THE INFORMATION #1016 OCTOBER 26, 2018

THE INFORMATION #1016
OCTOBER 26, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

He who has a why to live can bear almost any how. –Nietzsche

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

“Mine for me and me for mine–as you know, that has been the whole of my philosophy,” said Sam Floyd to the young Victor Justin.

But it took the Swami to clue me into a whole new way of thinking about that way of life. The mass of men are like sticks, he told me. Two are always stronger than one. And only a bundle of such sticks is unbreakable. So the superior man, the man of free will, should gather about him loyal and compliant fellers who are good at following his orders. Once he does that, there’s no telling how far he can go. But he should also beware, because the higher he climbs, the further he can spit; that’s true. But to fall from such a height is a mighty blow if he don’t got no cushion to protect him. So he should always be prepared to fall. He should always have a cushion. And he should never venture forth on the cliff face without a plan to fall. Because those who fail to plan, plan to fail.

I drew my own conclusions from both his wisdom, and my own personal experiences. First of all, a man ought never to go agin’ his gut. Secondly, city life is all very well and good, if you’re only visitin’, but not if it’s for keeps.

I don’t think that men were never meant to live in cities. Take it from an old country younker–that old city life can drive you crazier than the shithouse mouse, and in very short order. Something about not breathing fresh air and never seeing blue skies and green grass rubs against a man’s grain. Especially if he don’t have friends—preferably, bruisers and bullies, to take some of the sting out of being surrounded by thousands of people. City life is unnatural. It’s like a prison. Men don’t like to live in cages any more than animals do. That’s why so many men become inverts, and will take up with unwholesome companions and do unwholesome things. If they had a chance to go somewhere to be happy, they would probably take it, but it’s a rare man indeed who can manage to do that without substantial help. It’s always a great leap into the dark, to arrive penniless on an unknown shore.

Why do city youngsters get together into gangs and fight over their territory? Because they ain’t got nothin’ better to do. To them, see, it’s a form of play. They ain’t ever been taught any better, that’s why. Also, weak sisters like to be in a gang. That’s how they get protection. Otherwise, they’d be sitting in the parlor all the live-long day singin’ this stupid song:

I’m a little Temperance boy,
12 years old!
And I love Temperance,
Better than gold!
Every little boy like me,
The Temperance Pledge should sign,
For God loves little boys who don’t love wine!

All the goo-goos gas on and on about taking tenement slum kiddies out to the country for the summer, and exposing them to the trees and mother nature and whatnot. What they don’t realize is that by then, it’s far too late. Once they’ve grown up in the sewer, they never lose their taste for it. And once the city is in there for good and all, you can’t never take the city out of the boy. After the sun goes down, those vast empty spaces of the countryside begin to wear on his soul.

Sure, some fellers benefit by heading out west and fightin’ Injuns instead of Irishmen. But it’s a mug’s game. Twenty years in the infantry and all you got to show for it in the end are flat feet, aching joints, creaky knees, and a miserly pension—about enough to keep you in a room, some crummy grub, and a little ‘baccy, but not much more. An old pensioner pulled by sleeve and I said to myself, why, that ain’t no way to live. And that is why I never went for a soldier.

You ever notice how some old dogs are always sniffin’ sniffin’ sniffin’ around? There are some old men who are like that too. Always lookin’ after the main chance. But too many of them go about it wrong. They think they can do it all alone, by their lonesome. They follow a saphead foolosophy. You wanna know why? Most likely because, at an impressionable age, they read a load of slop written by some the slushiest men to ever come down the pike. Men who had no practical experience of the world, but who made their living just spinning out airy, fairy fabrications to appease the parents and deceive the gullible kiddies. Moral tales, so called, with titles like Luck and Pluck. Brave and Bold. Strive and Succeed. Try and Trust. Make Your Way. Do and Dare. Bound to Rise. And other such idiotic codswallop. Bound to Lose is more like it. Try and Fail. Keep Your Head Down. Get Lost. Give Up. Why Bother. Rack and Ruin. Fate is Agin’ Ye. Only nobody is writing books with those kinds of realistic titles and lessons. No—it’s always the story of the office boy who stops the runaway hoss with the merchant’s daughter astride, and he wins her hand and gets to run the factory. A pipe dream.

I pin most of the blame on that Horatio Alger. He was little more than an educated Philistine. Horatio loved young boys, said he, and was allus tryin’ to help ‘em. He always assisted the youngsters toward the openings they desired. He he! He was especially attracted to newsboys. He was always willin’ to get behind a promising young man. He liked little boys especially. Liked ‘em a bit too much, to my way of thinkin’. Did you know, that Horatio Alger was run out of town for fondlin’ small boys? He had to quit the church, and devote himself instead to churning out his dopey books. Luck and Pluck? Fuck a Duck is more like it. And, do you know something, Boy? I wouldn’t put it past him, neither. You can always tell a Harvard Man–but you can’t tell him much!

No, a little larnin’ is a dangerous thing. Like the sayin’ goes–It’s not what you know that gets you in trouble. It’s what you think you know, that just ain’t so—there’s the real problem. T’was ever thus. That’s why mother nature gave us two arms, and two legs, and only one head. We were never meant to bury our noses in myths and legends and fables overmuch. Too much book-larnin’ ruins a man’s shootin’ eye. That’s what my Pappy allus said. And my Pappy was a wise old man. Before they shot him.

No—we were given two arms to grab and take, and legs to run away if we’re ever caught. That’s not exactly what the Swami told me, but close. Anyway, that’s the conclusion I come to after being with the Carny for awhile. You can talk all day long–but, in the end, you got to do something. Anything! A man who doesn’t even bother to reach for the brass ring ain’t worth shucks. He’s only fit to sit around readin’ religious tracts, and moan about the unfairness of it all. Not me, brother. I’ll take whatever I can get and whenever I can get it. Like I said—mine for me, and me for mine. And that is all. Never mind the rest.

Do I need to say any more?

1* SALUTATION
Charles Mingus and friends in concert
Ecclusiastics
Live at the Philharmonic Hall, 1972

ALSO SEE:
Charles Mingus
Ecclusiastics

SEE ALSO
Charles Mingus and friends in concert
Live at the Philharmonic Hall, 1972
Full Concert

2* REFERENCE
JFK
The Kennedy assassination was nearly 55 years ago. What shall we do to “celebrate”?

One commentator, Erik Barnouw, stated as fact that the Dallas schoolkiddies exclaimed “Goodie goodie!” on hearing the news. (It would have been far worse, I think, had they said “Goodie goodie gumdrops.”)
http://www.museum.tv/eotv/kennedyjf.htm

JFK was hip. He blew pot and dropped acid while in the White House. Plus, there were all those “vitamin injections.” “I don’t care if it’s horse piss,” said he. “It works.”
http://www.historynet.com/jack-kennedy-dr-feelgood.htm

He was hampered in his initial negotiations with Russian Premier Khrushchev at the Vienna summit because he was crashing from speed.

You won’t find this mentioned in the standard accounts. I have it on the authority of a highly esteemed historian.
http://www.worldcat.org/oclc/610744785

3*HUMOR
HEADLINES WE’D LIKE TO SEE

MOM PRAISES SEX AND VIOLENCE IN MEDIA
NEW GARBAGE CANS ENCOURAGE FERAL DOGS
POLICE ENCOURAGE TEEN DRINKING
ELDERLY MAN TURNS TO ATHEISM
LOCAL YOUTH LOSES AREA SPELLING BEE
POLL: VOTERS LOVE NEGATIVE CAMPAIGN ADS
APATHETIC FANS IGNORE TEAM COLORS
RESTAURANT GIVEAWAY FAILS
SURVIVORS FAIL TO MOURN ON ANNIVERSARY OF TRAGEDY
AREA MAN HARVESTS PUNY PUMPKIN
ICEBERGS NOT A THREAT TO MERCHANT MARINE
LATEST SITCOM PLOT HINGES UPON A COMICAL MISUNDERSTANDING
WUXTRY! WUXTRY! NEWSBOYS NO LONGER SELL PAPERS ON STREET SHOUTING “WUXTRY!”

HEADLINES WE’D REALLY LIKE TO SEE

MASSES LIVE IN FEAR OF VAGUELY DEFINED “ENEMIES”
MEDIA GLORIFIES DEAD-END ‘GANGSTA’ SCRIPT
GANG MEMBERS DIE DEFENDING WORTHLESS TURF
MEDICAL LOBBY IN 80-YEAR FIGHT TO HALT UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE
SPORTS: STUPEFYING PALLIATIVE FOR BUM ECONOMY
TALK-RADIO SHOWS PREACH TO THE CONVERTED
MISFITS AND CRANKS EXCHANGE MEANINGLESS BANTER IN TAVERNS
BITTER KOOKS AND RECLUSES FIND SATISFACTION IN CURSING MINORITIES
STATE-SPONSORED VIOLENCE SEEN AS CURE-ALL BY DRUNKS AND LOUTS
SPY AND SPACE OPERAS KOWTOW TO MILITARY SOLUTIONS
ACTORS, H’WOOD PRODUCERS IN THRALL TO MILITARY-CIA
CONDENSED TV NEWS DISTORTS REALITY
PRO-GOVERNMENT PROPAGANDA PERVADES TELEVISED MEDIA
HIEROPHANTS GIVE PEOPLE ‘WHAT THEY WANT’: DOMINATION

SEE ALSO:
LTI
Lingua Tertii Imperii.
https://www.amazon.com/Language-Third-Reich-Lingua-Imperii/dp/0826491308
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LTI_%E2%80%93_Lingua_Tertii_Imperii

4*NOVELTY
THE BIZARRE HISTORY OF TEN COMMON SAYINGS
http://www.cracked.com/article_16108_the-bizarre-history-10-common-sayings.html

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
PRESIDENTIAL PORTRAITS
http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/oct/15/president-trump-new-painting-white-house-republican

A much closer scrutiny reveals other Republican Presidents lurking about.

Behind George H.W. Bush, to the left: Grant.
Behind George H.W. Bush, to the right: Chester Arthur; Rutherford B. Hayes
Behind Ford’s shoulder: Taft and McKinley.
On the right-hand side of the post: Hoover.
To the right of TR’s head: Harding and Coolidge.

