BUFFALO GIRLS.

23 March 2026

A TELEVSION STATION THAT DOES A LOT OF Amazon lady cops, still has time at times to put on the Gilmore girls , or late at night on Sundays, The dreaded The good wife, which took the truly tragic and sad unarmored wife left to twist in the chicken hawk winds, s own wife to go through and turned it into one of those shows like Gilmore that got progressively “Darker” a word they are allowed to sue once Al Franken has mulled it over, as it were. 

Late on a Lenten Sunday, I lied there after more Lucie Arnaz than I thought I’d watch, as I always liked her since I was a boy and saw her as a Monday night perfect ethnic girl of the sorts that were eschewed then as much by Vague infernal batches who like so many , now have to apologize for work seen as a mere punch line back before human cunt Hillary striated duding her poisonous pin pong act from the shores of the Styx or the Lethe or whatever hell’s parking she had stodgily been allowed to lead her husband to, which I always thought was a mere vendetta of a puntana from the get go. People think that I would like, or even by proxy, adore that brunette who plays the Hillary this time, a slates narsh Hillary took gold of the brunette cast as an anti Hillary, and Mrs Spitzers crumbling in the sights of the man in full, Abraham Shylock in the synod, was forgotten. Having a dark haired Hillata, which it was a smart ,move, like Gilmore, to avoid the constantan blonds that Jewish circus owners constantly dress in their middlebrow circus costumes, which I assuredly do not. And where it was in the playing out of their string now, somehow divergent from the purgatory that Spitzer and for that matter Clinton were sent to, a perecular hell in all ways to those who thought that beoeg in public srevacie came automatically with pillow talk. By here and now, the pretty and beguiling Indus river girl Archie, was snet away by the aging queen bee had had enough of her thigh high boots. And in their exile, it is seen by me as an oldest kind of relic, back to fat woman and an English faeray playing a Machiavellian Jewish hack, it was almost like a bucolic Pastoral poem, with an increasingly brittle old hag showing a bye this time, less than sad and increasingly dislikable tragic figure of the spurred wife. Like imagery from the equally boring and vicious and rescinded SNL and its created Hilary in a third go around, by 16, which showed how long she over’s acted her welcome, this time with the crazy eyed Kate as isn’t this cute how much impunity Caesars’s wife has, and when I see by accident Arrec as Trump showed Plautus was indeed right and his face has frozen that way, if you don’t recall the blubbering, which for him, sadly, I think was true. Black is the primary color. 

A perpetually maligning Paul Drake was brought in against Alicia, nice echo, and the tizzy of the allegedly pretty wife victim at the political turbines, with always the sanctimonious and whaling REM, U-2 without the cut time, as warbling counteract to inst everything so dire when you cnat just live as it was meant to be back at the papal states…? Not in the mood for this, I turned around and merely went to bed, as somehow her belladonna escapes have always alluded me, though as Beatrice she looks like part, but not even that much, a slate angle was what my mother called yet artifice of cemenet angelus that weren’t touched by the chisale sof God like with Bernini or Michelangelo or who could male lace shroudns out of stoine themselves, and I wasn’t in the mood to watch much more knowing somehow it ends up with Broadway Baby, Daffodil beloved Christine Baransky in Della Street shoulder pad finery, almost passé and sadly so chic ness, slapping the woman across the face as deep down I gather the husband who ra the thing had an inhaling we all wanted to do. There was no mad hatter, I quipped in a spec script for them left undone. 

