REQUIEM FOR A LIGHTWHEIGHT. 15 MAY 2926.

[accepted pre plannedenmic drawings. ]

So, the dire end of Colbert is nowhere near the national   moment that was   the end of Carson, and is closer to the mad mag--comics   endings of Howdee Doodee and a drawn out test pattern, which in the glory days of CBS, the great satire Green Acres called watching Ed Sullivan.  I really thought I had wasted the year, but did get my Father admired, Roman anti- Conan, and centurion Sunday comic in a collection, and now have even gotten seven more drawings   published, and with two maybes, so Signora Fortuna has her favorites and those who scream at the walls.  If THE AWEFUL UNCANCELLABLE Colbert doesn't get to dance On the graves of all those Italian grandmothers,  and he gets all the other con artists and midnight CLOWNS to join him, the mind reels at how many Monica jokes theses buzzards of power did spew. 

But, having thought the shameless and the filthy would rile the Colbert less day, even I was shocked, though why I am never sure, I guess like the syphilis the Jesuit training didn’t really take as they had thought, there was an either open disdain for his third act, or worse than that, a merest silence, as say the transistor who Hillary's smiling, witchy face was to be used as a stage tragic goat  mask, as freezing titty from which to get the curdled milk of Human unkindness disquieted as empathy for all but say Joe Calfano. 

Yes, dears I made the occasional white girl even English and genetically superior to me gal of empire look up his name, as the strgea Putana bonfires as somehow the national brotherhood week that Whoopee’s so declares, I made them again look up the list of names seen as unworthy by her and her bloated bleating betraying Husband. And how an Italian American at a Pub on the floss was again not that far away from  the Hannibal campaigns allegedly so beloved by her Luntian husband, but who can tell and who after all knows, as we all fall far , far,  behind, as I sense. But then, as I saw the end foretold of Biden as I only did, I have seen the Jesuit mind of Roman Bill a thousand times preceding this farce, I also said eventually Colbert, whom I hate over more some mere pretense of political belief coming, he end up screaming Ire in an abandoned theater. 

As it will for fellow girl shading. goon wop, Jimmy 2, like Bizarro, as it would have been since had there had been a champion for the partita who was not sending out death threats and tongue wagging or needing Letterman’s dirty handed admiration at the end no less, and who wasn’t a guy republican weeding his beer gardens in 2015. for the thousandth time, a witch causes a clever dirt bag to go careening into a whitewashed wall with a stagiest crook of crooked finger promising something other than merest Monica sex. 

The user who is Hillary, she wears no vobiscum tie, God knobs, and no Oviddian Vestal is she, and no laurels or wild flowers are placed in her barbarian flyaway hair, as those who followed and lied for her follow her off the  ends of the Medieval earth in scourge, and she wont certainly be around when finally the laws and tides and tempos of television take hold and in fact the tasteless goon on whatever All my Children or Almost anything goes has to go eclectically when the vicious Maus so says. Do be aware as Bela would say, she warns does Strega queen, that she again will be nowhere to be found amid the dreary scholars of censorship. Text. 

I think my father felt, if not responsible, then commissariate in my becoming sickly as a rather robust lad. And not too far or long after being hurled out of a low end thievery private I was not wanted at anyway, and I had a gutful in many ways of dealing with the two bit Mafia kiddies of then. And around then, he bought me a RCA lazar desk already then faltering in the days of the Madison Avenue wizards unaware of dealing with New Coke, and wit that already aging then dues ex machina came with it the large floppies that had films in their then pristine copies. With the machine came things like Citizen Kane, cartoons then torn off television in the beginnings of the age of white women always available to be there as screeching Mimi’ s when fatso sexualized husbands need a latest bimbo eruption gone. Along with that came the best of CBS dramas, the age of Gore Vidal, Reginald Rose, Paddy Chayefsky, et al. I think he thought his dismastment of my being offered that scholarship to Stanford for film, was better than what all had turned into by then. And a piece I wrote in the same way I tried last year to do a witch a day each day until Halloween was attempted this Easter time were of stream of consciousness attempts I sent them into a magazine which gloried in its being named for the cow manure that fertilized the fruited plains left by reseeding icebergs once. It was about this very time, connected to the times of now, and the editor of the magazine called it, I thought, perfectly for his own affectation, Sh==t, but asked me, amusingly, to send more. No, my shaper brother said, tell this professional man to keep the crud  he’s already got in the pipeline, or as I said, echoing Carl Reiner, the Terrencial -Zero Mostelllian narrator of Tonight at CBS the Rope, I don’t bomb three times with the same crap, to use his wordless eloquence. 

was this in a magazine called High Society, I seem to recall. 

