11 November 2023



I certainly didn't mean to hijack the last death scenes of Camille of the one time busboy clown of 

politics, Jon boy, as in the words of the greatest buddy in television history, Jerry Bowman as played

by the great Bernie Kopell, you know who does something like that,...HITLER. 

But still, When do even running on fumes clowns at midnight realize that when your hero , 

the corpse dance about and spit at people for , when they have fallen to 29 percent in the newest 

polls and the curia are losing 11 states in the tossup category, that in fact, you may be throwing good

 malice after bad. Hey, don't bitch at me, girls, Im not the aging Roman prince and his deceitful wife, 

who are sending out aging praetorian cretins to tell anyone ho voted against my health are bill to 

resign before you know, THINGS get uglier. I from the beginning always bristled at the idea of 

clowns and pantomime bullshit artists and goons with old trampolines usurping political speech 

as a overstated act to shtick, as it bothered the little Roman loving boy in me, who got admiration

from the likes of Ogle tree and Scalia , though they always put me off. Still I foresaw with Old sweet 

Roman Bill at the shady Groves in magic realism still Calvino and not Gigi's that those crows would 

gather soon enough before the third Saturnalia , and here we are. In the words of my beloved 

American Virgil, Gore Vidal, who once said Bill Clinton as opposed to Joe Biden is tactically an 

honest man, wow, that's a hit. Just so I get this straight, a colored woman , Talib was censured, 

the U or V is a dead giveaway, that it is more officious than the mere O they save for us, incited the 

senate, or whatever this mausoleum of barbarians and chosen in laws calls itself, for saying 

something its marionette bribed givers don't like, but a man who cummed all over Lincoln's desk 

wasn't....? Wow, what a Roman senate you have in this crematorium, everyone, how far we've come 

from Catiline. 

But then, I said merely voting for some pervert, family annihilating, segregationist, which is who 

is playing Cleopatra in drag, by the way, while this woman is being drug through the vaunted senate

 Ala Tarquiniia, that would alas be your high water mark, and it would only get worse, like Virgil's

road to hell, eventually your perpetual laughter while people suffer sounds like vomit smells, 

and I know what I am talking about, since I am alas a Cowboys fan. I can say the four sweetest words

 in any non bar-bar language, I told you so. I never liked the idea of a man with too many Praetorian 

clowns, and didn't want to be lectured about policy by stations that gave us Hogans heroes and 

Green acres. 

The best part of this for crow minded me, our Satyrciocn is ending just as I had thought it would,

 with resentments. Niccolo's Mothers milk of politics, like when confronted by the dead centurions, 

Biden’s mind  was elsewhere when The Prince, eagerly devoured by Sweet old Bill, was touched 

upon, like with Moby Dick, something that he was sure could just get in the way. 

71 percent of the plebs, I feel your pain was a brilliant part of political theater dropped by his letters

, and after all I was one of the first to be giants Satanic Harry Potter, though no born again anything

 am I, what and avoid my mothers having named for her beloved Roman hero…Oh, shit,

I wouldn't even be conformed, Birchers. But, as i was going to watch Law and Order, not the one 

not with the pretty starlet daughter, or Jewish Lincoln, but with Vincent, “If I knew you were coming

I would have baked a ham” Donofrio, I saw a station that was often humiliated and demeaned and 

called out for Trump like treason, but on this thing with a talking haircut called Dan Ball, anecdote

 Jewish creatine from a rag named Newsweek no less, News-view without anyone there driving a 

Ford Galaxy, was on here. And I thought, good god, I, admirer but never having voted for Trump,

would tell that hebe to pound dead sea salt before I'd let that Shylock on…so, we are in calculus, at

 71 percent hating you, meaning that 29 Percent ect are willing to carry this bucket of water,

water if you're lucky. So, I am again referred as a Roman radical, eating radishes, we are the mods 

after all and how did that go, again,... oh yes, Wahn I think back on that crap i learned in pre law,

 it's a wonder that I can think at all, and though my lack of education hasn't hurt me none, I can 

smell the Roman piss on the wall, I got a Nikon camera, I love to take a photograph, Mama don't take

 my Kodachrome away…see Lindsay dear, always my best over that Hobbit video, as am back to Paul

 Simon and Chic songs on you tube, that is how it is Romantically done. 


01 November 2023



29 SEPTEMBER 2023.

During the summer, I truly did get my vendetta over the last year and its triumphal march of D student, duncest and shop class garbage, the kinds the nuns called the sons of ditch diggers and plumbers, that was facilitated by a crew of granger that had somehow made black face work for them, and who thought Biden was a messiah that wouldn't somehow end up at thirty percent and who's falling fast.

During this summer, not only as usual did I get the commensurate amount of pretty brunettes I drew published here and there, some with the imprinters of colleges and Einsteins universities, if I am correct, that the rabbi told my father he was sure kept the chosen out and to get me enrolled over all else, to which my father already if not disappointing in my shtick, saddened by my love of the clowns ethics, said, HES RIGHT THERE, Monsignor, he said to always prick at the Jewish man whose Italian gummadi wife, I take it made him a two bagger, YOU, he added with gusto, YOU tell my boy to do something he doesn't feel like, and see what he tells you back. But, despite it all, I had a strenuous Italian familial devotion, no uncle Shylock would ever dare point at me in his money chaining way and make me a buffalo soldier, as I said I have heard the trumpets of war sadly then perpetually sing and shine off the Plinian Tyber long ago.

So if I , on purpose, would desperate him and even Ma as I often did to my more Romantic brothers dismay, though I was never as bad as many, if not ,most, a jeusitical out I always took like an accountant all Jesuits are, I was devoted to old Vincent and his love of the Romans that this goon, no Clinton he, who is loving out his Eco side of the myth of book 3, would say or have said didn't exists as the foisted upon them Negros had to get the that are patricians at the Ponderosa and the good over fed whitey women had to find someone to be their lower class citizens as Scorsese and Coppola had allied with Jews and white in laws to make the Race of Beatrice, the Sicilian school, and the Roman republic,and so said as much when I said every time the Irish try to get this uppity, no dogs or them should have been a medieval sign on the whitey house door. It usually does end up with the trashy throwing punches at the drunkards, as everything you say about the Sicilians is alas truer about those people , the Sardinia of the north sea, where to be fair, there was was a famine added to their over sung litanies, even though,much like Sicily, it is an island and thus surrounded by fish, showing again, that even white supremacy has its limits.

