LIFE OF BRIAN BLESSED.[ illos accepted drawings.]

21 JANUARY 2025.

1.ONE OF THE HIGHLIGHTS OF My short but impressive to some career at a Jesuit high school where I'd succumb to a myriad of ailments and such things to in a word, give me a reprieve from the admonition of the brethren, and which I still course as my having given in to them as fully as I had, was the writing of some papers that affected the brethren there slingshot-ting me closer to a Georgetown law degree perhaps than I wanted to get.

I then, had a RC LAZAR DISK that my father had bought for me as an then already reduced and almost ruined scratched and dent, story of my life, price at a local second hand store, that was not far from his. I did have the star wars in fact now seen as a clearest holy grail before a lifetime of Disney palimpsests chocked that dead chicken to a bloodlessness mess, and of course , Kane and the Magnificent Ambersons and the great Minnelli ballet with Gigi and handsome rigged Pittsburgher Kelly, as took my share of ribbing and worse from previously mentioned Alberta about being a queer over a love of Loesser and Burrows and such Broadway babies and most happy fellas and guys and dolls, funny coming from a creepy wispy blond, always, kid who lightly flit from storage room to storage room with the collected clerics of perversions of rectories, and or others who are now trying to fain back a catholic dispensation, lost with jokes on South Park about the Catholic boat, and lost too when the little sisters of the poor of all people stood in Obama's way in a way that torture and Liz Chaney don't anymore. A piece of advise I gave out to the winds swirling around dear sad victim Kamilla, a brunette as first woman president,...?, in that fruited plane where more babies die in prairie than Columbia, surely you jest, go to the catholic dinner, Al Smith dinner named for the first Catholic they the Democrats defamed as there is no day set aside for Sacco and or Vanzetti, a mentioning that bothers the poetic hared don't you know...?, dear, as any chance you get to glam up and remove the pants suit Hillary wore as an iron maiden, take it. 

 

ABOVE:TONIGHT ON CBS, THE ROPE BY TITUS PLAUTUS.

I too, had a large floppy I now guess they were, of Camelot with the great roman stand in for namesake Dick of Liz and dick, when Lizzes were made of sterner stuff, and of course MASH, the Altman movie, Popeye, an equal master piece hindered by the egregious Mork, who finally died, like Bidey, as a sacrifice to gods of Shakespeare and Mozart having had sonnets and a lot of night music coming from unheard by white over fed women on the Hillary coven who knew nothing of dare I say Salieri,as we now know from letters that it was indeed self aware of his own level of DNA genius German blood oath genius, it was Wolfgang or Leopold, whatever, Leopoldtttttg!- WHO HATED SALIERI AND NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND, AS IN FACT A ROMAN TEXTBOOK AS I HAVE ALLUDED SPOKE OF BRUNO'S CONSTANCIA OF THE SUN BEING JUST ANOTHER STAR THAT THIS HAPPY MUD BALL FLOATED ABOUT, EARLIER THAN GALILEO AND EVEN COPERNICUS HIMSELF AS LIKE SALIeRI'S OPERETTA ABOUT RACIAL CATILINE, WAS NEVER FORGAVE FOR IT, AS HALLS THAT Rachel Maddow would be en-gusted by one day to be a boilerplate alchemist, Oxford would have so opined the well over Bruno that clerically and always he'd be eventually put to death as a heretic by catholic Italy, over the angers of English swine at the Ox Bridge, showing again, it has been at times a nation of Scorsese's all looking for a line of credit. Worse than Jews I can plainly say.