But, sure that this spring would end up as little more than television citied marked time, instead as I wrote this have up to nine acceptances, as the drowning of Colbert into the asphalt as his eyes betray the fact that he in living color sees himself as a dead duck, or peacock as the case may be, I did a good job of not giving in or up. In act in the piece I may have recalled that I had from catholic school to the pits of a personally isolating placement I repacked up my résumé though recalling back, did get some drawings made and accepted then in magazines which Hillary voters and the zombies of Dworkin would call pornography, but which Madam Hillata merely knew what was in Hobbies sox drawers. I still keep the drawings, mostly Penthouse pets from those days, Melissa, Alexis, Jami, all of Clintons brunette dancing girls, the love of a curved ankle gees back to Cornelius after all, as I got my share in things and rags and dastardly broadsheets that Madam Le Frange first lady queen tries to have to pretend that Hubby didn’t devour once. Ah but all politics is after all the art of the hypocrite, Jimmies prove that, and for scans , rescanning these older pictures of these older woman by now, in their perfect Vestal loveliness, as the aged politicos make Clinton everything he always hated, 

I have resent them out using Chill subs, and have indeed gotten some, or most, republished in the résumé I now keep as magazines that advertised in the Lampoon with two inch black and white ads have been restored, re- legitimized, republished on the electronic Roman Walls that the internet can be only at its best. To the wholesome and decent Newerlkers and sacrosanct makers of magazines either pompous or asking for apologies for all the blonds they placed in along the way I can say still these works have a currant of electricity through them and then and now, I never had to beg for forgiveness as I have never tore a girls Bra off her body, as ma told me the one thing I couldn’t ever be and still be her beloved son was  rapist of these white trash hags, who think when not danining to be your wifely master, love to think you sit there and dream of fucking their GWB strewing titless bodies. 

a magazine's low rent playboy advisor "MM"- 1995

As since Saturnalia, I have watched the whole series of the only show done by the hated by my father Norman the barbarian Norman Lear that had a semblance of heart. It took me until forty to realize that indeed my pop was correct about almost all, but had somewhat playfully, somewhere to get a reaction, somewhat not called him and even my devoted to Italian mother as “Peasants”,  again thinking it funny when heard it said by Carl Reiner who played another paragon of television hating artist, first the new Yorker and then a satire, or better a trashing, of Pollock, as God knows he had something up his television needlessness about any kind of an art that didn’t use a laugh track or a pratfall, or Mary showing off her legs between beatings. Moreover, as summer becomes a lack of having to use the electric, as if that matters in our Arthur C Clark Halcyon nightmare nightscape, a Tokyo availing at every desk. 

I took the time to watch the arc, if it can be called that of the three Italian women whose show was taken over by the wasps that they, like their masters were sure they had to be given over to, as were they. Sadly, but not shockingly, as my father warned me of the TVites, like Norman and Stan Lee, parodies of the ethnics, whom he hated, and their perpetual hard sell, it was not for nothing that he appeared at the end, did Norman, as a television fairy, it was not my Aeneid bible who hated queers, like the great satire in Mad newsprint when I was fourteen. Then, my already outgrowing it for all but its artful deigns, and how the beloved Mort Drucker made a Christmas Carroll O’Conner, PEGGING THAT SAD END THAT ALL HIS SHOWS SEEMD TO come to an ending as did Maude and now re seen as did One day at a time. All ended with the JUST FROM Petronius calculus, and that a tragedy is only a comedy that didn’t know went to quit. At the end, with the ghosts of Richard Mazur, almost meathead, food luck against Alan Brady Junior, who was inscrutably missed as was the first daughter, the Italian carrot top Mom, had to be alas married at the end, and to no less than Doctor Johnny Fever, in his own ennui of a lackluster George Carlin who wouldn’t indeed have said Shell Shock no matter what he thought, Or didn’t. The Italian baby girl, beloved Beatrice wise ass once guys and doll as perpetual Betrothed to slickest Nathan,  Valerie Bertinelli is seen each night at various degrees of womanhood,  as she crabs at wards 50, but all’s here in the depressive, dreaded, year that  Biden wishes to return to so madly, 1984, when he was behind the degradation of the Hart Bypass, as I called it in a cartoon accepted once, see above, she was though poetry Italian girl pretty, declared and with the gait’s of goddesses, loved as the Anglican scribblers once did love their Bancoftian ladies, she though here is married to of all things a dentist, but as wasp one, or course. She is barren, this is up where makings certain all the menders of an ITALAIN FAMILY ARE EITHER GAY AND OR PREGENET. And the older sister showed the Italians of Manzoni, hell of Sicilian crime novelist Leonardo Sciacca, are not up for conversion scenes anymore. Gee, this is no world for Innominatos. She has to reparse the hole on the show, and a Mackenzie showing that a problem child is, at the Synagogue a real threat as David Susskind could have told you, or is it Soupy Sales....?, she abandons the child she had to give with some Gumba Jew, not as pretty as Valerie, But more sexual she couldn’t quite get the casting department at Viacom to get her a wasp who looked like the white goon who had to be jettisoned from Taxi. Ah we miss you Andy Kaufman, as I make sure that chosen model of now Jon Stewart has indeed yelled at the hump atoning with coffee until the little red light comes on and shows that Tinkerbelle of not liberalism is still hanging on. 

