I EAT HEAVY METAL.

 

12 FEBRUARY 2026.  

So, a FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON TO THE WAY TO THE REVOLUTION WHICH WAS SOMEHOW GOTTEN TO BY ONE ASSHOLE ON CBS WHO CALLED America evil one night, over the fact that his sister wasn't wed into the cloak room by the always disheartening wop Pelosi, and too Reahcel ass Sybil ine, did guide the bloated pig of A Bigger Check to the parades, as a way he thought wed all forget and forgivable his often flicking his needy tongue at woman's asses without even the slightest of their own knowledge which, yon Raquel didn't get a sense of the a fathom of the styigain waters that flow below his pissing too close to whatever praetorium that allows him in or near.

After they had done their yeoman's work as so we didn't recall Reich Marshall Walz, and his frankly we are not communists level of a love of graft, and when that Paul Sands of American politics Frey was suddenly taken down and out over use of the Scorsese edicts about how they are willing to imprison and not, the apples as my father said, and how the overfed White lesbians willing to overlook a derth of black boys at the riots this time, they said they wanted more federal monies and on act, those who skin color dooms them to not being elites anyways to clean up their lefts behind messes. But, in what the Freeman call irony, the mother ship of the peacock network, out of the blue, or maybe not, when one can guess what the Latino shrewish Sheriff deems to be doing to be a one man wrack an investigation, although, maybe the sons of conquistadors are never as smart or corrupt or tragic or funny as the Romans ever were, ask Bill. Well, this just in, Jenna or J Fred or captain video, wherever you are, the mother of a National Biscuit Company Snow White found the cactus flowers fairy tale go more Baile than Grimm's, but not by much.

And, even Curia television magpies had to wonder why it was that all seedless political sustaining stations, tape of ducks and spit and all twine as the dreadful Colbert said with Caitlin Collins once, --not for nothing but I heard that Cattily Cathy ocne had TWO ACTUAL EYEBROWS, but alas lazared the top one off,... ogh, sorry last Hanna Barbara cartoon Steven, but that's a joke your coma inducing eye, thank Mad for that, reveled in-for sicne the sixties back to the Paladin you never was, and why is sometime who made fun of a princess with cancer still on television doing bad Mort Saul...? Now, they went gavel to gavel, or is it Romans ball peen hammer, Judge..?, they had gone wall to wall with the story, which didn't shock me, as I was reading either Boccaccio or Paddy Chayefsky since I was ten. What do you wanna do, Marty....?

But I'm not the Jesuit student at dotage, a third act, whom, against my better judgment is toehold into the corner of a weedy barbarian school of Athens, with fingers going in all directions but up, as Hillary, the dame stragea Putana she is, is lardy with private polls as a Sibylline text. Knows, she do, its time ye true masters of America are tired of the con game as she and hubby are defeated to being stranded at the senate subcomitte on peta-philia, as so goes the Grotesque of barbaric filth and middlebrow shamelessness. Oh, its only Middle aged wastland.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXWNSb4nUDY

Thinking that I had indeed done what their hearts desired at some chill subs outlet, one would think they wouldn't be that threadbare and sanctimonious, but,... and sent in the title of the issue and such, as was told I must, even placed it in the dread ed Times new Roman pica, I had decied after all recalling the age whne all of our submissions were indeed in typewrote courtier new anyways. I had thought against even asking what it was this time that they without the Etruscan warmth had wanted and quickly exerted the email out. My blither had bought me a, as an earlier than Marti Gras gift of sorts. It was a Mad compilation he had found at some store, where indeed the older woman and younger ones who had gravitated towards him as they thank fully do not to me, speak of tiredness about hearing about war with Persia when all the rabble wanted was for WALZ TO INDEED GO TO JAIL. HE BOUGHT ME A MAD ON SHINY PAPER, WHICH I NEVER QUITE GOT THE JOKE OF THAT, AS WAS A CHEAP CARTOONIST USING NEWSPRINT MYSELF, THAT CAME FFROM A UNION BROTHER OF MY POP , which is alas now that Jon Stewart and other Jewish columnists have indeed battering rammed the doors to Oz down and no longer find themselves as Paley had, restricted out of a more gentlemanly 21.s. The Mad was an old cover I recalled where a Alfred E was , like Lucy and Viv making a roadside sign, and indeed as I flipped through it saw old satirical articles usual idiots, that were in fact were older when I was a boy and saw this Primer on the black arts of advertising, all first.

