THE SUGAR, SUGAR, BOWL.

 

02/09/24

Saw on some American scene magazine show on TV, what inst now, through the happy talk, that there is something now acceptable to a dyke queen like Rachel Maddox, which is strangely for all people have been lectured to by the comedy writers, called Galen-tine's day. But what is there that is Italian and or Roman that you over fed Hillary pigs don't think is ripe for your rewrites and your ridicule. Hey, I don't work for the armimentarium dears, and I font get paid out of the circus funds and propaganda expense accounts from a company that makes knives and flying Guillotines for Jews and some old coot who cliff noted his way away from Da Nang, which tears human beings limb from limb but don't give as many pesky sightings of broken walls last this all look like Sicily after the liberators from the tenth army. 

I am always amused that no matter how demeaning and destructing they are, Tolkien lovers from the dreaded BBC always utilize and constructor their velodrome argument that the Renaissance never happened by always first getting a ticket to Leonardo Da Vinci Airporta and then a quick bus ride to Venice or Naples, --despite clerically tinted you tube crap, Mediolanum has never been any fun, despite the cults of Satanism, --as making your arguments amid the decay and the stone masonry of empires long gone is always a visual heft,and who doesn't love a junket to mother NUMA AND SUNNY Italy, EVEN ANGLICAN BARBARIANS WHOSE LATIN PUT Tacitus TEETH ON EDGE, of one can always finagle it. 

The Superbowl though will have again a choir, when it the choirboys not black as night and doing the songs of dee old Negro spirituals, sur, as we will, if I even watch, I am a cowboy fan after all, what the hell do I care...?, and we shall hear something that makes Madwoman's batted, bedroom, eyes always tear up for all those n*88ers that Bill and Joe backhoes into maximum austerity prisons sur, the black national anthem, you jail yurrr blacks, thank you, next please. Oh, why this is funny to me, is that another attempt at the walking Adams apple who is trying to finally win one I'm sure he was programmed, or at least penciled in, when he with a twenty point lead kept hiking the ball with 27 seconds left in a thirty second clock to make sure that somehow the team of cheaters actually came back in one, and don't you ever ask why. Funny ,mostly because the ketchup colored team in a Superbowl of garments all red, too red, although it does cover the blood as Zeke's blue never much did, an Italian quarterback was the last to play in this direful game, replaced by a first round draft pick negro Trey, now in blue too, and all were replaced by a Huck Finn—I'm with Trapper on that affectation—who I do hope loses badly to the black man with blue eyes, who doesn't have them, and to Conan meets Betty, and too a team of scrubs and a fatso piggish coach who wanted a Superbowl more than he ever wanted a living son, but then Biden-ism is our captain of the black ship of state. I Decided, wanting no part really of this Gypped tale with too much cash, leaving I have guessed just the vulgarity, wanted no part of Mr Irrelevant as the new Brady, or the love affair subteen Betty and Moose, my River-dale was school shooting long ago, with Jug-head as besotted by Veronica,weren't we all, and there are no busty dark haired Jane's anymore, cue Carol, oheeeowoweeeohweohoho ohoooooo...the roar of the greasepaint. I defied it's less gladiatorial more commercial attributes,  to make instead of buying a  single thing, conjured up  my moms baked Ziti, but with bow-ties, so if it is a Sunday Saturnalia as some hair flipping cow at the Times said as much let it be so and let the silent Echo burble off screen. Aw, Hunny Hunny...

Saw the beloved by me since i was a boy, Diane Lane, to me, outside of Wendy and Patty, a perfect girl, a perfect girlfriend that the cows around here never measured up to, as if I ever wanted any of them, as she was on a show that is reinstatement to me of an episode of I love Lucy, in which Lucy and Desi to a morning show for a mythical Macy's, which is mentioned by name when Orson would do one of the last shows before dared bloat TV pirate doge William Paley would demand the Ricardo's move to Larchmont, or the New Rochelle,  which is now in ruins. As is so much. Diane, a perfect carting, is Slim Keith one of the many swans as they are called in a show on ironically the auditorium of television, yes even considering the Simpson was birthed there, on Fauuuuuuuxxxxx, THAT waist thirty years of trashing the Clinton to be on the sides of an idiot who is now screaming, as I said Bellcheat would be in his third act, at the fallen eagle, or it is buzzard on the less than Roman wall. 

She is in another slab at, as it were, attempt to refereeing the dilapidation of the once glittering I you we all love New York, and the days I see replanted each day as we watch the odd couple as a respite from the goons of television, and they are attempting again to make Gore Vidal look like an Auger as they make Capote gave the sort of Moment seen in a film about the English in the ruins of Florence, another junket had and made by barbarian trods, as the once pretty and pre witchiepoo Helena Carter played a last sort of remnant of femininity that Capote would have so liked. 