I don't like or use AI, as the Roman said, I can graffiti anywhere, let Augustus clean it up. However, I did perform a Nexus search anyway. These are results for   how   many   Hal reports, A Clinton did not appear on      during its final year on the air (May 2025 to May 2026).    As my Ma told me, to the Putani Haltati, Italian for sociopaths, whores of placement, we are all but help. You see as a loser to Sweet old Bill you have an infection worse than any VD has ever been. Back into the woods the Strega returns almost gleefully, as not brining the center of inattention is too close an echo to her narcissus of every Saturday night in Hot springs, and a narcissus, to  paraphrase Gore is someone worse off, in her mind, than you are. I must admit the artfulness here is more honest than much I have done and gotten accepted, even if I have tried not to out and out copy, as an answer to some Germanic Helga nun who learned all she needed  from bigoted cardinals who I always resented in a Roman charge. The art is more holiest and honest here, more real, thickly applied, mostly humblest crayon and flair, and admired more than not and even in some art magazines as colorful, fantasia more than not. F the sociopaths of Hillarys forest witches, my heart is with Roman Bill in the Shady Groves, anyway, as I still have maybe twenty some cartoons of then kept in a trapper keeper, drawings made and kept as an originals more a real resume than the collected lines of now. Take that she says to Colbert the Uncle Arthur of her Bewitched, with some delight over some slight she is sure she saw him do or say or not do or say when goaded as she alas for her next assault on the Caesariate  or Parnassus our Medea without the triaged Greek intonations, is certain she never trusted him anyway and cant in good conscious ever be caught dead near anyone so vulgar and maybe lose another six votes as she is one like counted souls to Dante’s Satan are indeed the most precious of menageries made, or not, causing the gloomy Lucifer to see the Dore joke is again is on he, they are of candied, breakaway,  glass. 

GOODNIGHT CAPT. VIDEO… WHERE EVER YOU ARE!

20 APRIL 2026. 

I HAVE GOTTEN BITS AND PICECES ACCEPTED HERE AND THERE BY PEOPLE THAT THE OVERFED FATSO PIGS AND PETUNIAS OF TELEVSION POLITICIAL SINCE WOULD NEVER SO THINK. I HAVE GOTTEN MY SHARE OF THINGS IN Anarchist, or at least as anarchist as one can get in the land of Wal-Mart, and have been lauded and tabooed by some who think perhaps nothing called  a Clinton ever think or speak or ventriloquist for them. 

