THE RITES OF BACKUS. 

3 APRIL 2026. 

I WOULD HAVE liked to have gone to a Maundy Thursday celebration that my brother was invited to by a more insisted than him as a mere pentene with her door knocking for de Lawd. But it as they were when I w as a kid and submerging the holiday foot washing of Hercules of Jew s Christ with a malicious mean little fat kid dislike of the ole Magilla brought to Rutillian shorelines, it as to be held a nearby synod but at night and could as those thrown at saint Pete’s last until twelve or wherever the celebrating of Christ’s trial and arrests. They were not that much different from what late barbarians would do to Sacco and Vanzetti was remarked. I denied though would be taken there by a brother hopeful of me getting at least out as I have since more élan sometimes before, but still didn’t want to go into the warmish goodnights of a sects communal Passover dinner anyway, though the girls at the door he assures me were quite lovely. 

Again, I found that while “July is the most imperial month” is non-publishable, but impressive, and comparing it to Calvino makes it worst, still, I have gotten the drawing of Wendy AS THE QUEEN OF ITALAY ROMA, THE DOE PRINCESS, TAKE THAT UNCLE WALT, ACCEPTED JUST TODAY. I know that every graffiti on every wall isn't just a vandalism, its a warning, and a prophesy. I recall when Hillary and Biden, when not Hecate's soldiers, at the others throats, said that people had to learn to code, lest they be cannon fodder at their perpetual wars. Well, all I know is that we went from Bill Clinton's life of Marius to Arthur C. Clark's sentient autopen, hey maybe that was what the code was for all along, open the pod by doors HAL, as I knew when heard that name that encapsulates both the most hated people in the res publica now, democrats and J3ws, who knew tariffs would have meant so much to Saint Mario...?, so knew when heard the name of Goldberg, that men with Ovid's desperateness at dawn, in places named for noble savages and not the Etruscan mere America, that chicken hawks would soon enough rail and wince at the priest who spoke of no laws of return, and who brought up WMD's a good Arab is a dead Arab, where's Judy Miller...?

A truly awful queen of the imperial wolves or at least over priced dogs of the empire is habituating by a tethered at his imperial post as actable swerve to the black woman running for office in Texas, specially hen internal polls proved she is unable to win even a fixed contest. Ah the fruits of the poisoned orchard that is GV’S Uniparty warned of on Carson eons ago, when I received as a 15 yr old’s birthday present, Creation, his brick sized masterwork. And the men in my family have never so much as said their gifts were presents at all, when they showed up at my birthdates in Leonid meteor skies or the fandangos of street wise saturnalia, My pop bought me things like how to draw the Marvel way and Tennessee’s Small craft winning, disposed then, but now seen as a masterpiece of poetics, as ole Merrily we roll along, hated so, for as he thought there were enough illiterate wops doing mafia bingo on the television that he had little use for. No one thought or spoke a second word when Jasmine was un-voted for as the grains of the democrats now, sadly and ironically, smiling monsignor Colbert spits back at and from hell’s heart at thee for having taken his Merverian CBS windows, at which to be seen preying to echh gods of compromise, if only on as Letterman assured them those office girls that like interns, agilely busty and brunette, why hardly woman at all to the Oleannnas of the woman studies hags, my mom warned me such, no one will ever believe in them unless of course, Pastrami’s Bill is unhinged and bitchy enough to show up with and in a yellow sash of a tie. Tourniquets abound. And the ex praetor hopes that first lady lies down, on Broadway. 

The senator in waiting, a queer as they made them now and not like those who adored me at the stolen from Italy catacombs of a rubble made Italy by the gross northern barbarians always invading somewhere, didn’t have the guts to merely say he is against God, but must replace him with a Salo, Sallow, Swallowing Godliness, and speaks with a exit stage left, don’t have the guts to be an antichrist like Gore, and whose cum soaked misbegotten run offended hands are haling the vicars aphasias in more ways than he and he speaks of Gods Junk. Ye empyrean balls, the penis covered in the images of that tortured God that the Roman had a zodiacal eloquence against of when started brining praetorian Jews at and towards himself on roads to cities already pagan, like Easter, its from Ishtar not Ester, or for that matter the table of the rites of Maundy Thursday as I could have said. But is a fennels gardens godly acceptance by the survivors of aids and doctor Fauci in previous dynode for death he has committed before that lovers of his on A BIGGER CHECK and Viacom- CBS and late nights unscathed don’t care to recall as they err doing spit takes, if not worse. back when. Ach, but this is the mark of a more robust God, a Roman God, as it were, the god of balls and the godhead of Penile, the Priapus of walls left in ashy protein ironically from the barbarian hands of Invaders who never having a gold age of their own always dragnet your own. Ah too close to Ovid, god is without sexuality, an anthemia to the sky god of Aryanism, and no one ever thought Jesus was that well hung anyway. A clown on a television station devoted to liberalism at least until it can as they are now quadruple booking to be the armamentarium of democracy, As they always are, says of both Trump and Christ, that both hung out with their share of malignancy, prostitutes. I could hear Tallahassee barely legal rep I wanna be a Chaney harrumph amid his polish princess proving once GE is involved there is no room for reparation that doesn’t come with a measure of blood with the pound of flesh, as the Abe Shylocks have learned their draft now well. And the queer thinks of the only reason to have a god, at last in hated by the Bushmen ways of Romanism, a god is only there to show what a slung he after all doth holds and his is packing well. And the lamb lies down at Avenue of the Americas. 

