THE INFORMATION #982 MARCH 2, 2018

THE INFORMATION #982
MARCH 2, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO

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

Little sister’s short and stout/She didn’t grow up, she grew out.–Randy Newman

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART SIXTY-SIX: DAYS OF WRATH
“I intended to ask you, Yob,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “ how is your schoolin’ goin’? Have ye been attendin’ to your homework?”

“No,” said Tandy. “It’s boring, and I don’t feel like I even belong there, so I never go. None of the other kids will even talk to me because they say I live in a whorehouse. And what’s the point, anyway? Them teachers ain’t telling me nothing that I don’t already know.”

“Well, you seem to have forgotten the sole purpose of schooling, Yob—to babysit you snot-nosed bairns for six hours of the day, and keep you out of the hair of us taxpaying adults. Kids, stay in school–because we don’t want you around here!

“Boring is the whole point. What school is for is to teach youngsters to sit still and be quiet, the better to someday work in an insurance office, or a tool and die factory, or a funeral home. To teach you to wake up early every weekday, and walk the same path every day to get there, and come in and take your desk at the same time every day, whether you feel like it or not. And to do this for forty years, or until you drop dead, whichever comes first.

“Yob, let me be the first to put you wise to something that everybody already knows, deep in their heart of hearts: school is a hospital where they amputate your imagination. Adults are in on the joke, even if the kiddies ain’t. ‘If ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise.’ The little red schoolhouse is where you learn your first lessons in hypocrisy and graft, and no better training ground for savages was ever devised than the cloakroom and the playground. It’s also where they teach you about civilization, which they use to dampen down your enthusiasm for the new and exotic—because that’s what civilization is FOR. No, if you want culture, Yob, you won’t find it in the classroom. If you want culture, I suggest you go to Gay Paree and order a fucking cheese platter—because you sure ain’t going to find it nowhere in any school in Noxtown.

“What really ruined book-larnin’ for me was my teacher—Miss Petunia. She had some unpronounceable Irish name—McCunny or O’Fuckingham, or something like that, so Miss Petunia is what we all called her—to her face. You’d be surprised what vile things we called her when her back was turned. Porky. Lard. Piggy. The usual schoolboy taunts. She taught us youngsters in a rather substantial building that was purpose-built for the small fry—a large wood and brick slab built on the former site of the town dump, so every now and again you would dig in the turf of the playground and come up with an Indian head penny, or a pig’s knuckle. More often than not, though, it was a clay pipe, or a brown piece of broken bottle glass worn smooth.

“From what I have been able to gather, Miss Petunia was born in a shabby, nearly deserted village, maybe in Ireland, which must surely have been a suburb of hell, for she was trouble itself, and discord walking. Like a horrendous snail arisen from the Stygian depths, she left a trail of malice and venom whenever she crept forth from her loathsome nest. She was a stupidly complacent, supremely incompetent, malevolently blabber-mouthed, bloated, foul-mouthed Teague…an oleaginous automaton…the world’s fattest fat pig…a five star freak, rated five stars out of five…with a terrifying visage straight out of Pyle’s Curiosities and Anomalies of Medicine. Hard to believe that she even had bones—that her entire body wasn’t made of some sort of durable and calcified blubber. Surly, brusque, and giving the stink-eye to anyone she perceived as her inferior, which included all the children in her care, she was mealy-mouthed and fawning to parents, and when she laughed at their jokes, or at her own, she cackled like a burly hag.

“As I recall—and mind you, this was about forty or fifty years ago–it is not beyond the realm of possibility that her clothing was fashioned from old feed-sacks, for they hung on her as loose and shapeless as worn burlap. She even had the temerity to affect a little lace fringe around the neck of her floppy blouse, which made her resemble a Komodo dragon—or, worse, she would wear two dingy taffeta frills, which made her look like an enormously fat and superannuated circus dog that should have been put out of its misery long ago. In winter she wore a sweater—it was pink, or at least, I think it was once meant to be pink, but it had deteriorated to the point where it looked like cotton candy spun out of dried filth. In the spring-time she wore a ridiculous black battered straw hat contraption, with ribbons and flowers and other gew-gaws—a sad looking thing, which wouldn’t have passed muster even on the head of a garbageman’s horse. She never wore no paint ner powder, because schoolmarms in those days never did, and this made her look ghastly, like a filthy clown you might envision in a fever dream after eating too many hot dogs. If she had worn make-up, I warrant she would have applied it with a trowel. It was always my opinion that she would have looked at her very best with her head on a platter and an apple in her mouth.

“Her shrill, quavery voice was worse than that of the most talentless soi-disant Opera Diva. Far worse. She taught all sorts of subjects, but the biggest ordeal was when she taught music. She very nearly put me off of music for good and all. You haven’t lived, Yob, until you’ve seen and heard an off-key fat hog yowling “Old Black Joe” with all the subtlety of a steam drill. Whenever she sang—if that’s what you call it– her slobbery jowls shook like a calf’s foot jelly.

“I’ll tell you what–she certainly put me off book-learnin’ forever, for when she stomped into the classroom the wooden floors shook and dust and plaster fell down from the rafters and she looked and sounded like the Four Horsemen of the Porklips. Now, y’know, Yob, you can’t always judge by appearances. Some fatties are the nicest folks you’ll ever meet, the very soul of charity, in spite of their taking up all that space and eating all that food–and, as a whole, they are, in fact, prone to be jolly, and certainly not inclined to be voracious and cruel. Y’know, like the Yellofs with the ‘lean and hungry look’ that the immortal Bard done told us about.

“But Miss Petunia surely was cruel. She looked, and behaved, like an angry hog, always indignantly squealing and snorting about something or other she found defective about her porcine lair. At lunch-time I would swear that she looked at us greedily whenever we put a scrap of food in our mouths, as though we were somehow depriving her of a prize. Eating lunch in front of her was like snacking in the straw hut of a starving ogre. Putting her in charge of students was a huge mistake, but she was so adept at flattering the principal and everyone else in any position to fire her that she was able to escape the ax on numerous occasions when better teachers were let go. And believe me—ALL the teachers were better than her. No wonder I quit school the first chance I got! You look under Miss Petunia’s house–and there’s probably the bones of all the neighborhood children what have gone missin’ since 1869!”

1*SALUTATION
M.I.A
PAPER PLANES

ALSO SEE:
AMANDA PALMER
PAPER PLANES (LIVE)

SEE ALSO:
CAMPER VAN BEETHOVEN
WHITE RIOT (LIVE)

2*REFERENCE
ANOMALIES & CURIOSITIES OF MEDICINE
https://books.google.com/books?id=juwIAAAAIAAJ&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false

3*HUMOR
KAL KAN CONTROVERSY
Fortunately, there are many pet foods which are better than Kal-Kan.
These include:
Country Livin’ Cream of Sick Puppy Fixins ‘n’ Gravy
Country Livin’ Newspaper Trimmings for Your Adult Dog
Country Livin’ Paper Pulp ‘n Sawdust for Your Sluggish Fat Dog
Country Livin’ Crispy Puppy
Country Livin’ 99 Dead Dawg Soo-prise
Country Livin’ Tapewormz in Gravy for Feral Cats
Country Livin’ Pig Eyeballs in Gravy for Shiny Coat
Country Livin’ Tarantula Chow
Country Livin’ Scorpion Meat
Gemstone Ground Up Horsemeat
Gemstone Ground Up Horsemeat and Hooves
Gemstone Crispy Chicken Beaks ‘n’ Claws
Gemstone Crunchy Hog Maws ‘n’ Eyebrows
Gemstone Low Energy Dog Food
Gemstone All-Fat Dog Food
Gemstone Maintenance Service Floor Sweepins Dog Food
Gemstone Minimal Performance Dog Food
Gemstone Premium Adult Dog Meat
Gemstone Puppy Meat
Gemstone Chinese Restaurant Floor Sweepins Cat Food