One was of course the true masterwork of I think, 1964, winning the golden laurel of Venice and Paris as best picture over Jules et Jim and Amacord or one of that blaoat's interchangeable warnings to the west of perpetual Satyr-icon,--I've always been a fan of the grotto- the western if it can even be called that and humiliated to such a degree as that, the masterwork, Ride The high country. A brilliant deconstruction of the form , if they even had that middle brow word then, the great Sam, Sam Peckinpah, the American Corbucci, a master despite the cheap joke at his expense by some asshole football player who made too many smokey movies and then bitched about his career, despite having never taken Larry McMurtrry's calls for terms of enrichment or any last or other picture shows that he was offered and passed on. I saw it again in these coldest dark days of a thankfully over year in which, not to be an ingrate as I tole my brother, in which I have done well, as the resume showed gain , despite any putting down over and thereof, frankly I saw it call coming. I have done well, though still, as did get some pieces of this sad tragic year of an old man and his perpetual final days coming in the Perseid meteor shower and not the wintertime as the Tuscan's called the winter swept plains and weeds,and so in this darkness, I have sen again, not only the Great race shown , but Ride the high country as a kind of vestige of an America that was before. It was a gorgeous movie, a real movie, an adult movie if I may, from that fifteen year period of about 1962 to about, more or less, the onslaught of star wars and its Kenner Toys as a replacement for actual plot.

THERE IS A MONET IN THE PLAY, STOLEN BY THE AFOREMENTIONED Larry McMurtry, as old cowboys, and yet, done with a deftness that Duval wouldn't have had given to his Augustus, with smiling almost joker like Rory Calhoun and a preferentially Jack Webbing like Marshall assistant tells him in the rough country side as they go after the later take to be Polaroid taking wife of Jimmy Rockford, I thought of the line by Mussolini who , though dismissed by the idiots of national socialism, he told them to attack that happy little island, rue Britannia, Bullwinkle, but alas like a black forest Hannibal, Doge Adolph liked murder and killing and this vengeance, more than he liked victory. The no nonsense Marshall tells Rory as they indeed are riding horses with an aplomb and a way no Duke Wayne ever did, no el dorado or Rio grand or even roosters much on this last round up, he says to the other old man I just want to leave my house justified, a moment that can , sorry Broey, cause at least me to tear up like a Rocky un vanquished which is more than Playing Jake Lamotta can get out, or will as he has disrepair, I know no boat can hold both De Nero and George will at the same time. George will seems to be again unblinking and trying to get his life jacket to c-2 canister up and going. Sellers remorse. By the way, the next time George will says he has the way to get the Democrats out of the woods, tell tinker-belle to drop dead, and sat that way, as the red light, Joy number 2 at the planetarium, merely means you and your sottovoce asides are indeed on the winds, as it were.

FOUND THE PERFECT MODEL FOR POW-GIRL. 

2. As I wished to say, I met Jimmy Carter when I was a boy and didn't have to worm my way into the Cyclops and then pretend that I was a liberal lion days and days after having thrown raw meat at the plebs by openly demonizing the first black praetor and the first Italian woman speaker, and yet was fine with a segregationist....humnnnn. I didn't have to have him sign in please, --this is the year essays about Steven Colbert as Captain Kangaroo and My name is Steven Colbert, no MY Name is Steve Colbert,-- well, I was the prefect Virgil for Polyphemus hell as its been a bad year for that cretin, starting with sneering at a princess with illness, and then ending with laughter he didn't even think was elicited by the applause meter and hit him in his smirking face. No, I was warned back then about Northwestern as a Prairiea sewer by the brothers. I LIKE Jimmy, EVEN MY STOIC IMMIGRFANT FATEHR THOUGHT HE WAS A HONORABLE MAN, no Brutus affectations, just in over his head, as opposed to the goon from Wilmington who called Mario Cuomo un- electable, for which signora Fortuna, ah that goddess a lesbian editor was shocked to think I actually believe in, takes at least scraps of flesh from hell bent for Augustus mantle, each day. Nothing says bully pulpit like a man covered in scraps and tissues and band aids, although that might be sin city. I hold dear to having met the Georgia farmer as a moment of Republicanism, in the true meaning of the word, and like Roman Bill, who keeps an 8 ½ snippet of film of his meeting boyhood hero JFK, believe me had I met corpse Bidey as I was ten, I wouldn't have been anything I'd mention past the police report, but then we didn't do much of that then, as again I was just told to keep the hell away from Northwestern, no matter what.