So, during these too many or mot enough, smiles of a summer night, saddened and tired of the propaganda machine they have been made to be, even though their trickle down bribes are alas clotted at the top and more in the hands of those at the armimentarium to wrethan those pretending to be a the NEWARK-ER, AND BOY DID A CARTOON REJECTION FROM SOME RAG HATE THAT, somehow as I have become used to getting cartoons in of pretty Beatrice I have legend-ed from old sixties playboys, the kind as I said that Jethro would fall head over heels for tying that Lil Abner cartoon made real on CBS, what wasn't then, only Roman senator for life caught in his face, Tacitus caught in the minstrel show, well, not a minstrel show, but more of a, no wait that's right, minstrel show, as Alvy Moore did shtick as it was meant to be since Plautus laughed and not taking sides, Eddie Albert in Green ACRES is the only one show from throe halcyon days, that does-st make me as Dante did amazingly to William F Buckeyes, make him sick. Poor heralds of the twentieth century he and his frenemy Gore didn't live to see the chicken wire among the Roman ruins, moire than they've ever seemed, and that old Nick segregationist leering at the under-aged at the pick up joint he has often made out of the local 31 flavors. Wow, he really is garbage, Hillary, and so, my mom was right, as she warned me, before any old lady died of his ambitions, if you let your husbands biggest enemy in power as a FF you to the playboy after dark, aqua Velva reeking, human one man orgy named Bill, you'd find out, as she warned with Italic brilliance, the fake and the con and the arranged marriage of convene is the one where all things can be adjudicated, and the romanticizes of mere fights and strum and drang of married life become too easily a course in contact law.

With this background that I have espoused before, somehow these summer days, I have gotten accepted and sent back to me Published cartoons I have done, called eagerly and with admiration “Cartoon art” in the tables of contents, cartoon has never been a put down to me I assured one of my buddies in art school, as it has been to some, as it only means in the original Italian, that a drawing has been done in ink on a sheet of paper, rarer than than now, but still cheap enough to be the fuel to a Renaissance, like the sad and buffoonery of the Romans, fat over fed white chicks now hating Joe Campbell as much as I did as a kid, --it was an anti Josephs Campbell screenshot that made me actually watch in the myriad of swamp water that is sent through the pipes of You Tube, the first of many Maggie May essays, but all, as I could have told you, the latest round of Brunettes aren't the cutie pie smart asses that they used to be, but then I have felt that way since looked about and saw no Lynda Crater or even as I said, Lisa Segrums or Jo Anne Phluge or any of the cute brunettes that were sued on that truly toxic show about Hillbillies at the mansions that plays now like the television poison that it was. And with they saw that the Edy Williams I saw in an old Playboy image on the internet as have used those pretty women here amid the fat bloated bad skinned cows who alleys unlike raped Italian woman left in freedom land darkness as victims before and then after, the sixties girl with short black hair and Della Street skirt and white blouse, impressing one of the editorship there to call her just that, that girl in the white blouse and the long skirt, and thus more sexual than anyone but Patty who was in that aging rag playboy after 1985, and it as accepted.

She is the cover girl of a play I wrote, didn't I write one I think, ...i don't know as a newer computer and vulnerable files from a schc card can't be bolstered by anything I may have posted at Ello.com, as it seems gone, and not juts to me, I paradoxically look up no less, where a CBS executive in the mist of a writers room lock out, hummmmmmn, has to put something on, and so instead of the dealings shows and game shows that cyclops land Jewish doges and hostages would eventually do, he sadly but with a Roman devotion unhallowed on television probably since Vito Scotti, he puts on a performance of The Rope by Titus Plautus, with her , his executive secretary , Polly, as the kind of dancing girls that see above Senator Cornelius always adored enough to trudge to the unfashionable parts of Rome to see. Like old Roman Bill, eventually the more Italianate among the counter jumpers, as opposed to their wives, cant quite stand the either the stink of toilet water, or the babbling effects of talking women at the salons, and do have to go back to where the pretty girls, as my brother said of Calabria to which he wished to return haunt and are. So, I got that one ion the resume, despite thinking like much, it would never be accelerate to this cesspool that somehow the Clinton's more than not, have wrought.



But with that drawing, too, the same place did accept a rarely written fiction piece of mine, that I was sure like Tony-land, a collection of drawings to gives the lie to the leftists and the radicals who have somehow newfangled to keep a stolen superman out of the public domain where he deserves to fly, would never be in a file cabinet I called "Published". Somehow, as the charms of Biden fall into a disrepute and the entire country turns green not from a Ansonia like garden, or Volcanic rick being the reason Italy is so Fertile, but from the fake gold pyrite Jersey that Biden has been selling out of the trunk of hos bloated vainglorious Crown Vic all his misremember, bag man for the DuPont family life. Even the clowns are quiet, a sad ending for the baby boomers no...? And along with other pieces this year, they have alas for a thousandth time in his-tray the water carrying praetorian have had enough of this old coot and his spreading of spittle, phloem and dried dandruff at the C students that Sweet ole Bill never much liked, knowing this was the lowermost level of rats who ever shuck their way into a Preatorium in a long, long time. With her came the story that was far too pulp, thus far too real, for the sanctimonious secretariats of empire, as I was on a Petronius kick then, and I was sure and certain to make a Satyricon of my own. And this tale was the story of an aging Italianate ex school teacher, a germ of a story Id Robert Mc Guinness up with ruination and recollections of the jet age my own self, who had decided into being the kind of man that Hillary and her coven mates hate when not is use by them, a gigolo. The chapter about the bought and paid for escorted with some beehives matronly old bag, the kind played by Eleanor Audly, no thinking back, Kitty Carlyle as seen on a free station nightly re showing of To Tell the Truth when i was a kid, was as Orson said, far too dignified and far too lady like to be the Patricia Neal in my if not Breakfast, at least Brunch at Woolworth, and the male Go-lightly I had crafted more out of recalled notes kept my mind mind instituted at 1980 as much as Cato's theoretical war chariot of Caesar's struck in the ruts and the juts of 1981 and my own sixteenth birthday, as say the whole of the lagged economy seems now, a Worst housing market in 43 year is another bulletin that make the silence of the anchormen almost deafening as Biden's own lackluster attempt at spreading commercial over the hinterlands done back in 1995, mostly due to the fact that so in pocket of Merck as this old man, he couldn't in good couscous vote for any legislation being supporter and crafted by an old first lade, as opposed to segregationist, he could support. The fact that this of all things was accepted, along with bits and pieces in which television is like Mad did when i was a boy, I really must get away from thinking of myself as a boy, and not in some perverted away of those at Disney at those magical Costello did hide a myriad of abuses but cant be called Groomers as say Jesuit were, ;lambasted with the line of a smirking queer on CBS saying My name is Steven Colbert...

I was shocked to see that this of all pieces was accepted, it goes to show I guess, and that my adherence and my love of thesis giants of mid-century literature , Tuuuuuman Gore, Norman even, the age of Dick Cavett to sue a line from that radio windbag Rush Limbaugh who scared senators a might too much along the ways if you asked me, and now are awash with Negroes wielders and drag queens, over a man who again, whose name will languish on crime bills vetoed by Richard Nixon, sorry Rachel , take your Pepto, and the linen scrolls of the Hyde Amendment , as when again I was a boy in that age of Janet Cooke, which my father had to ask, probably a Roman fascist bigot, Why was this even looked into so much, why weren't her sources sacred, he asked as if answering a question to me about who and what was what in a land that would decked into making a Queen out of Anita hills inquisitor and had worse to say about her than he did Oliver North, but then I stopped watching even reruns of DESIGNING'S WOMEN ONCE THE BEGUILING AND PLAYBOY QUALITY DELTA IS FIRED FOR BEING FLESHIER THAN JEWS EVER LIKED WOMAN NOT BLOND. And, when did that rag of the Washington Pest ever vigilante things whispered about presidents as much as some junkie, they care so much, said of Presidents as much as this, but then he was still an old man smarting over Nixon, too smart a man for this cesspool as he early on thought Carter was a decent man just complainant, but was glad to see him cut the line over Teddy, who sturdily and drunkenness as topping the polls had Nixon just been aloud to finish his term, but then a myriad of a sea of trouble follows whatever goon that CBS and the other archetypes and wool-gatherers decided to steal an election, yet again. See cause if you HEARD defund the Popo... 