ALSO SEE:
http://www.amazon.com/Andy-Thomas-Democratic-Presidents-18×11-75/dp/B0073TX4U4/ref=asc_df_B0073TX4U4/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=193989994224&hvpos=1o3&hvnetw=g&hvrand=3605656548413249989&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9002240&hvtargid=pla-308048276769&psc=1

SEE ALSO:
15 POP CULTURE PRESIDENTS
tv.avclub.com/history-s-other-greatest-monsters-15-pop-culture-presi-1798235819

ALSO SEE:
THE ORAL PASSIONS OF WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT
PAGES 77-86
http://www.luckyfrogfarms.com/cook/NL/1970%27s/1973/1973_02.pdf

6* DAILY UTILITY
HOW TO PICK UP GIRLS
splinternews.com/this-1970s-guide-to-getting-girls-will-scar-you-forever-1793846361

ALSO SEE:
ITALIAN PICK-UP LINES
fourseasonsoftravel.com/the-funniest-pick-up-lines-from-italian-men/

7*CARTOON
TEN INSANE COMIC BOOK VILLAINS
dailysuperheroes.com/10-of-the-craziest-comic-book-villains/41568

ALSO SEE:
INAPPROPRIATE COMIC BOOK CHARACTERS
http://www.grunge.com/46836/inappropriate-comic-book-characters-ever/?utm_source=zergnet.com&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=zergnet_3388592&utm_content=3

SEE ALSO:
EVIL CLOWN COMICS
ohdannyboy.blogspot.com/2007/10/looking-back-with-alan-kupperberg-evil.html

8*PRESCRIPTION
THE SPREAD OF ISLAM TO 632 AD

ALSO SEE:
ANTIZIONISM
Antisemitism is the Socialism of fools.–August Bebel
http://www.nytimes.com/1971/01/03/archives/-the-socialism-of-fools-the-new-left-calls-it-antizionism-but-its.html

SEE ALSO:
THIN BLUE LINE FLAG
http://www.amazon.com/Police-Flag-Design-All-Weather-Outdoor/dp/B07116GKZ8

It’s flaunted by the kind of guy who has a boner whenever he reads this George Orwell quote:

“Kipling… sees clearly that men can only be highly civilized while other men, inevitably less civilized, are there to guard and feed them.”

Paraphrased as:
“People sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”

But Orwell also said:
If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.
http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2017/08/18/thin-blue-line-what-does-american-flag-wit-flag-maker-condemns-use-white-supremacists-charlottesvill/580694001/

9* RUMOR PATROL
HOBO FLOTO VOTO
In the reign of Chicago Mayor Richard Daley, Hizzoner used a GOTV tactic charmingly called “hobo floto voto”.
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2010/03/08/the-daley-show

“Employing bands of roving repeat-voting vagrants”
https://books.google.com/books?id=DKwK76kPQt8C&pg=PA110&lpg=PA110&dq=%22hobo+floto+voto%22.+richard+daley&source=bl&ots=CQNDjK77bh&sig=Mr4qiKUvNL8ycoYsKklYOVxNPTo&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwju9uaw1d7dAhWJm1kKHeiVAHEQ6AEwAXoECAYQAQ#v=onepage&q=%22hobo%20floto%20voto%22.%20richard%20daley&f=false

ALSO SEE:
JONAH GOLDBERG
THE TYRANNY OF CLICHES
books.google.com/books?id=IJFp0nTZC2QC&pg=PT6&lpg=PT6&dq=Ideology+–+Pragmatism+–+No+labels+–+Dogma+–+Separation+of+church+and+state+–+Power+corrupts+–+Diversity+–+Social+Darwinism+–+Slippery+slope+–+Dissent+–+Social+justice+–+Community+–+Ten+guilty+men+–+Living+Constitution+–+Let+them+eat+cake+–+Violence+never+solves+anything+–+Middle+class+–+Science+–+Youth+–+Ounce+of+prevention+–+The+Catholic+Church+–+Spiritual+but+not+religious+–+Understanding+–+Democracy+and+unity.&source=bl&ots=a89j4fejlk&sig=UdsEje_GW2V3QMPSp0Czqa65vzc&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiU9JXU1_7dAhURjVkKHRcRBYwQ6AEwAHoECAkQAQ#v=onepage&q=Ideology%20–%20Pragmatism%20–%20No%20labels%20–%20Dogma%20–%20Separation%20of%20church%20and%20state%20–%20Power%20corrupts%20–%20Diversity%20–%20Social%20Darwinism%20–%20Slippery%20slope%20–%20Dissent%20–%20Social%20justice%20–%20Community%20–%20Ten%20guilty%20men%20–%20Living%20Constitution%20–%20Let%20them%20eat%20cake%20–%20Violence%20never%20solves%20anything%20–%20Middle%20class%20–%20Science%20–%20Youth%20–%20Ounce%20of%20prevention%20–%20The%20Catholic%20Church%20–%20Spiritual%20but%20not%20religious%20–%20Understanding%20–%20Democracy%20and%20unity.&f=false

10*LAGNIAPPE
JAMES IRON HEAD BAKER
BLACK BETTY (1933)

SEE ALSO:
RAM JAM
BLACK BETTY

SEE ALSO:
MINISTRY
BLACK BETTY

SEE ALSO:
ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME NOMINEES RANKED
http://www.vulture.com/2018/10/all-15-2019-rock-and-roll-hall-of-fame-nominees-ranked.html#comments

ALSO SEE:
BEST SONGS OF ALL TIME
https://www.thetoptens.com/songs/

ALSO SEE:
RADIOHEAD AND THE SPICE GIRLS ARE THE SAME BAND
soundcloud.com/jed-k/radiohead-and-spice-girls-are-the-same-band

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
QUACK DIETS
http://www.sheilakealey.com/nutrition-experts-shouldnt-trust-2/

SEE ALSO:
SENSIBLE DIETARY ADVICE
EAT MORE:
Organic vegetables
Organic fruits
Organic nuts, seeds and healthy oils
High-quality organic meat and seafood
Organic Whole grains
Organic Dairy

EAT LESS:
Refined grains
Low-quality meat and seafood
Sweets
Fried foods
https://www.vox.com/2014/11/27/7289565/weight-loss-diet-tips

VIA:
http://www.sheilakealey.com/healthy-eating/healthy-eating-resources/

ALSO SEE:
HOMEMADE SALAD DRESSING

Home-made salad dressing is so much better than the stuff you buy in stores.

I took a large clove of garlic and two sun-dried tomatoes and pureed them in a blender with some apple cider vinegar. I added this mixture to some Italian, Sicilian, and Greek extra-virgin olive oils and added oregano, crumbled thyme, black pepper, a few drops of lemon juice, and Trader Joe’s Everyday Spice mixture. I put on top of a mixed green salad with some goat feta from Israel.

It is gastronomic bliss.

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
MODERN HAIR STYLING IS A PROFESSIONAL ART

Just a minute, “Hollywood”. Don’t think you’re pulling a fast one! We’ve seen your type before, on blind dates, at Dizzy’s Lounge, with someone’s unattractive spinster cousin, making your well-timed departure from the smoky groggery seconds before she spots you and loudly hails you to come over to her table.

The guy with the Butch cut resembles a slack-jawed imbecile. Just sayin’. He looks like Forrest Gump on an ether binge.

The guy with The Crew is a mindless zombie who probably cooks and eats roadkill. From compulsion–not from necessity.He asked for a Crew cut and instead, his hair came out looking like Tin Tin’s–if Tin Tin’s hair resembled cotton candy spun from dried snot.

Flattop Boogie has tiny facial features and a suspiciously non-prognathous jaw. He is destined to become a pump-jockey in an Arizona ghost town.

Forward-Combed Boogie is an introspective sort who likes nothing better than reciting Spinoza aphorisms to his bored dates in a dreary monotone.

College Contour looks as if there is no dire crime the committing of which he is incapable. The bare spot on his face bothers me immeasurably–as though he’s already being measured as cannon fodder worthy of a metal plate which he will sport for the next 48 years.

Don’t try to hide your face, Executive Contour! We all know it was you who palmed off the wood alcohol as the genuine stuff, and blinded all those Shriners!

Flattop is a healthy animal. I despise these hearty types. With their pointy ears and their pathetic attempts to look distinguished, they are little more than monkeys at the watering hole pounding their barrel-chests in simian fury.

Professional Contour rents jukeboxes for a living, and there’s scarcely a barkeep between here and Chump Junction Missouri who hasn’t been pistol-whipped into submission by this notorious police character. The best you can say his appearance is that he resembles a failed haberdasher who likes to prance around his hotel room in mascara and panties. The telltale lipstick residue around his fixed smile is a dead giveaway.

I would like to command these nine boys as part of a platoon charged with one of the dirtiest missions of the war–to infiltrate an enemy stronghold and assassinate their general.
https://upload.democraticunderground.com/10027151554

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THE INFORMATION #1015 OCTOBER 19, 2018

THE INFORMATION #1015
OCTOBER 19, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

I am fairly precise with my use of words and I can think in terms of categories, which is all law is — until you start practicing, and then it’s about villainy and low cunning– John Cleese

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

Well, then, talk about the Swami, now–he was one spooky jamoke, what with that dingy turban of his’n and his dry, almost parchment-like skin condition. What with that perpetual scowl he always wore, and his long yaller teeth, he looked to be about a thousand years old. As he started in to explaining “mystical mesmerism,” he commenced to telling me about the law of the jungle and about how some men “evolved” because they had a “higher consciousness,” because these men were remarkable men and were in possession of secrets known only to a few.

Well, that right there made me sort of skeptical–I mean, the surest way to reel in the suckers is to tell them that it’s a limited-time offer, and this grift smelt just like that sort of short con to me. I may of been green, but I wasn’t that green. But no, he said, as though he could read my thoughts, what he was telling me was not strictly for Buncombe, but was the real gen. And he gave me a sort of potted history of Things As They Are. At first, says he, the Big Man of the Tribe used to go around maraudin’ and wrecking his mischief upon the weak sisters who lived in Candyland. Well, that grew stale, because you can only rob the same people but so many times until they got nothing left worth taking. So then those marauders settled down and took over in one place and offered their protection to the weak culls, provided they forked over about half of all their shekels and their hektes and their drachmas and their talents and their what-nots. Whatever way you spelled it, it was cash on the barrelhead that the Big Man wanted, and Pretty Polly is what he got.

Moral: Of course crime pays! Otherwise, why bother with it?

But it comes at a cost, says the Swami. That is why, says he, after a goodly spell the Big Man doesn’t go out maraudin’ or even pickin’ up weapons no more. He gets other bully-boys to do his bidding. And how does he exert his power? Though “mystical mesmerism.” That is to say, he hits upon the proper combination of a bunch of words strung together in such a way that they will sap the will of any but the most skeptical gent. That is precisely how any good salesman makes his pitch. He lathers you up with soft-soap and palaver, and then he shaves you dry. To adopt a more homely metaphor, he hooks you like a fish. He just strikes out with the old harpoon and reels you in. That is also how you fall into the power of the preacher, for that matter. He thunders from the pulpit and sways you with pretty poetry, although afterwards you can’t remember a single word he said. Ask any preacher, in strictest confidence, just what makes Jesus any better than Mohammad, or Buddha, or any of them others, and he may just drop his guard long enough to say that you can’t compare apples and oranges. Which is true, but that’s beside the point. You see, he has foozled you. All religions, at their source, are the very same, and they all come from the same source. I know many a rabbi who could conduct a perfectly good Catholic Mass, if he had the proper incentive. And many a jackleg preacher who could do a passable job as a huckster for a medicine show. What do they got that you ain’t got? Persuasion. They have studied the art from earliest infancy. There is something in their makeup that makes it so that they have just got to get one over on their fellow man. Everything they say is designed to foozle you. It is all one big shell game. After all, who cares what the animals believe–so long as they obey your commands?