It was never a show as liked by me as much as by my sisters, but once my mom passed found I watched whole nights of it, and did use the massive eyed Panjabi as a hip hugger elixir to the tumult that this could have caused, issuing the spoonful of visual almost Bethought Guccione magazine in motion alike that was needed as my ma had in fact prophesied once before. The Belladonna effect, and why Jimmy the Kummel will pay for laughing at Selene kissing dirty piggy’s. And my mom, a devotee of Signora Fortuna or lady luck, the only goddess anyone really believes in anyway, and who like Saturnalia always is left on the Roman colanders to avoid the plebian riots. There was something again dated, a word I despise by the way, but still it was a show that existed in a day and time in which politicos was almost a circus like in the rewriting of history to make it all somehow acceptable, and queen bee Juliana had to be the first in the alps, and once Archie was gone she proved the original casting was correct and she wasn’t a vestal that could make Bill Clintons eye roam. She without the Indian girl bores me, and her career was in fact finished when she came out and joined in on Colbert’s anti Trump cartoon colorearama, a brunette pertaining to echo handmaiden never goes wall, something woppy Kimmel would have been better to \jabve known, and sio, I avoid any more of it, as once the affable guy from Sports night was strangely massacred in the courtroom, it seems that without the everyman in hell, Beatrice was mute. Although Valerie Bertinelli, Americas sweetheart, as bitchy b cup Wendie called her, has done so well, that there are nightly showings of anoint television One day at a time, the only show Norman Lear ever did that having this many Italians in it was with a heart the rest of the slumming didn’t have. 

My Brother and his minions, compatriots and compadres, Italians and blacks of the neighborhood, have become if not crestfallen, dismayed by Trump buying the perpetual war mongering of the televised Jews who will hope to kill every Arab for thirty years that they can, totally not recalling any holocausts that might make thanksgiving with their wives, Christine and WOSRE Brigit uncomfortable holydays, as they name their breeds Ezra and biblical names to show their allegiance to the holy book of plagiarisms. Make mine, if not Marvel, then Sibylline, there is more proof of that than the 6000 year old creation that they have shied long ago lest they not feel superior to the sons of gangsters they made into actors of grangers , if not gangsters themselves. I am too disabused that we would as Ovid warned ever got a chance to escape the wars and rumors thereof of the filthy towers margining bats of le Guerra and the gargoyles of the war palisades, as unwires and in turmoil the bets that chase of bean counter Senator Abraham Shylock could do was somehow make his assembly of queens into a war council that must be agreed to as asked , as opposed to Syrian adventures by house coons, questors of wars, signer offers on, meat packers and horses buyers for the knights of old, and cretins of late night dare show themselves as if ant war when they spent twenty years of humbugging soldiers blood with occasional cracking up and calling it a Mess of Potamia, as Jon Boy didn’t return from the overpasses until indeed his collectivize relatives did stay eviscerating Palestinian children, but he is as devoted to the wife of a rapist, always there to say without fear of the hierocracy of always being now against everything that they were for before, somehow no one radicals what side they all took, when needed to have Judy Miller recites the dictation given to her by a the bloated Vice Praetor who again, didn’t know his place. She now has, I take it, as has that newspaper of recorded debts, has to get her p’s and q’s with the use of tarot cards. The senate thatw as a food fight only weeks ago now become an oil painting of silence as Cataline is alas a figure in the shadows. BLACK AS INKED. 

He is upset that the war conglomerate did as it was meant to do and started sending out its vultures birds of carrion prey as it does, as even I am discouraged as Trump is like Clinton a better man than I am, depending, as I would have made sure that there is no liquor to be as nursed with and has as good a bouquet as a well serves brandy of vendetta, but then that just might be what is in my DNA. He is disappointed, my brother, that Trump would allowed that bloated Nazi cartoon Sharon without the warmth wannabe , so fearful he is of the Haig as much as they all are of a mere jail cell where Jews somehow do not ever have to go, and that Trump gave in to the Negriod feathered magpies of the towers pf bellicosity, the DR. Jeckles and Mister Heckles of war profiteering, and where a suddenly imbibed with blood vampire circle has found the war they are business to get as Job One, as the crows of sorties smoke cigars as anti Disney Terrytoon-ed birds of a feather, and they quickly can glides away, cigars barely even falling from their outsized saffron beaks. That he would do this war dance for these horrid sorts, and how after years of preening that anti Trump because the Tallahassee belay legal hitchhikers on a lonely Florida road and stopping the Crown Vic accordingly at the upturned ankle. That stupid assembly man has lost his show in parts, as he like Bill Clinton, is too smart a pig to eat all at once. 