But what I love the most as this old coot burbles and stumbles into the wings from which this understudy should have never left , the costume alas didn't fit, the first prerequisite of acting, as all I needed to know I learned in Plautus, and as Livia the wife, she does go into the golden hour sunset—or is it an inferno on sunset ...I'm too literate for this crowd,i mean what is Catullus 64 anyway...?, what I adore the most about his last day which I watched as I saw Namath crumble while a 49er, was that Bidey, a bush on dark night, end indeed was what I always thought it would be. I alas was the Virgil or at least Joel Gray like MC, benvenute, to this farce, as said before anyone, he'd bee a half term-er if that, and the mistake indeed Barry, was keeping him around past his exportation date and not getting rid of him with a modicum of dignity of even for that matter legality. Was it that importunate to have given imperial pardons to Dick Chaney's hag, unmarried daughter, of doctor Facci, and does ditch death's commutation include any crimes committed during AIDS, DO YOU KNOW, OR EVEN CARE...?

What was-so important about this all, I am still unawares, a flurry of imperial, even Vatican like commutation come down from the segregationist in chief, as again, that stopwatch ticks for thee, Steven. You have circumnavigated yourself to being not only against Trump or even his voters, but that last envisage of importance and legitimacy, the populate vote, but then as the man with too many fake votes didn't know that his stealing of the white house meant it would easier for the Clinton's to get their revenge, ah another Jesuit student who read the Augustin history, and they didn't even bother to not clear the desk to make you know, tabulate rassa liar Walz semaphore with a modicum of importance. But, decorum doesn't go far for street-level aldermen, it never much did, as my brother predicted when political hacks of PA came to woo the monsignor who ran this little Chicago more so than any mere gunrunning pimp, it was indeed a visitation to the famila Manderinio that no Milton Shapp ever much took. And with his usual grasp of the legal and the governmental, Bidey going out the door giving dispensation to the republicans that he always was the mole and the double agent for, has been splitting effaces all his life, when Bidey said that acceptableness of pardons and commutations did not automatically mean that those people thought or were guilty, sorry, within moments, even my Jesuit pre law ears perked up, that pardon you hated once, for another Republican who all didn't have a father in the Requestor business, push the drones Rachel, dear, Nixon, so, the library of Gerald R Ford made sure all knew that as has been since that pesky Roma that Tolkien and Biden so hated, sporty, acceptance of a commutation, indeed there is a de facto, I believe the word is, allocation, like a pocket veto, of indeed a cry of mea culpa. You remember the mea culps, ladies, like Bill wearing that tie that night, and making the clowns who unlike Carson's running joke, were indeed allowed and excepted the help's entrance at the white house to always give us the imperial story. he tried to get out of town and say that this was no allocation of guilt, but it was again, nothing else. Gore Vidal's warning comes to mind, an echo through the mash like chopper blades, as the accidental predator lives out his losers creed.

But again bets part was that according to Bannon's cadre of Jesus freaks that always give me the willies, Roman lover I be, they were screaming about some slight they saw that Antifa radicals, in masks and crimunal blacks, lest anyone recognize them from the soutrhfork cotillion, as it was Poppy who started the tradition of trashing Clinton's inauguration, despite any Delta less designing women showing up, just like at Anita Hill, and Ollie, the buy guys first real pardon, they bitched and said that Trump was actually thwarted in some giant pageantry of coldness that didn't help Biden to have Bernie swaddled like a Youngman comic at the last one, and was sent to the rotunda. I don't expect much more than this from Tolkien lovers, and Jesus freaks, who wrongly speak of the Judea-Christers tenants of The Republic, but I thought and said extemporaneously, what fools these swathed in black tv show radicals make. I THOUGHT IT WAS A PERFECT REBUFFING OF the smirking Klobacher and her grade school book report of Greek “democracy”, as the next time you want to demean, depose of and dismiss the will of the people, radical chics, don't have your enemy take his Roman oath, no oaths are an anathema to the Jewish mythology of racial purity called a testament, again its all Roman, and don't have your enemy stand there and be given power more invested now, than it would have been as such a pronouncement was taken under a twelve foot marble of Minerva.

MODEL FOR DRAWING ACTUALLY SOLD OF W. 

BEFORE THE TRANSFIGURATION.