I was alas not schooled to know the rewriting of the book called Capote and the swans which is a recommended buy much on my amazon page, that many a swan was exerted out, Ala Hilary by meathead, and that Gloria Guinness and Gloria Vanderbilt are excised out of the mini series, as recalling that mumsy didn't recognize Anderson Coppers father at the famed and now shut down La Cote Basque in 1965, the year of my birth, I came in much too late devotee of Paddy and Truuuman, wouldn't be something that the voice of spring on CNN would much like as he is now stuck carrying Biden's corpse down a ravine of history, and again, is Virgil unwittingly and without the humanity, Valdimere, played for too many laughs. The salon is licked, and even the Long Branch saloon isn't what it used to be. 

They wish, as do I, I guess, wish to return to the thrilling days of yesteryear, with Truman Capote and Lone Ranger, and recall the days of Technicolor empire which like the ones before, always think they will last forever until one smells the soots of decline, and the one too few centurions is replaced by the one too many welfare queens who think again they are owed forever, until the marches have to fill up with those over fed once Italians avoiding a LOMBARDY THAT TO TELL THE TRUTH RECALLING THE old men who weren't all from Sicily and how played penockle with my Calabrian father, the barbarians and their daughters aren't as adored by even the northern Italics as they are by Jews and say member of the lackadaisical crime family the BIDENS. HE IS HAVING AS I WRITE THIS HAVE TO COME OUT, MY BROTHER INFORMS ME, A Clinton with teeth and with who stands for something and cant be given a pail and a mop to clean up the Biden's various spillage from his various orafaces that strain the imperiled floors, accidental Caesar had to come out and scream at us all that despite whatever con job was used by his minions to make sure he was not held accountable for anything still, well, such was a lie and he is not in fact at all befuddled or a useless old man in Roman drag, as the buzzards circle about him as he tried to make it across what may or may not look like the mid twentieth century Mojave that once adorned the cover of a fag rag named Esquire magazine. Such a revelation, I am not a crook as all like him are reduced to, Gore said that whatever he says the truth is the exact opposite, if anything is true at all, and him assuring the bird of the wall, his crumbling imprimatur, now a rubber chicken as much as anything, that he is not in fact and enfeebled old coot who spends the time sleeping and doesn't even recall the detah of his Achillied son, you know the moment that made my mother shudder at what we, or they, we are not a we to them, but a them, and orange now too, that he told as was looking at his dying son, that don't worry, Junior, it isn't the shining river and the chariots of any Roman hidden gods that no matter the kismet we all do still believe in, the Germans sing of Hercules, a lime of Tacitus drunken by that suicide hagiographer of German mentioned before, no, don't worry Son, he said now infamously, he just had Steven Colbert on the pad, and whatever was going to happen, it was be a way to strega both Trump and remotely Bill Clinton WHO HE, A GOOD RINO AT HEART, WOULD MAKE HIM PAY AS THEY HAVE BEEN CHARGED TO, FOR THIS PLEBEIAN with a fetish for Lynda Crater, and ill keep them out of the White house, as the alderman could think of nothing else as he watched his on son dine in Hell, meatless of course, we must make up for all those steaks and women the gladiators of Long Island ate up. 

But by now, that was old hat, and he would have more dead children than Constantine, who Dante would place in hell, for the temerity to not only turn his back on Rime, but to go as his ilk like Biden now show, always going in the wring direction. Henry Clay or Sejanus is quickly dying and I'm not sure I even much care anymore, as a stone soup pf bad clams is being portaged and boiled, bubbled and troubled, in a pot in story that though I got some admiration's as usual from a Disney office girl, was a take out of Basile, retold in the brothers Grimm's, that alas even before the transfiguration of drag queens as our low rent, vulgar vestals, the Rat Patrol had no confidence in, much less wanting then a brunette Princess as was had in whitest snows of the alps once. With the democrats, like with some apparatchik basically admitting an running for president is an enfeebled old corpse awaiting his pyre, despite his Catholicism, he too like the negro who brought him back has a what sister Cecilia would call juvenile delinquents love of CONAN THAT HAS ALWAYS LEFT ME COLD, on is never sure if an unsought through slip of the tounge was indeed instead, a slip of the knife. Right this way, MISER PRAETOR WERE HAVING CLAM CHOWDAH TONIGHT IN THE MEATLESS state dinner, sur, but there's always the NAVY BEAN, ALTHOUGH LIKE AL Jaffe, try not to old man your way through the bowl of LENTILS, SUR, and here some nice HEMLOCK TO WASH IT DOWN. AH, when Capote's your Dante, girls beware the table stetting that are a bouquet of Belladonna, y'all. IN THE SATYRICON, and took my share from cvnts and dimwits who openly hated that faggot they called it comic book, juts like how my superwoman all looked like Jane Russel once and were called chubby by now awakened dc queens, an old saddened cretin Machiavellian bumbles through Shady Groves and Dusts off a eulogy he has been itching to give. 