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/robert-de-niro-apologizes-for-first-lady-joke-at-obama-fundraiser/

I warned as much as there would be a moment in time, Machiavelli’s frozen icicle of realization, a moment of Clarity as Howard Beale called it, in which you’d find out Paddy was indeed far too romantic for any more Mad Profits of the airways. AND WHY Trump would acquiesce to this is a sad timing of things. He is, I guess only human allowed the jesters with knives of television, those who cut their fangs on Laugh in and its ante war stance and wouldn’t do that again if they knew what was good for them, as it always bothered me that these hangers oners like the wop from Rockford Files would have a late in life rebirth of a show without a Jimmy Garner anywhere to be seen, while others, not me, I knew they wanted no part of me early on, but anyone not so Geriatrics, a fresh sight a new eye nowhere along the lines, as television sadly and dutifully become in fact like the senate whose Colonial Kurtz’s that Lorne so exceedingly allowed on, again taking the side of the Harvard lampoon goon smiling hack over some pretty brunette hoods knows, who wwas just too much a vestal of Fortune to get away with Cardinal Queerbo, and his pirate ship of satirical cartoons. I feel badly that Trump gave in to this crowd, those little foxes with a delivery like a rusty hinge on a door of rain damaged rotten wood. Seemly all the anti Trumpers are so gleeful that again something is being killed, which is what the guitar mass nuns sisters taught me , like abortion, death and how it was administered was their only political whip they care to hold. A belayed creep on A Bigger Check , a fat, smarmy, smirking, queer, masturbating piglet dares still talk about cancel culture, amazingly when no one ws paying attention to him he and the bra snapper became its Torquemada’s, who knew…, scared to death he always was that someday the jokes about him made on Gay sit coms by queen Jerry Helpers could come to rest upon him like Vesuvius ash, and would stick again and make him stuck in a perpetual wintertime of a Pompeii, where all the theaters were leery encrusted with garbage and gift bag trash to show why you never give anyone impunity to begin with. A looking back, I wish I had taken that last it seems opportunity to get even a glorified 16 mm film of Roman Mythology made, as I would have asked the unheeded Cecily to be the modern vestal in that New York state gardens of Caesar, as she would have been the perfect , along with later seen Wendy, a perfect trope to be the priestess of the Romans left by purge defining slime of the Rhone which Dante saw as a middle ages Styx. And her lithographic image would have been a perfect paper chase that Conan replaced with torn apart Chicken boxes. 

I think of the first assault on Rome by the barbarian trash, and how a first slaughtering of a small Etruscan neighborhood left only a 1000 self called Romans alive, and how they took the burning embers of farm houses and carted a pail of coals to the Quriennial hill and started a eternal flame to the consternation of simpleminded Germans to this act of early poetry. Out of the cinders they collected the pages they could to replace the annals thereof. The Eternal flame was carted and Numa, I believe it was, then given a first Grass crown, as they had stolen what little gold or silver there was, and with threadbare silks and cloaks allowed and left by your beloved Viking shit, germen JRR, a first triumph was had and the demons of the Rhine kept away for that thousand years that Churchill was as things look now, wrong in reassuring. The Family of the spook by the door AT Hoovers nest, will alas keep secret his terms of death, what price was the coins place don his eyes, and by whom, my brother is certain of an imperial hit, As they will not say, at elast until like their Witches goddess Hillary they can skate and say again its all old news, as they in fact have become. The magpies fly away, some like my mother said of Foxes, are smart enough to backtrack. The Vultures of a feather…

With Easter, already knowing its pagan roots, sorry not Ester, like your bombing allies, but Ishtar, just like how the salute to its very name is Roman, girls, like communism and wrestling, coming quickly, my brother made me an appointment for the local barber Shoppe to get cleaned up for that much, as he made a vow to my mother, though none of this meant a damn to him, he would keep these holidays as holy as they were to the Romans that were the first proselytized by the born again fisherman dummies, cone the Jewish concubines of Caesar told them to drop dead, and not return as they were apt. Why was there centurions posted to guard the dead Jesus, I asked as a kid, but again, it seems that Jew baby junior Yaweh and son thought it was the big town that hed make it in, and they'd pay for it exceedingly so. My brother so then made an appointment for the hair cut, but the barber is a nice man, an artist as am I, as he spreads his sketches on the mirrored wall for any sailor or wannabe playful bad girl coming in for inking. 