Well, a few nights of wild-ING under a segregationist, you sleep with Mother when your wife throws you out as ma said , but half of her sonnets never made much sense to me , but I would repeat them often to nuns administration and the brethren ultimate dismay, and I guess like much it makes sense of one don't get too close, a gist that the Italians have used to save themselves from the penny dreadful imperialism of Globe theaters ghosts and haunters , who have as I have said, before been little more than Roman drag since and until Orson put Brutus in a navy Pea-coat, a disquieting insult if ever there was one. Th fact that my nameless, stole that from Manzoni, gigolo is on Rome on the Independence day that have which correlates with some ancient Roman day, 6 June, of all days, sees a pretty girl in a trattorea and with the battleaxe he is using starts to become intrigued by this girl was delightful to me, and it meant that maybe I wasn't the only one who was repelled and put off by the snide reaction to, of all people, Wendy Fore, My Sybil, the Galatia of pin ups being so openly demeaned and disliked by those cretins I saw in the scant few days I went to high school at all, again, all errands lead back to those days, who made sure that pretty Italianate girls, and even some tabloids Blonds, where always Murray Slaughtered and made fun of , but sissy goons who we know now, and how are lately told to my brother were fagg*ts all along...well, who couldn't have figured that out...? Watch what I say... for segregationists who voted against AIDS Funding and people who threw out death threats and did black face,...and pretend the Sopranos meant nothing...? 


The fact that this tale was published despite the caterwauling of those decent enough to have voted for a dyke wife of a committed rapist bloat, who now, sadly, shows the Romans meant nothing to him ever , as he allowed a stranger enemy of his, and not even with the fig leaf of being smarter but just more corrupt than he, and how, yowee!, to be in a paramecium that no dead James bond lookalike anchorman Peter Jennings said at George W's inauguration a going over by the Praetorian sanitation was in order, was actually a gift of sorts to me. I managed again the smart ass kid I always was, am, and my love of pulp fictions, and turgid paperback covers by Robert Mcguinnis and John Meese did have a moment in this piping time of Kleenex and old man stink. Amid the Johnny Depps and the Cuomo boys and sanctimony that has the smell of decay to it, I felt vindicated. It was sad too that It would have taken me this long to get the scribbles of police chiefs and gigolos and Newwarker talk of the town parodies like National Lampoon, again, when I was glad, to get to see the laughter of days. This means the only piece that I haven't gotten published in a hell bent for leather, never called murder you see by the Jimmie Choo loving shoe fanatic fatsos, is MY SUPER-GIRLS ALL LOOK LIKE GIRL IN THE HAYSTACK, in which I am not ever sure if in still if its my dismay at a house everything cooning it up as war criminal Caesar, as I have packed a codicil to the piece, in which I have optioned that a negro Caesar hoo ddde doing as a third word Vini Vidi Vici, has been repealed by some screeching white bro man speaking of shillings and pushing the various Italian Sola Brusca card games ten of cups black jacks, and don't forget to play our eternal slots. Aren't we all. Joko la carde, as ma said. End racism, the gladiatorial class homilies us, but we've found a cog, mister irrelevant, who can take dictation and you're off to Dallas. There is, alas, worse.

So, I hold out hope for that, as I am never sure if the worst name mentioned in it isn't Paolo Milano, or Joe Califano, but is indeed the recollection that is alluded to of the great last Brunette of Hollywood, gorgeous movie pin up doll, Wendi's are now unlike Sophia relegated to Free Ones and porno sites where masterbators bitch about she isn't demeaned enough, f off old man Scorsese, as I place this all as post Delta post scripts we've all come to learn about as the CIA Indeed just as Frank Church and his commission did warn when I was a boy, see America as an corrupted land , but then hast what Imperator literally means and I didn't sell my soul for a healthy satchel of GE stocks. As Ukraine monies, for arms that send up and always get into Isis hands, are they still a thing like the John Birchers that Biden used to tap dance for...?, he said he will send his minions into Europa land, as terrorists showing again , my brother notices I was right all along, and this whole thing was about a Chechnya WITH FAR TOO MANY blonds TO HAVE AN ARAFAT. I FELT BADLY DESPITE MY TRIUMPH OF VIDALIAN PROSE, this t shirted clown thinks the Romans of then or now, who there are laws against marrying his precious Baltic Cyrillic hags to a catholic, that somehow in my life as a boy till now we , or I , therefrom the noble virtues poems of Beekeeping Virgil, the smarmy, snide satires of street-level Juvenal, the sweet and delicate poetics of comeuppance of Ovid, Bills favorite and who makes sure that the mention of Augustus and his Jewish minion Marcus is never too far way from his receipting of Jovian rapes, we have gone from that to this old coots old man stink, and to the sad liens of Cassius Dio telling us all that all smells like piss and rust all for a lamb of God that like Hercules but worse, barbarians could extol and pray unto, as they keep making Conan comic books. 


Over the summer I got my brunettes hither and yon, as all seemed to change from last year and its truly diabolical sense of Trimalchio dinners thrown through the strike breaking and the Delta dawns, as I asked openly, some dimwit who thinks politics can make you Sanctified and that eventually if you laughs and smirk hard enough and somehow amazingly do the bidding of a segregationist, they wont recall when you ere doing pigeon englesss as ma would say, and then hurling death threats at any Asian coeds who dared ask where that sort of impunity came from....didn't you see who they w re now lauding , dear...easy Roman Bill, if that applies anymore,. My brother thought it never did, take some strega, principally, a aperitif, witch this time at least will ease you Tummy, or at least that's what ma said way back when. She made me as a boy a drink of egg cream but with liqueur in it for a bad stomach, or with coffee, depending on which as needed by the Italians somehow l;left to their own devices thanks to the barbarians who knew, were servants of a falser, or blonder, or blinder God all along. The priests just loved my returning Roman law to Plautus, or at least Gun-smoke, and looks the part of white trash hooligan, that it was done with the transmutable sacristan of winter woods in this Hillary Halloween, lesbian Saturnalia, that wont end. Me,the Germans sung of Hercules once, tell that to the bloated fat masturbatory suicide who created Conan and then found when you live by a paper sword you die of a real one, any hated Italian could have told you, Texas Burroughs. Not me, if I make a sacrifice to a Roman God, it will be to one, rapist or not, like a democratic president, it will be to one who can sere where he is going. As ,a boy, I cant get away from it, I once bought a copy of the elder Edda, what passes for Germanic literature that frankly wasn't written by a noble savage needful senator who never came to the august hall in beach wear our god knows dressed like a hoodlum. I took the book and burned it in a tin my seamstress mother paled her confined of buttons in, just to sow my heart was in the right place. 



