THE INFORMATION #999 JUNE 29, 2018

THE INFORMATION #999
JUNE 29, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.–Shakespeare

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART SIXTEEN: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

The High Sheriff, whose name was Pike, was surely no Sweet Betsy from Pike, and that was a natural fact. He had it in for carnies and traveling folk of all stripes, and although I didn’t realize it at the time, he took it upon himself to make their lives a misery. The nearby creek ran through a place called Hickory Holler and show-folk said, I learned years later, that it was haunted with the restless spirits of smart-mouthed drummers, talky clowns, grab-ass geeks, and hard-luck hobos what had had an unfortunate encounter with this particular Sheriff name of Pike. If I knew at the time just how dangerous that particular High Sheriff was, I would of shit my breeches for real. Only I wasn’t wearing none. Sheriff’s Deputy Hoxie had told me to strip naked, and I had done so.

Pike turned to Hoxie and said, “What kind of prayer did he say, just before I interrupted your holy ceremony? Was it a Papist Prayer?” “Naww, Opie, it was a good old Protestant hymn.” “That’s good,” said O.P. Pike, “At least he’s a prayin’ man. He’s gonna need it, where he’s goin’.”

I didn’t know how it was possible, but I began to sweat even harder. I was just about to piss myself when Pike turned to me and said, “Are you some kind of carpetbagger, boy?” “No Sir,” I said. “I’m a son of the south both born and bred.” “A very pretty speech,” said Pike. “But it aion’t gonna help you none.” “Shall I shoot him now, Sherf?” said Hoxie, and there was something of a shrill urgency in the adenoidal Deputy’s voice. “Not now,” said Pike. “I ain’t through with interrogating him yet.” “Say whut?” said Hoxie. “I got a few more questions I needs to axt him.”

“So,” said Pike, “if you ain’t a carpetbagger then you must be some kind of scalawag. I thought we chased your kind out of here years ago.”

“No Sir,” I started to say, and then I felt the butt of a rifle on the back of my neck, and I got so sick to my stomach that I coughed up some sort of red bile, and at that moment I actually did piss myself. My water trickled into the warm dirt, and, thankfully, none of it splashed on the high sheriff, or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.

“Don’t you contradict me, or I’ll castrate you, you miserable Yankee dog.”

“Go ahead and cut my nuts off, but I ain’t no Yankee,” said I. I had stuck the word “ain’t” in there so they wouldn’t think I was putting on airs, like a big-city fancy-man.

I was expecting at any moment to get shot, or to feel the stock of the rifle on the back of my neck again. But nothing happened,. I looked up. Hoxie was standing around and shifting his weight uneasily and looking a mite sickly himself. “You must be some kind of scalawag for sure.” said the High Sheriff.

I didn’t open my mouth.

“Have you made your peace with your maker?”

“Look,” I said, with courage I never knew i had. “If you’re going to shoot me, Sheriff, then why don’t you get down to it? Fish or cut bait. I didn’t do anything wrong except to take in some of the sights around here, in the little town where I happened to be born.”

“You was born here, was you?” said the High Sheriff, with a grin. “I suppose you think that you’re some punkins. I guess you thought you were going to have a gay old time here, pokin’ fun at the yokels you left behind here to rot, and molestin’ our womenfolk. I know everything there is to know about you carnival types, boy. I’ve seen every type of a gyp show and a huckster wagon pass through these parts, and yourn is the worst by far. Do you think those honest farm folks and their hard-workin’ and long-sufferin’ wives need to be exposed to the type of degrading carnival filth you Yankees have got infestin’ your midway? Those short-change artists and those rigged gambling games and those inhuman polluted spectacles you got in that freak show? Boy, I’ve been around, and I ain’t no shrinkin’ violet, but some of those exhibits you got there just beat all. And that moss-haired girl–nearly named as a jaybird, and a common prostitute to boot.”

My blood rose hot in my throat. I stood up. I looked the High Sheriff dead in the eye and God damn me if i wasn’t mad enough to spit in his face. “Don’t you slander HER! Miss Wax is gentle and kind, and as sweet and innocent as the new-mown hay!”

The High Sheriff laughed, and held up both of his hands. “I guess you’re sort of sweet on that twitchet, hey? Well, it’s really too bad, because–”

Pike made a gesture then, and Hoxie raised his pistol.

At that moment the other Sheriff’s Deputy rode up on his horse; the silent one, whose name I never did get, even though I owe him my life. He didn’t bother to dismount, and he wasn’t aiming his rifle at me. He had a hurried confab with the High Sheriff. All the while Hoxie had his pistol pointed at me, and I knew he wouldn’t miss, so I didn’t even try to run. Pike turned from the Deputy on horseback and gave me what looked to be a fatherly grin. He even called me “Son.” “Put your clo’s back on, Son,” said he. I did so, with some alacrity, lest he change his mind.

“Why,” said Pike, “didn’t you say you were the son of Colonel Floyd of the third regiment? I fought beside that man at the battle of Antietam. A braver soldier I never knowed. Why, he even saved my life, onct. I was skylarkin’ at the front ramparts and showed my head and the Colonel shoved me to the ground and said “Get down, you goddamned fool,”. Just then, a bunch of minie balls went over our heads like a swarm of angry bees. I’d of had my head blown clean off if it wudn’t for yore Paw. Let’s us have a drink,” said Pike, and he took out a flask. I wasn’t much of a drinkin’ man, then nor now, but I took a long pull and felt the warmth of the moonshine circulating though every inch of my sweat-soaked body. “That’s the way,” said Pike. (I noticed he didn’t offer any to Hoxie, who just stood back, hopping from one leg to the other, like he had an itch he dast not scratch.) “In memory of your paw. How is he, anyway?” “I haven’t seen him lately. Not for about twenty years, Sheriff.” “Well, last as I saw him, right after the war, him and me rode with the night riders. We did a lot of good around here, before the Federals came in. No uppity Nigras in these parts–no SIR! Now, what became of your Paw after that, I couldn’t say.” Once again Hoxie started balancing his weight on one foot, and then the other. “You’ve got to allow for Hoxie,” said High Sheriff Pike. “He may be a tad over-zealous, but he does a good job and he’s a brave man and he didn’t know what to make of you. Now, don’t you let our little misunderstanding put you off our town. You’re a Floyd; you can come back here anytime you like and settle down. We lost a lot of good men in the war. Only don’t be bringin’ that carnival with you. What you doin’ with that carnival nonsense anyway, Boy? You remind me of the Prodigal Son, muckin’ around with the hogs. Ain’t you got no natural sense? Ah, well, the apple never falls far from the tree. You’re your father’s son, all right. The Colonel was also a bit of a scamp when he was a young ‘un.”

“By the way,” said Pike, “what was you doin’ over t’ the water tower anyway?”

“Well, Sheriff, I suppose I was fixin’ to climb to the top and carve my initials there.”

“Son, you are one lucky bastid,” The High Sheriff laughed. He was really yukking it up. “All I can say is that it’s a good thing ole Hoxie caught up with you when he did. Because, ” said the Sheriff with a wide grin. “Before you got half-way back down that ladder,” and he put his wide hand in front of his narrow mouth and whispered, “why–he would of shot you in the back–and you’d be dead as a doornail!”

1* SALUTATION
THE MAGIC CHRISTIAN
FREE MONEY

2* REFERENCE
SWINBURNE’S REJOINDER TO EMERSON
A foul mouth is so ill matched with a white beard that I would gladly believe the newspaper scribes alone responsible for the bestial utterances which they declare to have dropped from a teacher whom such disciples as these exhibit, to our disgust and compassion, as performing on their obscene platform the last tricks of tongue now possible to a gap-toothed and hoary-headed ape, carried first into notice on the shoulder of Carlyle, and who now, in his dotage, spits and chatters from a dirtier perch of his own finding and fouling; Coryphaeus or choragus of his Bulgarian tribe of autocoprophagous baboons who make the filth they feed on.

FULL TEXT:
http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/07/a-gap-toothed-hoary-headed-ape.html

3*HUMOR
S’ALRIGHT? S’ALRIGHT!

4*NOVELTY
STUPID INTERNET QUESTIONS
https://www.google.com/search?q=stupid+internet+questions&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiy-u3NhdHbAhWMjVkKHfcPBm0Q_AUICigB&biw=1366&bih=662#imgrc=ohU_mM5oEKFCRM:

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
JIMMY OLSEN ROCK & ROLL
misfitdaydream.blogspot.com/2013/10/so-jimmy-olsen-you-wanna-be-rock-n-roll.html

ALSO SEE:
TV TROPES: THE NEW ROCK AND ROLL
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheNewRockAndRoll

SEE ALSO:
GUY COLWELL: RADICAL ROCK
http://www.tcj.com/reviews/inner-city-romance-2/

6* DAILY UTILITY
OCD
Schwartz explained that people afflicted with OCD engage in a wide variety of problematic behaviors — compulsive hand washing, door opening, repetitive checking of ovens and doors, even repeating the same word, phrase or sentence. The cause, at a neurological level, is hyperconnectivity between two brain regions, the orbitofrontal cortex and the caudate nucleus, creating a tidal wave of unfounded mortal fear and triggering habitual response as the only way to attain calm. But the worst part is that, despite recognition that all these thoughts and behaviors are irrational, the OCD sufferer feels driven to obey them, nonetheless.
discovermagazine.com/2013/nov/14-defense-free-will

7*CARTOON
THE BOBBY FULLER FOUR
The Bobby Fuller Four was in the tradition of Buddy Holly. It’s a shame what happened. Rock might have gone in a slightly different direction had Bobby Fuller lived. But at least we have this; a hint of what might have been:
LET HER DANCE

ALSO SEE:
LOSER SONGS
ultimateclassicrock.com/top-loser-songs/

8*PRESCRIPTION
CONTRA STAR WARS TROLLS
http://www.wired.com/2018/06/geeks-guide-star-wars-trolls/

9* RUMOR PATROL
TOO SMART FOR STRANGERS
WITH WINNIE THE POOH

10* LAGNIAPPE
SADDEST SONGS EVER
AL JOLSON
SONNY BOY

A lot of these came out in the early 1970s. Maybe the strain of melancholy was on account of the end of the counterculture dream, what with Manson and Altamont. And because everybody was crashing after taking bad speed. And because there was a marijuana drought and the music biz was being flooded with heroin in the early 70s.

SEE ALSO:
RANDY NEWMAN
I THINK IT’S GOING TO RAIN TODAY

HARRY NILSSON
LIFELINE

LOU REED
THE KIDS

BEE GEES
I LAY DOWN AND CRY

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
BEE GEES
ALONE AGAIN
The Bee Gees of the late 60s and early 70s remind me of a sluggish, strangulated, inbred, Australian Bizarro World version of the Beatles.