Some of them have indeed been girls who have packed me in their rather nicely placed me in booklets where there is the thought by some that their being of The gayety means a kind of miserable lack of any morality, of any kind, no Romanism for them god knows, but then, no one has been devastated or starved or been blown to bits over Aeneas, if they ever was. One English gal took one of my Christmas lasses called over sexed although is only a Roman portraiture and outsole of her Saturnalia prettiness no part of, if I had to complete it would have been irritatingly close to the kind of a girl that always willing to take checks from the electric company and get checks with a GE surplice cyclone telling us we are all in for it collect as if at a Mafia wedding which all politics has sadly become. But that’s what you get when the fbi, dithering old Kentucky Homed senators and jubilant little negro lover, as long as they say what I tell them to, why they are almost as human as my dogs are, Jon Boy Stewart are al seated on the bride’s side, which doesn’t win as much s assay her piggish husband did so effortlessly once. We Jesuit boys are cursed with a best of fortunes…if we know when to abscond, or pay the fish wife for the Beatrice -acide that even my sharp as at tack Mother saw that first night of his insidious and perpetual Clericalism. Sometimes. Bill, all that the ides of March means, as Guido Panzini once said of the Paar tonight show, is that April is just around the confer. Only Iranian Persian Bel Arab trash would be smoked that their rallies against war wouldn’t get the peanut gallery once the Jews who paid the freight no longer nodded to commence one of Mucius’ parades. 

So, as direful and derided evil eye snatched man in the gray flannel suit of armor Steven sweeps up his last spotlight, and Emmett goes towards his sadder than not clowns end, you know, when a clown dies, or cries, or whichever, I must be true to my Antoine name and give him the requiem that he so fittingly deserves. As he is the last to be ground up and thrown aside and paled on the same pyre with Rodger Mudd and Tommy Smothers, I feel it  imperative as I did to leave a Basile like crumb in the black forests as the edge of civilization, a dirty word among those who have Roman weeks be boffo at the Met, whichever ones, and I must speak of how I came to hate old Herbert ANDESRON, A BESPECKLED CREEP WHOSE DENNIS’ WERE MERELY IMPLEID AND LEFT BEHIDN IN BATHROOMS AND RAPE ROOMS UNMENTIOEDN WHEN THE Junta Provosts became the blackest pope, as a jurist was made pope against all millennium discordant, so why not a cretin from the swamps pond what my father called the cesspool that is and was and is now worse than ever. America. I ,MUST NOW , LIKE THE ORGINBAL Picaresque Petronius hero, like magic realism being as Italian and since Dante, too the picaresque novel is somehow a tortilla more than a Calzone, but then they must be lauded and beloved in ways that no Italian needs be, as that is the last racism comedy they are as whoppster would say allowed , as she amidst there are things she is not somehow allowed to say, and a Spanish brougham is one, though she booster her merger career of having played a Richard like drug addict for Broadway babies, by being an ugliest of habit warring nuns who was marked for death by local outfit, as wops is always funny and somehow maybe you too, Robert can make the lazy minstrel show into something of what Chuck Noll said, a life’s work. So deciding long ago, I was not of the woe caliber of clowns who would actually commit the Roman treason of believing my own act, as ill just bet that Colbert as shocked when he had heard that of all people, the mausoleum of Bill Paley, after having done battle with Lucy and Marshall Dillon, as if this always on some kind of running, Dan Rather, must have been caught from behind. 

A woman at a barley above xerography pamphleteer of arts and racialism and political science that no hags who worked for face making POW for life John Mac Kane would ever admit to there brining much less signed off on between commercials for dishwashers and jet engines, we bring good things to blight, and now you’re ante War, since ffing when, as the heckling Jackals gather as a swam, or what was the name of a bunch of crows again…?, on the flaying Buttresses of the Notre Dame Di Avenue of the Americas, where the presidium goes , no sadly as I feel as if , like my brothers we were disappointed by Trump, as sometimes its better to just be a dead carcass thrown on a Roman alter and be the true end of the senate than to have to be, as Ovid said, by slopped or slop the hogs of empire. 

I was never in the need to be a Cicero, whom I hate, as again its better to be a copse on the Roman amendment house than to be Cicero who is paying for unneeded and again Octavian hated Confetti everywhere one goes. How does a man lose the zeitgeist…he is listening to enemies and Jews who heralded Biden, no matter as long as new Judea supplants nove Roma, as I wonder does the Jdater, if that, blonds make a single file line, just like scalpel, put a pin in that creation, no really, well all get back to him, as indeed Gummadi Pilliozi plays the Turk, and the haunted woman if she can becalmed that, makes sure a Livian vowel ends not only her name. buT her title as unisexed, undersexed fagit loving defecation of allowed women is dream no Roman ever had and the word to be correct, as Copula can tell you is Brava, as the watches are up for slashed fire sale prices. Ah you see knowing this since forth grade, and seen at HBO, the trash and barbarian rages still wear a Roman drag, and the Sicilian diminution is for fun, but the sad Roman detritus is for honor. 