4*NOVELTY
ISOLATED TRACKS
http://www.thatericalper.com/category/isolated-tracks/

PAPA WAS A ROLLIN’ STONE

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
THE BLACK PANTHER
The character was created by writer-editor Stan Lee and writer-artist Jack Kirby, first appearing in Fantastic Four #52 (July 1966).
The Black Panther’s name predates the October 1966 founding of the Black Panther Party, though not the black panther logo of the party’s predecessor, the Lowndes County Freedom Organization, nor the segregated World War II Black Panthers Tank Battalion.
http://www.blackpast.org/aah/lowndes-county-freedom-organization

6* DAILY UTILITY
BOB DYLAN WROTE PROPAGANDA SONGS

ALSO SEE:
THE VENTURES OF ZIMMERMAN
Here’s something that every Dylan fan and Dylan-hater should read.
http://www.punkhart.com/dylan/images/zimmerman.html

7*CARTOON
BAZOOKA JOE RAPS
“I find Ursula’s steamy rhymes about looking hot in tights, checking out the sights, compromising workout positions, and making many ‘friends’ at the gym to be the perfect compliment to Zena’s previous rap about her obsession with shopping and her envious high-end lifestyle.”

SEE:
victorsellsout.blogspot.com/2011/07/power-rankings-bazooka-joe-raps.html

ALSO SEE:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/billypeltzer/all-50-bazooka-joe-comic-strips-ecuv?utm_term=.ixaz6W627n#.wqjE8m8yxO

8*PRESCRIPTION
THE BEASTIE BOYS
SABOTAGE

9* RUMOR PATROL
Upon my honor
I saw a Madonna
Standing in a niche
Over the door
Of the prominent whore
Of a prominent son of a bitch.

–Said to have been written in the guest-book of Hearst Castle, referring to the room occupied by Hearst’s mistress, Marion Davies. Parker always denied it, pointing out that she would never have rhymed “honor” with “Madonna”.
https://books.google.com/books?id=paTqyHoLNGoC&pg=PT266&lpg#v=onepage&q&f=false

ALSO SEE:
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Dorothy_Parker

SEE ALSO:
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/98844.Dorothy_Parker

10* LAGNIAPPE
Duke Ellington
Diminuendo And Crescendo In Blue

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS 5: PAT ROBERTSON BLAMES SCHOOL SHOOTINGS ON OBAMA, LESBIANS, AND WITCHES
http://bizstandardnews.com/2018/02/18/robertson-blames-school-shootings-obama-lesbians-witches/

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
FRANK RIZZO
“Just wait after November, you’ll have a front row seat because I’m going to make Attila the Hun look like a faggot.”
http://www.vice.com/en_us/article/kwxp3m/remembering-frank-rizzo-the-most-notorious-cop-in-philadelphia-history-1022

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THE INFORMATION #981 FEBRUARY 23, 2018

THE INFORMATION #981
FEBRUARY 23, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The present generation will probably behave just as badly if another Darwin should arise, and inflict upon them that which the generality of mankind most hate—the necessity of revising their convictions. –Thomas Henry Huxley

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART SIXTY-FIVE: DAYS OF WRATH

“The great Earthquake put paid to any aspirations that San Franciscans may have had to build and live in a great world-class city. By then, the place had already seen better days. Say, but you should have visited down in Old Frisco back in the days of the Gay Nineties. Haw! Every Yellof along the Embarcadero was full of piss and vinegar, and doted over the antics of the painted whores who graced the stages of ballrooms and low dives alike. It sure beat hell out the pink tea recitals given over t’ the Catholic Ladies’ Aid Society!

“I tell you, Yob, back in those says, Frisco was wild, wild, wild. I still have yet to visit another place like it. Sure, the city has what it likes to style its ‘elites,’ many of them originally from the east coast, and those Yobs would fall all over themselves whenever a British accent was heard. But many of the denizens of San Francisco are the merest brutes. I hadn’t been there more than two weeks when some Yob on a cable car offered me a whiff of cocaine. No doubt laced with knockout drops, so he could steal my coat as had all my ooftish sewn in the lining in case I got tangled up with the filth and needed some frog skins for the fall.

“Coarse practical jokes, you see, were the lingua franca of Frisco in the Gay Nineties. This sort of asinine frontier humor passed as great wit in those parts. And the Mexicanos had an even lower sense of humor. Laughing at a Yellof who’d just fallen down a manhole was the ne plus ultra of gaiety amongst them. Or laughing at a dockworker unloading bananas who got bit by a tarantula–that was always good for a belly-laugh. As I think I already mentioned, California in those days did not attract the best and brightest. No; mainly it was the cranks and misfits who streamed in. The sorts of people who would run out on a restaurant bill without a second thought. What the British like to call the cads, the sods, and the flaming rotters.

“Many of the people in that part of the country–especially in the central part of the state–come from the piney backwoods of the most rural areas of the deepest south, and they don’t seem to know an awful lot about the power of soap and water. They can’t read none; they sign their name with an X, and they believe everything the preacher-man tells ’em. It mostly ain’t worth swindlin’ them because they mostly ain’t got nothing, though occasionally you can pinch their pay packet with the old Georgia Skin Game. Some of those hicks and country Younkers would walk into one of those conveniently located taverns which were actually wolf traps, and before they knew it they had bet a whole year’s savings and lost it in as little as ninety seconds–Pow! Though many grifters pretended to give the sucker a ‘sporting chance’ to recoup his losses. It was actually a Chinaman’s Chance–which was no chance at all. It works like this. The dealer deals you and your opponent your cards face up. You bet against an opponent and the dealer. What you’re betting is that the next turn of the cards will match your opponent’s face card. Quite naturally, any gambler worth his salt can deal from the bottom of the deck. Some card mechanics could probably make an Ace pop out and squirt water in your eye, if they felt like it. Don’t ever–ever–ever get roped into ‘a friendly game of cards’ with anybody you haven’t known for at least a year or more. Sure, they’ll start out by suggesting you play for matchsticks, or crumbs of bread, or bits of paper. But before long they will say something like ‘Hows about it we make it a little bit more interesting.’ What that always means is that they want you to bet real money. You will never–never–never come out ahead in one of these so-called ‘friendly games'” You will always be going up against people who have made a lucrative vocation of swindling would-be sports just like as yourself. I don’t care how you do it, but when you encounter one of these gents, make any excuse you can to depart the premises, and in that way you may never fail to prosper. All you have to do to avoid being swindled is to remember this simple word: “No”. When they say “Bet and be a man,” all you have to do is to repeat this one lifesaving word in all of its various permutations. ‘Sorry.’ ‘Not tonight.’ ‘Dass alright.’ ‘Turning in, Boss.’ ‘I’m out.’ ‘Non.’ ‘Nyet.’ ‘Niente.’ ‘Nix.’ ‘Nay.’ ‘Ixnay’. ‘Nit.’ ‘Well, Sir…No, Sir–I don’t think so.’