This track in particular:

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
JET: DECONSTRUCTED
This sure is a bitchin’ tune. I thought so, when it first came out. But what is it even about? All I can make out is some nonsense about a “sergeant major”.

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THE INFORMATION #998 JUNE 22, 2018

THE INFORMATION #998
JUNE 22, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Every man must do two things alone; he must do his own believing and his own dying. –Martin Luther

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART FIFTEEN: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

Seeing as how Sheriff Hoxie was holding a gun to my head, literally, I got down on my prayer dukes in the dust, nekkid as a jaybird, and with just about as much composure as I could muster and not one iota more. I struggled to recall some words of prayer, and came up empty. My brain was tired and was working the third shift. I finally recalled the words of an old hymn, “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me….”

It was then that I heard the hoofbeats of approaching horses. I didn’t know it then, though I sure do know it now: news of any kind travels fast in a village or hamlet. Later on, I imagined that the boys were all sittin’ around a-chewin’ the fat down t’ the general store when word came of funny doin’s over t’ the water tower. So the High Sheriff and his other Deputy must of saddled up, and there they were now, galloping down to that very location to see what big doin’s were afoot.

The High Sheriff was a man whose name, I later learned, was Oliver Percival Pike, only nobody dast call him Oliver Percival, not even his wife, who called him O.P., along with everybody else who didn’t call him Sherf. And if you was a Nigra who had won his condescending favor, you could call him “Boss,” or “Mr. Opie,” and he wouldn’t pay no never mind.

High Sheriff Pike dismounted from the saddle of his horse right smart for an old man–as I could see from the corner of my eye. He kind of looked like a grouchy Walrus. He had a big white mustache, and wore a fancy cowboy hat, and he sported silver spurs on his shit-caked boots.

His other Deputy hung back and stayed on his hoss. I never did learn his name.

The first thing the High Sheriff done was draw his Deputy, Hoxie, aside. I could see from the corner of my eye that the Deputy on the other hoss had me covered with a big, heavy shotgun. I might of taken a chance and made a run for it, but I know that the slightest miscalculation on my part would almost certainly result in a fatal wound, and I surely did not want to die in the dust of a weedy vacant lot hard by a stinking red clay river.

So I kneeled there in the dust and didn’t twitch a muscle.

I overheard Pike and Hoxie talking, but could only make out scattered words: “Sam Floyd…says he’s a Baptist…with the carnival…pigsticker the size of your arm…bad character…up to no good fer sher….”

I didn’t realize this at the time, but I’m sure that they meant for me to hear what they were saying. That’s just how the police everywhere do, only at the time I was just too damn green to know it.

Sheriff Pike then walked over to the Deputy on his horse and talked to him for a minute–I couldn’t hear what he was saying–then the deputy on his horse nodded and galloped away. It was then that I had a queer feeling–like I was falling away entirely–first my knees, then my stomach, then my neck, then my teeth and my jawbone, and finally, my eyes and then the top of my head. It was an awful, sick feeling. To know that I was a dead man. And that I was going to die in the dust like a hog. Vultures would pick away at my eyebrows. Ants would swarm over my skin. Worms would devour my rotting carcass. The Red & Black Carnival would move on for greener pastures early the very next morning. The owner, Colonel Gentleman, would figure that I had jumped ship, or that maybe I was shacking up with a Grass Widow, and no inquiries would be made, discreet or otherwise, and no one would miss me ner ever learn what had become of me.

It was a strangely liberating feeling. I didn’t want to die, but I had the notion that if I did, then all my troubles would be forever over, and I would be at rest at last. Even then, I had no notion of heaven or hell. Not even in that extremity. I thought that beyond the vale of tears was simply–nothing. Otherwise, it would just be too cruel. And I also thought that the world would have to go on without me. And be no better ner no worst than before. It was a most humbling experience. I hadn’t yet made my mark, as I had fully intended to, once the time was right–and yet, it simply didn’t matter, somehow. Did it? Because I–we–all of us–were dust. I saw that as clear as day. Dust. That’s all. Food for worms and flies. And all of us, without exception, are destined to be scattered–scattered to the four winds. Maybe there was a fifth wind, I thought, half-mad with fear–a wind they never talk about–a wind which sweeps up all the forgotten souls and deposits them somewhere into the vast unknown.

Well, I would find out for myself–and soon enough.

But then I came to my right senses, and I started to sweat and shiver. My heart was racing. My knees were trembling. And the big High Sheriff loomed over me and his shadow blotted out the sun. That was a calculated effect, I’m sure, though I didn’t think about it at the time. I could see that the High Sheriff’s Deputy, Hoxie, still had his pistol aimed straight at my heart. I closed my eyes and prayed. Prayed that Hoxie would kill me with a clean shot, and nothing else. Anything but a gut shot.

Time seemed to slow down and nearly stop.

Seconds crawled by. They seemed like minutes, hours, days, eternities. My sweat slowly tricked across my closed eyelids.

“FLOYD!” the High Sheriff boomed. “I say, you there–Floyd!” It sounded, I swear it sounded, like the voice of God. “Floyd!” he said. “Open you Goddamned eyes when I’m talking to you!” The High Sheriff then moved slightly, and was no longer blocking out the sun, and I saw a blinding white light. I squinted. The High Sheriff, who had long jowls, and a nose like a hog, and spat in the dirt with a great deal of vigor, then asked me a series of curious questions.

“Are you a Mason?”
“No Sir.”
“Are you a Yankee?”
“No Sir.”
“Good. What was the name of General Lee’s horse?”
“Traveller, Sir.”
“What was the name of the late War?”
“The War of Northern Aggression, Sir.”
“Who was Abraham Lincoln?”
“The Devil, Sir.”
He looked at me.
“The Original Baboon. Sir.”

High Sheriff Pike seemed satisfied with the answers. But I hadn’t been left off the hook just yet. Far from it.

1* SALUTATION
MERCY
LOVE CAN MAKE YOU HAPPY

ALSO SEE:
THE SHADES OF BLUE
OH HOW HAPPY

SEE ALSO:
BRENDA HOLLOWAY
WHEN I’M GONE

2* REFERENCE
The Levenson Self-Report Psychopathy Scale
https://openpsychometrics.org/tests/LSRP.php

ALSO SEE:
EINSTEIN, RACIST
https://sputniknews.com/world/201806131065360060-einstein-travel-diaries/

3*HUMOR
Snagglepuss is Gay. And so was Huckleberry Hound, apparently.
https://www.cbr.com/snagglepuss-gay-hanna-barber-cartoon-canon/

ALSO SEE:
WHY BERT LAHR SUED
His most famous is his perpetual exclamation, “Heavens to Murgatroyd!” – a line first uttered by Bert Lahr in the film Meet the People (1944).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snagglepuss

4*NOVELTY
JOHN COLTRANE
LOST COMPOSITION: UNTITLED ORIGINAL 11383

http://www.theguardian.com/music/2018/jun/08/lost-1963-john-coltrane-album-discovered

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
ADAM CAROLLA’S WORK ADVICE FOR YOUNGSTERS
Something called PragerU is running these noxious ads on youtube clips. Here is their latest abomination:
http://www.prageru.com/videos/adam-carolla-dont-make-things-worse

And my rejoinder:
SHUT UP, FATSO BOSS! You pay ’em shit; you make ’em eat shit; and then you expect ’em to croak their gratitude through shit-smeared lips. Why don’t you kill yourself, you despicable fascist looter! Eat shit and die, you smug little butterball turkey!

6* DAILY UTILITY
GRAVE OF THE FIREFLIES (1988)

7*CARTOON
PLAY NICE, NORTH KOREA!
https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/#inbox/1633fee11fdcf807?projector=1

ALSO SEE:
CARTOON ALL-STARS TO THE RESCUE
Tiresome half-hour anti-drug PSA.

SEE ALSO:
TOP TEN JUST SAY NO SPECIALS
http://www.thefix.com/content/top-ten-just-say-no-tv-specials2076?page=all

ALSO SEE:
SOOTHING VIDEOS FOR DOGS

8*PRESCRIPTION
A SHORT HISTORY OF CLOWNS AND WHY THEY ARE SO TERRIFYING
theghostdiaries.com/a-short-history-of-clowns-and-why-they-are-so-terrifying/

9* RUMOR PATROL
PETER LEVENDA INTERVIEWED

ALSO SEE:
Cass Elliott from The Mamas and The Papas in an orgy with Yul Brynner, Peter Sellers and Warren Beatty.
https://deeppoliticsforum.com/forums/showthread.php?2306-Strange-Timing-amp-Motive-In-Polanski-Arrest/page3#.Wx_v0dJKjIU

SEE ALSO:
ACOUSTIC KITTY
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acoustic_Kitty

10* LAGNIAPPE
THE FLYING BURRITO BROTHERS
WHY ARE YOU CRYING?

ALSO SEE:
FATS WALLER
THERE’LL BE SOME CHANGES MADE

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE MOST DANGEROUS BOOK IN THE WORLD
http://www.simardartizanfarm.ca/ARK/9-11%20As%20A%20Mass%20Ritual.pdf

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
HOMEWARD BOUND: DECONSTRUCTED

Homeward Bound
Simon & Garfunkel

I’m sitting in the railway station.
Got a ticket to my destination.
Brilliant rhyme scheme, shrimp! Did you think of that one all by yourself, my little man? I’ve seen better verse on outhouse walls.

On a tour of one-night stands my suitcase and guitar in hand.
Waah! I’m famous and I have to perform for people to make money! Waah!

And every stop is neatly planned for a poet and a one-man band.
Oh Jesus Christ, you insufferable asshole, fuck you and the boat you rode in on.

Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought’s escaping,
Huh? What the fuck does that EVEN MEAN??? Prepositions, you preposterous midget, are your friend. Use them.

Home where my music’s playing,
It’s always about you, isn’t it?

Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.
What kind of cackling hag would want to fuck an evil midget like you?

Every day’s an endless stream
Of cigarettes and magazines.
Watch it with the inhaling, shorty, or you might barf.

And each town looks the same to me, the movies and the factories
The movies and the factories? That literally makes NO SENSE.

And every stranger’s face I see reminds me that I long to be,
When you’re a solipsist, every man’s a stranger.

Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought’s escaping,
Home where my music’s playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.
Tonight I’ll sing my songs again,
I’ll play the game and pretend.
You poor fucking baby. I feel so sorry for you.

But all my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity
You said it, not me.

Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me.
What in hell does this even mean??

Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought’s escaping,
Home where my music’s playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.
Silently for me.
Presumably because she choked to death on all your pretentious bullshit, you filthy little dwarf.