 

 

3.AFTER An advent of being stuffed by a declining level of attachment or even a liking of the Office, during the slide into worse than mediocrity that the Steallers make into a yearly perennial garden of weeds, and this year it is so bad the call in shows on KDKA out of hand are hanging up on the populi more than ever, as the mask of comedy had become a mask of tragedy black face as cork as ever, and the inflicted a a black hobbit in the shires of Tolkien coach is now angering more than ever, and when the sanctimonious are upset as I can tell him, watch out. I saw where a black head coach was gotten rid of by a fat bloated Jewish yenta of an owner of the patriots cheaters all, took the black man given the job with much fanfare, and without as much, and even a silence of the acquiescence class. Even gap toothy morning host credit to his race Strahan, with a fake record in his perpetration laughing life , who is indeed he laughing at, the troops...?, was ver klempy and showed an irritation that this usually saved for the star spangled banner or whatever patriotism that Cotton goes to meadow-lands can muster. Funny that the man behind buying TV time to say he is against hate, like the 60 minutes daring admit to 70,000 people were massacred to a sacrifice needy Yahweh but with a hook-nose and thick lips, no Jupiter here, Yahweh that eats blood, couldn't let the Son of Ham have a second draft to try to put something together more than the surveillance equipment that the previous cheater left. But in this holiday that I much enjoyed, I forwent any more Office, as saw a late night , when the relatives come, I hide in the room with an older television, and watched the great Carol Burnett, CBS would have worse days as we now hear mea culpas from the lights and wires in the box, and she was with the grand comedy star Tim Conway, as Mister Tudball, and she was the cigarette skirt and gum chewing , and I thought, wow, this stiff from when i was a kid was a boy was funnier than that sanctimonious and smarmy shit of nowadays.

There has always been something about the swells trashing interns that I found egregious even from that feebler tree called the Democrats and their perpetual crocodile tears through the smirks. I wasn't showed when Robin Williams took his own life, as what else would palacchi do...? So, I watched instead saw a channel start showing a new slate of reruns, including Peggy and Al, I forgot as a kid who much like liked Peggy Bundy, in a verse Nabokov, much more than the slut daughter, a bad girl blond, a cram cheese going to turn, and how sexy, sorry, I found harlette big red than to have been, as I never god why the husband so hated sex with her, but then, when in doubt its probably a gay joke out of Plautus, a. I started watching The king of queens, again, not much watched before in real time, I always thought he was too close to my own queer cousin Gino, a mouth breather , a chgoto as my pop called that sort, but I found it and a good cast and of course Jerry Stiller as steal-er of the show, and started watching stripped shown shows of this relic as a holiday came to its dregs.

In this show, there was most admired by me, the wife, again a pretty wife with a blowhard fat husband, as it has been since perfected by Jackie at Dumont, and he unlike boilerplate creeps apparatchik television now, he never got a Emmy. And the girl wife, who is pilloried for being fat on a few shows as saw that week, as I think was at that time really pregnant, was a good sport, a brunette able to keep up with Stiller, and even touching about it all, as instead of being like the goldenrod haired egregious and sickening Pam on that now dissipated like Christmas tinsel Office, who seems to revel if not fault the fact that in real life and in Rickey's fevered mind of what was funny and what was true, ah Plautus., there is layaway in comedy what is true, and I found her much more beguiling as I ever had, a pretty Italian girl, the Wendy are conspicuous by their absences now, and this woman, feisty and funny and sexy , the woman with the name for Dante's true and real Italianate Juliette, she was a jewel in this show, as somehow in not too long, the tethering that Hollywood had to the working class has been frey'd by a boat of Jews now trying to not recall when they were bridge and tunnel people, or at least recall that a lot of those bridges and tunnel people as said in a bought and published cartoon, lesbians alals love me for my bitchiness, a lot of the Italians sentenced to live in Flushing new York, or as the comic said, not a worst of ideas, well, it w as Robert Moses who lead that exodus and crossed if not the red sea the Hudson, as he took much of the causeway network and cemented over whole parts of love island, and then sold it in acreage to them who wanted a Capri, and this who had been just there and now were escaped to get Michelle's dry cleaning and llattas. Our crows is the special of the night, Mister Trimalchio... She is not I hear going to of all people Jimmy Carters funeral, which is alter all, a Paar for the course,, as Versche I guess didn't work a lot in Franciscan black, as queers since Borgia never much did.