“The common rabble of the Central Valley, and most of the Bay area, why, they go no breeding and they got no taste, and they ain’t never gonna have any. What can you do with such a bunch of goops, but to take their money and run for the border? Bah! A lot of them have never been more than ten miles from where they grew up. These uneducated bumpkins are filled with the asinine verities and rank superstitions of the cross-roads clown and small town idiot savant. They have money which they have accumulated through might and main, but no-one ever taught them about the finer things of life, and so they have no idea what to do with it, other than to squander it away on foolish card wagers, crooked games of chance, or ill-advised ‘investments’. If squirrels guarded their nuts with such carelessness, within a couple of years the entire species would be extinct. More than any other, their definig trait is gullibility. They will believe anything, regardless of the paramount absurdity of it, providing that some authority they respect happens to be prating it. Some goofy preacher tells them they by dint of their predestinarian faith they are better than four Nigras and ten Chinamen balled up together, and they’ll belive it. Tell them that there are heathens living on the moon as need your money so that missionaries can covert them to Christianity, and they’ll hand the ooftish over in a hot minute. Tell them on Sunday that if Jesus were alive today he would drive an automobile, smoke a fancy cigar, and speak flawless American, and, why, the very next morning they will be repeating this mess of banana oil to their shape-up buddies on Cannery Row!”

“It is vexing indeed to be raised among such people; small wonder the brighter sparks of the younger generation invariably reverse the pattern of their forefathers’ migration and head East, so at the very least they can soak up a little culture before heading back to California–the land of fruits and nuts; an elephant’s graveyard of the intellect–where reason, logic, and rational sense all go to die.”

1*SALUTATION
NICOLAE NEACȘU (Taraf de Haïdouks)
Balada Conducatorolui

2*REFERENCE
RACISM AGAINST ITALIANS
http://www.providencejournal.com/news/20180207/meme-racist-against-italians-prompts-call-for-providence-party-chairman-to-quit

3*HUMOR
My good friend Dennis Allen once speculated that you could get a really good band name or album title from the headlines in The Economist.

Let’s see. “Guerilla Drones”. Not bad….

4*NOVELTY
CHARLES MINGUS
LET MY CHILDREN HEAR MUSIC

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
T. TEXAS TYLER
My Dad Gave My Dog Away

That’s nothing. Clark’s father shot HIS dog into outer space.


ALSO SEE:
SUPERMAN’S DOG: A HISTORY
http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/books/2013/05/superman_s_dog_a_history.html

6* DAILY UTILITY
DEAD GIRLS AND LIVE BOYS
That was, I believe, Earl Long who made that famous statement about dead girls and live boys.As recounted in the amusing book The Earl of Louisiana.
https://www.amazon.com/Earl-Louisiana-J-Liebling/dp/0807102032

7*CARTOON
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/little-orphant-annie

8*PRESCRIPTION
PROBLEMATIC LYRICS ARTISTS DISAVOW
https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2018/feb/08/katy-perry-i-kissed-a-girl-problematic-lyrics-artists-disavow

9* RUMOR PATROL
pryor + brando = TRUE LOVE
https://www.theguardian.com/film/2018/feb/08/richard-pryor-and-marlon-brando-were-lovers-pryors-widow-confirms

10* LAGNIAPPE
BITCH MAGNET
NAVAHO ACE

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS 4: MICHAEL JACKSON RESPONDS TO HIS CRITICS
MICHAEL & JANET JACKSON
SCREAM
I suppose that if I were a pedophile, I wouldn’t want people questioning me either.

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
Q: Grandma, why is there black history month, but no white history month?
A: Why child, haven’t you heard? EVERY month is white history month!

THE INFORMATION #980 FEBRUARY 16, 2018

THE INFORMATION #980
FEBRUARY 16, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The repentance of a hypocrite is itself hypocrisy. –William Hazlitt

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART SIXTY-FOUR: DAYS OF WRATH

“In just a few minutes, The Queen City of the West was reduced to rubble,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy. “But never mind that. I do know that on the morning of the quake it was drizzly and the streets were hidden by a rolling fog and you could smell the salt and the ever-present fishy aroma of the Pacific especially well, and the shrieking of the seagulls was very nearly maddening, especially if you were working off a pounding hangover just like I was at that very moment. I looked up at the sky and saw that it resembled nothing so much as one enormous bruise that was slowly giving way to the light of a hazy blue dawn which illumined the clouds with intermittent flashes of light. A few hours earlier I saw a full moon through the haze; an ominous portent indeed; it was surrounded by a queerly vibrating nimbus that made it look just like an old-fashioned halo like you’d see in a renaissance painting.

“As the sun rose you could just barely hear the far off clanging of a cable car, but otherwise there were very few people on the street, and many of those were foreigners–Italian truck farm peddlers with their hand-drawn wooden carts, loaded with onions, turnips, potatoes and other such rubbish, getting ready to begin their day of crying out their wares. There were thick and ape-like Irish gorillas in thin shirts and heavy jackets, hustling their way down to the docks to unload the morning’s freight. There were bricklayers and hod-carriers, mostly Spanish and Italian, with thick mustachios and looking as though they already had a half a bag on. There were Japanese and Russian fishermen in their queer costumes and wearing slick rubber boots, hauling their heavy nets down to the boats docked at the marina to begin a day of wrestling with the sea. From what I hear—it was the talk of the day–Caruso was in town. I told you I met him once, didn’t I? On that occasion he told me he was holed up in his Hotel, and that he was still upset over the eruption of Mount Vesuvius; he had been scheduled to perform in Naples that very night but had canceled the engagement. Lucky for him. Or was it? He wasn’t doused head to foot with molten lava, true enough; but living through the quake wasn’t no picnic lunch either.
“Just before the quake hit, you could almost smell it in the air; a weird, metallic scent. Horses bucked and shied. Dogs barked off in the distance as though a legion of hoboes had invaded their sanctified back yards. Then a peculiar vibration could be felt in the feet. I looked down, and, to my utter amazement, the cobblestones were rippling like dominoes. I looked down the hill and saw that gaping trenches were beginning to open in the streets. I thought that maybe I was dreaming, but I knew I wasn’t. Not being native to those parts, I didn’t realize what I was experiencing–that I was in the middle of the biggest earthquake the city had ever seen.

“When the fires did hit, it was very nearly an unqualified disaster. None of the water mains were protected, and so there was no way to play a hose over the commercial buildings, or to protect the frame houses that began burning to a crisp all over the town. It was exceedingly difficult for the hose companies to navigate the steep hills; even the specially bred and trained horses were having a hard time doing their job; and there were large areas of unoccupied ground over which the furious flames would leap like a team of fiery chariots. From where I stood on the hill it seemed as though there were a hundred campfires of a besieging army burning all across the perimeter–only, by then, it was broad daylight.

“I’ll have to say that after the big fire and quake, the San Francisco of old was gone. Chinatown was more or less fallen, to rise no more. Some enterprising grifters tried to erect a whorehouse to beat all previous efforts–I think it was in the Tenderloin–but it only lasted less than a year. Which is surprising to me, because San Franciscans weren’t hardly ever chastened by anything, prior to the great catastrophe. It’s not surprising that they were such a hardy breed: most of the natives, the white ones, anyway, were the products of scrawny gold miners and fat prostitutes, most of them from Chile, Mexico, and Quebec.