And who gains from all this? Well you may ask. Who truly gets the benefit? First, The Big Man, who hires all the top soothsayers of the moment to cast their mumbo-jumbo spells. Second, the soothsayer hisself. He benefits because he can do any damn thing he likes, and chances are he’ll get off Scot-free because, of course, he is a holy man. And third, of course, the big man’s many new pals will all benefit mightily from their proximity to the Big Man.

Have you ever noticed how certain men flock to power? Like moths to a flame, or flies to honey. Or, for that matter, sherbet. The Big Man don’t have to get his iron hands dirty by knocking down heretics; he has his bullies to do that, and his bruisers get a place to lay their heads and access to the Big Man’s seraglio. And the soothsayer gets three square meals a day. And everyone’s happy. Most everybody. Except the peasants, of course. But they’re peasants. They ain’t supposed to be happy. They ain’t meant to be happy. Any more than a caged leopard is happy, or a chained wolf. Because they’re the fucking peasants.

There’s an old proverb:

First there is the king, then there’s his nobles, then there’s his priests, then there’s his knights, then there’s his merchants, then there’s his yeomen, then there is nothing, then there is nothing, then there is nothing, and only then there is the peasants—and then there is nothing at all.

Do you want to know what men are really like? You have only to ascend to a position of power. Howsoever modest. When yesterday your pronouncements were met with a yawn, today they will be met with keen interest, and tomorrow with a shudder. It is only then that you will learn that the vast majority of men are fawning wretches afraid to death of losing what little they’ve got, and that many of the few who remain are little more than wild beasts. Those beasts, of course, are the ones who are the easiest to cozen. Once you take the thorn from out’n their paw, they will serve you until they die, or, more likely, until you have to dispose of them. Because, after all, it does not do for the Big Man to have too many outright brutes in his employ. He requires a fair leavening of smart boys. Mostly, these are slick talkers.

But here’s the catch, says the Swami. No one who takes his bread can account himself a free man. Your artisans and craftsmen are dependent upon his whims. Even the wandering minstrel must sing his songs. Otherwise, he just might get his feet singed.

The one man that the Big Man fears most is the one who, like him, has a certain degree of free will. One who ain’t afraid to eat lentils. Of course, says the Swami, those are the fellers we used to call witches. Thank God the nineteenth century has done away with such nonsense! Only…has it, really? Or are we all merely children of a larger growth? Savages with telegraphs and steam engines? Everything I know about human history, said the Swami, leads me to suspect the latter. Call him what you will, but the Big Man is still in charge. As far as most men are concerned, you can call them anything–only just don’t call them late for supper.

The Swami didn’t say this–I did. And he told me to stop acting like a buffoon.

1* SALUTATION
ZOMBIES
SHE DOES EVERYTHING FOR ME

INDICATION
https://www.google.com/search?q=zombies+indication&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&client=firefox-b-1-ab

REMEMBER YOU

WHEN THE LOVELIGHT STARTS SHINING THROUGH HIS EYES

TODD RUNDGREN
INTERNATIONAL FEEL

MC5
STARSHIP

ROXY MUSIC
DO THE STRAND

DEVO
JOCKO HOMO

RUFUS
TELL ME SOMETHING GOOD

ALSO SEE:
ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME NOMINEES
VOTE HERE:
http://www.cnn.com/2018/10/09/entertainment/rock-hall-fame-2019-nominees/index.html

2* REFERENCE
FRIED YOUNG CHICKEN RECIPE

ALSO SEE:
LARD
https://static1.squarespace.com/static/54ac43e0e4b0ac4256f643d9/t/54af4456e4b0160e59703bff/1420772440880/?format=500w

3*HUMOR
ANSWER SONGS
“Bartender, here’s ten thousand;
Give me my change in dimes
‘Cause there’s a song on the jukebox
That I want to hear a hundred thousand times.”

You Own Me. Leslie Gore.
I Guess You Won’t Love Me Tomorrow, Will You? The Shirelles.
Soldier Boy, I Will Cheat on You. The Shirelles.

If Only You Would Deny Miracles . Jefferson Starship.
The Viciousness of Muskrats .The Captain & Tennille.
Dancing Hag. Abba.

ALSO SEE:

Pink Cookies In a Plastic Bag Being Excavated From Rubble
I’m Not Sure I Would be Pleased to Hold Your Hand
I Can…Explain.
Living Skunk By the Side of the Road.
Well Adjusted Killer (qu’est-ce que ç’est)
Sour Big 17.
I’ve Got a Rusty old pair of fucking Rollerskates
Who Brought The Dogs Back?
Signed, Sealed, Delivered, Opened, Tried On, Sent Back
Devil Bless the Pusher Girl
Mama Weer All Sane Now.
The Needle and the resulting Groovy, Lip-Smacking Heroin High
Like Moss.
Uncle Pencil.
Forget It, Rhonda, I’m Fine.
I Saw Mommy F ucking Santa Claus
The Ghouls on the Beach
Nicorette Joseph’s Bistro
Mr. Brown You Have An Ugly Asshole
Go Away, Daylight
While My Guitar Wipes Its Tears
Play that Funky Music White Retiree
The Bummer Song. (From Frowny Frown).
Always Learn to Hate.
Resume in the Name of Hate
Meat is Yummy
The White Devil’s Life Song
Insightful Joe Life (John Fahey)
Good Good Leroy White (never got involved in a razor fight)
The Ballad of some drunken Indian soldier who had his picture taken at Iwo Jima or something
Georgia on My Face
D-I-S-R-E-S-P-E-C-T
If You’re Really My Sweet Lord, Why’d You Let Them Sue Me?
Full Breed (How I Learned to Love the Word)
Nazi Punks, We’ll Give You ONE More Chance.
Big Shithead. By the Diamonds. (Though some say the Gladiolas version
is better.)
The Laughter of a Ringmaster
Completely Unperturbed. By Elvis Presley.
Oldster I No Want You. By Bread.
Cooperative Banjo Controllers
Resumption Of Calm In Detroit.
The Day Chicago Recovered
I’m So Lonesome I Could Diet
We Ate the World
Laughter on Tenth Avenue
Sitting In Cop Car Man
The Devil Went Up To Iowa,
Take This Internship and Shove It
Take a Walk on the Mild Side

ALSO SEE:
ACTUAL ANSWER SONGS
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Answer_song
An interesting list, although they missed “The Universal Coward,” Jan & Dean’s answer song to “The Universal Soldier.”

They also missed the many sequels to “The Monster Mash.”
ajournalofmusicalthings.com/yes-sequel-monster-mash/

Including “The Monster Rap.”

And they didn’t so much as mention my own sequel to “If I Had a Hammer”:

“I’ll Bet You Wish You Had a Sickle, Too, Don’t You, You Commie Bastards”

4*NOVELTY
SKAG IN ‘NAM
http://www.ep.tc/problems/57/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
WONDERFUL AGITPROP

6* DAILY UTILITY
MILES DAVIS
FROM DARK MAGUS
MOJA (PART 1)

7*CARTOON
JULES FEIFFER’S AMERICAN FOLLIES
https://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-arts-and-culture/272047/jules-feiffers-american-follies

8*PRESCRIPTION
BRAVEST LITTLE CAT IN THE WORLD
newsonia.com/reader/report/bravest-little-cat-in-the-world/

9* RUMOR PATROL
WILLIAM WALLETT, ENGLAND’S LAST FOOL
nottinghamhiddenhistoryteam.wordpress.com/2013/08/16/william-wallett-englands-last-fool/

10*LAGNIAPPE
BOBBY BARE
DROP KICK ME JESUS, THOUGH THE GOALPOSTS OF LIFE

ALSO SEE:
THE WORST SUPERGROUPS
http://www.nme.com/photos/the-15-most-disappointing-supergroups-of-all-time-1434953
loudwire.com/10-supergroups-werent-super/
ontheaside.com/uncategorized/the-11-worst-supergroups-of-all-time/
http://www.laweekly.com/music/the-20-worst-supergroups-of-all-time-7815392
http://www.zimbio.com/Beyond+the+Charts/articles/75ZTwQGNukY/Best+Worst+Rock+Supergroups

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE FBI VS. THE BLACK PANTHERS
Here is the FBI’s COINTELPRO coloring book directed against the Black Panthers.
http://www.whatreallyhappened.com/RANCHO/POLITICS/COINTELPRO/coloring.html

More about the FBI and the Black Panthers
http://www.assatashakur.com/cointelpro-blackpanthers.htm

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
BALZAC ON STIMULATING FOODS
“The destinies of a people depend on their food and diet,” Balzac intones in Eleanor’s melodious voice.

“The English government permitted disposal of the lives of three condemned prisoners, who were given the option of being hanged according to the usual practice of that country, or of living exclusively on tea or coffee or chocolate without additional food or drink. The unhappy fools accepted.

“The man who lived on chocolate died after eight months.

“The man who lived on coffee lasted two years.

“The man who lived on tea succumbed after three years.

“I suspect that the East India Company solicited this experiment in the interests of its own commerce.

“The man of chocolate died in a horrible state of putrescence, devoured by lice. His limbs fell off one by one, like those of the Spanish monarchy.

“The man of coffee died burnt out, as if the fires of Gomorrah had roasted him to a crisp. You could have made lime out of him. In fact, somebody proposed that-but the experiment seemed contrary to the immortality of his soul.

“The man of tea became emaciated and almost transparent, and died of consumption in the condition of a lantern; you could see right through his body: a philanthropist could have read the Times by putting a light behind the corpse.

“The proper English couldn’t have permitted a more original experiment.

–Michael Aldrich (quoting Balzac’s “Treatise on Modern Excitants”) High Times, Nov. 1976

ALSO SEE:
BALZAC
THE PLEASURES AND PAINS OF COFFEE

…The state coffee puts one in when it is drunk on an empty stomach under these magisterial conditions produce’s a kind of animation that looks like anger: one’s voice rises, one’s gestures suggest unhealthy impatience; one wants everything to proceed with the speed of ideas; one becomes brusque, ill-tempered about nothing. One actually becomes that fickle character, The Poet, condemned by grocers and their like. One assumes that everyone is equally lucid. A man of spirit must therefore avoid going out in public. I discovered this singular state through a series of accidents which made me lose, without any effort, the ecstasy I had been feeling. Some friends, with whom I had gone out to the country, witnessed me arguing about everything, haranguing with monumental bad faith. The following day I recognized my wrongdoing and we searched the cause. My friends were wise men of the first rank and we found the problem soon enough: coffee wanted its victim….
urbigenous.net/library/pleasures_pains_coffee.html

By the way, Balzac drank a lot of coffee.
airshipdaily.com/blog/01282014-balzac-coffee

THE INFORMATION #1014 OCTOBER 12, 2018

THE INFORMATION #1014
OCTOBER 12, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com 

https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The only people you have to look out for in life are the people that don’t care about anything or anyone. These are the people that end up teaching your children.― Shannon L. Alder  

 WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN 

CHAPTER TWELVE: PART THIRTY-ONE: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

As for who exactly was this Swami, and how he knew how to bend the wills of common men, well, nobody really knew where he came from. He’d just show up once every five or six years, or so I was told, and he would set up his tent and read the cards of anybody who would cross his palms with silver. I think that maybe he was very lonesome, and felt that nobody truly understood him, and that he found in me a willing interlocutor, and that’s why he was so keen to pass the time in talking to me.