We went to get my physical at a new doctor, as all my doctors as George Burns once said, if not dead, they have retied from the COVID fruited plane. I looked for a Jewish MD, even a Woman ,as long as Jewish would be fine, Ill go to doctor Ciccerelli when I need a gunshot kept off the books, as I am that willing to throw dice, but settled on a subcontinental Indian, hail fellow well met who eventually warmed up to me and I made laugh though my still again being sixteens and fearful somehow that I have too much hair on my face, as I guess the vestal mustache women in dropped commercials do have an effect that cant quite seem to get a huge chunk of people to see Trump no less, as a Pompeian victim of a family annihilator who got too big for his baggy pantaloons as bumbles his way though I am the very model of a modern Major General, as that name Heliogalablaus just has him, always perpetually sixteen too, stumped.

I decided for some unknown, internal, instinctual reason to forgo the chammo I , like Bill Clinton, was hunting Bunnies, sorry rabbits, he was quite the facilitator acne once he got the instrumentals of whatever poll served as his soul. Sorry Bill, but alas, the lesbian girls and family members were right all along, and thou hasn't conquered Alba Longa, as I'm sure when wife's bloated obviating hags and sluts and Bryn Marh alumna see Virgil as propaganda, despite Turn-us and Camilla, speaking of noble savagery, it must be getting him hot under his perpetual ring around the collar ,collar if were are lucky. I decided for the first time since a sideways art school trade school adventure that went nowhere in many ways, but would get me some attaboys from various Disney cubical I'd have to resort to, with Stone Soup, I would wore Italianate Jeans, stolen as much from Italy as again glorious once vaunted senate now instigated and invaded by a gross norther barbarian thug who thinks the hoodie ameliorates his being a closeted Harvard grad who took his shot gun and waved it around fearing that coon got too close to his not so hidden escapade. My brother said we must stop for gas as Biden's gift to the republic, high gas prices that comes like sun follows rain when again the dogcarts Democrats destroy a president and afield of the man of the people that that old cvnt hag is always somehow against, voting for Goldwater no less than be caught with the coloreds and the poor and the plebs that might have wanted a great society when all she was looking for was a better caliber of gigolo all along. We drove for the first time to a white station, we came up to these highlands I never much liked or not, I didn't care, as a part of me wishes much to return to Italay, and like Augustus in Lonesome Dove, I seem to be turning my brother towards that outcome all along. AS MAD SAID, WHEN I WAS A KID, THIS COUNTRY IS OUT OF ORDER, although back then, it was apparent what anyone who was against Busing was trying to say, all along. Sorry Norman, whose golden doors are packed back on free television after the sanctimony of wokedness, but Biden always was a bad third act, juts like Marcus said, and now this far out, a man who might not even know who and what and how many praetorian are planning his ends, less Livy or Pharsalia's Lucian Julius, but more like Camus Caligula, I'm still king, I can hear this old coot screech out as the dog shits all over the place like Tennessee at the end, goes back to the perpetual Campinas of 2020, and warns us all about the fact that Trump is a warning and a danger to the vaunted republic. He did,w hen i was a kid, did the same things as he waned us about the dangers of Busing and Race mixing. Look that up Rachel, dear, maybe not the stragea, maybe just some nice ginger ale...

After filling a subscription we drove towards home, he thought my request for eflornithine was a bit more vanity than medical, past the myriad of blue and white and upside down American flags showing a distress out here that Colbert will never feel unless say, like with Letterman, the gals of the closet ala Plautus fall out onto the dining room floor, in his case dead or alive, who knows, my brother was sure we had to do something else. I hadn't eaten yet and it was two, and just had a bad feeling as sometimes do, though I am more auger than weatherman, and have never been a fit subject for gummit work. I have to, HE SAID, go to the Sunoco and get some gas, before this as wipe has gas at five dollars a gallon, which means nothing if one say has a Tesla, bought , or stolen or bribed to drive, be the best sort of people that get on TV now, as he is after all a Jethro, and not a Puch, and how has to lay it on thick lest we recall his own death threats given out to mere co eds who dared asked , when he was hurling red meat and strange Lon Chaney faces at the CBS panaflex cameras, that told me, pre- Trump, this goon was not ever to be trusted with the Roman art of satire, despite once he hanging compared himself to Juvenal, didn't they all, and now is in that long chorus line of CBS malapropism dimwits with too much power, like Bishop Sheen, Tommy Smothers, King Arthur, he is literally a face in the crowd, but is more like lights and wires in a proverbial box. I too, he said, spinning the car around with a friends with hoodlums esprit I always missed from Dora's DNA, I Have to play Multitudes, [or whatever it is called] he said, Cause its another Billion tonight. Why someone as sharp as he still plays the numbers like a Roman dice player, I have never understood.

We drove up the straight unbroken flat road of the highlands to which we have gone in our shining red car. I suggested a blue or navy car, and not red , as red, I learned, is stopped by the popo, once beloved by Biden when he want to all those funerals for cops, always tap dacning on the skirts , and how, of the Democratic party he thought a bleeding heart, like Cuomo was a detriment to that winning he had to do at least once to make being a family annihilator be worth something more than the bribes his son, targeted by Hillary long before, already spent. We drove past the Sunoco station often used when i was a lad and my mom drove me about until, and I ma still unsure, something happened which made the old lady stay serenity in the old brick yellow house winch is of a type ethically mentioned by HL Mencken in his travels of the snide man in the hell with the lid taken off Allegheny county. My brother tells me it was the death of my grandmother that made her less willing and able to partake of the golden door of the city on a hill, which Biden still will steal that soon enough. As he is, after all, a xerox machine through and through, which explains his ballots, but I am not so sure. It was again full, as his secret internal instinct was right, and in fact, every island and pump was full with the toy cars that shone like plastic in the lasted summers light, about to , like the res public, fail. We went to a station of a franchise never sued by us, ever I don't think, called BP, where a white Stonehenge like pillar showed a strange sunflower in a satire of Van Gogh, or some kind of starburst of yellow and poison green, and I thought there would have been a signage like in south park, reading We Care. It was pretty empty good enough for a hit of lottery and filling up the tank before yet again, as she said and his smiling papergirls that price would come down for the fall, the exact opposite, showing the Gore Vidallian calculus is always right, they boomeranged up. I sighed. As we came up the asphalt incline to the irritating un fung shaq white on white pumps, with the sprigs of green and the word British and petroleum hid in man in the gray flannel suit know how, we came head to head with a Grey , wifely car, a more minivan sort of car, but then to me , still stuck in the age of the News-view writers beloved red Galaxy, these utilitarian cages are all soulless and look alike. In the car as we drove up, I saw a sissy of a man from central casting, half inside half outside the rover, with coat of many colors hoodie, cartoon sunglasses on a string around his neck, oh Jeeezzzuzzz, my brother said, more beloved by the queer priests than even I was, What is this, he said, the road company of Rent. I laughed, as its now, like Hamilton a hated musicale that shows what happens again when the trash think the mansion is now there's and I shot a Leopard in my pajama last night...

