always perpetually sixteen too, stumped.

I decided for some unknown, internal, instinctual reason to forgo the chammo I , like Bill Clinton, was hunting Bunnies, sorry rabbits, he was quite the facilitator acne once he got the instrumentals of whatever poll served as his soul. Sorry Bill, but alas, the lesbian girls and family members were right all along, and thou hasn't conquered Alba Longa, as I'm sure when wife's bloated obviating hags and sluts and Bryn Marh alumna see Virgil as propaganda, despite Turn-us and Camilla, speaking of noble savagery, it must be getting him hot under his perpetual ring around the collar ,collar if were are lucky. I decided for the first time since a sideways art school trade school adventure that went nowhere in many ways, but would get me some attaboys from various Disney cubical I'd have to resort to, with Stone Soup, I would wore Italianate Jeans, stolen as much from Italy as again glorious once vaunted senate now instigated and invaded by a gross norther barbarian thug who thinks the hoodie ameliorates his being a closeted Harvard grad who took his shot gun and waved it around fearing that coon got too close to his not so hidden escapade. My brother said we must stop for gas as Biden's gift to the republic, high gas prices that comes like sun follows rain when again the dogcarts Democrats destroy a president and afield of the man of the people that that old cvnt hag is always somehow against, voting for Goldwater no less than be caught with the coloreds and the poor and the plebs that might have wanted a great society when all she was looking for was a better caliber of gigolo all along. We drove for the first time to a white station, we came up to these highlands I never much liked or not, I didn't care, as a part of me wishes much to return to Italay, and like Augustus in Lonesome Dove, I seem to be turning my brother towards that outcome all along. AS MAD SAID, WHEN I WAS A KID, THIS COUNTRY IS OUT OF ORDER, although back then, it was apparent what anyone who was against Busing was trying to say, all along. Sorry Norman, whose golden doors are packed back on free television after the sanctimony of wokedness, but Biden always was a bad third act, juts like Marcus said, and now this far out, a man who might not even know who and what and how many praetorian are planning his ends, less Livy or Pharsalia's Lucian Julius, but more like Camus Caligula, I'm still king, I can hear this old coot screech out as the dog shits all over the place like Tennessee at the end, goes back to the perpetual Campinas of 2020, and warns us all about the fact that Trump is a warning and a danger to the vaunted republic. He did,w hen i was a kid, did the same things as he waned us about the dangers of Busing and Race mixing. Look that up Rachel, dear, maybe not the stragea, maybe just some nice ginger ale...

After filling a subscription we drove towards home, he thought my request for eflornithine was a bit more vanity than medical, past the myriad of blue and white and upside down American flags showing a distress out here that Colbert will never feel unless say, like with Letterman, the gals of the closet ala Plautus fall out onto the dining room floor, in his case dead or alive, who knows, my brother was sure we had to do something else. I hadn't eaten yet and it was two, and just had a bad feeling as sometimes do, though I am more auger than weatherman, and have never been a fit subject for gummit work. I have to, HE SAID, go to the Sunoco and get some gas, before this as wipe has gas at five dollars a gallon, which means nothing if one say has a Tesla, bought , or stolen or bribed to drive, be the best sort of people that get on TV now, as he is after all a Jethro, and not a Puch, and how has to lay it on thick lest we recall his own death threats given out to mere co eds who dared asked , when he was hurling red meat and strange Lon Chaney faces at the CBS panaflex cameras, that told me, pre- Trump, this goon was not ever to be trusted with the Roman art of satire, despite once he hanging compared himself to Juvenal, didn't they all, and now is in that long chorus line of CBS malapropism dimwits with too much power, like Bishop Sheen, Tommy Smothers, King Arthur, he is literally a face in the crowd, but is more like lights and wires in a proverbial box. I too, he said, spinning the car around with a friends with hoodlums esprit I always missed from Dora's DNA, I Have to play Multitudes, [or whatever it is called] he said, Cause its another Billion tonight. Why someone as sharp as he still plays the numbers like a Roman dice player, I have never understood.

We drove up the straight unbroken flat road of the highlands to which we have gone in our shining red car. I suggested a blue or navy car, and not red , as red, I learned, is stopped by the popo, once beloved by Biden when he want to all those funerals for cops, always tap dacning on the skirts , and how, of the Democratic party he thought a bleeding heart, like Cuomo was a detriment to that winning he had to do at least once to make being a family annihilator be worth something more than the bribes his son, targeted by Hillary long before, already spent. We drove past the Sunoco station often used when i was a lad and my mom drove me about until, and I ma still unsure, something happened which made the old lady stay serenity in the old brick yellow house winch is of a type ethically mentioned by HL Mencken in his travels of the snide man in the hell with the lid taken off Allegheny county. My brother tells me it was the death of my grandmother that made her less willing and able to partake of the golden door of the city on a hill, which Biden still will steal that soon enough. As he is, after all, a xerox machine through and through, which explains his ballots, but I am not so sure. It was again full, as his secret internal instinct was right, and in fact, every island and pump was full with the toy cars that shone like plastic in the lasted summers light, about to , like the res public, fail. We went to a station of a franchise never sued by us, ever I don't think, called BP, where a white Stonehenge like pillar showed a strange sunflower in a satire of Van Gogh, or some kind of starburst of yellow and poison green, and I thought there would have been a signage like in south park, reading We Care. It was pretty empty good enough for a hit of lottery and filling up the tank before yet again, as she said and his smiling papergirls that price would come down for the fall, the exact opposite, showing the Gore Vidallian calculus is always right, they boomeranged up. I sighed. As we came up the asphalt incline to the irritating un fung shaq white on white pumps, with the sprigs of green and the word British and petroleum hid in man in the gray flannel suit know how, we came head to head with a Grey , wifely car, a more minivan sort of car, but then to me , still stuck in the age of the News-view writers beloved red Galaxy, these utilitarian cages are all soulless and look alike. In the car as we drove up, I saw a sissy of a man from central casting, half inside half outside the rover, with coat of many colors hoodie, cartoon sunglasses on a string around his neck, oh Jeeezzzuzzz, my brother said, more beloved by the queer priests than even I was, What is this, he said, the road company of Rent. I laughed, as its now, like Hamilton a hated musicale that shows what happens again when the trash think the mansion is now there's and I shot a Leopard in my pajama last night...