The first thing I learned was that the Swami seemed to be down on churchmen. “I would never criticize Jesus,” said he.
“That’s good,” said I.
“But religion has become a source of confusion for some,” said he.
“Maybe so,” said I. “But it keeps them from cultivating their vices.”
“Which vices did you have in mind?” said he.
“The usual,” said I. “Card-playing, dancing, the consumption of alcoholic beverages, using salty language in mixed company, and reading novels on Sunday.”
“I think,” said he, “that you are actually talking about much more interesting vices. Ones which you hesitate to mention because you are afraid.”
“Me, I ain’t skeered o’ nuthin’,” said I, not realizing that the Swami was manipulatin’ me with his confounded dad-blasted Socratic Method. “What I mean to say is that if there was no such thing as religion, then men would feel free to walk all over each other.”
“They do not do that already?”
“Yes, but not as much as they would if they thought that they could get away with it.”
“So–if I am to understand you correctly, this religion of yours leaves the unbeliever free to do whatever he wants, and leaves the humble practitioner of the faith helpless against his depredations.”
“That’s not strictly true. The law is there to punish evildoers.”
“So you agree that men must be frightened into doing good?”
“Since you put it that way…waal, yes.”
“But would it not be better, perhaps, to educate them so that they love the good, and hate the evil?”
“Waal, that’s what the church is doin’, or tryin’ to do.”
“Do you not think that the men of the church are focussing on the wrong things? What harm is there, after all, in dancing or playing cards?”
“Waal, that don’t worry me none, because I go ahead and do ’em anyway.”
“So this religion of yours puts curbs upon the behavior of the devout, which leaving scoundrels to work their wiles upon the innocent and vulnerable?”
“I never said any such thing!”
“This religion of yours–it is not universally accepted?”
“No.”
“Then how can it be a true religion, if those who do not observe it are left totally unpunished?”
“Well–they’ll get theirs eventually–in the afterlife.”
“Do you mean to say that once they die, they will be punished? It seems to me that this is a recipe for all the heedless ones to do as they wish, while only scrupulous men will obey the dictums of the faith. Do you not see here a problem?”
“Well, all I know is that the priest is a holy man.”
“I find your society very interesting,” said the Swami, and he arched the fingers of both his hands together. “I find it especially intriguing that an old man in a black robe says that you must emulate this Jesus Christ, a bearded wandering holy fool who lived twenty centuries ago.”
“Well–that’s one way of looking at it.”
“And yet I find it even more interesting that it turns out that they do not really mean what they say. The poor man is free to donate his dollars. The wealthy man is equally free to donate his dollars. But who finds the most favor with your church? The wealthy man. No, I do not think that your Jesus would like this at all. Not at all.”

And as for why the Swami took me in hand late at night after the carny shut down and started in to teaching me the art of “mystical mesmerism,” –so I could baffle the Calabrian Strong Boy into doing my will–he had a whole heap o’ fancy-dan explanations as to why he was allowing it, and I disremember most of them, but I’ll do my best to explain it to you the way he explained it to me.

Furthermore, the Swami told me, it seems as though, in spite of what all the Churchmen say, that we humans don’t have free will after all. That, says the Swami, is only reserved for a very select few. And such is their power that they can scarcely be characterized as human at all; rather, they are veritable demons on earth. Or maybe they’re also saints, too; he said, maybe, only I disremember which. I reckon I should of been payin’ closer attention. Only my attention was distracted by this mystical cube the Swami kept swearing at. Not a crystal ball, like the respectable Swamis use, but some kind of odd blueish rock that almost looked like a diamond, only it was too huge. He kept a starin’ at it and swearin’ at it and hissing that the secrets he was imparting unto me were known only to a select few, and other such patter as you’re likely to hear from a dukkering tin-horn soothsayer in a fifth-rate carny Mitt Camp. I think he also threw in some stuff about the Illuminati, too, and as how George Washington was a master Mason, and so was Jefferson, and Adams, and that no Mason ner any member of the Illuminati was ever hung because they all got this secret sign and the judge always lets ’em off with time served, or else they find some way to escape their jail. I know it sounds nutty, and, the hell of it is, if you listen to enough of this stuff, you start to go nutty, and you start into thinking that maybe it’s all true, ‘cuz who’s to say it ain’t? Somewhere? The Swami drove me nearly batty with what he called “these mystic paradoxes.” Like, there’s worlds within worlds, and We are but one of them.

Wal, I up and told him that I didn’t hold much with all his jibber-jabber and talk of Shiva and Buddha and Zoro-whatshisname, and all the other weirdies and heathen idols worshipped by sly Asians and suchlike. Jesus and a humble log cabin and some hard cider are good enough for me, and for most white men. “O, ye of little faith,” said the Swami. “There are a great many things your feeble science cannot even begin to explain.” “Ok,” says I, “but why should I care about them? Leave that to the double-domes in their Divinity Colleges to chaw the rag about. But no, said the Swami, part of the mystical mesmerism gimmick is to swill the planters with bumbo–and make them like it. Telling people what they want to hear is the high road to success in this game. He said the reason he was taking me in hand was that he saw my future, and that if he didn’t do it, someone else would, and it wouldn’t turn out quite so pleasantly for me–or for the people I would encounter. He figured that if I was going to eventually turn away from my religion and start into monkeying around with demons and suchlike, that at least I might as well do it RESPONSIBLY! Ha ha! 

I’m guessing his reasoning went something like as follows: It’s like giving a toddler his first whiskey drink, and if the little squirt can’t keep the p’ison down then maybe he would tread more carefully in later life–especially when it comes to trifling with forces beyond his control.


1* SALUTATION

JEFFERSON AIRPLANE

VOLUNTEERS

LIVE AT WOODSTOCK 1969

https://youtu.be/OzHBr0ndKus

ALSO SEE:

HOLY MODAL ROUNDERS

SHE’S MORE TO BE PITIED 

She’s there at the bar every day
Her lips and her cheeks painted red
Her beauty has faded too early
Brought on by the fast life she’s led
She’s more to be pitied than scolded.
She wants to be loved, not despised.
Too much beer and wine, too many good times,
Life on the honky-tonk wrecked her young life.
She once was the belle of the ball
She’d have made some man a sweet wife,
But too many parties, the wrong kind of pals
Ruined her happy young life.
She’s more to be pitied than scolded.
She wants to be loved, not despised.
Too much beer and wine, too many good times,
Life on the honky-tonk wrecked her young life.

https://youtu.be/Ap_oU0RLBMg

2* REFERENCE

THE CONFEDERATE FLAG

www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2015/06/25/the-confederate-flag-isnt-offensive-its-treasonous/?utm_term=.4d349f35ac89

ALSO SEE:

www.care2.com/causes/supreme-court-refuse-to-hear-case-banning-confederate-flag-in-school.html
uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Soviet_Socialist_Confederate_States_of_America
dandygoat.com/officials-warn-against-rainbow-confederate-flag  

3*HUMOR

WHY THE BRITISH SAY “I’LL PUT THE KETTLE ON”

It dates back at least as far as the novel Barnaby Rudge, by Charles Dickens (1841). “Polly put the kettle on, we’ll all have tea.”
And even before.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polly_Put_the_Kettle_On

4*NOVELTY

DROPPING THE BIG ONE

Some might say that Truman’s dropping of two atomic bombs on a Japan that was on the ropes and very likely about to surrender was the most unbelievable thing a President ever did. Certainly, well over 150,000 people died as a result of this one decision. Killing 150,000 people, most of them civilians, and condemning many more to a slow and agonizing death, was simply unconscionable. It was against religious ethics; it was against the rule of law; it was against the Geneva Convention. I am very sorry, but the ends do not justify the means.

ALSO SEE:

SOVIET BOY MARTYR

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pavlik_Morozov  

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

CHUBBY BEHEMOTH REDUX

www.cbsnews.com/news/letters-link-son-of-sam-victims-advocate/  

6* DAILY UTILITY

COMMON SENSE

Giambattista Vico…defines…common sense as “judgment without reflection, shared by an entire class, an entire people, an entire nation, or the entire human race.”  

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/vico/

 7*CARTOON

STARVATION & FATIGUE EXPERIMENTS

http://www.misterkitty.org/extras/stupidcovers/stupidcomics594.html

 8*PRESCRIPTION 

APPLEBEE’S TIPPING INCIDENT

“I don’t accept or tolerate disrespect! I’m furious but I know there’s a God in heaven who sits high and looks low! Racial and social justice! I kneel at the cross and stand for the pledge but racism is real! Take a look in the mirror. Are you strong enough to stand against it? I AM AND ALWAYS WILL BE!”
www.yahoo.com/lifestyle/applebees-waitress-told-dont-tip-black-people-customers-091918091.html

ALSO SEE:

I HATE BEING A BLACK MAN

www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/nov/09/i-hate-being-a-black-man  

ALSO SEE:

THE NEW KLAN

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2828425/The-Ku-Klux-Klan-opens-door-Jews-black-people-homosexuals-new-recruits-wear-white-robes-hats.html  

SEE ALSO:

SUCKER PUNCH ATTACK ON DAD

I like how they use the colloquial term “sucker punch” to desceibe this dark incident. Stay classy, Fox!
www.foxnews.com/us/san-francisco-cops-search-for-suspect-in-sucker-punch-attack-on-dad
  

9* RUMOR PATROL

THE MANIC KINGDOM: DARK DISNEY

www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/06/08/florida-child-sex-sting-disney-world_n_7537104.html
screenrant.com/dark-secrets-disney-wants-bury/
www.ranker.com/list/walt-disney-dark-facts/erin-mccann
www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/30alk5/i_was_an_undercover_security_officer_at_walt/
www.ocweekly.com/new-book-alleges-walt-disney-was-a-gay-pedophile-6465882/  

10*LAGNIAPPE

MILES DAVIS

WHAT I SAY

https://youtu.be/TFr5nl0xRZU

ALSO SEE:

MILES DAVIS VS. J. EDGAR HOOVER

https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRr2C670UpKKyvDbAYRSbMA8SMs9t-Oa0v8qVdM4PxkEHAfvO1D
forums.stevehoffman.tv/threads/stuff-you-never-noticed-on-album-covers-until-someone-pointed-it-out.154231/  

SEE ALSO:
“SUGAR BEAR” AND OTHER MYSTERIOUS LYRICS
boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/archive/index.php/t-637479.html  

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

GROWING OLD

Here’s a useful rule of thumb. 

Take half your age. That is as good as you will ever feel on your best day. 

Add 50 percent to your age. That is as bad as you will ever feel on your worst day.   

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

THE HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN COMIC BOOK IN 50 WORDS OR LESS

From pulp trash to movie tie-ins to wartime superhero agitprop to crime and grue and trivia to deracinated sci-fi to “relevance” to monsters to faltering indie integrity to doom and gloom and back to pulp trash and thence to trivia and photo-realism and super-convoluted narratives and thence to movie tie-ins.  