“How do you explain the mentality of the typical San Franciscan? You can’t. Some say the fog that the area was so famous for got into people’s brains and made them act all fuzzy-minded. Others say that any man who would shuck his job, his wife, his children, and his family to venture west in the hopes of striking it rich in some half-baked enterprise or other wasn’t too steady in the head to begin with. Couple that with whole flocks of feeble-minded zooks who were so goofy you had to fuck ’em into sanity.

“Whatever explanation you want to give, San Franciscans were known all over the country for living in a veritable Eden of vice and iniquity that made wicked old New Orleans at its zenith look downright puny. Men with rough beards and rougher manners, and women who were good, perhaps, as all women are; but not too good. I suppose the problem with San Franciscans, the men-folk at least, if problem it was, is that they gave themselves airs because they refused to give themselves airs. They thought they were something special but they denied that they thought they were something special, or that anybody was any better or any worse than any one of them. They looked down on any man who didn’t drink or cuss or carouse or gamble, or, in general, play the fool; but they had very little respect for a man who lost all his money at cards, or who let a zook cheat him of his pay packet, or who couldn’t hold his liquor; or any man who used shocking language in polite company. These men were great ones for looking down their noses at a Yellof who had transgressed. In general, there are only two places where you weren’t allowed to show up weeping drunk or to cuss until the air turned blue; in a church…or at a funeral–and woe betide the intemperate sot who defied these protocols. Even the low-down wharf rats dancing a drunken sailor’s hornpipe all the night long would shun such a person.

“For all their cant, their all-out debaucheries, you see, had limits.”

1*SALUTATION
A MODERN JAZZ SYMPOSIUM OF MUSIC AND & POETRY WITH CHARLES MINGUS
[SCENES IN THE CITY]

2*REFERENCE
Anti-Semitism’s Rise Gives The Forward New Resolve

3*HUMOR
TOP TEN NICE THINGS TO SAY
https://www.christianfilipina.com/research/top-ten-nice-things-to-say/

4*NOVELTY
TRAFFIK (1989)
EPISODE 1

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
DEATH OF THE CD
http://www.msn.com/en-us/money/companies/best-buy-is-pulling-cds-from-stores-and-people-are-freaking-out/ar-BBIK9Ej?li=BBnb7Kz&OCID=HPDHP

6* DAILY UTILITY
WALMART IN CHINA
http://www.businessinsider.com/shopping-walmart-china-pictures-experience-2017-9?r=UK&IR=T

7*CARTOON
SALVADOR DALI & WALT DISNEY
DESTINO

8*PRESCRIPTION
THE ECONOMY: 1987 DEJA VU?
http://www.theguardian.com/business/2018/feb/04/is-this-the-1987-us-economy-or-just-deja-vu

ALSO SEE:
STOCKS GETTING SMASHED
finance.yahoo.com/news/stocks-getting-smashed-143950261.html

The decline in stock market caught the attention of the Trump administration, which in a statement to CNBC’s Eamon Javers on Monday morning said, “We’re always concerned when the market loses any value, but we’re also confident in the economy’s fundamentals.”–Feb 5, 2018

“Conditions are fundamentally sound.”–President Herbert Hoover, September 1929

9* RUMOR PATROL
“BUT THE MAN CAN’T BUST OUR MUSIC”
http://www.press.uchicago.edu/Misc/Chicago/259919.html
moreorlessbunk.net/category/music/

10* LAGNIAPPE
DIGITAL UNDERGROUND
THE HUMPTY DANCE

ALSO SEE:
SHOCK G. ARRESTED
http://www.tmz.com/2017/06/21/shock-g-digital-underground-arrested/

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS 3: QUINCY JONES TAKES ON THE WORLD
http://www.vulture.com/2018/02/quincy-jones-in-conversation.html

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
MALCOLM BUTLER
http://www.foxnews.com/sports/2018/02/06/patriots-benched-one-time-super-bowl-hero-malcolm-butler-over-perfect-storm-issues-report.html

FOX NEWS COMMENTS:
Would someone please translate this in to English for me? Thank you.

“‘I ain’t gonna say no names. Like every job, there’s always favorites, you feel me, and lil’ bro wasn’t a favorite,’ he said.”

People that sit all day and watch a bunch of n–s play with a little ball are simply stupid ..

Having trouble with the police?

Have you tried NOT breaking the law, ……… to see if that might help?

Holy 8#hit balls, did you read that drivel?

This guy clearly paid very little attention in English class.

I remember chuckling when he was crying on the sideline

When’s he going to say “Cuz me be black”? When in doubt, claim race.

Hillary…She needs to just go away, back to Arkansas where she belongs with her aunt mom and uncle dad.

Malcolm Butler didn’t catch one ball during Super Bowl XLII, His hands were tear slick !

He blamed it on the league putting in Astro turf, He loves real “Grass” !

If you eat a snickers bar, and let it melt in your mouth long enough, take the peanuts out of your mouth and wash them, put salt on them and put it in a bowl, you can serve these peanuts to your guests later on.

THE INFORMATION #979 FEBRUARY 9, 2018

THE INFORMATION #979
FEBRUARY 9, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

If your mindset is one that is scared of creativity, scared to go against prevailing customs and mores, it will only hold you back. If you fear creativity, even subconsciously, you will have more difficulty being creative.–Maria Konnikova

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART SIXTY-THREE: DAYS OF WRATH

“Frisco in those days–only we never called it ‘Frisco’; the Emporer forbade it– San Francisco called itself the Queen City of the West. And the Barbary Coast was its own corner of West Hell. And, just like any well-lit but absolutely hellish place,” said Count Justin Victor to Cadger Tandy, “in San Francisco all the people ever accomplished was to make money and store up gossip about each other. Who was snapping at the bottle; who was fucking whose wife or husband, and who was going broke due to a nasty gambling habit or bad speculations, which pretty much amounted to the same thing, though the latter was considered a great deal more respectable, y’understand.

“There was no art worthy of the name; no literature; scarcely any architecture–in fact, none of the emoluments of a modern culture. It was a Four ‘F’ Club: all the time just drinking firewater, fighting, fucking, and fussing, especially among the high-born, such as they were, in that crossroad of citified clowns. If every grifter eventually washes up in Denver, the more ambitious ones took their game to the wickedest city in America, thence to fleece the suckers and savages–at least, those that the flapdoodle-peddlers and holy-rollers hadn’t already gotten their mitts on. Druggists did a land-office business there, selling not only nationally advertised patent medicines, but also their own peculiar compounds, witches brews full of herbs like black snakeroot and cabbage palm and coneflower and lily of the desert and other such rubbish. Medical doctors with their fancy M.D.s are bad enough, with their bruised satchels filled with God’s own medicine. But look about you in any village. Or even in any small town. The medicine man is likely to be the biggest good-for-nothing charlatan you’ll find. Not that I am inclined to go around and rub another man’s rhubarb. After all, what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.