So this was the year that I threw a Lilly at and to the defiled ruins of Biden, warned of the Cassius in the steps, of black rock no doubt, and somehow while he festered and festooned, and became the last senator on roles paraded around by the angry plebs, I, while you all started with such hope of George Will telling us there was no fall of Rome or BBC fatsos honing to thrash Brunelleschi and writing off the junket, somehow I managed 32 separate and distinct acceptances of my work. Hither and yon, and with a roll that petered out a bit towards the holidays, though still got a healthy amount of please resend or keep submitting, sometimes I do, sometimes not, and with two on rescinded thoughts and taken back acceptances, for meaningfully nothing more political than redone penthouse pets in Benedictines decadence in white vestal dress, although when one thinks of it, that is political to Mother Hillary and her witciepoo coven. I added to my resume such things this year as anti Steven Colbert pieces, WILL THE MYSTRY GUEST SIGN IN PLEASE...?, one about semaphoring windmill weirdo Waltz, Boris to Kammila's Natasha Fatale, and who called that...? him showing his his wife's touched up x rays like a Youngman joke, now like zod in the phantom zone where the sanctimonious send their losers, why indeed old man Joe is a vicious old soul, and wont let his death fingers off the imprimatur lest he fall to putrid bits, THE LAST WALTZ, an only piece of the unmaking of the president I took down, or never even posted. And too, Ancient Romance, on the previous fest of Janus, the Etruscan myths that made the Apache give me a certificate of black haired brotherhood, and heavy metal sketches and cartoons, a pen and ink Penthouse pet called over sexed now as Joe Califano is hectored by the overfed, chicken delight lesbians who don't recall who or who didn't vote for Goldwater, Even a Capt Magnus, leaving MR S., the only thing of mine, never published. Fully.

3.AFTER An advent of being stuffed by a declining level of attachment or even a liking of the Office, during the slide into worse than mediocrity that the Steallers make into a yearly perennial garden of weeds, and this year it is so bad the call in shows on KDKA out of hand are hanging up on the populi more than ever, as the mask of comedy had become a mask of tragedy black face as cork as ever, and the inflicted a a black hobbit in the shires of Tolkien coach is now angering more than ever, and when the sanctimonious are upset as I can tell him, watch out. I saw where a black head coach was gotten rid of by a fat bloated Jewish yenta of an owner of the patriots cheaters all, took the black man given the job with much fanfare, and without as much, and even a silence of the acquiescence class. Even gap toothy morning host credit to his race Strahan, with a fake record in his perpetration laughing life , who is indeed he laughing at, the troops...?, was ver klempy and showed an irritation that this usually saved for the star spangled banner or whatever patriotism that Cotton goes to meadow-lands can muster. Funny that the man behind buying TV time to say he is against hate, like the 60 minutes daring admit to 70,000 people were massacred to a sacrifice needy Yahweh but with a hook-nose and thick lips, no Jupiter here, Yahweh that eats blood, couldn't let the Son of Ham have a second draft to try to put something together more than the surveillance equipment that the previous cheater left. But in this holiday that I much enjoyed, I forwent any more Office, as saw a late night , when the relatives come, I hide in the room with an older television, and watched the great Carol Burnett, CBS would have worse days as we now hear mea culpas from the lights and wires in the box, and she was with the grand comedy star Tim Conway, as Mister Tudball, and she was the cigarette skirt and gum chewing , and I thought, wow, this stiff from when i was a kid was a boy was funnier than that sanctimonious and smarmy shit of nowadays.

There has always been something about the swells trashing interns that I found egregious even from that feebler tree called the Democrats and their perpetual crocodile tears through the smirks. I wasn't showed when Robin Williams took his own life, as what else would palacchi do...? So, I watched instead saw a channel start showing a new slate of reruns, including Peggy and Al, I forgot as a kid who much like liked Peggy Bundy, in a verse Nabokov, much more than the slut daughter, a bad girl blond, a cram cheese going to turn, and how sexy, sorry, I found harlette big red than to have been, as I never god why the husband so hated sex with her, but then, when in doubt its probably a gay joke out of Plautus, a. I started watching The king of queens, again, not much watched before in real time, I always thought he was too close to my own queer cousin Gino, a mouth breather , a chgoto as my pop called that sort, but I found it and a good cast and of course Jerry Stiller as steal-er of the show, and started watching stripped shown shows of this relic as a holiday came to its dregs.