THE INFORMATION #997 JUNE 15, 2018

THE INFORMATION #997
JUNE 15, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

I was moved above all not by the thought that my death would ‘count,’ but that it would not count in the least.” –Christopher Hitchens

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART FOURTEEN: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

I had a gun on me. And so my situation was desperate. All the more so because I knew I couldn’t call out for help. There was no man in that small town who could help me. I couldn’t call for the police. The sheriff’s deputy WAS the law, south of Mason and Dixon.

Now, if I had been a full-blooded Senegambian or even an Octoroon or an Italian or if I even had so much as a lick of the ol’ Tar Brush, I’d of been a dead man right then and there, and I wouldn’t be here talking to you about it today.

Who knows? Maybe I’m not talking to you. Maybe it’s all just one great big crazy dream.

But for sure, if I had looked like a Nigra, that would of been the end of me–of that I had no doubt. But I had one unexpected advantage–I was a Floyd, and my being a Floyd must of counted for something in them parts–plus me being unmistakably a white man. Though at the time I thought that I had enjoyed my last drink, my last twitchet, and had laid down my final bet on the turn of a card and the whims of a bob-tailed nag.

The Sheriff’s Deputy kept me covered. His horse pistol was pointed straight at my heart, and his hand was steady and didn’t tremble at all, even though it must of been ninety degrees in the shade, and there warn’t no shade. I knew–don’t ask me how–but I just knew that he probably couldn’t even read or write–but I also just knew that he was a dead shot.

“Holt out your hands,” he said, and I hesitated, thinking that maybe he was fixing to break my thumbs. It’s funny, the thoughts that go swimming through your head during your last extremity–when you know for sure you’re going to be shot down like an ornery government mule. And then, for some damn reason, the Sheriff’s Deputy smiled. The goddamned bastard smiled! I didn’t know what was so funny. To this day I still don’t know!

His teeth were brown and stained with tobacco juice, and the two top teeth in the middle were missing. Likely, he had gotten them knocked out in a bar fight. But that wasn’t my concern.

“I said to be holtin’ out your hands, Mister. And be Goddamn quick about it.”

So I slowly lowered my hands; my arms were aching from keeping them over my head for so long. Try it sometime, and you’ll see. Not even a Yogi or an Indian Rubber Man can keep them clutching the sky for much more than a minute or two.

So I held my hands out to him, palms up. The palms were calloused from me having to pound in tent stakes and dig trenches. “I see you are a working man,” said the Sheriff’s Deputy, whose name, incidentally, was Hoxie. Jackson Hoxie. He handed me his hat. “Blow into the hat,” he said. I had no idea what he was about, but I did as I was told. He then took the hat back and gave it a little sniff, and it was then I realized that he was trying to determine if I was drunk. It was a dry county, and a charge of drunk would of landed me in the hoosegow for thirty days, unless I wanted to fork over two hundred frog skins, which I most assuredly did not.

When the Deputy Sheriff told me that his name was Jackson Hoxie and asked me what my name was, I told him that it was Sam Floyd. And, as I said it, from the look on his face, I knew that in them parts, a Floyd was better than a Hoxie any day of the week. Though I didn’t venture to express that particular opinion.

Hoxie then grew very serious. I could tell, because he inserted a slow pause between his every word, like stupid people, or very smart people do when they’re trying to get a point across. Hoxie was stupid, I was sure. Bone stupid. And that made him all the more dangerous. If I riled him up in any way, shape, or form, he could squeeze that trigger in a half second and blow my brains out, without even pausing to consider the consequences. I decided that if I was going to somehow escape this deadly situation, I would have to use all my circumspection, and then some.

“Floyd,” Hoxie said, “Whut. The Hail. Was you doin’ thar. At thet thar Water Tarr?”

I started to speak and he held the gun a little closer to me and he said, “Shut. Yer. face. Yew. Ain’t. Got. No. BIDness. Thar. Now. Do yuh?” I wanted to laugh. The way he squeezed out every word, it almost sounded like he was straining on the toilet.

But I dasn’t. I said, “Nosir.”

Hoxie said, “Shut yer stinkin’ pie hole.”

I stood utterly silent. The wind came up just then and it blew through the leaves in an overhead canopy of trees and made a sound like WSSSSH. At that moment, I would have given most anything I had to be back in my warm bed.

“Now,” said Hoxie, though he pronounced it more like “Naow.” “Now. Tell me…whut were yew…doin thar?”

I knew that any answer that I gave him would be the wrong one.

I said to him, “Sir–I don’t know.”

Hoxie looked at me in mock wonderment. “Yew…don’t know. Yuh…don’t know. Yuh don’t know a whole lot, now, do yuh?”

I said, “No, Sir.”

Remember–he still had the gun pointed straight at my heart.

Then Hoxie said, “Take off your clo’s.”

I said, “What?”

Hoxie said “I won’t tell yuh again. Take off your clo’s. I’m fixin’ to have some fun with yew.”

So I peeled my clothing off. I had two hundred dollars sewn into the lining of my jacket, and I had hidden my buck knife deep down in my boot, so I kept both my boots on. Hoxie gave me a withering look. “Did I say yew could keep your boots on? What yew got hid in there? Some whiskey? A Yankee dollar?

I said, slowly and meticulously so there could be no mistaking my meaning, “No Sir. Can I tell you, Sir?”

He nodded. “G’wan.”

I said, “I got me a knife in there, Sir. A little knife.”

He gazed at me with vast contempt. So vast that a man who didn’t know what he was about could have gotten swallowed up in it.

“Did I hear you right, Boy? You say you have a ‘little’ knife? Well, you just take that ‘little’ knife of your’n out of that ‘ar boot and lemme have a look. No tricks now, or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off. Humm. Hold ‘er up to the light. A ‘little’ knife, huh? Well, now, you just take that ‘little’ knife of yourn and yew turn around and yew throw it into them there woods thar just as far as you can.”

I did as he said.

“Now–turn to face me. Whut did you say your name was?”

“Floyd–Sam Floyd.”

“‘Zat your real name?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What church do you go to?”

“Sir,” I babbled, “I am a hard-shell Baptist through and through born and raised–and…and…I know my redeemer liveth.”

“Are yew a prayin’ man?” said Hoxie.

I said, “Yes, Sir.”

And he said, “Well…then…Floyd…yew had better get down on your prayer dukes riot naow.” He meant “right now,” but he pronounced it “riot naow.”

I looked at him and said, “Sir?”

And Hoxie replied, in a slow voice, “Ah SAID…tuh get down…on your knees…RIOT NAOW. En start prayin’.”

I thought this request was odd, and I almost laughed, in spite of the deadly danger I was in. Who would have thought that a Deputy Sheriff in a one-horse tank town would be so keen on the power of prayer. But then it occurred to me that he was giving me a chance to make my peace with my God just before he blew my head off, and at that moment I started farting in fear like a new-born calf, and it was only through a supreme effort of will that I managed not to soil myself.

I knelt, and then I closed my eyes, and when I did…and when I did, I could swear that what I was looking at–was at the flames…the flames of hell.

1* SALUTATION
SAIL AWAY LADY
VAN DYKE PARKS AND THE MONDRIAN STRING ORCHESTRA

SEE ALSO:
DAVID JOHANSEN
OLD DOG BLUE

DAVID THOMAS [PERE UBU]
WAY DOWN THE OLD PLANK ROAD

2* REFERENCE
THE GREAT AMERICAN READ
Incidentally, at least half of those selections are junk.

Wait–did I say junk? I meant “abysmal junk”.

For every 100 people who claim they read Moby Dick, only about 3 actually did.

Hence, the worthlessness of such polls.

They are fine for gauging audience preferences, I suppose.

Who was it–Saul Bellow? who spoke of s destructive game played in a certain Department of English at a certain University? Where young professors tried to impress each other by naming books they’ve never actually read and admitting that they never read them?

Hurston is underrated. Angelou is way overrated. And so is Morrison, though her third book was pretty good. I’m talking about Song of Solomon.

http://www.pbs.org/the-great-american-read/books/#/

3*HUMOR
HOW MEL BROOKS GOT HIS BIG BREAK IN SHOWBIZ

Hello hello hello
I’ve come to start the show
I’ll sing a little dance a little
I’ll do this and that
And though I’m not much on looks
Please love Mel Brooks

books.google.com/books?id=BfkIdiOFnJgC&pg=PA93&lpg=PA93&dq=%22though+I%27m+not+much+on+looks/please+love+Mel+Brooks%22&source=bl&ots=VTUeuHFbqe&sig=kXjF9ocg4RmjmX55zS3N78Vd2E0&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiEp7La77DbAhUj8IMKHbksC9gQ6AEIKjAB#v=onepage&q=%22though%20I’m%20not%20much%20on%20looks%2Fplease%20love%20Mel%20Brooks%22&f=false

4*NOVELTY
Dimash Kudaibergen
The latest singing sensation. You heard it here first.

One source states that “the illuminati” has already got to him.

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
BELOVED CHILDREN’S CLASSIC WRITTEN BY PROFESSED RACIST
The Education of Little Tree.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asa_Earl_Carter

6* DAILY UTILITY
ROSEANNE’S HITLER PHOTO SHOOT
Roseanne’s courageous attempt to publicize both the Muslim Brotherhood and the underrated Planet of the Apes franchise has been completely misunderstood by the humorless puritans who drive the outrage factory of the east coast snowflake elites, and, furthermore, if only I had my gun.

By the way, did you know: Roseanne was the child of Holocaust survivors who told her she had to have five children, to make up for the 3/5ths of Jews who were killed by Hitler.
https://www.thewrap.com/roseanne-hitler-hate-speech-shelf-life/

7*CARTOON
CARTOONIST VS. MEME
Sentimental slop gets remixed. That’s news?
https://www.polygon.com/2018/6/6/17430838/ctrl-alt-del-loss-found-memes-tim-buckley

8*PRESCRIPTION
Ricotta Pudding (Budino di Ricotta)
I added chocolate, pistachios, and dried berries to the mix. Worth the effort to make.
http://memoriediangelina.com/2013/05/05/budino-di-ricotta-ricotta-pudding/

9* RUMOR PATROL
SULLIVAN VS. SINATRA
This version of the wonderful Sinatra-Sullivan imbroglio is from Nachman’s book:
https://books.google.com/books?id=5z_1Jg4F0jcC&pg=PA301&lpg=PA301&dq=sinatra+sullivan+last+drop+of+my+blood&source=bl&ots=AXx6E5toSq&sig=8Yo9zRpNMwLJ4JmLjiZLQ4rYHFQ&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi67ozAvsHbAhXKpFkKHcF3BWIQ6AEIKTAA#v=onepage&q=sinatra%20sullivan%20last%20drop%20of%20my%20blood&f=false

10* LAGNIAPPE
GREEN FUZ
GREEN FUZ

Here we come, we’re coming fast
All the others are in the past
Jump to your feet, let us get you high
We’re the green fuz

We’re not too fast, we’re not too slow
Come along baby to see where we go
Jump to your feet, let us catch your eye
We’re the green fuz

We’re coming fast and I’ll tell you why
Jump to your feet, let us catch your eye
Here we come baby and you’d better run
We’re the green fuz

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF PANCAKES TO BECOME INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF BREAKFAST

The biggest news in IHOP history since Pat Buchanan said, in 1992, that the only foreign policy experience that Bill Clinton had was eating at IHOP. As he put it:

Bill Clinton’s foreign policy experience is pretty much confined to having had breakfast once at the Intl. House of Pancakes.
buchanan.org/blog/1992-republican-national-convention-speech-148

Actually, they should call it IHOD.

