Scenes from an Italian restaurant 2

Hidden away, in a unseen, unnoticed, corner of a trove called Yahoo Mail, I found the basic bones of a novel I WROTE CALLED ROMAN MYTHOLOGY. It was as was asked at that time, pesky Etruscan tales of gods taken out, what in Conan land...? when wed call call the bumbling docility and the pin-balling from one disaster to another under the great God Obama as a golden age, as who figured that lifer senatorial cloak room idiot BIDEN could eventually, as Clinton dreamed once, have a credo of MAKE IT WORSE. Ex uno Pleurae.

But at least Obama didn't watch as wayward barges shut down already over extended ports of Ostia, and bridges collapsing and Easter remade as Torch song trilogy day, but then as I have said, with an answer key Mr. Dithers Biden has paid to get, the brethren loved me cause they loved the Romans and hated the femmy. But the MSS was in middling shape and only a bot a hundred pages were left, as I had excised the parallel narrative of Etruscan MYTHOLOGIES, AND a set piece bella Italian, as that was far too romantic for the The Don is Dead, and the signet n the Brotherhood Coppola CRAP THEY WERE SURE WAS HERE. All I know is that a hatred of Harry Potter got me thrown off a Zoe-trope site, and after all, 30, 000 people weren't just slaughtered over Apollo falling for a girl turned into a bundle of weeds.

Trump wasn't the one who made sure that Oliver North was not put under oath, and like I said, I remember what was said by Molly Ivins the night to Tom Snyder that this corpse voted against health care. Even the title, ROMAN MYTHOLOGY so off put some hard boiled eggs crime imprint, actually upset like some middlebrows are that they actually got such a query, as look I suppose for the next I, THE JURY, OR WORSE, it was turned down in 11 minuets, showing again, how full of shit your awakening really, at heart is. I DID TAKE out over 823 pages of Etruscan history, mythology, astrology, and I did return the book to a mere pulp fiction with some pesky humanity they save now for Jewish war criminals, drag queens and cygnets, but never Italians, and even still at 246 pages, made sure I went by the rules of CATULLUS, IT STILL BOTHERED THESE BARBARIANISM CHILDMINDERS, and isn't that a loaded dice term in the age of Biden, NO END, THAT THEY'D LOSE THE WOP MINSTREL SHOWS THAT BOMB MAKERS USE IN THEIR ENTERTAINMENT plays within the decline and fall.

Next time you gasbags sell your souls to War inc, Don't do it for Mr. HYDE, OR SOMEONE NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU HASTA TAP DANCE NOW, Moms, we all recall when your Sally's stage whispered and called him an F--iing War Monger. ALAS, Not in those hallways. AS ISN'T IT FUNNY, OR AS AN MIDDLE BROW WOULD SAY ironic, that once a corpse used by GE theater would get in anyway he could, Gore called him a never was when I was a kid, that the Portland empire, would have exploded into a kind of warfare unseen ever, with aids workers and red crescents targeted and set ablaze, as they've only found 36 skeletons at Masada, but then I have a feeling we all know now what that peerage rule is. Well, no matter what you steal, or what happens or doesn't, it was said of Biddy. That if the democrats ever lost their minds and put in this funeral cantor for Dixiecrat's and those who filibustered the voting rights act, made him the nominee if that outhouse party, even the thought of his Preatorship was unfathomable then, That it was said of him, don't do it, as hell never forgive you for it. That was said in the wings in a debate night by...Bill Clinton. I know it sounds like Plautus, but what about him doesn't...?

Somewhere Daniel Shorr, Paddy Chayefsky, and Captain Kangaroo are laughing at this Herbert Anderson bag of shit. Drop dead Steverino, as you and Olbermann will someday reap the whirlwind over having handed the party of Clean Gene to a war consortium, bitch. Take your crocodile retards tears and your perpetual apologies and shove them up your bony ass. THESE GIRLS OF ITALAY WITHE WILL BE HEEDED, mutherfucker, Bombs away. The Cyclops is more Virgil than Homer, asshole, the cyclops is blinded. 36 HOURS AFTER that debacle at radio city them pelting Bilbo with cries of RAPIST AND NOW YOU'RE ETHICAL. F YEW. Now, everything my father told me, and the nuns and ma and the brethren did come true ironically because of this corpse who called Mario Cuomo un-electable, his and your declaration of principals,...all Southies pesky, or Persky, ethics and all, as the man whoso name will molder on the Hyde amendment, we miss you Molly, permitted now he is chief infanticide priest, but then, he comes ostensibly to killing children. But then, I should have taken the offer to make RM into a paperback novel, in the age of Obama,  at like he sang of thugs but never cannibals, wow, told to remove the Etruscan delusions, and make it pulp fiction. As now, even that seems too much for those who somehow have a crime imprint and yet still can shill books about mythical queens of Brutus' happy little isolation. As have with Jo Ann, I will graffiti up the grave of Tolkien soon enough, for pop.