There was an early spring knock at the door this morning, and he, my brother already tired of the various Sally’s told to take one's hand across the wastelands, went to the door and grumbled a What is it...? But lifting the back out shades we use, saw two lovely woman as my eating a tuna fish Lenten sandwich didn’t make me look for an inner room as for some reason I have done since I was lad and was openly told by queers and piggish young dyke girls that my Scalia admiration frame of mind was openly told I somehow didn’t belong at the lowest level of private school, a parochial one, when really they were openly hostile that I , without so much as a bended knee of a Clintonian Busihan or Omabaesque giving in, I was almost thanked by the Olgetrees then for not saying only what they wanted to hear said. He saw then before him, on the porch, AS THE LOVELEY WOMAN I SAW THROUGH THE OPEN VENEITAIN BLIND, PRETTY THEY WERE AND IMMIDEAYLEY HE BECAME MUCH MORE AVAILING to the strangers of Vesta now at the door. and he had a vat of boiling peppers on the stove already cooking as an early Lupricalia pre communion wine. See...? Then he was taken aback when he opened the door. He now came to despise Amazon, and its bellowing owner who found a Borgia war palaces of all palaces in Italia to be married to his slutty concubine, which he thought, said it all. 

Mister Acri, the lead girl asked...? 

Yes, he said, intrqued as we Romans all are, since Tacitus at the theater that was not assuredly playing Greek tragedy, by a dancing eyed girl, we leave the lesbians and the studdabubbas for Christers and beaurocrats. We are having a celebration of Christ’s death, she said, with the sing song attitude of saved sort, but she was pretty, it seemed, and to my Machiavellian brother, it was according to him the Venial church of heavy petting as sacrament that hated Nicolo and Columbus first , explaining the grave digger Bushier war lovers with lace curtains, and as he has said. Bother me when the fat chicks and sissys start throwing statues of Leif Erikson into the sea, not even sure why or what he is a salve to and or for. that is a long way in getting heard anyways. We know you’re a neighbor here. She said, And, we would like you and your brother and family to come, she said, At this celebration of our lord Jesus Christ. 

I could imagine that the prettiness of the girls, was the only thing keeping him from rolling his massive Etruscan, sepia colored eyes as my mom had had, me with blacker eyes like my Trojan boat lift father, as in most ways. But he did get pop’s Mandarino admired and left go spine as I certainly did not, as it was after all pop who told one of Mandreinos button men with no uncertainty that on the lonely street before the Garibaldi club in New Chicago, he tossed him an asked for match book on the street and then when the Sicilian bird of prey came too close for his Neapolitan creeds, bashed him in the glasses wearing face causing a blood hand that my mother still had to laugh about almost to the end. We are, she said politely, Having a reconvening of the saints, some Christians have no saints, some all are saints, it deadpans on what part of the apostles creed Luther and or the nightriders kept in tact, she added. Where is this gathering,…?, he asked, taking the pamphlet upon which I could see a glassy eyed by me outline of the Hercules of the jews, this one, and time, getting his chops bashed in by a set of legionaries who like Jewish thieves just knew this gospel was just no good. 

The previous night just in passing, saw a station devoted to, of all things, Jimmy Dean , we await you at the five and dime, no wait, Jerry Lee , well some vulgar hillbilly bumpkin, though again I am no Hillarie definer of the plebs, Bill has gotten his just deists and has to know think quick to get her in to one pn coming truck lanes. The horrid synod tabled here, they speak in all tounges they proudly announce a kind of Christianity that was embarrassing to the Deacons even long ago, say but Latin, as that is bothersome to the commie stinko pinkos who too early, or too late, relied that white woman have dogs in lue of say Fetal, so any plans for marking the earth with no dogs allowed signs, well, I have told that Roman tale of the dog and the wolf elsewhere. They, all white and fat, and span of a frenzy, like my mom told me all the white woman were, screeching about of all things Leonardo and his last supper, somehow again an egregious thing as no ,masterpiece socially from the middle sea is any worth unless it can be marked up as So, looking at the flier that had the almost sweetly rendered image of a more wasp than not Jesus, see above about the Chester Gould casting above and the now unrequited unremitting unhallowed and uncried for old arm of the spook that sat behind the golden door and his dossiers of ,much that Ill just bet that didn’t get Bill Clinton on board this particulate Argo. I saw the inner messages, and said to him, It is a gathering of Jehovah witnesses, I said, thinking that as a deal breaker. He laughed , As if I even care, I got to find you a woman. 