I saw the later, less newsprint, less cheap revisions of the magazine here, as opposed to collected and reprinted cartoons as they had been geniuses at reselling the same Baggage twice as ma would say of some, as it was about advertising, whicah they had always put down until, alas and alack, they sold time. Much like Jon Stewart to the Koch brothers desalinizing and shewing why he was no union activist, knish eater, Ben Shaw, Shel drawing in a new Yorker anymore, and when did he ever take his life into his own hands by using the subway...?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KCSvLl9Z17M

The roads are full of rivulets of pre Ashes to sashes Wednesday. A sun of apostolic and even a straining Aplu warmth attempts to break the deep frieze of the last month or so, as no matter what considerations are cashed by New York Jews and their BLACK, SOMETIMES THERE SOMETIMES NOT, SOMETIMES FIRED FROM THE WAR TOWER, consortia and buttonhole men, that you find that they cant quite put the stops on an economy that once was all that George Will ever seemed to care about. So, the more glossy reciprocating of old articles was if anything here almost so reverent it could play a church. In the magazine were old collected cartoons which had a artistically satirical bent that I adored once, but alas we've all become , or at least they have, a troop of F'ers who its funny, seemed all too shapeless in recalling with their spit vitriol when in fact like the hosue wop Dinero was indeed being rakes over the coals over whatever he had said that so bothered the great Queen dido and its husbanding Michelle, as the cleverness of Sicilians and house wops was shown by a sneering priest Dante, who said of the bags of shit that all Sicilians are, they would openly help the gross magician barbarians, my father was not amused but not surprised, as Johnny Bull and American Shylock, Zio Sam, would indeed show them in that unhappy little island. That in fact, after baldie Mussolini showed that he had gambled wrong on leaving the Italic cocktails for Palmolive and Perelli, that cone fascism was vanquished by Walter Cronkite soon enough to buy aughts at Marther's vineyard with the proceeds, that in fact The Agnelli Family would be gifted with whole scads of Italian farm land in the land of the now winter Olympics, and indeed and in fact, three times as many people would end ip in the penitentiaries of the Christian democrats of the avaricious than had been there under a Facsia that still hangs over Bride of Cuckies assembly of queens head. In the magazine, I would see the later un Mort Drucker who is a kind of Virgil in pieces published by me, by others. Called the American Decameron, of Madmen. I saw the less than afoul dodging of whoever this was, in color something even dc has never seen fit to do to Morts brilliant pen and ink work, as opposed to colorized She wore a yellow ribbon, and My darling clementine by John Ford, who was allowed to be hated by lunkhead Tarentino since they are certain something went out to tell the marching dykes they are to haye him anyway. I skipped along in it, and thought not even reading it, the no longer twelve year old me was not amused by it, as I thought of my own version of it theta predated thet HBO monstrosity, and how in a piece called Pin Ups 1962, a sleaze bag of the Larry Tate variety, a Clinton type that i've always liked more than apple polishing prissy Obama, its amassing what has become tragedy porn lately, and how!, AND I thought of an earlier version of Wendy Fiore beguiling me than, still looked for in old Penthouses, the girls that I HAD INTO THE COMIC STRIP I OFTEN MADE of scripts, as opposed to some fatter busty monster with Titian hair, and how in my attempt at it, the brunettes and the Italians were indeed this time not mere victims, if seen at all, in the Comedia dell arte and the stables of Norman Lear. And despite the usual whining of good wholesome Comics of then and now, the larger ad man company it was based on was not a mere slight of hand macgians curiosity shoppe, at all, but was based on the house of Dellafemina, who like a viperous Machiavelli shadowed an artsy in all things Bugias. There is a craft to the art of the lie, that no on gets by them, us, we, italics, as is seen now as Dellafemina took the mere shysters gambits of George Norman Rockwell and the Excedrin head ache and turned it into frescoes worthy of the walls of youths and the too stories Chaucer so adored, and could only get to a 27 TH or so, as it was after all the house of Della Famina that offered my sister a job right out of art school, which she declined, as back when she was certain sich things were beneath a woman who didn't want to sell out. Of course now selling out is the only politics that exist anymore.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jerry_Della_Femina

When some two bit unheard of comic book outlet dint understand the “story” behind a Roman Superman, I said I was just ho Thinking that I had indeed ping to do something, like my earlier version of Madmen where the brunettes and the Italians weren't just the allowed stereotypes and victims of the Jewish Wet-dreams that television was, as my pop warned me. When we came back home after a long cold spell I took a first opportunity to go to a dollar store and buy, what else...? , newsprint, to supplicate the thick 24X36” pages from occasional Strathmore pads of thirty pages that I cut into halves. It was hard walking out in these mounds of dirty snow, that were quickly dripping into puddles, and where I believe I heard Mamdami's career is headed as he somehow got more people dead over a snow fall than usually die in Carribidis islands allowing the always fronting Clinton's to come on down and play Lets make a deal with the survivors.