SEE ALSO: 

THE FIRST SUPERHERO

The first superhero in literature was probably Gilgamesh.
For a more modern comic-strip example: Popeye is a contender.
http://www.dialbforblog.com/archives/102/


ALSO SEE:

CONSISTENCY IN COMIC BOOKS

Comic books tend to be aimed at people who tend not to care about such minor things as mere consistency in story lines and characterization. After all, if you can suspend belief to the extent that most superhero comics invite you to do, what does consistency matter? Comic book companies have never cared an awful lot about consistency. For example, I recall that, circa 1968, Green Arrow went directly from Batman clone to bearded Che Guevara figure. No plausible explanation was given for this rather startling transformation. Many writers have had fun with this inconsistency. See the following article about the “fiction suit”:
http://sequart.org/magazine/10642/fiction-suit/  

THE INFORMATION #1013 OCTOBER 5, 2018

THE INFORMATION #1013
OCTOBER 5, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

A sick thought can devour the body’s flesh more than fever or consumption. ― Guy de Maupassant

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

I suppose I could tell you a bit more about “mystical mesmerism’, and how I used it, only the Swami advised me to keep my cards close to my vest when discussing such matters, and you ought to know right now that I do whatever the Swami says to do and I always listen to any advise the Swami cares to give me. In fact, I have always respected my elders. It is the way of the South. You cabn call it ancestor worship, if you like. That is something we have in common with the heathen Chinee. That, and, perhaps, a fondness for Opium. I cannot account for it, however.

Sedulously gaining the favor of your elders is also the easiest and perhaps the quickest means by which a young man with few prospects can make his way in this cruel cold world.

For it is in just that way that a young man can often get one over on his fellows. Simply by attending and patiently listening to the goofy anecdotage of oldsters, duffers, coots, cranks, pensioners, codgers, galoots, greybeards, coffin-dodgers, gaffers,duffers, and dodos–no matter how crabby their demeanor; no matter how eccentric their dress and mode of expression; no matter how out-and-out ugly they are, For you can always profit from being in their presence, as breathing the very air that they breathe will give a younger fella an instinctive gravitas that can come in useful when seeking to rival and even intimidate your betters. Mark my words–it pays to respect the aged. As they once were, so you are. As they are, so shall you someday be.

Don’t let me give you the wrong impression. It wasn’t easy to bend the Strong Boy to my will. This so-called “Mystical mesmerism” wasn’t all just a cake-walk. It was a slow process. At first, I could not simply order the Strong Boy to perform whatever deed came to my mind. I needed to be circumspect. The Swami warned me that there was a price to be paid for every time I used the power. Sure enough, I soon noticed that the air around me became sluggish, and that breathing seemed harder for me. Ugly sores started erupting around my lips. And I could see my heart beating through my right eyeball. So I used the power sparingly, and usually relied on good old-fashioned persuasion to get the Strong Boy to do my bidding.

One thing I wanted very badly to do, however, was to vandalize my old elementary school, where I had spent so many miserable hours being switched by martinets. Only the building had a thick door, and steel bars guarding its windows. Presumably, so no one could break out. As nobody in their right mind would ever want to break into the place. Not even a goof.

I pictured the damage I could cause to the school and to the reputation of its hated principal. He was an enormous fat and bald man with a few fugitive hairs hanging from his egg-shaped brow. He incessantly stumped around the hallways in his chalky, ill-fitting, and unfashionable navy-blue jacket with two fat silver buttons looking for small boys to punish for some imagined infraction–and you always could tell he was coming because he also wheezed and snorted like a resigned hog.

I thought with relish of how, once I gained entry to that hated place, I could rip up all of the school’s detestable old and outdated textbooks. Tear up all the grade records and burn them in the fireplace. Spill ink all over the principal’s office and, in particular, upon his cherished oriental rug. I could leave lewd words and drawings on the blackboard. Most of all, I longed to steal the bell which once had called me to all my classes so early in the AM, day after interminable day, as though I were a trained dog. I planned to to cast that hateful bell upon the fathomless foamy waters of the most tempestuous and storm-tossed ocean; to throw that odious instrument into the most furious river; to cavalierly drop that sinister ringing nuisance down, down, down into the deepest well.

The brick schoolhouse was on a high hill, surrounded by greenery. School was out for the day, and the lowering gray sky was threatening snow. I asked the Strong Boy to bend back the bars of a small basement window set at about the height of my knee, but he proved strangely reluctant. He began to sweat, and to tremble all over, and finally he asked if perhaps we could perform this task another time. I was alarmed at how pale he looked, so I quickly ushered him back to our hotel room.

For the next three days, the Strong Boy lay in his bed, fulsomely sweating, and as weak as a kitten. I nursed him as best I could–fed him broth, laying damp cool cloths on his forehead, opening and then shutting and then opening the window as the whim struck him.

I consulted the Swami, who told me with a sneer of disapproval that I, like most young people, was too impatient. That there were certain rituals that had to be observed, and that I had failed to observe them. He suggested that the very next time I wished for the Strong Boy to do my bidding, I first knock him out with chloral. Then, I was to smear blood on his hands and face and leave large scraps of hog meat laying next to his naked body. When he finally woke, I was to explain that he had fallen into an uncontrollable fit and killed a child by rending it from limb to limb.

However, it turned out that there was no need for such drastic measures to ensure the Strong Boy’s compliance. The fact that I stayed by his side and nursed him back to health was enough to ensure his loyalty for the foreseeable future–and perhaps even forever.

1* SALUTATION
THE ALLEY CATS
PUDDIN’ ‘N’ TAIN

2* REFERENCE
ANNE APPLEBAUM ON QUORA SESSIONS
https://www.quora.com/session/Anne-Applebaum-2/1?share=ef9f0e17&srid=d9Tz

3*HUMOR
FIRST APPEARANCE OF ROBIN WILLIAMS ON JOHNNY CARSON, 1981

ALSO SEE:
ROBIN WILLIAMS AND JONATHAN WINTERS ON JOHNNY CARSON, 1991

4*NOVELTY
COBAIN DID NOT PREDICT TRUMP
http://www.snopes.com/fact-check/kurt-cobain-predicted-donald-trump-presidency-in-1993/

ALSO SEE:
FAKE FORD PARTYING PHOTOS
http://www.snopes.com/fact-check/blasey-online-photos/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
WHOLE NEW MEANING OF THE WORD PUDDIN’ POP
http://www.reddit.com/r/toosoon/comments/8f4q23/about_to_learn_a_whole_new_meaning_of_pudding_pop/

ALSO SEE:
COSBY: PREDATOR
http://www.cbsnews.com/news/bill-cosby-sentencing-psychologist-cosby-a-predator-with-uncontrollable-urges/

6* DAILY UTILITY
NEW SCRABBLE WORDS
http://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/new-scrabble-words-2018/ew

7*CARTOON
PRE-CODE NASTINESS
Some of these 1940s and 1950s “funny-book” panels seem gratuitously nasty.
http://www.retrospace.org/2009/11/pre-code-nastiness.html

ALSO SEE:
$32 MILLION AWARDED TO VICTIM OF BOTCHED CIRCUMCISION

http://www.wfla.com/news/-32-million-awarded-to-victim-of-botched-circumcision/1471254154

8*PRES
GEN Z SLANG
http://www.businessinsider.com/goat-savage-lit-dope-bae-teens-gen-z-slang-words-2018-6

9* RUMOR PATROL
WHITE ALBUM BOX SET
http://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/beatles-unheard-white-album-exclusive-first-listen-727928/

10*LAGNIAPPE
CHICAGO
LISTEN
I have never met a fan of the band Chicago who wasn’t a stupid lard-ass.

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
ZAPPA FANS
Zappa’s most ardent fans tend to be pimpled sweaty fat loads who tend not to use enough bleach when washing their shit-stained underoos. That’s why I stay very far away from them. I recently had a chance to buy “We’re Only in It for the Money” and “Lumpy Gravy” for 44 cents each…and I did not.

*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
2021. LOST CHILDREN. BETBEDER & BERVAS. ***1/2
ALL-NEW WOLVERINE 5. ORPHANS OF X. ***
ALL-NEW WOLVERINE 6. OLD WOMAN LAURA. ***1/2
APOLLO. FITCH. ****1/2
THE ARAB OF THE FUTURE 3. SATTOUF. ****1/2
THE BAD MOVIE BIBLE. HILL. ***1/2
BATMAN: THE DOOM THAT CAME TO GOTHAM. ***
BUILDING GREAT SENTENCES. LANDOR. ****
CLOCKWORK LIVES: THE GRAPHIC NOVEL. ****1/2
CLOUD HOTEL. HANSHAW. ***
CLUE. ALLOR & DANIEL. ***
COMPLETE DICK TRACY. 8.1942-1944. ****1/2
COMPLETE DICK TRACY. 10.. 1945-1946. ****1/2
COMPLETE DICK TRACY. 12. 1948-1950. ****1/2
COMPLETE DICK TRACY. 15.1953-1954. ****1/2
COMPLETE DICK TRACY. 16.1954-1956. ****1/2
COMPLETE DICK TRACY. 20. 1961-1962. ****
COMPLETE DICK TRACY. 23. 196601967. ***1/2
CREEPY CRAWLING. MELNICK. ****1/2
DARK DAYS: THE ROAD TO METAL. ***1/2
DARK NIGHTS: METAL. ***1/2
THE DC UNIVERSE BY MIKE MIGNOLA. ***
ENTROPY. COSTAIN. ***1/2
ESTRANGED. ALDRIDGE. ***1/2
EXIT STAGE LEFT: THE SNAGGLEPUSS CHRONICLES. RUSSELL & FEEHAN. ****1/2
THE FAMILY. SANDERS. ****
FENCE. PACAT. ****
FLASH 6. COLD DAY IN HELL. ***
FREEDOM HOSPITAL. SULAIMAN. ****
FROM LONE MOUNTAIN, PORCELLINO. ****
HELLBOY COMPLETE SHORT STORIES VOL. 1. MIGNOLA. ****
IDLE DAYS. DESAULNIERS-BROUSSEAU & LECLERC. ****
ILLEGAL. COLFER. ****
INCREDIBLE HULK 3. WORLD WAR HULKS. **1/2
INHUMANS. ONECE AND FUTURE KINGS. ***
JACK KIRBY 100TH CELEBRATION COLLECTION. ***1/2
JENNY FIN: DOOM MESSIAH. MIGNOLA. ***1/2
KABUL DISCO 1. WILD. ***1/2
THE LONG REACH OF THE SIXTIES. KALMAN. ****
THE LOUDEST VOICE IN THE ROOM. SHERMAN. ****
MAE 1. HA. **
MS. MARVEL 9. TEENAGE WASTELAND. ***1/2
MYSTICK U. ***1/2
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF NEW YORK BOARDING HOUSES. GUNN. ****
SIMPSONS COMICS COLASSAL COMPENDIUM. 6. ***1/2
SKIN & EARTH 1. LIGHTS. ***
SKIN IN THE GAME. TALEB. ****
SON OF HITLER. DEL COL. ***1/2
SPACE BOY 1. MCCRANIE. ****
SPIDER-MAN. MILES MORALES 4. BENDIS. ****
STRANGE FRUIT 1. GILL. ***1/2
STRANGE FRUIT 2. GILL. ***
SUPERBOY & THE LEGION OF SUPER HEROES V. 2. ***
UNDERSTANDING THE FUNDAMENTALS OF MUSIC. GREENBERG. ****1/2
VOID TRIP. O’SULLIVAN & KLAUS. ****
WONDER WOMAN BY GEORGE PEREZ. VOLUME 3. ***1/2
YELLOW NEGROES & OTHER IMAGINARY CREATURES. ALGABE. ***1/2
YOUNG FRANCES. LIN. ****
YOUNG RADICALS. MCCARTER. ****
ZODIAC STARFORCE: CRIES OF THE FIRE PRINCE. ***