It appears that so ostentatious to these Doctrinaires Moody college theocracy, the Jesuits aid better to have a degree in out and out Fairy Tales themselves. It appears to some overfeed white trash with Deacons aplomb and hidden bathrooms, that Da Vinci, of all people, once openly said to be acceptable to some Hillary delegate who said he was an acceptable as a Italian day forth acceptable Italians voter minions as if they’d ever be, and soon enough, was Unsaved, in his very DNA, and so didn’t understand the bible as well as some hillbilly Preacher that more than not even Doc and Miss Kitty at the evening know are snake oil salesmen even then in censored western modern. Why would that be, I wondered, as soon enough the tripled chinned of the politburo Vatican’s do find out too easily and willingly and shockingly that they were never as aided to by others almost as much as they didn’t adhere to any catharsis themselves, and when the call for veracious Praetorians to do their bidding they will as I said as a smart aleck kid in the papers once loved by the brethren that Jefferson’s hated between slaveholding love affairs, and who like all Italians’ worth their salt with which they were paid until they heard that whatever senator Flavius was hooding gold and woman from them, eventually, they always find out too late that no one really believed any of it. 

Within hours of hand-out Camilla Rachel dare call Trump a war monger , I was flad to see charges of anti Semitism creep up this time and that the wops who never dared lose a dime or a seat on the bus to stereotypical hell by so much as mentioning an Etruscan as dead as a golden door nail, and hurled into a senate alter making it the mausoleum of Remus the original always after all was. She and her rhino minions including bizarro Olbermann were upset to know that they at Legal, the corporate masters make more money off of war than they have serially from propagandas, which these middlebrows at best called Virgil once, and feed the dog on your way in. I am delighted that house wop DeNiro is now circumnavigated to anti Semitism, despite all the colleted penne’s at the Sicilian trough. And fatso Bilious Bluto again knee jerks unendingly,  in lue of knowing anything about politics as he and fellow wop, drank poor mans Methuselah’s of Miller High life or the kind that Mickey and the dolly drank during Monday NIGHT FOOTBALL BEFORE, LIKE LIBARALISM, such was deftly and with only grumbling of those who should have gated each penny like the soul it replaced,  it was placed as a loss leader on basic cable.  So, I never was the house wop, knee jerking my way to make sure no one recalled my death threats and my snickering at some womans tits. This year so far all I have gotten accepted really was THE BLACK KNIGHT, my Prince Valiant newspaper cartoon that pop wanted me to take to the Pittsburgh press. So in just that, it is a successful year. 

AND as my brother promised them he would indeed go to this gathering of penitents, he’s been to worse as an alter boy beloved by the priests when I was a kid, would fake a point that stupid wop me couldn’t quite “understand the vespers” that well and would openly fumble bottles of wine stolen from Italian churches long before then, and all just loved my antics as I was a devotee of Jerry Lewis there at the stolen rites of Bacchus, which calling them that made Father Francis frown and wonder just how stupid I could be, but I did my Vandyke an pratfalls, a lover of Roman farce more than epic, sadly so. It was father Francis who, again a conman Franciscan the answer to all and every societies of Jesus legalistic con jobber, saw through my childish performance where was faggy little blottos and blond queens loved snickering at, had call my bluff, and looking back, I wish that I had been more devoted to something other than mere Roman farce, As a priest told me, all satire eventually gets to the woodprint on the page, a decoration of my work as a fifteen year old published long ago, that they strat to hate you for it. As Augustus, a first man to outlive his need for censorship, and who told you to either touch my copy of the Metamorphoses or say shit about the war powers act, of any kind, when he burned a self admiring copy of the history of Rome by Plautus, Octavian said, not without irony, why that blowhard didn’t even have the decency to make it a comedy. 