Twas right on the cusp of my decent from being a scholar boy and allowing things to get out of hand, and being banished from the kingdom as had been. But, it was 1977 when I started to get tired of being such a good boy, and when asked who was the most tragic figure in a horrid play called ROMEO AND Juliette, MISTAKENLY STOLEN FROM THE GREAT SATURNALIA Italians by that cretin Willie, as the life of Clinton was stolen by that creep who doesn't have the heft to wear that costume, sometime the most important part of casting, do you in fact, look the part, I said, being a smart assed boy man, Italy, although I wasn't as kidding as my smile would indicate. A nun took much empathy on and for me, and agreed, as did the Jesuits as did the Italian like Scalia and others when is a kid I was indeed against LBJ's latest con artsy for the Negros he had to have and couldn't get, as its never held against some like Kennedy that he was actually at clubs that were restricted, or that Bill Clinton signed the defense of the confederate flags as they had, but some losers on the imperial parade are never forgiven nor are their slights ever really forgotten. He admired my pluckiness, and my Italic satire, now we just get smirking queens who took the side of a hated man, even Carson knew, friend of Vidal and Bug-eyes, who Lucius Sejanus was, as he was literate in a way that this bra snapper never can be now, as alas, once again it is too late.

She liked my classical airs now held against me as no longer do I have to just be happy and appreciative of the people of Virgil and political cartoons be so demeaned and tested, now even lately, or at least more lately than Bella Abzug, I am told what chat shows I must admire as they are willing to ridicule with and not at you, appending. She liked my classical intentions and that I had a feeling even then, the age of King Tut and a Joliet Jake I wasn't allowed to play, having I guess been too much as a Roman willing to beat up prissy Albert as a femmy Jesu, she was glad someone care about the old Italian and the old cities as I had, and that the women who got a affirmative action now wop ever got despite, or because of Bread truck drivers like Sacco, that the only Romantic thing ever written for them was the abortion provider bills that were at least dutch treated by the creeps who got these gals, not ever her-story professors by the way,as John Bolton, not my friendly guest, has never had to navigate the dead and dying as war is always something as Coriolanus said, out there somewhere. Palestinian refugees it is now said, are left bleeding amid the dead and the dying, and I can say to a crew of materialists and killers who somehow were able to excuse or even forgo the fall of Rome, once the gates fall in, dear, there are no Ivory towers tall enough to keep the decay and the rot at bay. 

 

 

 

 

A NOTE ON SUGAR, SUGAR BOWL. I thought it would be jarring to see, of all people, Jon Stewart come back after this long October war, silent while 30,000 people were sacrificed to his Odin of Syrians, but just the sight of him on some Hollywood wrap up, movie-tone, news dinner hour, Babylon roundup was more than just that. As house Negroes and Lesbians try so vainly to somehow save what is left of their souls, nothing like a stage whispered epithet, proves one cares, while still being paid by the war consortium, Stewart, like dreaded Colbert , has no such bell to answer, or to salivate to and because of hearing. He is owned after all by Mount Puragtorio, where Sejanuses meet and greet amid the alpine snows, and after all did hear too that that Paramount did one too many star tracks and will indeed be putting half its work staff again, in garments all red. But seeing him was more than just discordant, it was a ruin, a left behind Roman play misjudged , miscast, mis costumed, like Coriolanus was, and Biden is now. He was something almost Obscene with his Droopy, Cinderfella charm and his thrown up hands and his Aye chi wahwah acts, as hell be on one night a week, which to be fair, is more than he ever did for Mother Hillary, I wonder if she noticed that, in the cellars at shady groves, but I bet on nothing about those two, anymore. It was made even more obscene as the plotted for saint valentines day parade turned into first Ray Millan in the lost weekend, I saw drunken, unraveling, another burnt offering on the pyre of American Plastic, Kelsey then quick cut to the massacre of people just at one of Lucius parades, but alas, when a lover of death gets in, well, that all he can bring, and a Jewvanel grinning through it is again, almost repulsive. Almost as bad at eleven o'clock after the day of massacres coming home to roost, this corpse coming out with wifey Lady Macbeth, on-wards and upwards!, to wish everyone a happy Valentines day, SEE, HE CAN BE UP AT 11 AT NIGHT, SEE, SEE, or Galentines day, if you are a white woman who works at CBS. And to think, these undesirables who wont and cant allow a DuPont bag man to be RFK, have that detestable Catiline leading this corpse man by 15 pionts in the new polls. Again, its a devotion no one showed Mother Roma that night that health care was defeated by lifer senators. Is it just me or is Colbert starting to become before us all Milburn Drysdale, without the warmth...? Its called unintended consequences, Mister Gibbon...Take the last train to Clarksville,  and i'll meet you at the station...