But. as I shuffled along like a Tim Conway sketch, with a bag like a pendulum in my hands, past me walked a tall pretty woman, a Jack Rickard cartoon come to fie, and not wearing a coat, even though it was not that warmed yet, though the lunar new year accelerate when Chinese and a insult when Roman is at hand. As she she hurried on the pillared porch, as one would see often in John Ford and again in whatever miasma of television that Tarantino makes. Tall, slender, but robust as ma would say, circles of brown reddish chestnut is the word I think, hair flouncing in the weak winter sunshine, sunlight. A curvy ass in jeans and a white lacy top, she barrels past, and I may have said something, acknowledging her march. She came into a past door, as I stopped on the already cracked pavements. She said a healthier Laurel and Hearty hellow to my this day slower then I brother. Did you say hello to the girl, …?, he asked me. I may have, I said, She sort of barreled past me. I didn't, he said, Hear your usual Grunt. Oh, I said, Why dont you dig yourself, pops, I said to get his goat. Oh, he said, Don't tell me you're watching that Modern Amos and Andy shit again, he said. Its just...I started, Its juts that two channels have been doing marathons at night about Lamont, I said, recalling before all become folded in on itself, no Mad incursions here, which I thought would nad must happen when garbage like Jon Stewart was out there making fat jokes over a fellow Chosen girl, as I , I said, Never took the sdi eof anymore over any one of the sisters of Venis, Verna Lisi. Here, kiddo, he said, and handed me the Mad he had bought and had in the car, I saw it and bought it for you, thinks are fickcing hard enough with these scumbags. It was he, I say here, who first calld Bloated Walz Reich chancellor Gobbles. After we walked in and I got back in he noticed and told me that the children's hour, the peanut gallery, the Captain Tvideo video rangers all want now more money to clean up Minneapolis. I'm sure, he said with a keen dislike of all those sorts, They wont release any transcripts or crime reprts,pr yellow sheets on their latest house wop who gave up his life for the Koch brothers not to have to pay that living wage that has gone away. Remember Big Phrama kid...? , he said, and shook his head, as a wop agitator who went got hislef Killed for slave labor as they sometimes do, the overfed white sisterhood and the sysops will think that some suckers with too much Melinian in their skin will have to clean up after the riots on parades of the American pee wees. He is a good Jesuit student, netter than I was as I am a pussy at heart, and he dispsies Obama and Colbert with Magndraola like smarts, where as deep down I couldn't care less, but understand his salty invective, as did the monsignor. Finally he thinks Clinton is getting what he always devised.

Who was that girl...? , I asked him as put on my house clothing. He looked out the black out shade we've placed up on the door and its my favorite Martian style of door windows. That is the girl from the parking lot, he said, Back when the completer fell apart. She appeared larger, bigger, I said, in the swaddling covers of her winged victory of tweed and widener coat. He had told me not to wave back to her, but he' s spoken to her on and off a few times, lately in the snows where again Madman Mamdami has been found by the saint Bernard's of a dingily open shiva media., Perhaps, I thought, ha[[ens that she wasn't waving at me, which had never bothered me much at alas I don't fall in love, or perturbed to, as well as my brother might. He did hear her crying the other day in the snows and the cold, and barked past the paper shades, What the fuck is going on out there..., he shouted in the gray dawning, as she was again openly crying close to the door.

But then, I said, that this country when caught in the Watership down , but with arts and a senate on its keel. I said it would and some world pay for every fat joke they made, and that signora Fortuna would recall as I do , every wince that George Will made whim it seemed that his every moment spent with Bill Clinton as Praetor so awas a tryely felt insult to the brain, wheras with radio windbag Limbaugh it appeared so, at least to me to be a Chaplinesque pantomime. I await the Colbert's and the wop piggy Kimmel to have their brains bashed in against the local statues of Pompey, or whatever the American equivalent is, perjaps a sign with golden arches of an abounded K mart. So, now, Vinnie, we return you from the trial of a sissy boychick who bought a gun like somehow all the barge queens do now, Demons in America, welcome to the spartan hinterlands, we feed the dogs and the horses before the woman, Rome was alas a matriarchy, as a glove was found, organically enough F Lee, has been found on the eroded trails out of Tacoma Arizona. We don't need to fight , to probe were right, we dont need to be forgiven...

http://antoniusradiocomix.blogspot.com/2026/02/me-and-radical-sheikh.html

After he was quite impressed by me again as were the priest who told me to avoid Northwestern with all my heart, if not other parts. It was you, he said, Who told everyone that the wrong person would be killed , the wrong people would be targeted by the wolves in chepa clothing, and it is now day 12 or so of a Today show weather girl emeritus story that blew the Rachel Maddow naggers and genetic Klan meetings, off the imperial stage. If that Today show woman cant protect her own mother from the creeps of wetback resilience, after so many raped as young ladies Italian women were massacred by new York trash in purple sashes, well, that would explain why it is that the polls gave shifted wildly and Trump is triumphant in ways that again fat bloated Jimmy's never do see coming. And now the fails become for those who thought the Satyricon will have lasted forever. But Bill Clinton has found out that subpoena does come from the Latin, real Latin, for Hammer, so how about that. No matter HOW SANCTIMONIOUS U GET, I WAS FIRST TO CALL the Satyricon a MASTERPIECE OF WORLD LITERATURE, and as mother was sure, that brunette that needy grasping Hillary supplanted will get her due. But, we have found out as the misfitted Sherriff of Nottingham probes the Sicilians may have been right about the hooligans of Fascism back to Caesar, that our Basile hags at the Rat squad Disney awoke to find that they have s lost a whopping Cleopatra like 200 million all in all on Snow White. The one where they thought CGI was a perfect way to make the monsters inborn as midgets. Providing perhaps the kind and well wishing gal at the Rat kingdom who took time to say shed love to see a stone soup of mine made by , you know, some one else, still, Disney wasn't the magical place to bring up any Brunette princess.

I was warned against Northwestern in the cold cold winds of the DC implosion.