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1ctyx

This gal in her again Xeroxed booklet she sent me to keep, as other higher up art imagines wanted paid for even so much as a cartoon accepted, fine by me, the resume s I say to a unbelieving brother is all, she was thinking about how it was so apparent now that Swill well, well, the representative who played the part of Cassius’s but in a modern cress Caesar that didn’t have the heft of the nominal pages of the tragedy of Pompey the great, upon whose bones it kept in places as a shroud of words, as it appeared and I was told as much that Pompey, like David with the Pergamum more than Judean attitudes, my father would not have been shocked to see that the sudden reversal of a noble savagery. And when I say Xerography, I do not put her down, at all, as heard and know all I need to about graffito from roman walls, disliked and dismissed by mushroom yellow submariner Aaron, ill have fungus on that pizza, as whole Roman walls are at white trash museums as worth their weight in cement, unknown of in the dark ages. 

She emailed me, as she like some, and not somehow AI until now in search were upset that it seems that Swill well, he who has all the television city aplomb of someone selling depreciable silent on the high sixties channels, came and went unnoticed by the midnight riders of the dying networks as they look to leap away from, the crumbling black rocks, as had George and Gracie and Jack and Top Banana Phil, looked to escape the burning arson that was vaudeville long ago. How did you know, Anthony…?, she said me in type on a glaring screen, how did you know that there would be silence this time from the fat bloated puppet Etters, water carriers like Colbert and Jimbo, as indeed two weeks in and there is not a word said as Michelle, the Livia with a human heart, she just ate it, smiles and reenacts about the feral class of politicos. One thinks, get out or back to the kitchen, dearies, as Hubby builds the makeshift Stonehenge, a Church of the mille gracias to himself, that Madre always wanted his heart buried at. The Jews who screeched for this war and got their war, well, even Bobby of the Nero has to send out images of his racialism under fake names a now low for American Italian trash as he, and she wondered how was it that I knew, whether scalpel for not that Fang was a joke I would make, and that the Jewish pouter wouldn’t dare to do. So, began the death of the twerp in the gray flannel suit, be gone as they don’t make midnight roulette as they sued to do, once, and crying and kidding you not has become a sorry state of not being or having to be funny on purpose. My father, warned me of it all, as I note the Anglican girl, she liked the charioteers I have made my family unto, easily a smart assed brother and his devotions immixed with eye rolling about me, as my father who seems a Virgilian figure, she took Italian literature as a sub major and of course recognized the Brethren she also had, as think she is English too, as she recalls not with fondness how the tragedies and triumphs of grannies people, aha! Were damned but be being recounted, if not reacted by slick Willie at the globe. We are not all Beloved queens , she told me, as is Ian Mackellan. But I have always liked Ian, “will do any comic book for cash” Mckellan, so didn’t much recuperated about that, but alls, we have , like with many a unmarried girl Anderson Copper sees as sissy broodmares, just like the Nazi’s, we hold a hated for blond pigs daring call themselves stands ins for a beloved Kim Novak. Again, like some, she is a woman who wouldn’t be caught dead at a Hillary Rally, as Machiavelli said we are not all well off enough to be at such changes for the rich, a reason he is so hated by the smiling animal loving filth at magazines so sanctimonious, and yet where all are on Atkins, and being thin, despite any dancing pigs and hippos of big Phrama commercials, is still a Capote age relic of swans now sung their last long ago. She accepted a drawing of mine since art school done of penthouse girl Jamie Dion, a Bill fave, as again mere bust, and I mean the Romans sense of the word, head and shoulders in a Father Saturnalia cap, twas the midnight before Saturn’s day and all through the casino, …and my more or less new journalism about the marriage of Figaro, there are so many, but the one at a Roman armamentarium , where the pacifists frolic Ennius, caught her fancy and was allowed in. And somehow I get essays of cnf about Lisa the schoolgirl in magazines that seem devoted to queers, who after all have been pro war as I say to admiration and the horror of those who work at Spacely’s Sprockets, since Sparta. I don’t see as much of her as was. I think my story about buying the pictures of her in boudoir finery as a fellow HS student may not have been as excised as they can do from the constitution when the fat girls have another Nicene conference, as drunken Julia’s smile with tragic anchor girls that the hags and harpies try to blame Cash for as opposed to some spic who is playing Eisheied in real time. 