International House of Drunks.

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
BOUNCERS
Q: What criteria do bouncers use to select people at the front door?

A: Christopher Aeneadas, Veteran at I Observe My Environment. (2003-present)

At a packed club with a long line? When we literally can’t get all the people’s cover charge for fear of the fire marshal?

(This is bad to say, but true…)

Club owners like money
Old *men have money.
Attractive women dancing causes old men to spend money.
Attractive young men cause attractive women to dance.
Did I mention that club owners really like money?

First we screen for **whales. The (generally but not exclusively) older guys dressed well, but not trendy. They get in first. Many will self identify by offering a $100 handshake. A $50 handshake will often suffice. A bouncer who discovers he was subtly slipped a $5 bill to cut the line is going to find a reason to eject you.

Improper technique. The bill should be hidden from view. Particularly if you are using Mr. Washington as your co-negotiator.

Next we ensure about 55–60% of the club is females, dressed appropriately for the venue. Mix your races, body types, and ages… but admittedly not fairly. We are effectively swiping left or right on Tinder on behalf of men in general.

Why more women than men? Men aged 20–30 have a superpower. They can detect a gender imbalance that is not in their favor. If you have exactly 10,000 men and exactly 10,000 women at a massive rave there is no problem. The moment one woman leaves the premises? 2000 of those guys have a SAUSAGE FEST ALERT go off in their heads. Instantly. Then they get grumpy, start fighting, and stop spending money.

Now we fill the rest of the club with guys we think the women would swipe right on, and don’t look like they will make problems.

Single guys are disfavored. They will stay alone all night and bring down the energy. No one likes a mope. Brooding adds ambiance only to goth clubs.

Single women are favored. They will quickly be absorbed into another group. This makes everyone happy.

Groups larger than 5 are disfavored. Y’all came in multiple vehicles. That means you feel “Strength In Numbers.” The group is too big to be easily ejected as a unit.

If Insane Clown Posse is not on your DJ playlist these folks will need to be ejected sooner or later.

Groups larger than 8 are strongly disfavored. There is always a story. Bachelorette party? Gang initiation? IPO celebration when everyone’s stock now has real value? We don’t have time to sort it out. It’s suspicious. You’re not getting in.

Bouncers do not like to be outnumbered. Thanks.

Sports apparel and anything gang-ish (colors and flags) are strongly disfavored.

Anyone who is already drunk or obviously drugged is not getting in.

…and again, a cash-filled handshake will usually make a bouncer let you in first.

Just do it quietly. Approach a side-door guard or roaming guard rather than doing it in front of everyone waiting in line.

*While I used “men” here, there are very occasionally female whales. They get treated even better than their male counterparts. On one occasion in Los Angeles one of my guys got $100 from a mid-40’s lady who bluntly told him “I have 2 hours and I like both men and women.”

In that 2 hours she was all but mobbed by young gentlemen looking for a “Sugar Momma”. We didn’t even need to send guys her way. We deliberately pushed more guys into the club since she was buying lots of top shelf drinks for lots of people. I even sent a couple of D-list male celebrities I knew to visit her.

Once we sent a couple of “plant” girls over to be seen flirting with her, she had no shortage of young ladies attention either.

She dropped about $2500 on the bar tab. I’m not sure how much she spread around in tips. That single night surely netted her a year’s worth of kids to play with.

**”Whale” is a term for a big spender. At any given time one may or may not be present, but when they appear their whims come third after public safety/code compliance and maintaining ambiance. While I have never seen a nightclub’s accounting ledger, I would guess that they account for 20–30% of revenue.

THE INFORMATION #996 JUNE 8, 2018

THE INFORMATION #996
JUNE 8, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

To the end of his service this soldier could not be disciplined. He slouched. He would never learn to salute in the brisk fashion so dear to the hearts of the professors of mass murder. His “Cap’n” and “Gin’ral” were likely to pass his lips with a grin — were charged always with easy, unstudied familiarity. He could and did find it in himself to jeer openly and unabashed in the face of Stonewall Jackson when the austere Presbyterian captain rode along his lines. And down to the final day at Appomattox his officers knew that the way to get him to execute an order without malingering was to flatter and to jest, never to command too brusquely and forthrightly. And yet — and yet — and by virtue of precisely these unsoldierly qualities, he was, as no one will care to deny, one of the world’s very finest fighting men.–W.J. Cash

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART THIRTEEN: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

“So there I was, little better than a Greenie, working at the Red & Black carnival. With the encouragement of the Big Boss of the whole outfit, I was to get a substantial raise in pay, provided that I would make his life easier by occasionally making goo-goo eyes at the Fat Lady, who was also a midget woman, and none too friendly. But, before I started in to cozying up to Big Tiny Little, firstly, I had something happen to me that very damn nearly put me off my own feed, and for permanent.”

“Son,” said Sam Floyd to the young Count Victor Justin, “I want to tell you now about the first great crisis in my life. Listen closely, Son, for it is a most instructive tale which will prove of great profit to you, when and if you are ever faced with a similar circumstance. And lemme tell you, just for openers, Sunny Jim, that you surely do not want to get balled up with none of them small-town Sheriffs–and that be no Yankee lie. But that’s just what I done. What happened was, we were in the deep south at that time. The Carny landed in one of them little towns just west of East Jesus, which just happens to be right near to where I was borned and raised as a lonesome little pup, though I hadn’t been back there in twenty years. Anyhoo, I was a restless young buck and very early one morning I decided to leave the camp and go into town in search of a shapely bare ankle. Now, you’d think that in a little town like that–no more than a dreary hamlet in the most remote part of the backcountry–you couldn’t be able to put a foot wrong. But you’d be badly mistaken. The smaller the piece of turf, the more fiercely the savages fight for it. And don’t be trying to introduce no novelties to savages–it don’t agree with their constitutional sensibilities–not one little bit. Anyhoo, I ended up straying into the wrong side of town. And it very nearly cost me my life, is what. Being young, and restless, and full of piss and vinegar, I took a look at the water tower they had there in this crummy little crossroads and I took it upon myself to climb up to the top of ‘er and maybe carve my initials thar with my buck knife I always carried around with me, strictly for my own protection, mind you, for I was a Greenie and had never robbed nobody.

“Well, Sir, I had no sooner put my foot on the first rung of that ladder than I heard in the sultry late summer air a loud and solitary ‘click’. Which betokened bad trouble. Tell you whut–I wasn’t so green that I didn’t know just what that sound portended. It was the hammer of a pistol, and no doubt about it–that barrel was pointed straight at my heart. I turned slowly, ever so slowly, with my dukes pointed straight up in the air and the sun streaming through my fingers and the birds chirping off in the nearby forest and from far away I heard a lonesome train whistle and from nearby there was a church bell tolling and from even closer by there was the clop clop clop of an old dray horse, and I tell you, Son, at that moment not only was my every sense heightened–I could even smell the gunpowder, and some wild strawberries from a nearby patch, and my own sweat as it trickled in rivulets down my scalp and across my forehead and came dripping off the end of my nose–but I could also feel my life force draining from my body, because I knew I was gwine to die. And it’s not a pleasant feeling. I ain’t got much of the milk o’ human kindness in me, but, Scamp though I be, I wouldn’t even wish that feeling on a Savage. I remember now the one thought that trickled through my brain–this will be the day that I die. I’m a dead man. I’m a dead man, and yet I’m still standing, and I live. I’m a dead man, and I’m going to die with my boots on.

“And then I saw me some peculiar visions. It’s as though they were sounds echoing in my ears, only, instead, they was visions swimming before the black screen in front of my tightly closed eyes.

“Visions of my old Nigra mammy, suckling me to her bosom in front of the fire while the snow whistled through the chinks in the cabin wall. Of my Daddy, a tall lean man with a mustache and a grey soldier’s cap, teaching me how to shoot with an old hoss pistol out in the back forty. Of my poor consumptive Mama, lyin’ in a white room with muslin curtains in her bed of pain afore she died. Of the little feist I had–just a mongrel–mostly rat terrier–and how even though I teased him with every devilment a boy of five could devise, the poor brute loved me, and thought I hung the moon. I thought of the day a train got him, and how I kneeled over his battered form and howled as though my heart would bust in two. I thought of when I was in the second grade and of the afternoon after school, standing in the dusty schoolyard and receiving a kiss from–I disremember her name–Little Suzie I think it was, yes–they all called her Black-eyed Suzie–everyone but me, as I was in love with her, or I thought I was, even though her folk were poor white trash from the other side of the holler and mine were a cut above the common herd because they owned some land. I thought of my first schoolyard fight, over the honor of that very same girl. It was me and the butcher’s boy, who was also sweet on her. He got the better of me, and he punched me and kicked me somethin’ fierce, and left me gasping in the dust, tellin’ me to let his girl alone. He went on to marry that girl, I do believe, only she died in childbirth and so did the babby and he took to drinkin’ and a gamblin’ and I heerd a sportin’ man took offense at something he said and shot him dead at point-blank range and nobody did ner said a mumblin’ word.

“And now, I was standing there, not far from my boyhood haunts, a rambler, and a butcher was about to cut me down. And then I heard a voice.

“It wasn’t a heavenly voice, ner was it the voice of Satan, neither. I opened my eyes. I didn’t know exactly what I was expecting to see. A farmer, I reckon, or maybe a railroad bull. Only it wasn’t neither of them. It was a sheriff’s deputy. He was a mean-faced, red-headed, yellow-eyed feller with a sallow phiz and a high forehead and the skin stretched taut along his face and one eye sort of twitched and the other locked into you with a glassy stare, and then he spoke. “I said, you ain’t from around here–are you boy?” He paused to spit, and then he added, “Well, I’ll tell yuh whut–you surely are going to be right sorry you ever come muckin’ ’round HERE.”