 

HAPPY NEW YEAR, GENERAL TRANQUILLIUS.

 

28 MARCH 2026

There is something Ironic about the man in the gray flannel suit being heralded out the building, like with Rachel, and shown the exists and replaced by a black man. The only thing that would male this funnier is if it was Larry Wilmore. Now you're peace nicks, … after all, the Jews once again get what they want as they do from television minstrelsy to genocide, both words abhorred by the rag that called the wops Mulattoes, do look that up. well, the business of America is war, and once bellicose hags of war pretending a defiance or even a empathy for their bribes givers that wasn't there for the Palestinians in Jedah. Watch the Abraham Shylock's demand their devotion, or what, cancel  the wedding...? I hope somewhere Adam Corrolla who at least was devoted to his piggishness all along, as I didn't have to pretend my friend waw the bloated Bluto who trashed Megan Fox, just to be on television. When fatso Bill is out there lauding basketball in mid war, too late for free bread, fats,  teams it means the chicken hawks are at last devoted. 

An essay concerning the mire and the cesspool which television has become. A boyhood recollection of a opportunity from another time, given far too early to and at me, and which now, as the praetorians smile and goofball their ways through a heinous curia, isn't much seen anymore. A penitent of Gore, Paddy and Reginald Rose looks back with ennui but with anger too at the circus that television has become, as the days were numbered even then for jury foremen, requeued heavyweights, and Jackie Gleason as a sad drunk whom drinks to not get jipped, as the days of Black rock have been forgotten and forborne at least by me long ago. It is a requiem  to Marshall Dillion himself as the fact we are too soon old and too late wise as I was told when showed my cartoons at the Pittsburgh press by a great newspaper name named Phil Musick in the olden days now irrecoverably gone amid the political carnivals. 

I DO NOW LIKE TO ACKNOLEDGE WHEN I AM ACCPTED ANYWHERE, AS ALL IS Roman triumph Intriguing to mention every acceptance I get now, all is a Roman triumph to me, to me, like when the early Romans wore leaves and grass crowns in their hair in a satire of Greek field largess and homoerotic power love, MORE THAN LATER SPECTECLES, ALL IS TRIUMPH. So this Mud Magazine bra ad was completed was accepted along with works I have avoid most of my life somehow, fantasy, as I don't have to pretend that Ariosto never wrote. 

Too, waited thirty days to renders in Lupercalia essays 26, but was openly told was sad I put so much airs,  but Mis-Spelling the Roman God Backus. Again my father warned me when I played the fool for laughers that they’d laugh at me as an Italian enough. That in ways that Jimmy the Kimmels didn’t, do we have a democratic party without father hatred, as it wasn't hard to figure out why Rob Reiner had his throat cut in a Jewish version of Greek tragedy. No royal curse, if you ask Roman me. If I am the last person to recall Virgil and Thurston Howell  the third, god bless you and your late show con men hiding old trampolines and broken bras, from you know, Mother. I, in that, noted that trashing of Italians since I was a boy Robert Dinero is so devoted to baaing anti Trump he had to alas read his exclamations off a  paper, as he has given most of his performances, no angels whisper in his ear over the calls from his broker, a good democrat he.  as the ash hole once again phoned it in, the meddled being more about banking than art. And I thought, mired in disillusionment at myself, I never had to be a wop crying or shrugging or screening or worse through a cork clandestine face, and that to my pop wasn't nothing in my favor. I await the mausoleum of Peppers, the assembly of queens, to dare take an anti Israel vote, I don't give a shit of stableman Medici are in power, it just don't add up, and the clowns must know that. I can sense Colbert's epitaph...R-O-L-A-I-D-S... 