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
STANDARD EXCUSES FOR FUTURE SUPREME COURT NOMINEES
She asked for it.
She wore provocative clothing.
She is lying. He wouldn’t do that.
Why didn’t she say something before?
It’s a blatant shakedown attempt.
It was a regrettable incident, but he was young then.
This is a completely false allegation.
She’s just an attention-seeking publicity hound.
She’s a little bit nutty and a little bit slutty.
Lots of girls cry rape when they regret sex.
The definition of rape these days is so loose that anyone can make that accusation.
If she was really raped she would have called the police.
Why didn’t she fight back? She must have wanted it.
He is the innocent victim of a blackmailing slut, that’s all.
He is the innocent victim of a partisan witch-hunt, that’s all.
Women cry rape all the time, and usually there’s no proof.
When you think about it, HE is the REAL victim here.
He didn’t do what you said he did, but anyway he stopped doing it.

THE INFORMATION #1012 SEPTEMBER 28, 2018

THE INFORMATION #1012
SEPTEMBER 28, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO*
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Almost all people are hypnotics. The proper authority saw to it that the proper belief should be induced, and the people believed properly.
―Charles Fort

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

I was telling you about Agustino, the Calabrian Strong Boy. As it turns out, having to lug the big stiff around turned out to be a positive asset. You see, I had gotten some tips from the Swami at the Red & Black Carnival about something known as “mystical mesmerism.” It wouldn’t work on people who were very smart, like Colonel Gentleman, or very dumb, like Miss Big Tiny Small, the fat lady. But it worked just fine on the Calabrian Strong Boy. All I had to do, it turns out, is to appeal to a higher authority. “God gives you permission to do this thing,” was usually all it took for me to make the Strong Boy go against his strongly-held scruples and do anything I suggested. “You must always obey the Master,” is what I told him. I would then act all mysterious-like and look around me, as though the Master Himself were hiding in plain sight.

And whenever the Strong Boy managed to score some minor triumph, I would follow it up with the phrase, “The thought of your heart is fulfilled, is it not?”

Another mark in my favor is that one time, when we were walking through the streets of Blowtown, we were accosted by a policeman. And small wonder. I myself was relatively inconspicuous in my Sunday best, which consisted of a derby, a light coat, a starched white shirt, neatly pressed trousers, dress shoes, spats, and a gold-headed cane. But the Strong Boy was another matter. He was dressed in his conical clown hat, a checkered jacket and checkered pants which didn’t quite match, which made it even worse–and sandals. With socks. His very presence screamed “greenhorn”. A Fly Cop tapped him with his nightstick and the Strong Boy froze. Guess he must have had a run-in with the Carabinieri back in the old country, because he was absolutely terrorized at the sight of a uniformed official. I suppose he imaged that he had to show his papers or something, and, of course, he didn’t have any. Well, now, even the dumbest rookie would have smelt the fear pouring off the Strong Boy. But me, I kept my head. Before the Fly Copper could start into questioning the big lug, I took him aside and pressed a fiver in his hand that Colonel Gentleman had given me in case of an emergency just like this one. Hust to impress the Strong Boy, I tipped the Copper the wink and said to him, “Sir, why do you harass my good friend? Don’t you know he’s under my protection? I don’t want to have to speak to the Mayor. Well–all right then. I’ll let it go this time officer–but see that it doesn’t happen again.”

In that way, I managed to make the Strong Boy nearly completely dependent on my good will for his entire sense of well-being.

After that incident, the Strong Boy gave me a look like a dog adoring his master. From that day to the next, I could pretty much get him to do anything I said. But I did not abuse this privilege. At least, not at first. I wanted to get my hooks into him a little deeper before I asked him to do something spectacular. And that’s where the swami’s tips on mystical mesmerism came in. The Strong Boy was profoundly superstitious. He saw everything around him as a possible omen, and looked to me to interpret the ways of this strange new land. And that made it easier still. Any grifter with half a brain could have jollied him along. But the Swami was a learned man, and, for a certain consideration, he taught me how to put a geas upon the Strong Boy, which would not only compel him to do my bidding, but also make him not care about the consequences of his deeds.

I started out slow. I told Agustino Baldassare Calebrese–I always called him by his full name, because the Swami said that this would give me more control over him–try it some time, and see–refer to your acquaintance by his full name and see if he doesn’t respect you more, the more you do it. I told Agustino the Calabrian Strong Boy that I would like him to take a walk around my old neighborhood with me. I carefully instructed him to hang back several yards behind me, and to appear only at my signal. I knew that there were some desperados lounging on street corners who were terrorizing shopkeepers and annoying women. The Coppers couldn’t do anything because the fix was in with the Mayor, who didn’t give a hoot in hell about anything that happened in Blowtown.

And so then I go up to the strongest of the toughs, who fancied himself quite the b’hoy–oh, he was in his full regalia that day, which consisted of a flaming bright red shirt, black pantaloons, black boots, and a black silk stovepipe hat. He had on his putty-pale Irish face a contemptuous sneer, and his muttonchops grew nearly down to the line where his chin met his ears. He was the son of the local Grocer, and thought he was some punkins. His forearms were the size of small hams, and he was noted all through Blowtown for his strength and his pugilistic ability.

Being long a stranger to those parts, I waited for him to accost me and ask me what my business was. It didn’t take long. They was always particular about strangers in Blowtown.

Says the B’hoy, “Hopen your dummy, and let’s see wot’s in it! And let’s have a look at your thimble, in the bargain.”

He was asking me to hand over my wallet and my watch. That’s the way it was in Blowtown–if you didn’t have protection, you would be robbed in broad daylight.

“I think not. I am not accustomed to pattering hash with thieves. Good day to you, Sir,” says I, and I gave the signal.

And nothing happened.

I gave the signal again.

And nothing happened.

The B’hoy looked at me and laughed.

“Looking after your pal? We coshed ‘im, we did. Now hopen your dummy! Stand and deliver, Pikey!”

With a roar, the Strong Boy shook off three stout grown men who were trying to hold him back and made for the leader of the B’hoys. The leader took one look at his crazed and red-faced expression and ran away so fast he nearly lost his hat. “I ain’t fightin’ no black,” one of tye other B’hoys said, and the three of them ran off in three different directions.

No matter. I wasn’t any too inclined to follow them. The Strong Boy was willing…but I didn’t want to tax his strength. How he managed to shake off being coshed by a lead sap is a mystery to me. But I suppose a man can accomplish a great many unusual things–when his mind is not entirely his own.

1* SALUTATION
KEITH
98.6

THE ZOMBIES
CARE OF CELL 44

THE LEFT BANKE
IN THE MORNING LIGHT

2* REFERENCE
POETRY
Slopping random words on a page does not make you a poet. Regardless of your “message”.

SEE:
THE WORST POEMS BY SEVEN GREAT WRITERS
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/books/what-to-read/the-worst-poems-by-7-great-writers/

3*HUMOR
HOW DID WE DO?
Rule of thumb: The worse an artist is, the more he longs for you to praise him.

4*NOVELTY
COMA BUMS
Fear of premature burial haunted the 19th century.

“Fear of burial alive was deeply rooted in Western culture in the nineteenth century, and Poe was taking advantage of the public’s fascination with it. Hundreds of cases were reported in which doctors mistakenly pronounced people dead. In this period, coffins occasionally were equipped with emergency devices to allow the “corpse” to call for help, should he or she turn out to be still living. It was such a strong concern, Victorians even organized a Society for the Prevention of People Being Buried Alive. Belief in the vampire, an animated corpse that remains in its grave by day and emerges to prey on the living at night, has sometimes been attributed to premature burial. Folklorist Paul Barber has argued that the incidence of burial alive has been overestimated, and that the normal effects of decomposition are mistaken for signs of life.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Premature_Burial

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
OFFICIALLY CHANGING THE NAME OF THE WHITE HOUSE. BECAUSE RACISM.

Officially change it to what? The White House isn’t even its official name. Such ahistoricism is typical among people who make a quasi-superstitious fuss about things they don’t even really understand.
https://247sports.com/college/hawaii/Board/103415/Contents/Is-the-name-White-House-racist-70464761/

6* DAILY UTILITY
GENIUS
I think that with few exceptions—those people who I refer to as “spooky-smart”—there are very few real geniuses. But there are more of those people who I would say have “a genius” for some field of endeavor. What is it like to be such a person? Well, they tend to be singleminded in their focus and determination. They tend to have what I would call a drive for perfection. And, unless they are aberrant in some way, they tend to be humble about what they do, realizing that it is only a very small part of the overall picture. They also tend to be well aware (though not in all cases) that there is still a great deal that they do not know.

SEE:
2018 SECRET GENIUS AWARDS
https://newsroom.spotify.com/2018-08-22/spotify-announces-nominees-for-2018-secret-genius-awards/

7*CARTOON
CHESTER GOULD
There is a rumor that a sequel to the movie Dick Tracy is forthcoming.

I missed the great era of the Dick Tracy comic strip by quite a few years. By the 70s, Gould’s strip was running on fumes. His successors have been essentially running a zombie enterprise for too many of the ensuing years. The consensus seems to be (and I concur) that Gould’s great era was from ca. 1942 to about the mid-1950s. It was an odd strip, in which the villains were the true stars, and Tracy and his growing cast of characters (Pat, and then later, Sam Catchem and Policewoman Lizz) largely served merely as their foil. Chet Gould constantly pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable in a comic strip. An early 1940s continuity evoked outrage among anti-comics crusaders for the unusually gruesome demise of Jerome Trohs at the vindictive hands of Big Mamma.
http://thegreatcomicbookheroes.blogspot.com/2014/02/dick-tracy-timeless-comic-noir.html

In the early 1960s, Gould became more pronounced in his overtly political proselytizing. Fly Face, a venal lawyer, provoked outrage among readers because both his mother and the toddler, “Little Doc,” was also seen as having flies hovering around their faces.
https://comics.ha.com/itm/original-comic-art/comic-strip-art/chester-gould-dick-tracy-daily-comic-strip-original-art-dated-12-28-59-chicago-tribune-1959-flyface-his-mom-and-wil/a/818-4183.s

Gould has few disciples. The most notable is the Spanish cartoonist Marti, whose astonishing strip “The Cabbie” ups the ante on both the violence and depraved sex.
http://www.fantagraphics.com/cabbie1/
http://www.fantagraphics.com/images/stories/previews/cabbi1-preview.pdf

ALSO SEE:
BATMAN’S DICK

8*PRESCRIPTION
ARTHUR C. FIFIELD’S RESPONSE TO GERTRUDE STEIN
https://qph.fs.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-8eef134c51626704e7a7cc723dcbf69a

ALSO SEE:
11 GREATEST LITERARY FEUDS
https://www.thedailybeast.com/the-11-greatest-literary-feuds

TOP TEN LITERARY FEUDS
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/apr/04/michael-crummey-top-10-literary-feuds

TEN NOTORIOUS LITERARY SPATS
10 Notorious Literary Spats

SEVEN GREAT LITERARY FEUDS
https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/07/19/literary-feuds_n_3619103.html

9* RUMOR PATROL
WERE THE JACKSONS RAPED IN BOB HOPE SEX RING?