1* SALUTATION
SCOTT WALKER
JACKIE

SEE ALSO:
WILL YOU STILL BE MINE?

ALSO SEE:
30 CENTURY MAN

SONS OF

WILL YOU STILL BE MINE?

2* REFERENCE
JESUS AND SATAN: BROTHERS?
https://www.gotquestions.org/Jesus-Satan-brothers.html

3*HUMOR
BIZARRO SUPERBABY

http://comicboxcommentary.blogspot.com/2010/06/back-issue-review-superman-140-and.html

4*NOVELTY
THE EYES HAVE IT
http://www.misterkitty.org/extras/stupidcovers/stupidcomics578.html

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
PROVIDENCE POTENTIALLY GENTRIFYING
http://www.providencejournal.com/news/20180525/providence-potentially-gentrifying-as-rents-rise-report-says

6* DAILY UTILITY
LORETTA LYNN
THE PILL

7*CARTOON
ESQUIRE ON WATCHMEN
https://www.esquire.com/entertainment/tv/a20889505/watchmen-alan-moore-damon-lindelof-hbo/

8*PRESCRIPTION
PLAYING THE BLACK CARD
I ran across this wretched bit of racist-pleasin’ agitprop as an ad on Youtube.
https://www.prageru.com/videos/playing-black-card

9* RUMOR PATROL
THE BIGGEST AMERICAN SECRETS

Here are some important, basic facts which you are nonetheless tragically unaware of:

The lovable “hobo clown” portrayed by Emmett Kelly was responsible for hundreds of furtive and bizarre kidnap-murders down near the Mexico border.

The ordained minister and sensitive kiddie-show host Mr. Fred Rogers committed acts of treason against this country which resulted in the deaths of dozens of our overseas intelligence agents.

The beloved children’s cartoon character Huckleberry Hound led a clandestine nocturnal existence blowing chumps down by the waterfront.

10* LAGNIAPPE
CAETANO VELOSO
ELES

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
WHY I HATE PAUL SIMON
http://sacksfiles.blogspot.com/2008/02/why-i-hate-paul-simon-or-dissection-of.html

*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
AGE OF ANGER. MISHRA. *****
THE ALTERED HISTORY OF WILLOW SPARKS. O’CONNOR. **1/2
THE ATTENTION MERCHANTS. WU. ****1/2
THE BRIDGE. TOMASI & DUVALL. ****1/2
CARNET DE VOYAGE. THOMPSON. ****
COMPULSIVE COMICS. HAVEN. ****
DEAD OF WINTER: GOOD GOOD DOG. STARKS & GABO. ***
DEADPOOL VS. OLD MAN LOGAN. ***1/2
THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND. TRAUB. ****
EI8HT 1. OUTCAST. ****
A FALSE REPORT. MILLER & ARMSTRONG. ****
GLASS HOUSE. ALEXANDER. ****
GRASS KINGS 1. KINDT & JENKINS. ****1/2
HARROW COUNTY: COUNTLESS HAINTS. BUNN & CROOK. ***
HERDING CATS. ANDERSEN. ****
HOTEL SCARFACE. FARZAD. ***1/2
JLA: THY KINGDOM COME 3. ****
LUCKY BRUCE. FRIEDMAN. ****
MAGNUS 1. BETWEEN TWO WORLDS. ****
MARVEL LEGACY. ***
MARXISM. WOODFIN & ZARETE. ****
MEMBER OF THE FAMILY. LAKE & HERMAN. ****
ORIGINALS. GRANT. ****
PFISHING FOR PFOOLS. AKERLOF & SHILLER. ****
PSYCHOLOGY. KLEIN & OPPENHEIMER. ****
RISE OF THE SUPERHEROES. TOSH. **1/2
RIVERDALE 2. ***
ROBOTS & DRONES. SCOTT & CHABOT. ****
SICK IN THE HEAD. APATOW. ****
SPIDER-GWEN 5. GWENOM. **
STICKY FINGERS. HOGAN. ****
STONEWALLED. ATTKISSON. ***1/2
TALES OF TIMES SQUARE. FRIEDMAN. ****
TRAINWRECK. DOYLE. ****
THE UNBEATABLE SQUIRREL GIRL 7. ***1/2
X-MEN: DOMINO. ***1/2
X-MEN BLUE. 3. CROSS-TIMER CAPERS. ***

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
THE WORST COMIC BOOK PUBLISHER

Ever? Possibly Solson.
http://www.misterkitty.org/extras/stupidcovers/stupidcomics121.html

More recently, BroadSword has become notorious.
https://hobbylark.com/fandoms/The-5-Worst-Comicbook-Series-Ever-Terrible-Comic-Books

During the Silver Age, Charlton Comics were considered the dregs.
https://hubpages.com/literature/The-Best-Worst-Comic-Company-Ever-Charlton-Comics

During the Golden Age, Victor Fox’s was a strong contender, though probably not the worst. His books were known for great covers, and rock-bottom illustration in the interior art.
https://www.cgccomics.com/boards/topic/66658-fox-comics-appreciation-thread/

Here is a good article on now-defunct companies; many good, some bad.
https://www.cbr.com/15-defunct-comic-book-publishers/

MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 236 JUNE 2018

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 236
JUNE 2018

Copyright 2018 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES: SECOND SERIES

451. Stop blubbering, Fatty! The Doctor said no more pie.
452. You will flee to Seattle without so much as a rain hat.
453. Grifter, the sheriff’s down south don’t cotton to unemployed gamblers.
454. Why are you the only one who think he’s been wronged? Because you haven’t.
455, The unemployment office has you pegged as a chronic deadbeat.
456. You work–and you drink yourself–under the table.
457. Even the Wicked Witch of the West fears your foul temper.
458. The voices won’t stop, crazed one, even after you’re dead.
459. Drug stores will no longer sell you your favorite Listerine.
460. Your favorite pawnshop is under surveillance by relentless detectives.
461. You must remember this. It only has four letters.
462. Exile, you should hjave learned to say “Heroin” in Yugoslavian.
463. You tell nobody what you’re thinking. because you don’t think.
464. Your son has a GED but thinks he’s a Harvard man.
465. That cockroach stuck in your ear is the least of your problems.
466. You called the Pope a cannibal. Devout cops will make you pay.
467. Don’t even bother to get up. there is nothing out there for you.
468. Infidel, the vengeful people of Mecca will find your pictures of The Prophet.
469. They will procure your last meal from a vending machine.
470. All the loan sharks call you “chum”. They’re not being cute.
471. The Big Man charges no vig. But late payment means instant death.
472. You will contract a fatal virus from a stolen Persian rug.
473. Why did you insult the Big Man? His minions are relentless.
474. It’s hard to eat humble pie when they’ve broken all your teeth.
475. Your life is a bad movie. A black and white movie, no less.
476. The wine is fortified, but your courage is not.
477. You were a circus clown with delusions of Ringmaster.
478. Drunken one, the prop gun is real. And loaded. Like you.
479. Russian Roulette with five bullets? Don’t take that dare!
480. Ghetto youth will play midnight basketball–on your skull.
481. Even garbagemen complain of your feculent aroma.
482. Your acupuncturist is a former human pincushion.
483. Burglars have stolen even the loose change in your sofa.
484. Your own mother will turn you in for a trifling reward.
485. You have a date with Destiny–and she’s growing impatient.
486. Bohunk, is there no word in your ridiculous language for “Transvestite”?
487. They look repulsive to you. Only imagine how you look to them!
488. The dope sweats have got you good and your flophouse is a sauna.
489. They will perform the latest dance craze–on your broken body.
490. You have the sickness unto death. But bigger troubles lie ahead.
491. The bartender will sell you turpentine and swear it’s Jagermeister.
492. Something’s amiss. You will wake up freezing on the hottest day of the year.
493. You will meet the Smothers Brothers. And they will smother you.
494. You have cuckolded the man famously known as “The Beast”.
495. Why did you dent the Cadillac of a man known as “Icepick Jimmy”?
496. Last night she was at a hot sheet motel; not with her “friends”.
497. No earplugs ever made will ever make the voices stop.
498. You’ll ask if she’s been true. You won’t like the answer.
499. They made you a victim. Too late to change your stripes.
500. You’ll show them–show them all. All your failures.

2. IN MY OPINION….
You can say what you will about the Zodiac Killer, Mister, but at
least he brought astrology into the mainstream.

As bad as it is to be killed by a Hippo, to be killed by a Pygmy Hippo
would be downright humiliating.

I’ll bet if we changed our name to “The United States of Vengeance,”
foreigners would stop messing with us.

I think it would be interesting to send a rocket ship filled with moths
to visit the sun.

Some say the driest place on earth is the Sahara, but they’ve never
been to a Mormon Sacrament Meeting in Salt Lake City.

I wonder if Caesar got caught in a hailstorm, would he be mad, or flattered?

There are three things that are exceedingly hard: steel, a diamond,
and knowing the precise appeal of Rascal Flatts.

I’ll bet if an ant could scream it would sound a lot like Yoko Ono.

I sure do miss those civilized warlords of yesteryear.

If Hitler ever wore cologne, I’ll bet it smelled a lot like cabbage.

Think globally, kill locally.

All those places that used to be zoned for business will soon be zoned
for reality.

I don’t know about you, but I would never be caught dead in a place
called Lipstick Joe’s.

I’ve never met the Antichrist personally, but I’ll bet he has a huge
collection of Bratz dolls.