So, I pass the time until dear, smirking, boys room haunting Northwestern Catholic monsignor Colbert has to deal with that tragic, to him, moment that he has been spiting salt and making signs to ward away the weevil eye as all those who wore cum soaked robes of praetorian priests all along, I sit and count the moments with a Vengeful glee in which he has to be thrown out of the Sistines of television, not a first this year, but when he is out on the street, as flabby, fatty, boomalatté, piggish Blotto XERO JUNIOR IN A WATERED DOWN Animal House found religion and devotion swine hunt Jimmy has the temerity to still be at his desk lector, having somehow stole the whole shtick from the simonies Daily Show dead-panner, who had thought of the scam and the bilko rites long before the fat little twerp. I await that moment that Machiavelli called the icy second of realization that in fact, you were a con artist, but a stupid one all along, and didn’t take the heed of those who said the road was one even jackasses don’t go down, having fallen there before, as Ma told me. 

I cherish the dreariness of his to come when he, like say a Left Behind Jerry Langford watchers an appliance store window in amazement, as once again Robert Dinero showed us what he was all along, the Rupert Pupkin Travis taxi dancer he has always been, deep down, I never bought that he was great actor at all, no Roman tragedy nor greater nor English patients did he ever steal from the master piece theaters cast as Gene Siskle once admitted, as Danny Devito too was seen as too Italian or not Italian enough to play the role of a wop clownish but serious enough doge in some film of that ink. Meet me at Dante’s statures indeed, Helena, with a room with a view of the anointing Guido's, strangely a proper name slur allowed by crazy eyed blond weirdo broads not Cecily in snl or Ozempic faced Whoopied. Maybe not as harsh but it gets the job done. Victims of Jesuit less arrested by and of police states long ago before this one. I hear that despite Lindsay Ellis as their strangely placed Marcia Antony, Dinsey is about to lose 2000 workers this year, who needs painted drawings when you can make everything look like South Park without the charm, or at least the scissors, we miss you Gahan Wilson. AW Nuts. Will the great and gallant porcine beard needing host care or cry on cue for them, or anyone but himself or feigned for Charlie Kirk when told an even already blown hole Q rating was taking on water, and guess who the SS Minnow as named for anyway…? Any care for the art of cartooning, as I have gotten myself into various art magazines with that as a to me unneeded and unnecessary disclaiming, as if a pretty Boccasale willing to tell what fascists all the italic have always been, I would be careful with the white boys singing any political arias sent out from South fork this soon after Nana was massacred, girls, as my father , an immigrant from then, and even Politianzo, the originator of a thousand years of if not solitude then exile, you didn’t know…?,its called the Cycula, cent’ ani, knew that and told me that eventually more Italian went to klinks after the chaining of Mussolini than there had been before. Now why the Christian democrats all with ten smarmy attitudes of the hallways bangers like Monsignor Colbert. One found despite the adorations of Carlo Levy now the Christer democrats would enrapture Italy, it is after all like so much there’s that Scorsese has spent years forgoing, now when the church called one a radical, amazes to the women and the stupid, he warned me, now one was an insurgent against God, and thus no one was there to say anything much less sing an anthem to Bella Italia, especially if one got in the ways of the plants of Ferrari. Ah but like Biden, this tiger eats all up, that incoming commie pinko to take Italy found himself more than out of Vogue, but a mere corpse in car wreck always variable in the curias of 1948. 

And a histories channel remnant of the sort most the channels out side of home shopping are, although the girls of Hot In Cleveland have somehow taken over the less than prime time dials now, one can sit at night and watch the three graces of Shaker heights, savior of the Bushes, if not the res publicans,  in various misdirecting in the middle of our lives not to be Dante not that it would help, although it was those books, not quite Mad but unhinged enough that made me an nosiest penitent to know that indeed the filthy little man Biden and his gummada wife were indeed too vulgar for the crowd that like the Clintons think themselves Roman lives amid the hoi pilloi, some closer than others, some not, and while he was festooned with lackadaisical admiration, as long he didn't ask the Pen groom HAL what indeed was being signed after all, it is his dotage and finally quenched evil little heart that has left in fact Duchess Macbeth to not let her feel ease at the night, and the morning lamp starts to never seemingly flicker, that is for you Roman Bill!, the schoolboy with his beloved scandalous Ovid, as the peacock now is where the Julia's go to die. As she sundown’s worse and more mightily unequipped than that asshole she married to get ahead always never does, and she is left irradiating by  age and circumstance, irrevocable alone. I was indeed the only one who knew that falls that their dingy pretending it was the Ambra in Capri eyesight of Augustus was going down, if not the Styx itself. They say there's always magic in the air,...