“In the days before the great catastrophe which struck that fair city, San Francisco was a home-away-from-home for every dotard, recluse, mystic, tramp, creep, crank, crook, kook, cackling witch, crazy wizard, crafty gypsy, yekkman, beggar, morphodite, white slavemaster, ruined sport, effeminate dude, and worthless bohemian. Not to mention the meanest kind of poets, poetasters, versiflasts, dunderheads, bloated and hydrocephalic hack musicians; the lowliest panhandlers and concert-hall sneaks; pandars, and fancy-men; the most malignant and sullen ward-heelers; the most disreputable bomb-throwers, anarchists and low-down mailbox-thieves; the most garish zooks and the oiliest and most ingratiating pimps. Wander the streets of the Barbary Coast in the pale moonlight and there you would see leering from the shadows all manner of grey-fingered, sallow-skinned, carbuncled men and women scarred inside and out with hideous venereal diseases.There athwart the dives and gambling hells you’d find the pushers of pure morphine and cocaine; the pushers of adulterated drugs; the pushers of fake drugs, and the concomitant dope fiends; cocaine fiends scratching at imaginary bugs, hasheesh-eaters blowing great and airy bunco schemes, half-lidded gong-ringers in their opium stupor dreaming crazy dreams, and champagne drunks dispensing century-notes to match girls riding around the city on the backs of pink elephants. San Francisco in the days before the great fire was crawling with human lice; it was lousy with crooked policemen; with lying police spies; with grifters, grafters, gamblers, peddlers of watered stock, hustlers, rustlers and incompetent confidence men. In short, all the bawling and blubbering rabble low and high which congregate upon the streets of any major city, but which found their true home in particular in the low dives and rookeries of the Barbary Coast.

“Ah, and you should have seen the great fire which put paid to San Francisco. Me, I had a front-row seat. I was up all night havin’ a night out on the town and stumblin’ home from Chinatown when I ran across it; or, say rather, vice versa. The earth moved, the ground shook–nay, trembled and shifted and actually SLID beneath my feet. The sea roared and bellowed, and waves crashed against the shoreline. Roofs caved in, brick walls bucked out, buckled, then crumbled; balconies cracked and fell, milkmen went running, horses whickered, bucked and shied, stray dogs ran under buildings and, for all I know, might still be there to that day–and the steeple of the big church collapsed like it was made of cheap cardboard. Electrical wires shuddered loose from their collapsing wooden poles, water mains burst and flooded, and before long smoke filled the air and mud was flowing down the dirt street like shit through a tinhorn. It was a terrible sight to see. Cattle ran wild in the street, and a one-eyed bear was stumbling around on the waterfront, bellowing in fear and confusion. Cobblestone streets cracked clean in two. Whole buildings appeared to be melting and were disintegrating right before your eyes, like cotton candy dropped in turpentine. It was like a nightmare, or a fever dream. The fronts of houses came cascading out onto the street–they looked like so many dollhouses, or a mouth full of broken teeth with grey and white and black smoke swirling everywhere. I was viewing all this from the top of a high hill, and even from where I stood, the plaster dust was so thick you could barely see your hand in front of your face. Still, the high ground was the place to be, because the fires were everywhere, and nobody could seem to figure out a way to stop them. Finally, I think, some soldiers started dynamiting everything they could to stop the spread. The noise was awful. People yelling in fear, zooks screaming, flames crackling, solid brick walls falling like dominoes; loose bricks hitting the streets with a clatter, palatial facades collapsed like wedding cakes–it made you doubt the supremacy of man over nature, and it sure was a humbling experience–yes it was. Stone statues toppled, pianos fell out of windows, stagecoaches were shaken and shivered apart, screaming horses raced through the streets, out of control, wooden shacks were leaning against each other at crazy angles–it was like the Lord of Chaos shook hands with the Devil His Own Self! Then the earth itself split open and started buckling like a pie crust. And the fires–O God, the fires! They were raging uncontrollably. The heat was stifling–overwhelming! It’s my opinion that a lot of people who managed to avoid being buried beneath the rubble of collapsing brick buildings were mostly alright. But those unfortunates who lived in wooden buildings caught the full brunt of the fires. And Chinatown was almost completely destroyed.

“And then, following the aftershocks, came the long march of the homeless people driven out of the city, and down the peninsula. Oakland was badly damaged; you couldn’t go there. But if you had money you could stay in San Francisco, and actually live pretty comfortably at some of the hotels which had managed to weather the blast, but there were thousands of people whose homes were utterly destroyed, and who had nowhere to go. It was like nothing you ever seen. It was like a Barbarian army had gone through and sacked the place. I tell you Yob, it was just like Sodom and Gomorrah, ‘which the Lord overthrew in his anger, and in his wrath’. Be glad you weren’t there. ”

1*SALUTATION
THE BEACH BOYS
AREN’T YOU GLAD

ALSO SEE:
DARLIN’

LAUGHING GRAVY
VEGETABLES

2*REFERENCE
ALBANIA: THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE UGLY
https://www.crazytravelista.com/culture-shock-albania-good-bad-ugly/

3*HUMOR
HOWDY DOOIT!
jeffoverturf.blogspot.com/2012/09/howdy-dooit-will-elder-mad-mondays.html

4*NOVELTY
BIZARRE WAYS TO EAT HOT DOGS
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/food/article-3090846/Bizarre-ways-eat-hot-dogs-world-revealed.html

ALSO SEE:
LENINGEN VERSUS THE ANTS
A corking yarn, about a picnic gone terribly terribly wrong.
http://www.classicshorts.com/stories/lvta.html

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
JAMES TAYLOR
To James Taylor, Heroin was Bigger than the Beatles
How could such pretty music come out of a person with such an ugly hole in his soul?
By Mark Ribowsky
medium.com/cuepoint/to-james-taylor-heroin-was-bigger-than-the-beatles-35dee89b7f5e

ALSO SEE:
James Taylor
Don’t Let Me Be Lonely Tonight:Soft-Rock ‘Roids
*An All-Time Dog:Everyday: Clever title, Jimmy boy
Handy Man: Pee Wee, at the drive-in
This guy is a bona-fide one-man cheese factory: How Sweet It is (To Be Loved By You): Who Crop-Dusted the Room?
Mexico: Promise to stay there?
(You Are My) Only One: Sedaka-Rama
Shower the People: Post-60’s Regression
Carly Simon: Nobody Does It Better: Hanging out with James Taylor too long
http://www.nepanewsletter.com/worst

6* DAILY UTILITY
STIFF LITTLE FINGERS
ALTERNATIVE ULSTER (LIVE)

7*CARTOON
TV GUIDE’S SIXTY GREATEST CARTOONS OF ALL TIME
http://www.tvguide.com/news/greatest-cartoons-tv-guide-magazine-1071203/

8*PRESCRIPTION
HOWARD POST
THE END OF HECTOR THE SPECTRE
http://fourcolorshadows.blogspot.com/2017/08/favorite-artists-howard-post-end-of.html

9* RUMOR PATROL
Wednesday, January 31st, 2018: The 55th anniversary of National Gorilla Suit Day.
happydays-365.com/gorilla-suit-day/national-gorilla-suit-day-january-31/

SEE:

https://animationresources.org/inbetweens-the-genius-of-don-martin/

10* LAGNIAPPE
THE ASSOCIATION
EVERYTHING THAT TOUCHES YOU

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS 2: BILL COSBY VS. SPIKE LEE
Some people just give you the douche chills.

I admit that I would be hard-pressed to decide who was worse.