Seeming to beg or cajole the not unattractive rather pert and slightly chubby blond woman in the car, draining this goon around, she said something this cretin dint like, and then this doppelganger of Steven Colbert halls off and clocks her in the face, amazingly. Wow, I said as my brother said, Whoa, as usually before this age of dying Biden, the abuser call's could at least be excepted to keep their mitts in tjheir pockets when out with the others, if only to make it all the more sweeter when they could go home and beat up their wives and girlfriends in the closeted, AND I mean closeted dark. I was upset by this, and then, why Prince Charming hit her again casing her again pretty face, but round and the kind Jews often called fat once on the prowl as they were, to hit the closed window. Lets get out of here,i said, but my brother murmured something about 280 million or some such plebeian enticing number, but I didnt want to be close here. Than I noticed as my brother got out of the car, and he saunter to the white door of the white palace, this goon at the other pump, this Biden Voter, once again, the chipping ruin of a bumper sticker told the tale, he was smoking , actually smoking at a gas pump, so now i was really ver shvitzed, as he, lunatic absusing goon, flicked the blunt and zig zag out towards the not that busy street, as this Constantine Colbert found in the ash bin of his boyhood has brought a gloom with him that no body in that party but sweet old Bill can understand. I thought, I don't have a girlfriend even that cute, I'm sure he like i've seen openly ogles woman with her, lest she or he even sees whast right in front of their eyes. She was very well presented, while he was a left over yippee from the Sandpiper, and I felt inconsolably bad seated there,and not just because of the weed cigarette that was this close to even the muddy watered down sludge gas sold here, that my brother hates.

The poor man's Ryan Reynolds, and they all look like him now, a star for no describable reason, except that's the what the Jews and white chicks who are our circus owners, who run a sweatshop lock outed Hollywood think queers look, no Victor Matures, hell , no Night mare alleys here, galumphed, I am still in the thrall of my own television city Jabberwonkey,.. whose girl on the ABC bowling ball this summer got accepted, to the gas station door with a pocket full of drams and a clutching hand of boychcik money he managed to take from the pretty, but chunky, girl. Unwilling to be a lion tamer as my father warned me, I have no inkling to be one of the Palestinians dancing with brunettes like Macy's parade ads about how decent you all are, so I can only imagine who he uses a kind of black ops formula to have sucked this girl in and now bet her for a ten spot to bundle to the low rent gas station and get , which eh thought this morning was discount gas. I watched the woman in the car, she was mortified, as he strangely for his ilk, strode his way to the doors, under a sign that said as much that you are under surveillance in this Goober's station such as it is,as I can recall my mother getting green stamps and plates and such at the Esso stations when i was a kid. He swung open the door, out of which, quickly my brother came out , barreling ahead, and said, I could see a thank you principally to the openly abusive cretin. Lets get out of here, h said, Fucking machine is down, I'm not buying this JED Clampett crude, he said. Yes, lets, I said, as saw something amazing to me, juts then. Looking up at us from the clutched wheel was this abused woman, and then, my brother, again not that most Victor Mature of Italians, but adored by the local broads since i was a kid, he caught her eye, and and winked at her. This caused her to actually smile, and I could see the rose red mark of this cretins first against her paler than out certainly cheek. I said I wanted to go and give her my phone number, who is this guy, the question that such as he always hears in their cortex, no matter how loud they yell, as I would not mind her as a girlfriend, and would love to see this cretin lose her as drunkard's due, as Biden must be beginning diatribes at the birdied wall and screaming like a Apache, begging Puntura, not to be strewn by fate. Don't, my Brother said, Put yourself into things like this, ...These mutherfuckers are all murderers now, never play cards with a man named doc…he said, as his voice tailed off, and I knew the sharpy's, Palatine hillside, credo. I wish you would have said there is a creep out here beating up on a woman, I said. I Did better than that, Mother fucker didn't see the sign...I told the Indian in there, Munchie, he said, I said, that asshole in flip flops is smoking by the gas pumps. As we drove away, I could hear sirens, as has been a backdrop now in the decline, and wondered again if he had a truer knowledge of what matters especially now in this age of Pyrite. Alas Cassius Dio is for us all now.

02 October 2023



30 JUNE 2023.


In a book I read as a kid, about CBS, The power and the glory I think, by childhood hero like CC Beck, Gay Talese, I read the tale that said to me what television really was all abolition, conformation my fathers idea that it was little more than a electronic puppeteer alley, Fred Allen was indeed dead, but had yet to take that wholly to my boyish harted. Still convinced I was that I would BE A Paddy Chayefsky IN A MEDIUM, IF NOT A MESSAGE, IF NOT A VAST WASTELAND, that didn't want one of those anymore, Miss Rodgers.

I read that when he was gored, Tommy Smothers, still with boffo results, as the lingo goes and with higher revenues and ratings than even old stone fellow faced Ed SUUUULIIIIIVANNNNN, despite that, he was brought into the Black Rock haunt of the seducer of Happiest, and tweed Brazer-res we never forget the Suetonius of our youth fulled readings, Sister, and brought into this Boss of Bosses era wood paneling Ann Marie epoch office, with the hustle and bustle of the Persky Denoff magic kingdom of New Amsterdam outside, the Johnny lookalike, already distressed there by bloated Mad Magazines Network programmer of the year, I think there really was such an article done by more an more admired Rickard by me by the day, bloat swollen bloodstained sheets covered Jewish marcher CBS maven asked Tommy where the recipts were at. Johnny Tommy, shaker -satirist Smothered bothered was shocked by this and truly, despite being the brains of the operation as opposed to Dick, moms favorite, was lost at this. Did he think, always JEWISH TO A FAULT THAT MAYBE Tommy HAND HIS HAND IN Polyphemus' till of virgins and gold, useless to the cyclops, by life blood to Mister Payload, …? Tommy was lost, and asked what he meant, to which the then even aging, not too long after to while cancerous have an assault on his own private Sicily by senators including an always smiling, weather reincorporating man with hair plugs and teeth caps always ready for his closeup despite his bumbling over what he had just said, who were upset at the way the Mausoleum of Cronkite, no lisps here, had treated the great and powerful oz hislef, Reagan. What receipts Tommy asked, …? The ones the obviating Oblivious Jew screened out loud, That I should have gotten for all the free Time that the Democrats and liberals got on the then still number one Tiffany at Lunch that was still the haunt of Lucy, Gun smoke and of course, the good sheriff less tan less a face in the crowd as by then started phoneying it in, soon to be recalled by the lackluster moron from F troop, with Goober talking his star turn. Where he damned in full barker, unallwoed into the 21 club, the jokes on you its resurrected charms, Where is my money for all the free time that you and that messuggina Ver Shivized brother of yours with the folk music and the bad Rowan and Martin Act gave away to the fucking Democrats....? This was, of course, a specious argument, but not by much, as I think on some level the cigars store owner who had made one Columbia bullettiner part of the imperial golden boughs, named for his dear Mother, remember as Burgess said as the Penguin, a show passed on by the good and wholesome Comapnay man in all ways, as was Batman too, blond Jeanies bother him so, Barbara so young so fleshy, so voluptuous, bleeech, dey all got Mudders, boys...Therefore one can only guess what he, mister Pally would think of a goon from, cable, a swamp within a wasteland, taking over monotony television, but with knee jerk politics, with his malignant creed and his LCD lights of vainglorious alas hamming up, like a Maserati for a sixty year old, interrelated conflicts, what heed say from hell's heart, there was stories of rape and molesting various Mary Anne, a name itself now a slur amid the Bush help Whop-pie will associate with for food, over a goon who was now a pulling guard for a dying old coot rhino in cheap clothing who was once boffo himself when he allowed Oliver North to be in dress grays, and according to a mistimed repeat of Johnny make a deal to be interrogated never under oath, no more than four days, into a camera his people actually positioned to make him look like Tom Sawyer amid the Jews, and on and on and on...