Bob Hope, from what I understand, was a horrible and powerful man who had MK Ultra sex slaves at the ready. He was an MI6 British agent who was a part of a psyop to abuse kids sexually and see how they turned out. Allegedly.

I believe the Jacksons were traumatized early, especially Michael and Latoya and I believe Joe abused them and also allowed others to abuse them. Similar stories have been told about Tiger Woods. When Tiger made his TV debut at three or four years old, Bob Hope was a guest on the same show and I’m sure it was no coincidence.

I just recently learned of this disturbing fact. I also learned that long noses is another term for pedophile and Hope did have a long nose.
http://www.lipstickalley.com/threads/were-the-jacksons-raped-in-bob-hope-sex-ring.1312631/

ALSO SEE:
BOB HOPE CAMEO IN EYES WIDE SHUT

10*LAGNIAPPE
PERRY COMO
Como was known as “the Singing Barber from Canonsburg Pennsylvania.” (My Uncle Joe says he knew him when.) He was phenomenally popular in the late 1950s, as these unpublished drawings intended for Trump #3 attest:
https://www.comicartfans.com/gallerypiece.asp?piece=1165578

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
CONTRA TROLLS
Me and my fam high key want to turn up savage here and be woke and U R harsh AF and U turnt my game. U R so v extra. Pls be done FR.

TRANSLATION:
I am showboating and you are distracting people from the greatness which is me as I showboat. Why must you always be the one who punctures my self-aggrandizing statements and banal borrowed opinions with your irreverent jollity? If only you would go away, then I can proceed to bloviate to my heart’s content without some mischievous troublemaker coming in here and upsetting the apple cart and distracting people from the greatness which is me.

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

BAYARD RUSTIN

According to William Manchester, President Kennedy expressed concern that Martin Luther King Jr. was being advised by Rustin.

Kennedy maintained that [Rustin] was a member of the communist party. King’s defense of Rustin was rather eloquent. “Look, Jack–just because a fella likes to smoke a log or two in a public restroom, that doesn’t make him a commie. Look at Eddie and Clyde! Are you telling me they’re commies, too? For that matter, howzabout you and that roommate of yours at Choate, Lem Billings? Don’t tell me that he wasn’t sucking your choad on those long winter nights! So leave Bayard alone! He was risking his life on Freedom Rides while you will still dinging around with Inga-Binga!”
http://www.ep.tc/realist/74/

THE INFORMATION #1011 SEPTEMBER 21, 2018

THE INFORMATION #1011
SEPTEMBER 21, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO*
dimenno@gmail.com

https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Some people only express their opinions as part of mob shaming, when it is safe to do so, and, in the bargain, think that they are displaying virtue. This is not virtue but vice, a mixture of bullying and cowardice.–Nassim Nicholas Taleb

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

During the cold-weather months, when there wasn’t much call for his services, the Strong Boy, whose full name was Agustino Baldassare Calebrese, took it into his head to see America. Specifically, he had a mind to take a trip to see Noxtown, and, eventually, Madport. And he asked me if I wanted to come along, all expenses paid. At first I wondered why he would ask a puny fella like me to come along. To be sure, I practically worshipped him. I was still at that age when feats of strength and derring-do left a big impression on me. I recall that when I first met him, I up and said to him, “Gee, Strong Boy–how does it feel like, to be you?” And he said, “It feels swell, little fella–it feels swell.” And he tipped me a wink. I’m guessing he got that reaction a lot.

It wasn’t long before I sussed out the real reason he wanted me to come along. Namely, he was practically blind as a bat. And far too vain and protective of his image to wear cheaters, or even consider them. Like I mentioned before, he had an old-fashioned Italian peasant’s fear of doctors. I think he was also afraid that the glasses might break and the glass would get into his eyes. Or that people would consider him unmanly because his vision was weak.

His eyesight wasn’t as bad as all that. He could still see things real close right out in front of him, but once you got about twenty paces away, you became a blur to him. That’s one reason he wasn’t very good with names. He’d call everybody either “Miss” or “Little fella.”

He also thought that I, more knowing in the ways of Americans, would prevent him from being robbed or cheated. Which was probably so. So I said I would accompany him.

He may have been a carny, and with it and for it, but I still had to show him the ropes, and at nearly every turn.

First we set out from Mistake Island, where the Carnival was based, to the big city of Noxtown, and it’s a lucky thing we did, and had a sort of a trial run there, because the Strong Boy was not fully domesticated. I’m sure he knew how to behave in the big cities of Italy, where he performed daring feats of strength for the crowned heads of Europe as well as the canaille. But not in the great cities of North America, much less the small towns, where totally different rules apply.

Who knows what really runs through the empty heads of those crazy dagoes? They have some of the beatenest habits. Totally inexplicable to any white man. And the strong boy was no different. He seemed to have no respect for the sanctity of womanhood. I say this because the first thing Agustino did when we entered the Seven Stars Saloon was to try to pinch the barmaid on her derrière. I told him it was all right to pinch a serving wench in a low dive such as this, but I strongly cautioned him against making this his practice on the stret, explaining to him that, here in America, this sort of behavior is heavily frowned upon. Particularly in the Southron, where you’re taking your very life in your hands by such a deed.

I noticed when we dined out at a swell restaurant that he always, always, peeled his fruit, even if it was an apple or a pear. Though sometimes he would eat a portion of an orange peel.

Talk about backwards! Not only did he spit on the sidewalk, which is to be expected, but he also used to blow his nose–each nostril–without using a snotrag, and he didn’t always blow it in the gutter, either.

He was an excitable fellow, too—when we were in the fancy restaurant he forgot himself and start screeching at me in his gibble-gabble Italian dialect.

I later learned that his household habits were also rather peculiar. He had a fear amounting to absolute terror about walking around with wet hair, or catching a sudden breeze in his bed and dying in his sleep. I suppose he had this in common with a lot of his countrymen. Maybe that’s why your average spaghetti-bender will always sleep with all the doors and windows closed, and covered himself with blankets even when the weather is warm. Agustino would sometimes even sleep on the floor, lest he be assassinated by a stray breeze seeping through a crack in the windowpane. And if there was even the slightest breeze, he would wear a thick woolen scarf that his aged mother knitted for him, lest he catch an ill wind and it lay him low.

I will say this for him–he would always dress sharp whenever he went out, even to wearing a conical hat made of soft felt. I told him not to wear the hat but to throw it away; I explained to him that it made him look like a greenhorn. When he finally understood what I was getting it, he acted as though I had stung him to the quick. But when I told him that greenhorns tend to get robbed and are always handed the shitty end of the stick by native-born Americans, he wised up quick.

One habit I couldn’t break him of–he always had to polish his shoes before going out. Always. And if he happened to get the least speck of dust on them, he always had to go looking for a shoeshine boy. That men spent more money on shoeshines than most men spend on beer. But, as he didn’t drink beer, I suppose it all evened out.

Like I mentioned before, he was very religious, but it’s not like he got down on his prayer dukes an awful lot. It was more or less like a superstition to him. He would always cross himself when passing a church. I told him to stop doing that, because he would be taken for a mark by the sharpers, but he wouldn’t listen. He would always greet a priest with servile, almost dog-like respect. But he would also knock on wood to avert a catastrophe. He was a combination of a devout mackerel-snapper and a wild pagan. I’d never seen the like, as here in America, most fellers is generally one or the other but hardly ever both.

When we first arrived in Noxtown, Agustino wanted to walk with me hand-in-hand through the hilly streets and down the cobblestoned thoroughfares. I had to tell him that it wasn’t a good idea; that, unlike in the old country, people might get the wrong idea. He asked me to elaborate. I explained. He was utterly shocked. He had no idea such people existed. He lapsed into Italian. Called it an “infame”. He also used to greet me with a kiss, until I gently discouraged the habit. It had to be gentle. His feelings were badly hurt. He even went so far as to querulously ask, “Brek…opp?” I assured him that our friendship was unbroken. But I also explained to him that here in America, such displays between two men were considered very unusual. I urged him to be more sedate in his shows of affection, lest people decide we were more than just friends. Again, he declared “Infame!” and said that all Americans must have “very, very dirty minds! Disgrazia!”

1* SALUTATION
MILES DAVIS
AIREGIN

ALSO SEE:
HOW AM I TO KNOW?

SEE ALSO:
LIST OF JAZZ CONTRAFACTS
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_jazz_contrafacts

2* REFERENCE
TWELVE LETTERS THAT DIDN’T MAKE THE ALPHABET
http://mentalfloss.com/article/31904/12-letters-didnt-make-alphabet

3*HUMOR
HILARIOUS THINGS PEOPLE PUT ON THEIR RESUMES
https://twentytwowords.com/hilarious-things-put-on-peoples-resumes/

4*NOVELTY
Pat Robertson Casts Magic Spell Against Hurricane Florence, Declares ‘Shield Of Protection’
http://www.patheos.com/blogs/progressivesecularhumanist/2018/09/pat-robertson-casts-magic-spell-against-hurricane-florence-declares-shield-of-protection/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
HUNTER S. THOMPSON ON THE POLITICS OF ALIENATION
https://www.thenation.com/article/this-political-theorist-predicted-the-rise-of-trumpism-his-name-was-hunter-s-thompson/

6* DAILY UTILITY
WHAT IF?
what-if.xkcd.com/14/

7*CARTOON
TOM & JERRY
BLUE CAT BLUES (1956)

ALSO SEE:
COLONEL BLEEP

8*PRESCRIPTION
BEAT THE MEATLES
BY CHRIS MILLER
https://exquisitelyboredinnacogdoches.blogspot.com/2005/07/beat-meatles.html

ALSO SEE:
NEW YORK POST: BEAT THE MEATLES
Note that Paul has on his ‘O’ face
adage.com/article/media/york-post-outdone-beatles-cover/314903/

9* RUMOR PATROL
Pepsi brings your ancestors back from the dead.
http://www.snopes.com/fact-check/come-alive/

10*LAGNIAPPE
PITCHFORK’S DUBIOUS LIST OF THE BEST 200 ALBUMS OF THE 1980S
pitchfork.com/features/lists-and-guides/the-200-best-albums-of-the-1980s/

ALSO SEE:
50 LGBTQ PRIDE SONGS
pitchfork.com/features/lists-and-guides/50-songs-that-define-the-last-50-years-of-lgbtq-pride/

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
9-1-1 Was an Inside Job
(The result of listening to way too much Wu Tang Clan and Nas:)

9-1-1 was an inside job
I heard it from a friend of a friend named Bob
The towers tumbled
And we was humbled
Al-Quada flier
They caught on fire
You better bet fool
That wasn’t jet fuel
’cause that’s too easy
It doesn’t please me
No, 9-1-1 was an inside job
I heard it from a friend of a friend named Bob

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
TOP TEN DUBIOUS CELEBRITY ENDORSEMENTS
10. Marilyn Monroe for Sominex
9. Tiger Woods for Trojan Condoms
8. Girolamo Savonarola for Duraflame Logs.
7. Anne Frank for Hide-Away Beds.
6. Jack Kerouac for Thunderbird Wine
5. Morris the Cat for Taco Bell
4. Isadora Duncan for Hermès scarves.
3. Adolf Hitler for Sharp’s Non-Alcoholic beer.
2. “Jane Roe” for Absorbine Jr.
1. Fatty Arbuckle for Louis Roederer Champagne.