3. BAND NAMES
The Ice Cream Soldiers
The Voice Of God
11 Benevolent Elephants
Thee Mystifying Oracles
Wood Beez
A Fool’s Journey
The Daily Beatings
Nixon’s Revenge
Sweated Labor
Secret Justice
Moneyland
Mint Suckers
Anger Points
Recursive Loop
Puritan Jealousy
Six Months Away From The Bin
Beatles UK
Duce Come Back
72 Virgins
Jesus Loves Porn Stars
Bitter Apple
The Most Disappointing
My Funny Hitler
Booger Ranchers
Jumbo’s Colostomy Bag
The Jolly Munchers
The Piss Poor Boys
Daddy’s Smelly Pipe
Kibbles ‘N’ Bits
The Power Of Eminent Domain
The Way Back Machine
The Coffee Virus
The Goddess Years
Robot Ham
Lake Nowhere
Incarnation Evaporated Milk
God 2
Secret Soundtrack
Nonstop Circus Of Angst
House Of Meth
The Season Of Anarchy
Secret Mark
Explosive Battle Of Giants
Meat River
Shitware
The Fatal Romantics
Filthy Midget Mart
Pavlov’s Coffee
Wife In A Can
Blind Man’s Television
100,000 Words Or Less
Tin Ear
The Four Moptops Of The Apocalypse
Oswald And The Patsies
The Givenchy Code
The Peanut Shit Wranglers
Batman Could Beat Superman
Voices Echoing In My Head
Jughead King Of Queen Archie’s World
The Popcorn Trick
Pas A Douche
Not Your Grandfather’s Fascism
Puritan Jewelry
Eight Minutes From The Sun
Four Roses Logic
Give Back Those Blankets
Genocide In Slow Motion
Who Said Dat Word Fuck?
The Bullshit Detectors
Dogs Bred To Be Eaten Like Chickens
Slob Killers
Brosephus
Guy Who Throws A Glass Bottle In A Crowd And Sneaks Into The Corner
Uglier Than Thou
Animal Pals
Atomic Opera
Designated Punching Bags
32 Animal Pals
The Throwstars
The All You Can Eat Challenge
Ahoy There Sailor
Americans Live Forever
The Angry Gourmets
Bacon Is Death
Bitter Drink
Boy’s Nation
Dawg Treet
Girl Reaction
Izzard
Jeckyll Park
Kali
Kill Crazy Dillinger
Mental Radio
Mickey Death
Negative Brow
Pirate Radio
Silk Purse
Tempermental Artistes
Tin Soldiers
Tired Eyes
Two-Backed Beasts
The Wet Parade
Wonderland
Zandor And His Herculoids
Unacceptable American Conditions
Teflon Junkies
Electroshock Veterans
Toxic Schlock
Deadly Mentors
Antheap Gods
Peyote Place
The Picknickers
Thousand Mile Stare
Hate Paper Dolls
The Tyros
Will Work For Gas
Everything Is Love
Silly Hitler And The Degenerate Art Ensemble
The Hollywood Finocchios
Reality Tunnel
Global Obsession And The Self-Fulfilling Prophecies
Googled My Ex
Gunner And Sarge, With Pooch
Relax, Love, Messiah Is Coming
My God I’m Tough
Scary Norms
Let Love Be Obeyed
Murderous Bouncers
The Crazy Cat Ladies
Shiloh The Beagle And His Boy Master
12 Foot Long Hot Dog
Craziest Cereal You Ever Met
Big Money Big Money
Paul Is Dead at 64
Touche, Douche
White Slaves In America
Commander Robot
Terror Masters
Team B
Kill All The Devils We Can
Build High
Pure Fiction
Mature Living Choices
Delicate Weeds
U-977
The Darned Sure
G.I. Dope
High-Decibel Circus
Bad Success
Lady Boner Immediately Goes To Zero
Family Uplift
Pissing Match
Burnt Paris
Bummer Command
Six Guns Blazing
Day Without Sunshine
Spineless Wonders
1969 OK
Tarantula Beware
Hot Girls With Manly Faces
Coke Nail
Police And The Crooked Landlords
Spare A Dollar For An Old Altar Boy
Canned Creamed Koran
Tiger Hand Beats Rock
Booger Bear
Dog Bullies
Favorite Prostitute Your Wife
John Wayne Gacy And His Famous Rope Trick

4. THE LIBERTARIAN BILL OF RIGHTS
I got this great e-mail today from Mr. Ron Paul, a very handsome man
who I think should be the next Pope.

ARTICLE I
Anybody who is not a Libertarian is an egg-sucking mule who is
probably going to a repressive church run by secular humanists.

ARTICLE II
Anybody who is not a Libertarian reads a profitable magazine or
newspaper run by anti-capitalists.

ARTICLE III
Anybody who is not a Libertarian does not brush their teeth, shoots
crack, and is probably even now plotting to stick up a gas station.

ARTICLE IV
Anybody who is not a Libertarian has been brainwashed by draft-dodging
hippies in the liberal news media.

ARTICLE V
Anybody who is not a Libertarian probably spent the 60s smoking LSD on
a hog farm and dressing their children in earth shoes and unisex
clothing.

ARTICLE VI
Anybody who is not a Libertarian reads their children to sleep each
night with selections from Howard Zinn, The Communist Manifesto, and
Das Kapital.

ARTICLE VII
Anybody who is not a Libertarian encourages the uppity rebellious
depredations of youthful Negroes.

ARTICLE VIII
Anybody who is not a Libertarian enables the deliberate incompetence
of scheming municipal officials.

ARTICLE IX
Anybody who is not a Libertarian is frightened to death by an illusory
global warming threat that doesn’t even exist.

ARTICLE X
Anybody who is not a Libertarian believes that criminals should be
allowed to suck on Uncle Sugar’s bone-dry tit.

ARTICLE XI
And all this goes double for you wishy-washy liberal finks.

5. POLYMORPHOUS PERVERSITY IN THE FUNNY PAGES

Where to begin?

First, Superman declares his lust for Supergirl:

SEE:
http://sayitbackwards.blogspot.com/2007_05_01_archive.html

Then Green Arrow’s “ward” Speedy turns out to be a junkie:

You’d think if his name was Speedy, he’d be shootin’ speed.

Or alka-seltzer.

Just sayin’.

Also, that’s a pretty fine rig he’s got there, considering he’s a low-down junkie.

“Wards” and kid sidekicks began with Batman & Robin and Captain America & Bucky,
back in the early 40s. They supposedly “gave the hero someone to talk to”.

Heh.

OK, it’s all a relic of a more innocent time.

Perhaps.

But what about the so-called “nephews”?

I am speaking of what appear to be the male offspring of Porky Pig, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, and Popeye.

If these are actually their bastard spawn, then surely Petunia Pig, Minnie Mouse, Daisy Duck and Olive Oyl have a lot to answer for.

6. PUFF THE MAGIC DRAGON: THE SEQUEL
Puff, the magic bag man
Puff, the magic drug czar
Puff, the magic convict
Puff, the magic landscaper
Puff, the magic parole violator

7. MODERN PROVERBS
Even a dog can have worms.
It is possible to please the rabble if you yourself have a mob mentality.
A rifle is a better companion than either a mother or a dog.
Before marrying live wildly for 30 years.
It is not necessary to add acid to the ecstasy.
Little by little we grow bananas.
Pigs cannot look to the sky.
Iceland has no aborigines.
Mice are not merely girl rats.
Re is the ablative of res.
If Jesus were alive today then none of us would have yet been born.
The ant steals from the grasshopper.
Nightingales can sing by day.
Red paint is made with the desquamation of old iron.
More money is spent on drugs than on any other hobby.
Someone in the CIA was heavily into the writings of Maeterlinck.
If you ask the FBI whether they have a file on you,
they will start a file on you.
The most poisonous beer and movie stars come from Australia.
Of all the words in the English language, the word
screw has the most entertaining definitions.
Every 45 seconds, somewhere in the United States, a
crackhead catches on fire.
Leonardo Da Vinci invented Tetris.
On average, people fear Whoopi Goldberg more than death.
Yahweh has the largest eyeball ever known.
I celebrate myself, and sting myself.

8. ACTUAL SENTENCES FOUND IN HOSPITAL CHARTS

1. She has no rigors or shaking chills , but her husband states she
was very hot in bed last night.

2. Patient has chest pain if she lies on her left side for over a year.

3. On the second day the knee was better, and on the third day it disappeared.

4. The patient is tearful and crying constantly. She also appears
to be depressed.

5. The patient has been depressed since she began seeing me in 1993.

6. Discharge status: Alive but without my permission.

7. Healthy appearing decrepit 69 year old male, mentally alert but forgetful.

8. The patient refused autopsy.

9. The patient has no previous history of suicides.

10. Patient has left white blood cells at another hospital.

11. Patient’s medical history has been remarkably insignificant with
only a 40 pound weight gain in the past three days.

12. Patient had waffles for breakfast and anorexia for lunch.

13. Between you and me, we ought to be able to get this lady pregnant.

14. Since she can’t get pregnant with her husband, I thought you might like to
work her up.

15. She is numb from her toes down.

16. While in ER, she was examined, X-rated and sent home.

17. The skin was moist and dry.

18. Occasional, constant infrequent headaches.

19. Patient was alert and unresponsive.

20. Rectal examination revealed a normal size thyroid.

21. She stated that she had been constipated for most of her life,
until she got a divorce.

22. I saw your patient today, who is still under our car for physical therapy.

23. Both breasts are equal and reactive to light and accommodation.

24. Examination of genitalia reveals that he is circus sized.

25. The lab test indicated abnormal lover function.

26. The patient was to have a bowel resection. However, he took a
job as a stock broker instead.

27. Skin: somewhat pale but present.

28. The pelvic exam will be done later on the floor.

29. Patient was seen in consultation by Dr. Blank, who felt we
should sit on the abdomen and I agree.

30. Large brown stool ambulating in the hall.

31. Patient has two teenage children, but no other abnormalities.

9. THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH UNALLOYED AND WITH THE BARK OFF

These are troubled times, and the truth is finally coming out about a
lot of things.

Listen: They’re called conspiracy “theories” for a reason.

That’s what “they” want you to “think”.

But these are FACTS!!!

If you are too cowardly to face THE TRUTH, then go back to your
rocking chair, cootster–these startling revelations are strictly for
the young and the young at heart ONLY!

FBI also spells “FIB”.

Walt Disney and Hoover assassinated JFK. Proof: “Oswald the…rabbit???”

Frank Sinatra wrote PROPAGANDA SONGS!

The Chinese are trying to kill our dogs.

Pickles are addictive.

Diamonds are a ghoul’s best friend.

The Government wants the economy to fail so the military can take over.

COLLEGES PUT RADIOACTIVE MARKERS IN THE CAFETERIA FOOD TO TRACK
POTENTIAL FUTURE TROUBLEMAKERS.

Starbucks coffee contains microdoses of hallucinogenic mind-control agents.

Casinos squirt heroin sulfate into the air conditioning ducts to
reinforce compulsive gambling behavior.

Dinosaurs were intelligent aliens who knew their bodies would create
the oil that is destined to wipe humaity off the face of the earth.

God is angry at us because lightning rods defy His will.

I hear that Popeye’s last words were, “Et tu, Bluto?”

And Batman is…the devil!

Was Jesus…a Vampire???

OMG! THIS JUST IN!

BANK HOLIDAY!!! QUICK! TAKE OUT ALL YOUR CASH!!!! DO IT NOW!

NOW!

THEY’RE CLOSING DOWN ALL THE ATMS TOO!!

A-AND THE POST OFFICE IS GOING TO START CHARGING TEN CENTS FOR EVERY E-MAIL!

