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 Mallick 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, ut 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 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. 

I EAT HEAVY METAL.

 

12 FEBRUARY 2026.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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