THE INFORMATION #1010 SEPTEMBER 14, 2018

THE INFORMATION #1010
SEPTEMBER 14, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.-Shakespeare

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

As for the Calabrian Strong Boy who I mentioned before,” said Sam Floyd to the young Victor Justin, “well, he was a most bitter enemy of Miss Big Tiny Small.”

I never got the gen on how this enmity arose. I’ve heard that he
gave Miss Big Tiny Small a hearty greeting when the Red & Black Carnival took her on, and she gave him the razz, and the high hat on top of that, as though she thought he was very much beneath her station and not even worth talking to. There seems to be no other way to account for why he disliked her so much.

Now, the Strong Boy was a very tender-hearted man, very kind to children and to animals–he had a small wire-haired terrier he doted on, and if anyone dast kick the little dog around or otherwise mistreat it, his great wrath would descend upon them, and it was most fearsome to behold. But otherwise, he was gentle, kind, and most considerate of others–not a blood-thirsty man at all, even though he lived mostly on a diet of fresh raw vegetables and
nearly raw meat, which he mostly paid for it himself, as he didn’t want to cause any inconvenience to the other carnies on the lot by glauming their provender. I would say he ate about one or two pounds of steak a day. He never put any butter ner salt on it, neither. He also had the cook prepare it rare, just barely scorched on either side. He hardly ever ate bread, ner rice–“I had ebnugh of beans and rice back in the old country” said he–but
very often, just before he put on a show–an “exhibition of strength” as he called it–he would eat a big plate of spaghetti, accompanied by a special tomato, basil, and raw garlic sauce that he prepared hisself.

He never was never seen to drink anything but wine, almost always with his meals, and he would always water it down so that it was not even half wine. He very seldom drank to excess, and eschewed the use of tobacco and coffee altogether. And he never even went near sweets, and for that reason his teeth were very strong and
healthy, and he had an iron jaw. Very often he would perform feats of strength which required him to clench some heavy article with his choppers. He once won a tug of war with three strong savages that way–on a bet. Just him and a rope.

He was what you might call a squat feller–weighed about
220 and stood only five feet five, but every part of him was muscle, and he was tough as a bull. He claimed he was never sick a day in his life, and he could easily lift and tote three hundred pounds without ever getting winded or even tired. He loved the kiddies, and he would often seat as many as six of them across his outstretched arms for as long as five minutes–someone timed it once. Not as easy as it looks. I guess he studied under some sort
of Indian Fakir, which is where he got some of his stamina. The rest he chalked up to regular sleep…and no gallivantin’ around at all hours with floozies or zooks.

It’s not that he wasn’t fond of the ladies, like every one of them Dagos seem to be. It’s just that he was, how do you say it, circumspect about just whom he bestowed his favors upon. There was a malicious rumor going about that he had a tiny pecker, and that he fucked like a jackrabbit, but if that was the case, then why were the zooks always hanging around him, hoping to catch his eye? But he had no truck with any of them scarlet women. He was deathly afraid of picking up the clap, and the calomel treatment. That’s mercury, in case you didn’t know it. He hated all quack doctors, and medical people in general. And he’d never go near a sickroom ner a hospital. Say what you will about his quirks, but maybe he knew something. Like I said, he was never sick a day in his life.

Strange to say, he often took up with older ladies–maiden aunts and the like. He said it was because he knew they were clean, and, anyway, all cats look alike in the dark, and, besides, they were always mighty grateful. And they knew how to keep their traps closed. All the same, I wouldn’t be surprised if, in his day,
he left a string of bastards from the Carolinas to the Gold Rush Country and back.

They dressed him up in a lion skin, like the mythical Hercules. He himself insisted on his billing–“The Calabrian Strong Boy.” Lord help you if you mistook him for a Sicilian. You would be treated to an angry rant about how Sicilians weren’t even true Italians at all, but a mongrel race composed of Moors, Turks, Greeks, “and other such trash.” Bending horseshoes and breaking chains by expanding his chest were parlor tricks for him. Child’s play. Kid stuff. He was phenomenally strong. One time, just to win a bet,
he carried a grown horse from one end of the lot to the other. He had other talents as well. He could juggle kettlebells that most men could barely lift. He could heft a five-hundred pound barbell with just the two fingers of his hands. He knew how to do all sorts of tricks with weights–double-handed snatches, the two-hands slow curl, the two-hands kettlebell press, the two hands holdout, the rectangular fix, deadlifts, ‘Plank’ stunts, lifting a bull calf, toting a Piano, single and double-handed swings–he could even tear a deck of cards in two, and I know this because I seen him do it once, to win a bet. A sucker bet, to be sure. Any man who tells you he can do it is a liar, or the cards are gaffed. But the Calabrian Strong Boy done it. The cards were real–I saw them myself. I
tell you, he was a physical marvel!

One time the girl trapeze artist was performing without a net
and fell, and the Calabrian Strong Boy caught her right in his arms in a dead run. I tell you, you’ve never seen nothing like
it. Naturally, after a feat like that, and him saving her life and all, she was more than willing to be his love-slave. But he wouldn’t take advantage. Besides, the knife-thrower was sweet on her, and the Calabrian Strong Boy was no coward, but he was no dummy either. He never went looking for trouble if he could avoid it.

He was, however, rather sweet on the Moss-Haired Girl. As was I,
and just about all the other cazarnies. But she wouldn’t give any of us a tumble. She was saving herself, she said, though for who or what, she would never say.

Now, a man like him. he could of been a captain of industry or
a figure of respect anywhere he went. But he chose the Carny life, for reasons known only to him. I think it was because, in a very strange way, he was very shy of ordinary people. Also, he was devoutly religious and would attend Mass and confession at any town that had a Catholic Church. Maybe he felt that his great strength was a gift from God, and if he tried to take advantage or push himself up into the front, God might punish him for his pride. There’s no accounting for human nature. Let me tell you–if I had his muscles, I wouldn’t be working the savages and the cross-roads clowns–I’d be the best strong-arm man there ever was.

But some folks, why, they just ain’t built that way. That’s all.

1* SALUTATION*
MIKE BERRY & THE OUTLAWS
TRIBUTE TO BUDDY HOLLY

ALSO SEE:
TOMMY ROE
SHEILA

2* REFERENCE
HARVARD VS. ASIANS
Asian-Americans are 5.6% of the U.S. population.
But Harvard’s class of 2021 isn’t 80% Asian-American. In fact, it is only about 24% Asian-American.
Discrimination!
https://features.thecrimson.com/2017/freshman-survey/makeup/

3*HUMOR
CAT AND RAT RANCH
*Glorious Opportunity To Get Rich!!! — We are starting a cat ranch in Lacon with 100,000 cats. Each cat will average 12 kittens a year. The cat skins will sell for 30 cents each. One hundred men can skin 5,000 cats a day. We figure a daily net profit of over $10,000. Now what shall we feed the cats? We will start a rat farm next door with 1,000,000 rats. The rats breed 12 times faster than the cats. So we will have four rats to feed each day to each cat. Now what shall we feed the rats? We will feed the rats the
carcasses of the cats after they have been skinned. Now Get This! We feed the rats to the cats and the cats to the rats and get the cat skins for nothing!
https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/cat-and-rat-ranch-hoax/

4*NOVELTY
MATTIS VS. SPICER
http://www.militarytimes.com/news/your-military/2018/09/05/mattis-to-spicer-ive-killed-people-for-a-living-if-you-call-me-again-im-going-to-f-king-send-you-to-afghanistan/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
LOW-COST HELP FOR SICK PETS
You don’t have to abandon your sick pet if you can’t afford a
veterinarian.
http://www.wpri.com/news/local-news/providence/owner-of-dog-abandoned-with-massive-tumor-turns-himself-in/1407455141

*6* DAILY UTILITY*
A WORD TO THE WISE
https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/xwknn7/reminder-george-w-bush-is-still-very-very-bad

7*CARTOON
S. CLAY WILSON
SPIDER JOY (NSFW)
https://comics.ha.com/itm/original-comic-art/s-clay-wilson-spider-joy-one-page-story-original-art-undated-the-spiders-are-gone-while-that-may-sound-like-a-goo/a/812-4251.s#

8*PRESCRIPTION
THE FACTS OF LIFE

ALSO SEE:
DRIVE-IN EXPLOITATION TRASH

9* RUMOR PATROL
YOU CAN’T GET COLOGNE IN PRISON
http://www.quora.com/Does-prison-allow-inmates-to-have-things-like-deodorants-colognes-or-shampoos

10*LAGNIAPPE
MILES DAVIS
OUT OF THE BLUE
LIVE AT BIRDLAND 1953

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE WICKER MAN
It has been said that the original version of the Wicker Man is one of the scariest movies ever made. And that the remake is one of the funniest.
WICKER MAN 1973 TRAILER

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
WHO WAS THE ORIGINAL “GENT’S ROOM JOURNALIST”?
Drew Pearson? Walter Winchell? Whom do we believe?
https://books.google.com/books?id=s2mhAgAAQBAJ&pg=PT144&lpg=PT144&dq=%22gent%27s+room+journalist%22&source=bl&ots=xDcy0I9w6b&sig=Aqwtlr9MJBWEgfDope49aSa34uU&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiczpio2pfdAhWhzVkKHQ1YAV4Q6AEwAHoECAMQAQ#v=onepage&q=%22gent’s%20room%20journalist%22&f=false

https://books.google.com/books?id=tjkhCgAAQBAJ&pg=PA413&lpg=PA413&dq=%22gent%27s+room+journalist%22+peglar&source=bl&ots=KYODF0LPrz&sig=_JL_0J9bRH_LlopGFea-oAXXYAU&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjm9YnX2pfdAhXiw1kKHcSvC4QQ6AEwAXoECAYQAQ#v=onepage&q=%22gent’s%20room%20journalist%22%20peglar&f=false