Somehow as opposed to last year, I have done today with the acceptation of a letter sent more than the Johnny Depp reportage what was affixed to it, as certain distemper has come over the #Metoo -ers and the causally screeching women as he , like Ralph Kramden, CBS is our Delphi, placing out rumors he states about becoming traffic inspector, I have gotten an entire page of the divining resume complied before 1 July, something never done before. So take that cvnts, having to pretend they did or didn't vote for a segregationist before or until Hillary herself indeed plays out her Sunset Blvd creed, and mad like Norma glares and gesticulates to all those undesirables out in the darrrrrrrk, as I took as the loe point of your Biden misadventure for me, to eb c lled a Nazi Sympathizer, they brought back simp and collusion too, just like Hemingway, when who would byt the most dense think I Roman Antony, yes named for him, a mothers beloved Roman hero, who was indeed as I said as a boy the end of the republic. Here and there, was Octavian merely a Hen Pecked blow hard, perfectly played by the Blessed whose name his is, would ever care about these martinet Nazis played for laughs, though not the worst or last time. As showing again, like with the clanging nature of Jews and white trash Christers in conman cause, kill em all and let Yahway bury the babies, that when they were about to send Roald Dahl to the pulpers, well, you know on second thought, what is Antisemitism anwyays, after all since never liked by me ugly—like with Kirby, ugliness when not done with Jack Davis aplomb is disliked by more WALLY WOOD GORGEOUS WOMEN AND SPACE SHIPS LOVED BOYISH I,--childhood tragedies of candy makers with Handrians soul and giant peaches rancid with maggots and insects made with the voices of busty Italian WOMEN NEVER MUCH HEARD FROM NOW, AND WHOSE MILKY SKIN AND RED HAIR NEVER TO THE HOLLYWOOD CROWD meant she could not , as they said even then, Play Italian. We make a shitload of money at this Antarctica of classicism and English studies, I was told ten years ago, to ever even dane to publish anything so Romantic or anti thereof, to speak of yet another crew of coloreds the Etruscan, who were all civilized before even the noble savages of Germanium that roman senators and I, despite my fathers assurances that that writers father in law was in our Family palms, always got a bit ver shvitzed at.

But, I have today achieved with that acceptation of the bio and the cover letter and not A MIDSUMMER”s NIGHTS FAIRY CROSSING, acceptance in another LA THEMED MAGAZINE, which makes sesne, as earlire that night, I had a dream recalled in late night pissing shards of interrupting a dreams-cape, waiting for a bus, 1994 is indeed recalled much now, at the ruins of what is America and a handsome Cherokee type PI HERO, either Jimmy Rockford or his lookalike , and this really should have been made as it was billboard once, Max Bear Junior as the affable, well-favored. black haired big boy of Venture ways and Slossen cut offs. And a whole page was indeed done, quicker than ever was, showing again, AS I had sort of figured through, that no one was devoted to this cretin as in fact was he himself, as when you slip and fall that many times I start to wonder how many times a censors conscious doth makes lame ducks of them all, and I have to ask, what part of this perpetual disaster named Biden knows in his thereats, as Cicero would say, has anyone tread Sallust anymore, that he is an interloper and don't belong here and will, despite the white knuckles he has to show that impersonator, some inner instinct for survival that all killers have, what else is the point, like one of the child killers that Curia Television and its Sicilian fascist whom I cant stand, shows that some child killer from central casting head butts or some such think his attorney , and we take you friom that unhatched court proceedings to a cop who is being prostituted for cowardice in MACON COUNTY, big talk in the age of Biden and his Parker brothers law degree to be waved around for one deferment after the next, naming names and getting others in trouble, ...



In the last few days, amazingly, I have a page in which drawn cartoons and art, at which I've been on a tear of making, is equal to the additions of essays taken and published, which in this censoriousness age for the father of the Iran contra hearings is amusing to me, ...But then, again I had a feeling that any wave Biden thought was his was indeed the drawing and a stamp sold in boyhood era Mad in which Don martin shows a puddle of yellow piss in a voting booth, or a praetorium that now smells of puss and poly-dent and passed dick hole stones, as new Roma becomes indeed Urine-town, and the reason its a golden age is everything is yellow after all. But bird of a lethargy are eaten together in our Trimalchio nightmare, and the prissy sissy who god help him he loves war so, hed kiss the next corspe whow as spayed before him like a Patton, just alike a spartan, The one with a Peacock on his back, and that lesser tower inst what it sued to be eiather, as is aid when they started it all, red states and blue states that it would demand and dissolute American poliytics to a gerrymandered song of alderman's, and here we are,but what did I know, at 15. More than they would have liked I did. So, in late spring, in the days of the Alice Kramden of Parnassus, only Greek God with a thing for Roman dick and her backlog, back benched, ready for his close up son, Aeneas, Juno, or whatever the queers of Athens called her, in these less than august, less than pretty, less than even magazine days, as the great white north as it immolated not like when earth hating Trump was King, but then those were more and more salad days and no nobody went to jail for calling for his assassination as comedy, and why inst that by the way...?... maybe Jeb knows, or the Shadow, ..the vitreous queen who folios the trails of smoke and soot from one war after another in our as Father Goer called IT garrison state, NO ROME, THAT MAKES SENSE WHEN CHICKEN HAWKS SENT OTHER MEN SONS HITHER AND YON and no lesbian in pants suit dare cry for anyone but the killers to be put to death, as we forget about those early eighties child killers, that as an age before the crime bills came fast and furious, and he explains the dust up in Russia. It deals with Sicily.