Seeming to beg or cajole the not unattractive rather pert and slightly chubby blond woman in the car, draining this goon around, she said something this cretin dint like, and then this doppelganger of Steven Colbert halls off and clocks her in the face, amazingly. Wow, I said as my brother said, Whoa, as usually before this age of dying Biden, the abuser call's could at least be excepted to keep their mitts in tjheir pockets when out with the others, if only to make it all the more sweeter when they could go home and beat up their wives and girlfriends in the closeted, AND I mean closeted dark. I was upset by this, and then, why Prince Charming hit her again casing her again pretty face, but round and the kind Jews often called fat once on the prowl as they were, to hit the closed window. Lets get out of here,i said, but my brother murmured something about 280 million or some such plebeian enticing number, but I didnt want to be close here. Than I noticed as my brother got out of the car, and he saunter to the white door of the white palace, this goon at the other pump, this Biden Voter, once again, the chipping ruin of a bumper sticker told the tale, he was smoking , actually smoking at a gas pump, so now i was really ver shvitzed, as he, lunatic absusing goon, flicked the blunt and zig zag out towards the not that busy street, as this Constantine Colbert found in the ash bin of his boyhood has brought a gloom with him that no body in that party but sweet old Bill can understand. I thought, I don't have a girlfriend even that cute, I'm sure he like i've seen openly ogles woman with her, lest she or he even sees whast right in front of their eyes. She was very well presented, while he was a left over yippee from the Sandpiper, and I felt inconsolably bad seated there,and not just because of the weed cigarette that was this close to even the muddy watered down sludge gas sold here, that my brother hates.

The poor man's Ryan Reynolds, and they all look like him now, a star for no describable reason, except that's the what the Jews and white chicks who are our circus owners, who run a sweatshop lock outed Hollywood think queers look, no Victor Matures, hell , no Night mare alleys here, galumphed, I am still in the thrall of my own television city Jabberwonkey,.. whose girl on the ABC bowling ball this summer got accepted, to the gas station door with a pocket full of drams and a clutching hand of boychcik money he managed to take from the pretty, but chunky, girl. Unwilling to be a lion tamer as my father warned me, I have no inkling to be one of the Palestinians dancing with brunettes like Macy's parade ads about how decent you all are, so I can only imagine who he uses a kind of black ops formula to have sucked this girl in and now bet her for a ten spot to bundle to the low rent gas station and get , which eh thought this morning was discount gas. I watched the woman in the car, she was mortified, as he strangely for his ilk, strode his way to the doors, under a sign that said as much that you are under surveillance in this Goober's station such as it is,as I can recall my mother getting green stamps and plates and such at the Esso stations when i was a kid. He swung open the door, out of which, quickly my brother came out , barreling ahead, and said, I could see a thank you principally to the openly abusive cretin. Lets get out of here, h said, Fucking machine is down, I'm not buying this JED Clampett crude, he said. Yes, lets, I said, as saw something amazing to me, juts then. Looking up at us from the clutched wheel was this abused woman, and then, my brother, again not that most Victor Mature of Italians, but adored by the local broads since i was a kid, he caught her eye, and and winked at her. This caused her to actually smile, and I could see the rose red mark of this cretins first against her paler than out certainly cheek. I said I wanted to go and give her my phone number, who is this guy, the question that such as he always hears in their cortex, no matter how loud they yell, as I would not mind her as a girlfriend, and would love to see this cretin lose her as drunkard's due, as Biden must be beginning diatribes at the birdied wall and screaming like a Apache, begging Puntura, not to be strewn by fate. Don't, my Brother said, Put yourself into things like this, ...These mutherfuckers are all murderers now, never play cards with a man named doc…he said, as his voice tailed off, and I knew the sharpy's, Palatine hillside, credo. I wish you would have said there is a creep out here beating up on a woman, I said. I Did better than that, Mother fucker didn't see the sign...I told the Indian in there, Munchie, he said, I said, that asshole in flip flops is smoking by the gas pumps. As we drove away, I could hear sirens, as has been a backdrop now in the decline, and wondered again if he had a truer knowledge of what matters especially now in this age of Pyrite. Alas Cassius Dio is for us all now.