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

So, goodnight Steven Colbert, once laughing at a cackling strgea, making fat jokes, a champion of women who I never met at the Funny Bone in Pittsburgh as every of  those skinning nights hiding death threats, bra straps and spitting at the marble wall got you what you ought to have. And silence ensures. Of course, coming too late to Columbus day this wop, aging Imperioli,  was busily playing an Italian cartoon during shock and awe. None of the gumbas were even heard from while Bushie was torturing the starving. Therefore, my empathy for Arabs goes back to Jehdah when I was offered a going rate to be in a dying magazine now suddenly anti war, you know despite the votes bartered for once,  but then there is a reason a wop will always wave a flag, their meters are running. But then, I didn't become cast by J3ws to trash my Fathers race...who Roman Antony...? I can read chapter and verse where Shakespeare stole everything. If not ...Bill Clinton. Despite having been and have here a certificate as good as any in these dark ages, pop said havened exceeded yet, Met lifers, that my Roman befuddlement has indeed been reciprocated and admired by the Injuns no less, making me a Lakota in good standing, I always take the position of admirers of them with black hair as told a girl too busty and too darkie and yes too Wendy for the unmarried gals of empire, and the merry wives of By the, god only knows how many secrete ceremonies with Tuscans slave girls our Augustus has had. 

The party that was too good for Mario Cuomo. What was funny that during his Paddy Chayefsky nightmare, amid the homilies, I was never ever thrown off a website for ever calling Sicilian Garbage like Jimmy Kimmel and or Robert DiNero what my father warned me was Company wop trash. Not once. how about that...?

I am not schooled to hear that the Indians on speed dial awls there to black list and blockbuster for anyone in the one perfect that Barry the fairy thinks a white momma so includes, they are now after the still not sanctimonious enough Washington football team, who as a less than diligent Cowboys fan still, I think get what they deserve. But like Colbert and heinous wop named Jimbo, my enemies, real or invented, get their’s. And more often than not its them just living out there meaningless lives. As a woman, fat baited, yes ugly in ways you called the Italians daughters  over and over to make sure that the rapes by hillbillies went unnoticed, I went to the hated Amazon, as get books I never bought or just placed in a cart, papers I do not like, comic books like Conan I'd only buy on sale as have one in colorful pages of disrepair, I bought a disk  of Microsoft work 9 as was told I write better in that stylus than any. So, to the accountable once owners of the redskins and anathema to dying espn as Vikings never is, now realizing there is no winning ever obviously, as the Indians are upset now by the image of a spear’s they are mute on Florida states, I say call it the spear of destiny, a accruement of Rome wanted by Hitler, as saying that, no one like Liz Warren taking a scholarship not from me but a more beloved ethnic, no one will even pretend to care. I wont cry for smirking Colbert, whose eyes, or myopic eye as the Polyphemus case may be, ah the truth and consequences has dawned upon him, tired and beleaguered ahs our teepee Jethro alas now becomes. I wont recall him, though will make a sign to ward away the evil eye, as Gore did on a Roman street, but like the Etruscans on Columbus day vilified as the Bushes and barbarism and the church always hated always  has, I will recall the poor Oriental girl who dared say a word against some goon on the wasteland my father called television, and having a life practically ruined over it as he honed his Rube Goldbergh machine, but with knives, I shall recall the fact an American president was called a faggot by the handmaiden of a wife of a rapist, i will remember that. And mostly as he cries in the window as a hypocrite do, I will recall the jokes made of a last Princess Cancer victim, the eyebrowed cow who got laughs without begging for them, and of course the blond girl, what else do he and his frauds chased after...?, the girl at the Funny Bone in Pittsburgh, i in art school then,  who said her and others had their bras torn off of their forms, from them, by a squatter of another man's nests, now he hates CBS, no body begged Doofus, to see you win. Sadly, he is who has done more to requiem for Colbert than the King of the vista Carson ever did for the uninvited he. I will recall the great Liberal as he twinkled and nodded about the poor, stupid, plebes not as positioned as dreadful he, having now to eat Campbell Soup as Pirates and Stewart in laws stole nest eggs, the great bleeding heart or liver or whatever orifice spewed his puss. Good night Dick Martin wherever you are, and so, good night unto you all, give me your hands if we be friends and Morey Amsterdam will restore amends.  

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.