A wayward Sargent, a mercenary, somewhere all our Romans are laughing, does a mercenary salute, or does he always need more Salt...?, was to be raining to Third Rome, Moscow, and take his chance at History, and take on Putin who was after all our man in the Urals but like so much about Clinton that has been alas forgotten with his own folded with honors stars and bars he once waved high and pride, but then in Pride days, as who recalls Dont ask don't tell, much less a goon who was voting against AIDS Funding when Commissioner Macmillan and Liberace were dying like something out of the margins of Dante. ITS A MAFIA POWER STRUGGLE we are assured by this Lenny Kowalwki lookalike, Richard Engle, its something beneath him, and since the Sopranos is always at hand, its nothing having to do with anything I have ever mentioned before, it certainly inst anything historical, its a blood comedy if he pulls it off, the Legion that couldn't shoot straight, to be played by Anti Trumpeter Di Nero in the film, though he looks nothing like him, but then hes been willing to play southern Dixiecrat's, the eulogies therefore are fine by Needle park drive by he, who whipped slaves, so, anything for a paycheck, and let me get my Phone card. One of the gals who openly and distinctly likes my work, who may have seen of me at Cream scene Carnaval page or even graffitti at Mother Jones ads, hanging on as it might, that she detests, tells me, having seen this, keep up your Roman ancients, Anthony, as again am alerted I maybe giving them more depth than they deserve. As not anywhere near Roman, the dressed to kill red army affected baldie , clad in lather warhorse, traveling at the speed of Vespasian towards Putin, but with gasoline and not just roots and turnips to eat, alas, he backed off, no ridding into the waves of history today, Sergei, or Sergius as the case may be. We will have no blood spilled in this Red June, not this Saturn's day, we have turned the caravan about and there inst enough lead in this water to get us past checkpoint Charlie much less Stalingrad or the ruins thereof. Star City is safe, as I see in an incomprehensible cartoon book called Doomsday Clock, only bought cause I won it at a comic site, I try to show as much devotion to Allan Moore as is sensible, Putin again appears has the half villain that the Clinton and meathead now advise the Russians to have been all along hen they made fun of their Birch-her in laws for seeing that the Russian were going, the Russians were going, and this bloated gloved, leather-ed up foot solider thought the better of it, perhaps thinking that we were already in June on the precipice of a Russian winter in which , like Bactria, the crosswind of Danny and Peachy and Alexanders do so faille. Keep up with the Roman analogies, the gal impressed tells me as gosh, Richard is dashed again, and a war they at Armimentarium Inc, where the drones and the news-breaks do come, are strewing valiantly to get shooting wars at 8H isn't again living up to its promise, and he is had again, somewhere between the walls of Jericho, Spartan wells, and the boys , or is it, Woman's room. Who knows. I am appreciated as a Roman avatar by gals I note who all lately have had the names of the birds, ones I drew in pages of cartoon Decameron, and as I auger everything, that has to mean something. 




Seeming that some sanctimonious goon, a Biden Voter, or close enough for gummit work, bitching about the divine Plautus almost scene lately as the genius he was, before the Romans were said to not have ever somehow existing, was upset was this ball of American Hoohah and plastics, that how could he dare laugh at a play in which whipping ones slaves was seen as probable comedy. Ah one too many Denzel movies, I said, and thought, yes but a genius or a satirist, or a Bruno or a scientist, is trapped in the times he is, unlike those who can pretend that they never did vote for racists, not once, ever never, and certainly never voted for a thug who thought that Sallust, much less Plautus, also on the list was ever on his libertarians list of stolen and hidden books, lest his wives minions burn it, as Augustus found his copy of Ovid once torched by some praetorian goon who did the driving out himslef and couldn't as usual, keep up. Yes, I said, but what if I wanna be a producer ...i asked, this close to the national holiday of Mel Brooks almost 100 birthday, I at last wish you well, Melvin Komminsky, as the Twelve chairs is indeed a masterwork to boyhood me, so long gone, though see a channel showing Al Pacino's “Author, Author” then that droopy wop actually thought he and Dyan Cannon could actually be romantic leads. I can now not find my Ello page. God bless America and Lindsay Ellis. Not necessarily in that order.

Back in the days of Trump, before too many eggs and too many vases broke all over someone none one much ever really liked, although Mother Jones will always be there to preen they are radicals when in fact are praetorian in Palestinian drag, fat women in checkered scarfs while unnoticed dark little ten year olds are blown to bits is a new low I have always thought for the American radical when not going to a state dinner of beans and rice, of course bitching about it more openly than Biden would have ever thought it so when he was just a smarmy little Cassius who managed to somehow live. More than a few swells are calling it golden age when at least their precious precious moneta still had some credit, some heft, some worth before alas, this old goon and his reverse Midas touch took over and as I said in a reluctantly accepted essay made everything into Pyrite, and since has more dead children than Constantine, and no dausgahter left to as Midas had shocker him out of greed, will go about touching and changing and making everything worthless to the end of this farce, which, with Petrinoian laws art work unknown to his feeble little cliff notes mind, demand of him, heed just go away. It,a s Sargent Friday would say with stoic aplomb, Happens. So does...But back in those halcyon days, before the planneddemics that like a Steelers game recently, the management of the clock was always going to be wrong, and strategy is just a way to make sure your seasons isn't that championship one, but just non losing, whatever that could mean, I wrote a few spec script to see and hone whatever talents I had to do such a thing. Concert with that accepted script from others needing comic art, to varying degrees of success, if not out and out payment, I would make EC like Wickets, a Vampirella knock off, Terra-man refashioned by me into some nice Charleston pages, I was told it was never my talents but my attitude that as questionable, and a Superman Knock off called Mr. Invincible, or so such thing in which I experimented with Superman family era storytelling and even papers and inks of different sorts at different times. I start reading a comic called DOOMSDAY CLOCK, and feel badly for Alan Moore, whose Pygmalion will not be left be, and think as read it through, this worked much better as a satire of it all, as Id make, in Crisis on Infinite Panels, as something tawdry this way comes as Doctor Manhattan proves in middlebrow zest, he had a blue heart in him all along. Stoicism is hated by the over fed. 





I write the play for this motley unseen show, which bothered me as I would say to some admiration from no less than a Kelley girl at the Newark-er as I called it, and received a long forget and unwanted for rejection on submit-table that very next day, so I guess we are all on report, under surveillance, or worse than that, catch as catch can as various foghorns see that the cupboard is dun bare and its a Collllllld winter a coming out dere boyyyy, as sees a single can of beans in the cashe. Now, I seen enough to know like in Seinfeld New Amsterdam if seen at all and not mafioso s, if an Italian appears at all, it was a flat faced gumba Jew, long from having had to demand Mureial Hemingway get a CBS henna Rinses and now was an out and out, no longer Guy, but a bar-bare, what else, as I always found a undercurrent of tragedy to this latest Felix Unger NANCE, AND DIDN'T LIKE HIM AT ALL. So, I add not my own doppelganger Perry Masonite like lawyer hero, a pudgy, dark, brooding, baritone, Raymond Burr,Italian Jesuit hero and his own Della, I think it was after all, the pompous undercurrent of We-ism and group think done by this toxic spill when one said slammingly seeing the surroundings and the reason detra of this shit, that the word Secretary bothers them, which was another way of saying no variation of Della Street would be here anywhere to be found. I added to this company and this farce, the Plautus in me, sorry white girls, An original Coriolanus, the sort you got even with dearies. To this end, I added not a chubby, sarcastic, but kept smart, in fact smart in a Fermi way, Italian hero, a Miles Vainglorious as it were, handsome and broad, without apology, a anti Cyrano, this time, sorry Mel, the speech is still my credo, a prince of Lucca foxes, as isnt it funny to know that Face the press, or whatever, Mausoleum of Tim Russert that is, he died only weeks after asking Hillary a question-- goddess forbid--about spics that the Teamsters dint like, and so, that Don Giovanni at Thirty Rock is another victim and corpse thrown on the pyre, as we all wait for the wrong grandmother to be burned by the goon who sould have never fallen this far upwards.