Seeing some liberals who have used my scurrilous work, starting to realize that this corpse in the praetorium got more money from GE, AIPAC and Phizer the NRA, look it up, THAN ANY Democrats in history, to paraphrase Woody Allen, when you have no ethics it by definitions doubles your chances of a bribe on a Saturday night. No one this petty and this big of an alderman should have ever gotten this far, and now the empire needs a shower, and not with a little girl. But cine to see Bill Clinton hectored, I do like to sue the classical with him at at times, show how far we've fallen, called a rapist, so, again, maybe Sallust wasn't his 4th favorite book either.

And yet, with almost medieval alchemy, Bill Clinton was booed and hectored and catcalled and called a rapist, off a fundraiser stage... think the word is Irony. I REMEMBER WHEN brunettes hurled from the town car were just bimbos. MY FAVORITE MOMENT though in all of this muck, was when being a weather-vane her own self for years and tears, dame Strega Pillozzi was the first to fieghn compassion for the possible corpse all are to the elites, AND SHE walked away from the over working vacuum tubes of GE trying so hard to keep those drones flying and frying girrotines slicing like knives in the wind. Abortion,,...you'd think you sewer keepers killed enough. AND WHEN I SAW Madam Hillary, AS MA CALLED HER, her Courage, whisked into the imperial chariots of now, the suvs that were dragons only a few years ago, aback hen Big Pharma existed, but now thank Gods, any one with a dollar extra bribe can get the bleeding hearts to have annurism in command. I Saw her pelted with orange drink, plebeian tang, spittle and worthy of the Coriolanus cast of thousands only alluded to the Globe, she was wised away, not with the devotion that Praetorian show a nominee gods knows, just a heated of the mezzanine by the praetorains knife holders, they didn't give out Parker brother diplomas to anyone for merely this, and Ovid's Art of Love, why Bill doesn't know where on earth that went, maybe in the cellar. And, whisked away from the maddening crowd, was the queen of stragas as ma called her, and I hope that somewhere Joe Califano is alive an Federalist target of the cvnts of empire as he wasn't wanted at 21 or the Stork clubs anyway, the message of my spec script for the Good wife come true, and I saw somewhere our doctor Doolittle, who can spake to all buzzards and all snakes, I saw the look on his draftee tiresome face, fat, but not as fat as it was, skin ingraining, like a mask of blue death, unrequited still, the look he have out more of someways than anger that it had all come to eventually this, and the curbs sides of the Palatine way, as I warned at him long ago he had member really made it up from there. The look was precious, and he seemed upset, but almost pretested, that it all meant nothing, after all, nothing much.

ON the anniversary of my Moms passing, for some reason, my brother bought a large Neapolitan dinner from a local trattorea, three of them kept in a cardboard crate reading GARLIC, salads and bread included, the ravioli I seem to like more than anything, and baked Ziti for him and my sister, and I asked why we were doing this toady, of all days. He reminder me of the date, and said, we were celebrating that old ladies life, a first of many grandmas killed off for this George Will acceptable Trojan horse, and we would have a celebratory dinner for just her an just that, as the praetor eats ice cream and crow in heaping helpful amounts, desperate to hold that Aquila before it is plucked and fricasseed away. EVENTFULLY WE PLEBS show that we don't have to career away and live lives of quiet desolation, as we, or is it he, who knows when a dimwit plays Augustus, die a 885th time, as the vulgarity of that arms deal of political science came back to haunt the three amigos, Bill this time the one screaming at the wall, whose imperial bird, the one that the Apache charity I gave some sheckles to was glad to know connected the American Indian to the vaunted forever roman, no matter who gets sleepily in the golden door, was taxidermy or had the nickle plating chip off of the imprimatur long, long, ago. Bye, Bye, Birdy.