Between Spike “Race Riot Man” Lee:
http://time.com/10666/spike-lees-racism-isnt-cute-m-f-hipster-is-the-new-honkey/

And Bill “God Is Tired of You” Cosby:
https://www.rci.rutgers.edu/~schochet/101/Cosby_Speech.htm

*11ABOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
4 KIDS WALK INTO A BANK. BOSS. ***
50 YEARS OF ROLLING STONE. ***1/2
A.D. AFTER DEATH. SNYDER & LEMIRE. ****
ALEX RIDER. SCORPIA. JOHNSTON ET AL. ***1/2
AMERICA 1. ***
THE ARCHIES & OTHER STORIES. **1/2
THE ART OF THE PULPS. ELLIS, ET AL., ED. ***1/2
AS THE CROW FLIES. GILLMAN. ***1/2
BATGIRL 2. SON OF PENGUIN. ***
BATMAN 4. THE WAR OF JOKES & RIDDLES. ***1/2
BATMAN/THE FLASH. THE BUTTON. ***1/2
BLACK PANTHER. WORLD OF WAKANDA. ***
BLACK PANTHER & THE CREW 1. WE ARE THE STREETS. ***
BLACKJACKED & PISTOL-WHIPPED. ***1/2
A BRIEF HISTORY OF EVERYONE WHO EVER LIVED. RUTHERFORD. ****1/2
CINEMAPS. DEGRAFF & JAMESON. ***1/2
THE COMIC BOOK STORY OF VIDEO GAMES. HENNESSEY & MCGOWAN. ****
COMPASS SOUTH. LARSON & MOCK. ****
THE CONFIDENCE GAME. KONNIKOVA. ****
A CRACK IN THE EDGE OF THE WORLD. WINCHESTER. ****
CREEPY VOLUME 2. ***1/2
CREEPY VOLUME 3. ***1/2
CREEPY VOLUME 4. ***
CREEPY VOLUME 5. ***1/2
CREEPY COMICS 2008-2010. ***1/2
DEATH NOTE. OHBA & OBATA. ***1/2
DR. STRANGE 3. BLOOD IN THE AETHER. ***1/2
EERIE VOLUME 1. ***1/2
EERIE VOLUME 2. ***1/2
EERIE VOLUME 3. ***
EMPIRE OF SIN. KRIST. ***1/2
THE ERRAND. LA FLEUR & OEHLERS. ***1/2
EXTRAORDINARY X-MEN 3. KINGDOMS FALL. ***1/2
EXTRAORDINARY X-MEN 4. IVX. ***1/2
FANTASYLAND. ANDERSEN. ****
THE FIFTH BEATLE. TIWARY, ROBINSON & BAKER. ****
GWENPOOL 3. TOTALLY IN CONTINUITY.**1/2
HIT MAKERS. THOMPSON. ****
THE HOLOCAUST: A NEW HISTORY. REES. ****1/2
I AM GROOT. HASTINGS ET AL. ***1/2
I AM NOT OK WITH THIS. FORSMAN. ***
I HATE FAIRYLAND 3. GOOD GIRLS. ***1/2
I, PARROT. UNFERTH & HAIDLE. ***1/2
IF NO NEWS, SEND RUMORS. BATES. ***1/2
IF OUR BODIES COULD TALK. HAMBLIN. ****
THE IRRESISTIBLE CON. WHEEN. ****
JOHN STANLEY: GIVING LIFE TO LITTLE LULU. SCHELLY. ***1/2
JUSTICE LEAGUE 4. ENDLESS. ***1/2
KOBANE CALLING. ZEROCALCARI. ***1/2
THE LAST OF US. AMERICAN DREAMS. HICKS. ***
THE LEGION OF REGRETTABLE SUPER-VILLAINS. MORRIS. ***1/2
MASTERMIND. KONNIKOVA. ****
THE MASSIVE 1. WOOD. ****1/2
THE MASSIVE 2. WOOD. ****1/2
MAZE RUNNER. DEATH CURE. ***
THE MIGHTY CAPTAIN MARVEL. 1. STOHL. ***
NANCY DREW & THE HARDY BOYS. THE BIG LIE. ***
PARK BENCH. CHABOUTE. ****1/2
REAL FOOD, FAKE FOOD. OLMSTED. ****
RICHARD STARK’S PARKER. THE HUNTER. COOKE. ****1/2
RIVERDALE 1. ***
ROCK CANDY MOUNTAIN 1. STARKS. ***1/2
SATANIA. VEHLMANN & KERASCOET. ****
THE SCRAPBOOK OF FRANKIE PRATT. PRESTON. ****
SECRET EMPIRE. UNITED WE STAND. ***
SECRET INVASION. BENDIS. ***1/2
SECRET INVASION. FRONT LINE. REED. ****
SECRET INVASION. THUNDERBOLTS. ***1/2
SECRET WAR. BENDIS. ***1/2
SECRET WARRIORS. NICK FURY, AGENT OF NOTHING. ***1/2
SECRET WARRIORS. SECRET EMPIRE. ***
STRANGE ATTRACTORS. SOULE. ****
SUPER SONS 1. ***1/2
SUPERGIRL 2. ESCAPE FROM THE PHANTOM ZONE. ***
SPIDER-MAN: MILES MORALES 3. ***1/2
STRANGE DAYS INDEED. WHEEN. ****
SUPERFAIL. **1/2
TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS. ***
TULSA. CLARK. ****1/2
VALARIAN: THE COMPLETE COLLECTION. V. 3. ****
VAMPIRELLA 1. ***
WAITING FOR THE MAN. SHAPIRO. ***1/2
THE WAR BRIDE’S SCRAPBOOK. PRESTON. ****1/2
WHAT DOES CONSENT REALLY MEAN? WALLIS ET AL. ***1/2
WHAT HAPPENED. MISS SIMONE? LIGHT. ***1/2
WHEN CHURCHILL SLAUGHTERED SHEEP & STALIN ROBBED A BANK. MILTON. ***1/2
WHEN HITLER TOOK COCAINE & LENIN LOST HIS BRAIN.MILTON. ***1/2
X-MEN BLUE 2. TOIL & TROUBLE. ***
YOU & A BIKE & THE ROAD. DAVIS. ****

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
TEN CRUEL THINGS MEN DO TO WOMEN
https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/life-style/relationships/love-sex/10-cruel-things-men-do-to-women/articleshow/5298989.cms

MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 232 FEBRUARY 2018

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 232
FEBRUARY 2018

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

1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES
SECOND SERIES
251. Like all chumps, you had to play the big shot for a frail.
252. Grifter, your fitted suits now hang baggy on your wasted frame.
253. You were young once. You will not live to be wise.
254. They will write songs about you. Murder ballads, evil one.
255. She will have Champagne eyes–and a cocaine heart.
256. Even a dog knows how to circle round three times and lay down.
257. Jesus died for the sins of all mankind–but you are no man.
258. You are not an inflatable clown–stay down when they slug you, Punchy.
259. Your wife is a model of rectitude–in your bed.
260. Like most Americans, you do not tip the vindictive Chinse Buffet server.
261. You were beaten in a beauty contest by a Jack O’Lantern.
262. Parce que vous ne pouvez pas lire ceci, vous devez mourir.
263. Truth, crushed to earth, will rise again. But you won’t.
264. The collector of souls ignores you. For yours was sold long ago.
265. Shadow man, don’t you know the truth is the light?
266. You will eat bitter bread and even salt shall lose its savor.
267. You never got over it. It has gotten over on you.
268. Gambler, you’ll never win. In Hell the horses will bet on you.
269. Why doth the heathen rage? Probably because of you.
270. Nothing makes sense anymore, least of all your career.
271. Don’t worry. You’ll pay off your debts. In thirty years. Then die.
272. Many ways to nearly die: You will experience them all.
273. The train leaves at noon. But you won’t live that long.
274. Your face is healed; your mannerisms–betray the Mark of the Squealer.
275. Apologize all you want. The Big Man wants his money yesterday.
276. The contract on your life has been cancelled, for you’re quickly killing yourself.
277. Those speedballs you’re so fond of have killed younger men than you.
278. The only medicine that keeps you sane is no longer being made.
279. You are never alone but are haunted by evil thoughts.
280. Your new boss’s nickname is “No Excuses Man”.
281. Three things cannot long be hidden: The sun, the moon, and your treachery.
282. At the Big Man’s feast you will unwittingly eat your last meal.
283. Buddha was The Enlightened One. You are the enfrightened one.
284. Man is wolf to man, but you are merely a stupid fox.
285. Men of means build castles in the air. You build a sewer.
286. You don’t care if the world caves in. You live in a cave.
287. Poe is your Shakespeare and your Milton is Lovecraft.
288. In the word desire you will find the word “die”.
289. If only someone had loved you. But you are the unlovable one.
290. Halfwit, you have eaten the husk and thrown away the tamale.
291. You have lived on scraps for long enough. Soon you must starve.
292. You call it ‘wit’. But they call it ‘shit’.
293. The fugitive you harbored will kill again and you’ll be blamed.
294. That dog you stole belonged to the Police Chief’s daughter.
295. You keep the Big man’s books. But there’s no accounting for death.
296. Some men have greatness thrust upon them–in prison.
297. America’s most wanted psycho knows where you live.
298. Caution: Acts of God Are Closer Than They Appear
299. The world has meaning. Your life alone is meaningless.
300. Prison is where you act the best and are treated the worse.

2. ALL POLITICAL FANATICS MUST IMMEDIATELY BE DESTROYED!

Bob Hope, confronted by protesters at the 1971 Miss World Pageant,
remarked, “Anyone who wants to disrupt something as beautiful as this
must be on some kind of dope. The perpetrators will pay for this.
Upstairs will see to that.”–Gerard J. DeGroot, “The Sixties Unplugged,” p. 288.

I MUST HUMBLY CONFESS that I am steadily growing to strongly dislike
all people who see every single thing as some sort of excuse to have a
political agenda.

Surely you must know the types–common, everyday nobodies–folks who
somehow feel like they deserve some kind of an award for not being a
fascist robot.

Sanctimonious, self-righteous bastards, refusing to work for Hitler
Incorporated and declining to fuel the Amerikkkan death machine.

Pompous asses.

I long to smash in all their smug faces.

Filthy humanists.

Always babbling about such archaic notions as “individual choice” and
“the freedom to refuse.”

They must be forced to break stones for the new economy until they
collapse into a numbed stupor.

No time clocks, indeed!

Who do these filthy hippies think they are?

MANAGEMENT???

I’ll bet they’re be sorry when the boys upstairs get wind of their shenanigans.

These bohemians and their left-handed cigareets make muh haid spin.

Listen, you parasites: I got news for ya.

Some people see things as they are and say, “Why?”

I see things that never were and say, “Die, you blood-sucking freaks–die!!!”

Maybe if some of you beatniks took a cold bath, you might wake up out
of your wacky tobaccy stupor and earn an honest living instead of
mooching off my hard-earned tax dollar and gumming at the teat of
Uncle Sugar.

God speed that day.

3. CONTROVERSIAL TOPICS FOR MESSAGE BOARDS

GOOD BANK ROBBING STORIES
MY GIRLFRIENDS ARE UGLIER THAN YOURS
BURLY MEN WHO FRIGHTEN ME
SCIENCE FICTION MAKES ME TIRED
HUNTER S. THOMPSON WAS OVERRATED
PHILIP K. DICK IS JUST ANOTHER HACK
AYN RAND HAD SOME INTERESTING IDEAS
I BLAME THE COMMUNISTS
I AM GIVING AWAY ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS
CDS SOUND BETTER THAN VINYL
ROCKTOBEARFEST: WHO’S GOING?
UNCLE PRIEST MADE MY TONSILS HURT
BABY CRIES, MAMA BUYS
I COULD BE LIKE JESUS
COMEDOS–PRO AND CON
THE LAFFTER OF DEAD KLOWNS
MY GHETTO WAS MORE IMPOVERISHED THAN YOURS
HOW TO DIE IN THE WOODS
I SUFFER FOOLS GLADLY
THE BEAUTIFUL LONELY OLD CAT LADY

4. WHY CAN’T YOU BE LIKE THE REST OF THE WORLD AND SHUT UP?

Walk it off and quit yer blubberin’, chief.
Man up, Cowboy. We all got a hard row to hoe.
Get some seeds.
Buck up, Bucko.
Wipe the water out from behind your ears and get biz-zay.
Suck it up, Bohunk. The world will turn without you.
Less Talkee, More Workee, Cabin Boy.
Get a clue, Lifer. Let your hair down.
Sleep in the grave, Noddy. Hustle hustle hustle!
Quit slurpin’ them onion rings, Lard, and get a move on.
Hit it or quit it, L7.
Unglue your ass from that sofa and get your shit together.
And remember: Coffee is for closers only.

5. POLITICAL SATIRE

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find “G. Gordon Liddy, Agent of C.R.E.E.P.”,
from the October 1973 issue of National Lampoon, with its immortal
line, “Smoke this, Hippie!”

Speaking of political views:

Satire is intrinsically conservative. By definition, it seeks to
rectify what the satirist perceives as folly.

I’ll not bore folks here with distinctions such as Horatian and
Juvenalian satire, but you can look it up.

Anyhow:

I recently read this passage from Saul Bellow’s Herzog:

“I took a list of the traits of paranoia from a psychiatrist
recently–I asked him to jot them down for me…. It read, “Pride,
Anger, Excessive ‘Rationality,’ Homosexual Inclinations,
Competitiveness, Mistrust of Emotion, Inability to Bear Criticism,
Hostile Projections, Delusions. It’s all there–all!” (77)

Again, this seems to me a nearly letter-perfect description of Maoism.

Specifically, that right thar is a classic depiction of a
paranoid Maoist totalitarian state, replete with bureaucracy and
polymorphous perversity.

And of all totalitarian states.

It’s funny how certain narratives resonate for decades after their
vogue has passed.

Take, for instance, Theodore Dreiser’s 1925 novel An American Tragedy.

What is it, after all, but the dark lady/fair lady archetype?

And what is, say, Archie Comics, but merely the comedic version of An
American Tragedy?

All this stuff seems, and is, I’m quite willing to concede, peripheral.

But just as “nature loves to hide,” so do these patterns and archetypes.

They pervade the stories we tell each other.

And the narratives that politicians spin.

We don’t think logically. True, we are partially civilized. We have,
on the one hand, partially evolved beyond our basest fight-or-flight
instincts and are capable of planning for the future.

And yet, when it comes to making choices, we mostly remain enslaved by
our gut reactions.

Because we’re still swayed by emotional responses to what should be
calculated cost-benefit analyses.

All these light/dark, rich/poor, conservative/liberal arguments are
reductive and irrational.

That’s not to say that watching all this from the perch of a
self-styled satirist isn’t enormous fun.