10. THE ESSENCE OF HUMOR
I suspect that the essence of humor is to be found in a playful
attitude toward conventional logic.

Old dogs can and do teach themselves new tricks.

“From the age of six I had a mania for drawing the shapes of things.
When I was fifty I had published a universe of designs. but all I have
done before the the age of seventy is not worth bothering with. At
seventy five I’ll have learned something of the pattern of nature, of
animals, of plants, of trees, birds, fish and insects. When I am
eighty you will see real progress. At ninety I shall have cut my way
deeply into the mystery of life itself. At a hundred I shall be a
marvelous artist. At a hundred and ten everything I create; a dot, a
line, will jump to life as never before. To all of you who are going
to live as long as I do, I promise to keep my word. I am writing this
in my old age. I used to call myself Hokosai, but today I sign my self
‘The Old Man Mad About Drawing.” –Katsushika Hokusai

11. DIMENNOISM: ANAGRAMS

Francis S. DiMenno

Fanciness Nimrod
Finances Nimrods
Nonacid Firmness
Cannons Misfired
Crane Minds Infos
Manic Rends Infos
Finds Cairn Omens
Minds Canon Fires
Scans Minor Fiend
Damns Icons Finer

Francis Salvatore DiMenno

Academias Invents Forlorn
Almanac Voids Interferons
Anaconda Firestorms Liven
Caravan Rodeos Elfin Mints
Dalmatians Cover Infernos
Draconian Inflames Voters
Mandala Confines Servitor
Mascara Refolds Invention
Nondramatic Reveals Infos

Frank DiMenno

Naked From Inn
Manned For Ink
Dank Fine Morn
Mend Rank Info
Darn Fine Monk
Darn Omen Fink
Naif Nerd Monk
Nark Find Omen
Man No Red Fink

THE INFORMATION #995 JUNE 1ST, 2018

THE INFORMATION #995

JUNE 1, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Why don’t I drink from a straw? Because straws are for suckers.–Abraham Lincoln

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART TWELVE: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

“I grew up in the best possible circumstances to become a grifter,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy. “I had an A number one mentor, who showed me the ropes back when I was young enough to learn new tricks and old enough to appreciate it. Me and Sam Floyd spent an awful lot of time on the road, fleecing the suckers in the boondocks. After confiding to me his absolute hatred of damned foreigners of any stripe, and devoting a great deal of derogatory talk to the vile pestholes they fled from in order to come here and bother real white men, old Sam started in to waxing nostalgic about his own background, and how he got his start in the selling racket by working at a carny as was run by a scheming fat Dutchman. ‘Starting out,’ said he, ‘I was a kid worker for a mud show. It’s how I got into the grift. I did every menial job on the lot except lead the elephants to water. The elephants in this show, the Red & Black, were mean. That’s because the trainer used the hook a lot. I am a man of iron who blanches not at painful sights, but it used to make my blood run hot to see that man mistreat the unfortunate brutes. I’d of handed him a beating if I could. He seemed to hate the elephants just because they were big, and they made him look puny. He was a little man with a little power over his betters; and he exploited it to the hilt. T’was ever thus.

‘When I started with the carny, like all the other lot lice, I was dumb. A mooch. An emby, even. Little better than a Lugen. I didn’t know what a whole lot of nines were. But it wasn’t too long before I attached myself to the midway and they began to trust me with small sums of money. I was too green to steal. They used to tease me about it. They’d say that I’d finally be with it and for it when I started palming some of the nickels I was handed and tipping them into a hidden pocket.

‘I was with the circus or the carny for quite some while. There’s a certain dynamic to both. I noticed that the Fat Lady never quite seemed to ever meet the man of her dreams. Carnies tend to hire a lot of disreputable sorts. The circus midget never went for the fat lady. If he was smart, he would pitch some woo at another midge like himself, provided there was one available. Otherwise, he’d get stuck mooning over the delicate trapeze artiste or the husky equestrienne. Who pitied him in public, and laughed him to scorn behind his back. Even the fire-eater didn’t go for the Fat Lady. And the fire-eater was regarded as a pretty degraded fellow. A great many of them were former magicians who had lost their nerve and had shaky hands from too much drink. They were often just a step above a juggler or a geek.

‘The working magicians were the ones you had to watch out for. Clever, and often vicious men, they were as sneaky as the day was long. And they never wanted to do any heavy lifting. That was never my problem when I was a dumb punk Clem. When I first got hired, I’d do anything. Even clean the cages of the big cats. What a stench! P-U! To this day, I can’t stand to look at a cat, and I can barely tolerate a dog. I think we’d all be better off if we drowned every stupid little mewing kitten that came into the world. The Egyptians worshipped them. Huh. And look at your typical Egyptian now. Reduced to toothlessly babbling in a vile souk and trying to offload the dusty junk of centuries past. I say that the ugly scourge of alley cats and house cats should be wiped out. Exterminated without remorse. They’re all vicious killers. They kill innocent helpless birds, and everybody knows they suck the breath out of babies. Every single owner of one of these pestiferous creature–perhaps unknowingly–let’s give them the benefit of the doubt–though they scarcely deserve it– is harboring a demon in disguise. A chump is always the last to know he is being imposed upon. T’was ever thus.

‘Anyhow, I talked to a magician once–he retired from the sleight of hand tricks and went into dukkering. He put on a turban and some burnt cork for blacking and palmed himself off as a mystic. He told me all sorts of nutty stuff. That when Christ encountered Satan in the desert, it was just a good-natured squabble between two quarreling brothers, because both Jesus and Lucifer are the sons of God. And that got me to thinking–what if he was right? It would explain an awful lot. But it would also mean that everything that men have believed for nearly a score of centuries has been flat out wrong. And then I got to thinking some more. So what if people won’t believe the truth? There’s no requirement that they should. Let ’em believe anything they want, says I–just so long as the pretty polly migrates from their pockets into my ever-loving poke.

‘That’s when I decided that was more money in peddling lies that sounded like the truth than in playing it on the straight and narrow.

‘Anyway, about that fat lady. The owner of the Carny, like I told you, was a fat Dutchman–I think he might of been a Moe– who was always fingering his watch fob and smoking a big cigar. Who knows why a man of his talents spent his time hanging around with crumb-bums? The racket must of been plenty lucrative, I’ll tell you that. Anyway, I still hadn’t wised up, and the owner took advantage of that. Told me I could quit pounding tent pegs and he’d still pay me the same if I’d do just one thing for him. I said, “Sure, Boss, sure–anything.” So he told me to make nice with the Fat Lady. I couldn’t have been more astonished than if he had told me to suck his dick. Y’see, I sort of had a crush on the beautiful moss-haired girl. I didn’t want no truck with the fat lady. She’s lonesome, said the big boss. She just needs a sympathetic ear. You don’t have to make love to her, though if’n you were to climb aboard I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Fact is, Kiddo, I’d do it myself just to keep her happy, only for the fact that I caught a dose at the Battle of Vicksburg and I don’t think the Calomel is working the way it ought. Look, Kiddo, just do this one favor for me and the Red and Black will be forever in your debt. Maybe someday soon I’ll put you in charge of your own popper. That’s where the real money is.

‘This was, of course, a lie; a damnable lie. The gaffed games and the other rackets was where the real swag was.

‘You know, I was so green in those days that I didn’t realize at the time that whenever he called me “Kiddo”, what he was really calling me was “Chump.” It wasn’t too long after the war between the states. Any man of a certain age who hadn’t fought was regarded as lower than dog meat. I was just young enough to have missed that opportunity. I’ll tell you what–some grifters got filthy rich from that war. T’was ever thus. Next time we have a war, look for the nabobs to grow fat, while they turn the next crop of punks to cannon fodder.

‘I’ll tell you some more about that fat lady,’ said he, ‘but not now. It will have to wait for another time.’

1* SALUTATION
DR. JOHN THE NIGHT TRIPPER
GRIS GRIS

ALSO SEE:
THE FIVE KEYS
LING TING TONG

SEE ALSO:
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
I WON’T LEAVE MY WOODEN WIFE FOR YOU, SUGAR

ALSO SEE:
LAURA NYRO
SWEET BLINDNESS

ALSO SEE:
CALIFORNIA SHOESHINE BOYS

2* REFERENCE
THE SAD REALITY OF A CHRISTIAN PICKUP ARTIST
http://www.cracked.com/blog/the-sad-reality-christian-pick-up-artist/

3*HUMOR
KING CREOSOTE

4*NOVELTY
COMING-OUT MOVIES
http://www.npr.org/sections/monkeysee/2018/03/19/594281424/before-love-simon-coming-out-and-coming-of-age-at-the-movies

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
MAN DESTROYS ALL ANIMALS
https://www.commondreams.org/news/2018/05/22/humans-less-1-life-earth-have-destroyed-half-its-plants-more-80-all-mammals

6* DAILY UTILITY
THE ROSS SISTERS
SOLID POTATO SALAD

7*CARTOON
CINCO DE MAYO BRAWL

8*PRESCRIPTION
FOOT MASSAGE TUTORIAL

9* RUMOR PATROL
White Woman Calls Security on ‘Suspicious Man With a Baby’ at Park in Washington, DC
http://www.theroot.com/black-father-stopped-by-security-after-white-woman-call-1826082634

10* LAGNIAPPE
THE FREEZE
IT’S ONLY ALCOHOL

ALSO SEE:
TIRE
ALCOHOLIC PSYCHOSIS

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
A heavily-advertised new movie about drunken horny hags.
http://www.vox.com/culture/2018/5/17/17360328/book-club-review-diane-keaton-jane-fonda-fifty-shades

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
THE FUTURE OF MUSIC ACCORDING TO THE NEW YORK TIMES
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/03/08/magazine/25-songs-future-of-music.html

THE INFORMATION #994 MAY 25, 2018

THE INFORMATION #994
MAY 25, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO

dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

“I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes, – and the stars through his soul.” –Victor Hugo

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART ELEVEN: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

“For some insane reason all his own that I never could fathom,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “old Sam Floyd was down on a whole passel of Yellofs who, as far as I know, never done him any dirt. He was always after complainin’ about them, too. I don’t know what motivated him; the sort of thing that set him off. Most salesmen I ever met would glad-hand anybody, and they never had a harsh word to say against their fellow man, even if it was an old church-going penny-pinching handkerchief-headed nigra auntie who wouldn’t buy what you had to sell no matter whut you offered as an incentive.

“No, old Sam Floyd was no brown-noser. He would tell you what’s what–and with the bark off. He didn’t have no use for nobody, unless if they was British. He would tolerate a Dutchman, but that’s about as far as he would go.