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

I have taken about a year to figure out that when I am asked to “resubmit” that it isn't the compliment that I might have thought, and the invite to resubmit in 30 days crap is ignored by me now as much as ever. But sending a piece called MY ITALIAN SUPERMAN WILL SHOW HIS ROMAN MIGHT was sent into some chill-subs outlet shown at the cascade of posts at one site, and it was quickly uptrend down, I am not shocked, but over length requirements. But, using word count again it was barely 2000 words as was this last piece done for #MARCH26, I went to their submit able post, always a dead giveaway, and the submission remonstrates actuated any work from 5000 to 10,000 WORDS. So, having seen likable and admired by me, vestal Lindsay Ellis triumphal return to You Tube, I saw that she seems like many to sound as though a true praetorian censor, nothing says decent like having voted for a married fish wife of a rapist, who voted on Goldwater, and yet, she wore the radical Keffeyah, until its wool in the desert devotion for the co ed, started to make the well fed, blue eyes, toy surrounded, Novice forever to shvitz. She bemoaned that the constant Good “I wont do” Housekeeping seal of approval on Disney plus sewage was gone, a warning that started for the Godfather on NBC, they hate that reminder, blaming a Trump, when in fact a lot of that work was fleetingly done when Mama LeFarge was throwing lamps at her praetor husbands head. Its a bad third act, Marcus, when your you are that willing to be seen hurling your Livia into oncoming traffic, Gus. And with that, and with a back up which the word pressers and low level Newerkers hate, I sent in the architecturally 10,000 worded ME AND THE RADICAL SHIEK, AS THE VERY WORD SHEIK SEMEMD TO BOTHER HER, SOMETIME ITS BEST TO PART THAN NOT, AS A CENSOR WHO CAN NOW think of waste management clown wop as a bigger sign of evil than she can now think of dropped long ago Big Pharma...

Of course I have my own Disney story mentioned before, what haven’t I…?, in which, having been told I had to at AIP by a pretty blond teacher to send out seven packets to the outlets then that actually cone did take uncloaked artwork from some, before this country ossified into its own Pompeii, in perpetual winter, which has to be the most lauded piece I ever written and never got published as I have a category of that all my onw, and in which I said to some fat girl dyspepsia that in fact knowing the gymnasiums of thought that Old Roman Bill had too prove himself in and at with the bretheren that Biden was indeed scared, even feeble,  and would be tossed in a burlap bag and packed in the river Tiber Just rages outside of Chappaqua, to be cared out to the Sholes of the wide middle sea. And spite some displeasure at this, in fact within a year and half he indeed was as I have forewarned, as people and women have told my sister I have those two pigs in a poke pegged all along. I did sensed to Disney the sketches that I had made for lesser known mute to them Basille fairy tales, as hipper than thou and still pretty despite her best efforts Lindsay speaks of a Grimm’s as the bible of such stories. Well not necessarily to me. And this year, with Robert Dinero as an ethincally correct Ghepetto who couldn’t, as Plautus said, play the part, as he was never called in for any Anglican gladiator between good wives either, has lost 1.7 billion in the last few years, showing literally the scnaimonius pay only lip service when the BO is unlocked on the bancune. You isn’t getting shit like this from don’t gives a shit Lindsay.  I nether sold stone soup, or and believe it or not a Italic-ied Hercules, and a ncie woman there nasically said though intriguing, as she admitted a ennui at the magic slave ship. neither would befit the ice palace where Nazi rocket men went to live out their lives. 

And the ending of holy week comes with the vile parties realigns without knowledge of Gore’s warning of long ago, and how even cnn and other private eyes of network Chayefsky thinking prove as much as the plebs again hate the idea of a kind as Augustus knew, of a king, as the rallies now a season in find their angels like onnnnn broooooaddddway, where the neon lights sign bright or until the bill is past due, when his own praetorians had to die over having rendered it as a title until him, as even uncle Julius knew a crown was the last thing the plebs, starched by Willie the shoemaker Shakespeare, what the name means in olden Sicilian, by the by, who were the first people to hold a general strike and thus demeaned forever by those Anglicans who are fascists by birthright. Charles prince of the Romans now, Where they asked?, when Arthur was at most a mere generalissimo of the swords of Tuscan prairie logic. And like previously mentions Ovid, trashed as Romans like Egyptians are at this time of year when the born again and the Jews they eventually mired are recalling God as intervening war god in the sky, child killer with Michelangelo physique. He, with crows of death more than the Woody woodpeckers of the Marshall landscapes of beaten down once and unmentioned by the Tolkien lovers Italy as we are all assured now that HBO wouldn’t be willing recover to buy up the collated histories of the little faes and such, if he was an out and out Germanic Raymond Massey more than a leprechaun like Sterling voiced Pooh. He may have hated the Romans, Italians Nicene 2 Catholics and Turks, but who doesn’t…? 

And as the vomitorium, as Rodger Ebert did call Hollywood towards his end, as he saw that that smirking reaper on CBS indeed was no Paladin he, like Ovid said, in an empire devoted to war, he said, In toto mundi, he didn’t ask for declaring Love sonnets amid the grimy sexualities of priests of war, that as he knew at first hand knowledge there of, there was no place to eventually turn. I do feel badly that Trump wanting to be a pace maker was hated enough by the war tower and relented to holiest war, the magpies screeching all along and a senate half there fears taking an auntie Israel vote in its mausoleum with Roman delusions. I recall saying to an early distress then, that to me Christerism was Virgil being read aloud by Mister Magoo. On Easter evening, instead of the sludge of Jesu made acceptable by the collected trash and drag queens of decline and fall, everyone is a prodigal son, especially democrats running for office, I forewent the usual blood myth of that crucifix for instead a better mythology, and we watched True Grit, which my sisters didn’t hate as much as a you’d think. As women have told her to me, the girlie armed fagots of decimation leave woman wanting, hopeful of a Marshall Dillon or even a smiling Maverick somewhere amid the Covens of war.