FIRST COMIC STRIP PUBLISHED BY ME, WHEN IT WAS IN THIRTY YEARS, RATMAN. 

ABOVE: MACHIAVELLI IN LOVE. ALSO CALLED HEAD OVER HEELS. 

 

 

 

In this show, there was most admired by me, the wife, again a pretty wife with a blowhard fat husband, as it has been since perfected by Jackie at Dumont, and he unlike boilerplate creeps apparatchik television now, he never got a Emmy. And the girl wife, who is pilloried for being fat on a few shows as saw that week, as I think was at that time really pregnant, was a good sport, a brunette able to keep up with Stiller, and even touching about it all, as instead of being like the goldenrod haired egregious and sickening Pam on that now dissipated like Christmas tinsel Office, who seems to revel if not fault the fact that in real life and in Rickey's fevered mind of what was funny and what was true, ah Plautus., there is layaway in comedy what is true, and I found her much more beguiling as I ever had, a pretty Italian girl, the Wendy are conspicuous by their absences now, and this woman, feisty and funny and sexy , the woman with the name for Dante's true and real Italianate Juliette, she was a jewel in this show, as somehow in not too long, the tethering that Hollywood had to the working class has been frey'd by a boat of Jews now trying to not recall when they were bridge and tunnel people, or at least recall that a lot of those bridges and tunnel people as said in a bought and published cartoon, lesbians alals love me for my bitchiness, a lot of the Italians sentenced to live in Flushing new York, or as the comic said, not a worst of ideas, well, it w as Robert Moses who lead that exodus and crossed if not the red sea the Hudson, as he took much of the causeway network and cemented over whole parts of love island, and then sold it in acreage to them who wanted a Capri, and this who had been just there and now were escaped to get Michelle's dry cleaning and llattas. Our crows is the special of the night, Mister Trimalchio... She is not I hear going to of all people Jimmy Carters funeral, which is alter all, a Paar for the course,, as Versche I guess didn't work a lot in Franciscan black, as queers since Borgia never much did.

So this was the year that I threw a Lilly at and to the defiled ruins of Biden, warned of the Cassius in the steps, of black rock no doubt, and somehow while he festered and festooned, and became the last senator on roles paraded around by the angry plebs, I, while you all started with such hope of George Will telling us there was no fall of Rome or BBC fatsos honing to thrash Brunelleschi and writing off the junket, somehow I managed 32 separate and distinct acceptances of my work. Hither and yon, and with a roll that petered out a bit towards the holidays, though still got a healthy amount of please resend or keep submitting, sometimes I do, sometimes not, and with two on rescinded thoughts and taken back acceptances, for meaningfully nothing more political than redone penthouse pets in Benedictines decadence in white vestal dress, although when one thinks of it, that is political to Mother Hillary and her witciepoo coven. I added to my resume such things this year as anti Steven Colbert pieces, WILL THE MYSTRY GUEST SIGN IN PLEASE...?, one about semaphoring windmill weirdo Waltz, Boris to Kammila's Natasha Fatale, and who called that...? him showing his his wife's touched up x rays like a Youngman joke, now like zod in the phantom zone where the sanctimonious send their losers, why indeed old man Joe is a vicious old soul, and wont let his death fingers off the imprimatur lest he fall to putrid bits, THE LAST WALTZ, an only piece of the unmaking of the president I took down, or never even posted. And too, Ancient Romance, on the previous fest of Janus, the Etruscan myths that made the Apache give me a certificate of black haired brotherhood, and heavy metal sketches and cartoons, a pen and ink Penthouse pet called over sexed now as Joe Califano is hectored by the overfed, chicken delight lesbians who don't recall who or who didn't vote for Goldwater, Even a Capt Magnus, leaving MR S., the only thing of mine, never published. Fully.