In this spec script, he was seen, Germanicus Grotto, I liked the echoes of both old Italy and the Playboy Mansion in Chicago as tell tale signs, and the Roman hero amid these dorks, to give Chuckie baby and his collection of house hold wops like those named Maria who somehow allow him to get away with all the mustash jokes they have sued since Anna Maria Neopolitano died, a Roman hero like indeed a Gaston, but also, the beast at tehe same time, like Ovid envisioned it in his own beauty and beast, as fairy tales, like birds from Tyrannosaurus Rex are how the Italics as late as Grimm's admired Basile kept the Roman ethics alive in, yes, the darkened ages that the Bush Family and the Klan would love to say never happened. In our perpetual Champaign of incrementalism as practiced by General Tranqullius, how long does it take to go from saying there were no barbarian invasions, and no dark ages, to eventually getting to where there was no Dachau, and as usual, they never get back to me on that one. Without a Della, the solstices thing was not as hot as Jews would like Italian girl slathered in miss Clairol and plucked, but still having a snarl to her Italian girl lips worthy of her greasepaint background, somehow brought in to be a response to another white girl who wasnt “deferential” enough to the cast, take that Delta!, and crew of geeks, all white, yes even Sabu Ragdish whatever, as sorry, since Cyrus India has been Aryan too, and I said to some admiration that The Big Bang Theory was just Head of the class without the greaser, the fat kid, the black girls, and of course, Leslie Bega as not a single person like her ever got this far, unless was seen as a threat, and didn't I know that sort, to the somehow beloved by the ugly girl interpreter. In using the template of the great Rhoda show when I was a kid, the one about Johnny Vneture, as this show despite being open to white women editing and blue penciling is still using the same spit takes that have been sued by Ray Walston , and in A visit to a small planet, hell back to “The Rope” even. I added the handsome man, ugliness and smarts has tio go together when one is born with Judaism I take it, and again, no Leslie Bega here, and even the girl as she was at first from Ten rules and the ghost of Jack Tripper, is often well, lest say gets the Laura Petrie Treatments, and has to come through it like a trooper whereas Italian woman emeritus Rose Marie, outside of some weepy moments, don't play that shit. I took the two Jewish characters of this show that I found entertaining and kind of sweet, as they were to me read as CBS Jews from long ago, the great Julie Kavner, who now must be humiliated by having some squeaking Broadway baby do her Disney approved songs, yeeech, and the tremendous Ron Silver, as her boy friend Gary, also oversexed and a con man and things that long gone Leslie didn't want anyone thinking about his own tribe until pictures of him at Hillary fundraisers meant less than zero to that con artist bitch.



The Johnny Venture this time wasn't me, I couldn't as Plautus aside play that part, but it would have to be like Villano from Manhattan south,we weren't all killers back then, before you all awakened to realize that a wife of a defrocked, impeached bullfighter pretender couldn't be shoe horned into the praetorian she both is drawn to, and fears as she knows UN like old men, she doesn't , deep own in her Cicerone heart, where her beloved Goldwasser admired and made my immigrant mother if not lesbians queens in ovo, sickened, have IT. It had to be someone that Mediterranean pretty, as no Valerie Harper is here, nor anyone with Julie's inherent cuteness either, but I did my Plautian best and so think the Jews on that show aren't done any favors by the chorus line that chuck thinks he must always feather his nest with those beliefs the uncircumcised always must have,a s after all...so does he. An interloper into the Nance's world, then bigger than now, a spectrum of retardation that amusingly all the peaceable fetti fell into, ah but the Norwegians taught us that interbreeding is in fact the closest thing to Satanhood, and that the early Romans again had it writed when they ere raping all them girls amid the wedding addition rice that once the Dworklin crowd , now saddle with Licensed labia husbands or wife,wherever, were against while inscrutableness bombing the earth was never brought up by God that afield Apollo Obama. So, Roman hero amid the stereotypes and the one liners, now A rival to both Young Mr Burgoff, our short dumpy Radar who uses television city as a singles bar, and of course, the insect like genius in National Periodicals magazines drag, he was everything they all hate and despise, and like father Francis told me as I was a boy, Anthony, you are their greatest fear, a wop who inst stupid enough to be laughed at and humiliated and demeaned and smiles along...then he rethought it...at least not all the time. Such was admiration in Tony land from the get go and Castes long before this one. Germanicus is a brilliant theoretician, asked if I wanted to be one but passed, though got better stats win math than verbal, Unlike us Jesuit boys old coot Biden was bad at everything, but then who is the one whose been shoveling essays with GV charm all along anyway. He is friendly's at first to the goons, Simon Helbergh, Richie Brokleman, sees a remaindered spirit, a line about Roman engineers being needed after Katrina, and their army corpse-men, placing up a bridge in hours that impresses the Thor loving barbarians until Caesar crosses it and wipes them all out. This pleases Jewish Helbergh and Blossom, my sister advised me she was, more than CBS would like. Roman Engineer hit his Ringo hair cut covered ears, and he tales a liking to the Italian matinee idol, as this is done in the styles of those Fernando Reys who were after Ann in ways that Donald Hollinger and his pencil sharpener could not compete. 



He sees Penny...as in Marsheall...? the earth mother goddesses of them all...? He is taken with her. The plot, if there is one, as in Plautus, is taken from dower forebears, but its what I dooooooo with it all. A RING, less Tolkien and more Ariosto is given in secret to Penny. She like Cal Arts or Cal Tech, or Cal, is seen by Walter Oreilly as a trinket itself, his ownership, though by then they hadn't been married yet, in the Jewish festival of burning the mortgage or whatever marriage is. All very cute, to me, but I do make Howard Wollowitz of all people, demanded from the beginning as daring like girls, really was I the last Jesuit strained anything before the Yeshiva and pretending they liked queers won the day...Howard asks Radar, what in fact is the difference between his gaze and another. In this caesura Germanicus. Blossom is over the moon, take the bait she advises her princess. Liens about Romans, engineering , the strains saying there is no rhyme to the universe as things don't happen for a reason, the reason is why they happened. An Etruscan line not Greek enough for the Texas Democrat to get. She is, like Rhoda, compelled and tempted. Get away from them, he warns her at a last Cyrano like kiss, no thank you. Radar asks Penny if shed like to go to the most DC eccentric comic book store I have ever seen, though Stan did do a last bow here, and outlived Jack the hack by many years so there is, like Patty Fairinelli, a boyhood pin up Beatrice versus a dead bunny playmates with Orson devotee's misnamed Dorothy, unlike my mother and Oz, that. She begs off and rolls her eyes and covers her head with her big hands, and another Roxanne, if not Juliette, war bride hacking to death inexhaustibly we now know was, in nailed shut Duchess cold old folk homes, its harder and harder avoidant those Ghosts Bill, bits the dust. The play is irrevocably gone in a summer of smoke , as one pastureland disaster after the next puts the people on edge. On Mel Brooks birthday, really our Virgil's birth should be a national Holiday, the supreme Curia as rudder-ed by a Reagan era hard ass takes down affirmative action. Wheres my residuals...? I asked when a boy, wheres my affirmative action, when told to go to Georgetown unlike certain others who didn't have three fake defferm—scholarships to always irrevocably survive, as even my brothers WSJ says what of the Italians and others caught up in the gears of this infernal contraception called America, …? I don't know, but again A solstice Fog again approaches, a channel announces a weekend of Green Acres, cant miss that. As my brother takes me home, as its hard to breathe in Biden's midnight in America, still, the birds ala the shady Groves, gather together on gables and wires, as the pigeons wont partake of the treacherous sky and a haze of burning Canada, again that didn't happen under Trump, Gaea is displeased, ashes in the wind.