He abhorred the Chinese. Despised them. Felt the rascals should be barred from this great country of ours, long before they actually were. According to him, John Chinaman was stingier even than a Scotsman or a Jew, but, unlike Sandy, or Yiddle with his fiddle, the China boy was a shrewd little monkey and well-nigh impossible to sell to, and they loved to haggle but never bought anything; they would bargain with you all day but always ended up wasting your time, as if they were stringing you along just for the fun of it. It got so every time old Sam saw a Chinaman, he would turn the other way, and run–not walk. He wouldn’t even eat Chinese food–that’s how much he abhorred the yellow man. He would mumble a spiteful litany whenever he spotted them: ‘Despicable Yellow dogs–they are lower than the worm. They are worse than even the worst blue-gummed, cowardly, and superstitious Senegambian.’ He claimed that The Celestials shuffled and bowed and held their hands in reverent supplication when they were in public, and a citizen was watching them, but behind closed doors they held their yeller heads high and hissed and snarled and rubbed their hands together like a slippery fly and schemed against the white man. ‘Those yaller bastards think their shit don’t stink. I’d like to lay into ’em with a good old American Slippery Elm club, and tech ’em how to behave around decent folk. At least a Nigra has sense enough to step aside and let a white man pass. But those yellow bastards pretend like they don’t know our customs and they don’t speak English good. It’s a lie. In secret, those low curs can speak the patois better than your average English Perfesser. I’m convinced of it. The worst thing about those perfidious scamps is that they breed like minks and have established vast subterranean labyrinths beneath their stinking restaurants and laundries where hordes of midget slaves toil in secret, manufacturing worthless gew-gaws to sell to tourists and sporting types. Plus, to a man, they are all slaves to opium, and all their women are floozies. I am right and I will be proven right.’

“And Sam Floyd truly hated the Indian. He would always say to me, ‘Don’t you make a piss and moan about the fate of the Noble Red Man, me fine boyo. Worry about yourself. They are treacherous savages who would scalp you in a second, just as sure as I’m standing here. Why do you suppose the early trappers and soldiers always carried a loaded pistol with one bullet in the chamber? That’s so they could shoot themselves if they was ever captured by Injuns. Because otherwise unimaginable tortures awaited the reprobate who lost his nerve Being captured was a fate worse than death, because the Indian is little more than a fiend in human guise. I stay as far away from them as possible. You never know when one of them might turn. I wouldn’t show my back on any of their children, either–not on a bet. As the great Colonel Chivington said, “Nits make lice.” ‘”

“Old Sam didn’t have much love for European immigrants either, that’s for sure. ‘The Dago is a menace.’ said he. ‘They shouldn’t even let ’em into this country. They’re going to ruin everything. They’re sneaky, and treacherous, and dirty, and are just waiting for a chance to waylay you in a dark alley and stab you with a stiletto and steal your valuables and leave you for dead. They are murderous, dirty egg-sucking dogs– thieving scum, and hanging’s too good for ’em. Plus, they are so stupid that you can’t convince them of anything.

‘The same goes for the Greek, only those babies are slightly craftier. You know the old expression–“Shake hands with a Greek, and count your fingers.” When I see those mustachio’d stooges with their dark brows and their air of indolent idleness, I wush I had my revolver. And the men are even worse.

‘The Poles and the Russians and other such scum are thick-tongued sons of bitches who ought to be horsewhipped in the public square until they learn to behave like decent people, instead of always pushing themselves to the head of the line. And the Czechs and the Slovaks and the Macedonians and other such rabble ought to stay on their own side of the pond.

‘The French I abhor. Polluted with loathsome diseases caused by their predilection for filthy vices, these syphilitic, absinthe-addicted reprobates spray themselves with cheap perfume to cover up the stench of all their sins against common decency. They are mere swine. Only God Himself knows why they give themselves such airs.

‘The only thing worse than a Frenchman is a Spaniard. It’s hard for a white man to regard those jamokes as even remotely human. They are irredeemably polluted with Moorish blood. I would sooner entrust my business to a monkey wearing a fez–at least you would know what to expect. And I never heard of a monkey who would stab you in the back, so long as you kept him in fresh fruit and other such truck. And the only thing more nauseating than a Spaniard is a Portuguese. They have the world’s worst complexions, they play the world’s worst music, and the only job they’re fittin’ for is gaffing fish. Bad ‘cess to ’em.

‘Speaking of fezzes–the Turks. Why, they are just about the worst. They are lower than the Russian. Unscrubbed Mohammedians who worship a savage God conjured up by the harsh fumes of hasheesh. It is well that Lord Palmerston called them “The Sick Man of Europe.” The whole country is comprised of murderous gangs of turban-wearing bandits bransishing shiny scimitars who rape and enslave their hapless victims. I wouldn’t touch a Turk with a barge pole. The very thought of one makes me shudder. If they haven’t been outright barred from our shores, they certainly ought to be. Even the Devil himself despises a Turk.

‘But it’s the Hungarians who are truly among the lowest of the low. But–go figure–they are so haughty you’d think that their every pronouncement were the received word of God. Nobody outdoes a Hunky for sheer arrogance. They make even the rawest Prussian look like a pickled punk. These people rely on putting nauseating paprika in everything, which leads me to suspect that they ain’t even human at all, but, rather, some freakish hybrid of animal and insect. Say, Yob–did you hear about the Hungarian officer who made love to a French courtesan? When the question of payment was discreetly broached, the hunky clicked his heels right smart and said, “Madame! Please be assured that a Hungarian officer never accepts money from a woman!” ‘

“Well,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “and that was the man from whom I learned everything I know about selling a proposition. Come to think of it, as I grow older, a lot of the things he had to say make more and more sense.”

1* SALUTATION
ELECTRIC PRUNES
GET ME TO THE WORLD ON TIME

THE YOUNG RASCALS
A PLACE IN THE SUN

THE YOUNG RASCALS
HOW CAN I BE SURE?

2* REFERENCE
RACIST LAWYER
GoFundMe page raises money to send Mariachi band, taco truck to troll NY lawyer who threatened to call ICE on restaurant employees who were speaking Spanish
thehill.com/blogs/blog-briefing-room/388151-gofundme-raising-money-to-send-mariachi-band-taco-truck-to-troll-ny

SEE ALSO:
http://www.cnn.com/2018/05/17/us/new-york-man-restaurant-ice-threat/index.html
http://www.cnbc.com/2018/05/16/racist-viral-video-lawyer-aaron-schlossbergs-law-firm-yelp-bombed.html

ALSO SEE:
RACIST ICE CREAM
http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2014/05/14/that-familiar-ice-cream-truck-jingle-has-some-pretty-racist-lyrics/?utm_term=.d07eaac201a2

3*HUMOR
RICHARD PRYOR
HILLBILLIES

ALSO SEE:
RICHARD PRYOR LIVE IN CONCERT: LONG BEACH

4*NOVELTY
IAN FRAZIER
THANKS FOR THE MEMORY
books.google.com/books?id=VcLKR7fGzIcC&pg=PA32&lpg=PA32&dq=Thanks+for+the+Memory+By+Ian+Frazier&source=bl&ots=5ADe0bKiZh&sig=LFg6NEVjy6lX4dxbhxAgjYzDOpU&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjViue55IzbAhUS7lMKHZ3lBcEQ6AEIOzAD#v=onepage&q=Thanks%20for%20the%20Memory%20By%20Ian%20Frazier&f=false

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
MEMES: LADY WHO CALLED COPS ON BBQ-MAKERS
http://www.liberalmountain.com/us-politics/lady-who-called-cops-on-bbq-gets-life-ripped-apart-by-memes-here-are-the-best

6* DAILY UTILITY
HOW THE NAZIS WERE INSPIRED BY JIM CROW
http://www.history.com/news/how-the-nazis-were-inspired-by-jim-crow

7*CARTOON
SIX WORKS OF ART THAT SHAPED PERCEPTIONS OF NATIVE AMERICANS
indiancountrymedianetwork.com/history/people/propaganda-6-works-art-shaped-americas-view-natives/

8*PRESCRIPTION
CAESAR THE CHIMP
The most notorious member of the scene surrounding The Mutiny, the Miami nightclub that epitomized the excesses of the 1980s, was a chimp named Caesar.

As Roben Farzad explains in his new book “Hotel Scarface: Where Cocaine Cowboys Partied and Plotted to Control Miami” (Berkeley Hardcover), Caesar was the companion of drug kingpin Mario Tabraue, who adorned him “with a gold-rope necklace holding a 50-peso gold coin, an 18-karat ID bracelet with his name in diamonds and a ladies’ Rolex Presidential.

“The primate was partial to turtlenecks and a New York baseball cap, and proudly rode shotgun in his owner’s Benz while waving a Cuban cigar.”

But just as with salmon-colored jackets and shoes with no socks, Miami residents didn’t bat an eye at Caesar — it was all just part of the show.
nypost.com/2017/10/19/inside-the-mutiny-club-the-1980s-home-to-every-miami-vice/

9* RUMOR PATROL
MAP OF HATE GROUPS
http://www.splcenter.org/fighting-hate/intelligence-report/2017/year-hate-and-extremism

ALSO SEE:
BLACKFACE MONTAGE FROM “BAMBOOZLED”

JAY-Z
THE STORY OF OJ

ENTARTETE KUNST

10* LAGNIAPPE
THE ASHES
DARK ON YOU NOW

SEE ALSO:
WAS/NOT WAS
WHEEL ME OUT

ALSO SEE:
LOU REED
STREET HASSLE

You know, some people got no choice
And they can never find a voice
To talk with that they can even call their own
So the first thing that they see
That allows them the right to be
Why they follow it
You know, it’s called bad luck

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA

DISNEY: ANTI-SEMITE?
Walt Disney’s grandniece backs up Meryl Streep’s racism claims: ‘Anti-Semite? Check. Misogynist? OF COURSE!!!’
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/news/walt-disney-s-grandniece-backs-up-meryl-streep-s-racism-claims-anti-semite-check-misogynist-of-9064138.html

Fact-Checking the Age-Old Rumors of Walt Disney’s Dark Side
http://www.vulture.com/2013/12/walt-disney-anti-semitism-racism-sexism-frozen-head.html

ALSO SEE:
THE THREE LITTLE PIGS: THE JEWISH PEDDLAR SCENE

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
TEETOTALER TRUMP
http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-38651623
http://www.projectknow.com/a-complete-guide-to-the-us-presidents-and-their-drug-and-alcohol-use/
ALSO SEE:

In reference to ‘animals,’ Trump evokes an ugly history of dehumanization
http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/the-fix/wp/2018/05/16/trumps-animals-comment-on-undocumented-immigrants-earn-backlash-historical-comparisons/?utm_term=.f5297555e022