The show on now at ten, in midway run, see that in fact Wendie Malick in the pieces isn’t the hated woman as I had gathered long ago she was, and again she had a palpable scenes of decency and despite her two coats of shellacked upon vanity, has a humanity inherent in her that befits her own Rio record album cover art beauty. And it isn’t just or only or even Beauty at all, but something else, as not to sound like a Kimmelllarian pig, but cie la vie, she is here younger and not as hair produced and darker therefore and not highlighted as older woman are way, and she is thin but as a given and not a fetishism as it is near the flaming river and Mrs Alan “the biggest square we can think of” Ludden, as Wendy was either too young or too old to play her perfect doppelganger Lois Lane, alas like Nicholas Cage, Valerie was too Ethnic for the role. 

Which brings me to what I have noticed most about this show, as the not ugly, yet not as exquisitely pretty as some on the show like upwardly Mobile, almost painfully esoteric, Rena as perhaps a later recasting for a more prefect show, but large breasted Italian earth Mother isn’t anything close to anyone who would be involved in the making of this ersatz Vogue, or even be against it. The more I see her in profile the more her acting chops seem better than usual to me. I notice in this forest of concrete, this  The Devil wars Prada or at least Brooks brothers as we have dome to know, too much, there is a cacophony of Brunettes, its seems each months wall decoration issue’s Alfred E Neumanded by a equally Nagel lass, Jews like Siegel, and mostly Italianates like the bald photographer and Laura San Giacomo, but I mist ask aloud how many of these sorts of people actually passed the portico of the infernal regatta and the signed pier telling all Abandon all brown eyes ye who enter here, which as the credo under which the now desperately trying to return the earth to the wasp paper hive it all literally was under Ana. Or as my mother no fan of the Wintour of their disconnect and the bathing suits seasons that came next, nor of Valentino or victim of fagot Sparta before all Versace, the devil, she said with sneering queen of guilt nana perfection, wears Burlap, and nothing else. I wonder if the casting was done as a sort of backwards glancing, a kind of making it all more humane than it could have been, or should have been, as it could have been much more deliciously Funny, and only the one time hating Kimmel blond, prissy, gopher, bootlicking Spade seems to know the show he is in, if one man or with an ensemble who didn’t read the script, nor care to. I can just image how that Blushing blooming creation now would be, Siegel dead long after Edward Albee, speaking of knowing your source material, all older now, I wonder if it would or could ever explain what it possibly could be now that would be any funnier than seeing Daughter of Satan or her player explain who writes things were in Winter’s long gone. 

Bothersome to many, I recall sending a work in to a magazine you be all heard of, in fact, some office gal there impressed that we shared a hectored hate  for The Big Bang Theory and its prepaying mantis human Doogies, as called it The head of the Class with the redhead, the colored girls, the greaser, the fat kid,  and mostly Leslie Bega taken assuredly out first. But back in the prehistory of Hillary faunally knowing, as now the less than Columbo like American President, a suicide note of meathead’s sent out Justice Brandise, tossing her into the oncoming traffic, I was told if I wanted a good three thousand words in the rag if I accepted a billing of two years of dwindling subscription, id get just that. I was called a liar for it, but it came to be true at the Times too, all forfeited and foretop to do Livia’s and Jebbys bidding against Trump. Ah, but the old falconer is dead, his birds of prey pecking out his eyes, unnoted and unrewarded, and no one has a even rudimentary COD. Where have you gone Millburn Stone as Doc, or even Deforest Kelley. Ethics are for sinkers and dead Romans hurled onto senatorial alters. I await the clowns of Mars and sashes gumba J3ws to take an anti Israel Vote, though loosened tongues we do find out that goddess AOC has a taste for Amphetamines. Not like many, I avoided Franzetta but as is obvious I was alas aping Serpieri all along. As the trash jesters of CBS get a Mad devoted to them, as a boy I recall a back cover Liberta crying over McGovern. 

 

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.