6. BULLIES
I knew three bullies with names almost too good to be true.

DANNY BOSS
REX MOUNTS
LEE MARVIN

I have since been informed that the following individuals named below
were also known as bullies:
Joanimal.
The Gooch.
Bunky Hart.
Cad.

Cad? Sounds like an S.E. Hinton heavy. Rich boy, but a real shtarker.

Buddy Hinton.

The notion of a bully named “Buddy” is almost too painfully ironic.

Gabriel Bullcord.

The last name is almost too good. Nearly as good as Danny Boss and Rex
Mounts. Is it possible that there’s something about their names that
inclines boys to take up the occupation of bullies? Coincidentally,
only today someone told me about a horror writer with the suspiciously
eerie name of Bentley Little.

SEE:

In my 6th grade at Northview Heights Elementary and Middle School
there was a bully girl named Sirlus Newton.

GHETTO NAMES:
http://www.2babynames.com/ghetto-names.shtml

Bob and Charles Crumb’s nemesis was named “Skutch”.
Immortalized here:

Then there’s Archie Comics’ “Big Moose”, based–as all the characters
were–on real people living in Haverhill, Massachusetts.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archie_Andrews_(comics)

Finally, there’s BIG LOOTCHIE.
Harvey Kurtzman came up with that one.

But I have to admit that the name that tops them all is:
Beefer Wells.

I’ll say it again.

Beefer Wells.

7. LOOK ON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR
“Novelists tend to be satisfied with being overestimated.”–R. Smoley

Who will be remembered in 50 years?

John Grisham
Elmore Leonard
John Updike
Norman Mailer
Louis L’Amour
Stephen King
Toni Morrison

Likely, none.

Possibly Toni Morrison’s “Song of Solomon” and Norman Mailer’s “The
Executioner’s Song”.

Plus Cormac McCarthy’s “Blood Meridian.”

Any others?

Martin Amis? Salman Rushdie?

Saul Bellow? Graham Greene? Philip Roth, perhaps?

Now, some might argue that the like of Tom Clancy is far more
interesting than, say, Kit Marlowe. (Well, as far as “Tamburlaine the
Great” is concerned, they may be right. I know that play well. Thirty
years ago, as a college undergraduate, I wrote a nasty essay about the
sequel and got into a 20 minute telephone argument with a grad
assistant. Incidentally, the sequel’s even worse than part one.) Even
Marlowe’s continuing fame rests on his status with his medium; to wit,
Elizabethan playwrights.

But let’s face it–Clancy has degenerated into a fucking hack who
panders to jarheads and militia nuts. His loving descriptions of
armament are gun porn for impotent wankers.

Anyway….

I have no time to discuss the many aesthetic dimensions of this controversy.

But kindly name me the bestselling authors of 1958.

See what I mean?

Perhaps one or two are remembered at all.

For instance, Boris Pasternak and Vladimir Nabokov.

Anyway, for every “Catch-22” there are a hundred novels from that era
about which the best can be said is “such crap it was”.

As for 100 years ago, forget it:
SEE:
http://printedpages.wordpress.com/2008/07/19/bestseller-list-of-books-from-1900-to-1909/

ALSO SEE:

What prompts these cynical thoughts?

I am looking at the current NYTBR fiction bestsellers.

And reflecting that hardly one of those people will be remembered in 50 years.

Hardly a one.

And in 100 years?

Not one.

8. WHAT TO NAME THE BABY
Mokey
Little Bro
Plastic Man
Kew-Liga
Yojimbo
Mistah Beefy ‘n’ Chewy
Rollo the Rich Kid
Jeaxjeux
Uncle Grandpa
Scrappy Doo
Mosca
Stinky
Bruto
Scrappy
Cthulhu
Moloch
Chita
Igor
Cyclops
Damian
Beer
Osman
Hezikiah
Skitch Henderson
Knut
Yeshua
X the Unknown
The Highbinder
Mr. Man
Big Chief Hug ‘Em and Kiss ‘Em
Sir Airbag
Bojo
Musth

9. WORST COMIC STRIPS EVER

‘For Better or For Worse’ strip to change Monday
Published Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Readers of the popular comic strip “For Better or For Worse” Creator
Lynn Johnston announced she will draw the comic strip in the style she
used 29 years ago when the Patterson family first appeared on comic
pages. Johnston will start retelling their story from the beginning,
blending half of the classic original strips with new material.

Great. Now it’ll be half mediocre drawing and half incredibly bad drawing.

Sappy and sentimental, For Better or For Worse, like Sydney Smith’s
“The Gumps,” will be all but forgotten in 50 years.

My nominees for The Worst Comic Strip Ever:

Mark Trail.
Gil Thorp.
Mary Worth.
Hi and Lois.
Luanne.
Adam @ Home.
Pluggers.
Hagar the Horrible.
Spider-Man.
The Gumps.

For instance, see:
http://www.cracked.com/article_15667_5-most-unintentionally-hilarious-comic-strips.html

“Pluggers,” in particular has, in the words of Eric Doberman, caused
me to unleash the fury for years.

It’s smug agitprop.

Always hated it.

Always will.

That sort of anti-art has roused my ire since at least 1977.

I’m reminded of the time Groucho Marx was tripping with Paul Krassner.
Groucho said something very wise.

“I’m really getting quite a kick out of this notion of playing God
like a dirty old man in Skidoo. You wanna know why? Do you realize
that irreverence and reverence are the same thing?”

“Always?”

“If they’re not, then it’s a misuse of your power to make people laugh”

And right after he said that, his eyes began to tear.

SOURCE:
http://www.sirbacon.org/4membersonly/groucho.htm

If you’re on the lookout for comic strip artists who had major
neuroses, not to mention the outright space-cases, you might want to
look up Ham Fisher, Al Capp, Chester Gould , Elzie Segar and Harold
Gray, and that’s just for starters.

Fisher was a narcissist in a league all his own.

Capp’s entire career was defined by self-loathing.

Gould’s strips were unspeakably ghoulish and cruel.

Segar published some of the most hilariously vulgar stuff ever. In 1939!

And Harold Gray was such a paleoconservative that, after FDR died, he
had Daddy Warbucks come back from the dead!
(“There’s a change in the weather,” said ‘Daddy’.)

Check out Don Markstein’s toonopedia for more info on the creators of
Joe Palooka, L’il Abner, Dick Tracy, Thimble Theatre, and Little
Orphan Annie.

http://www.toonopedia.com/

Comics Between the Panels also dishes some of the dirt:
http://www.amazon.com/Comics-Between-Panels-Mike-Richardson/dp/1569713448

As does:
http://www.amazon.com/I-Have-Live-This-Guy/dp/1893905160/ref=sid_dp_dp

And this is quite possibly the best book ever written about Al Capp:

Incidentally, I wonder if Al Capp ever dropped acid?

We do know he had a fascination with mushrooms:
http://dimensionsmagazine.com/Weight_Room/art/daisy_mae.html

And what of the sinister conspiracy between Capp, Sinatra, Karloff,
Dali and Gleason?

http://www.toonopedia.com/lena.htm
http://goodcomics.comicbookresources.com/2007/01/25/comic-book-urban-legends-revealed-87/

The Dali-Gleason connection is that the former designed an album cover
for the latter. Also, Gleason and Sinatra were portrayed hanging out
together in the first (and only worthwhile) chapter of DeLillo’s
UNDERWORLD.

10.
TERRIFYING ME THROUGH VISIONS
“Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifying me through visions;
so that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than my
life.”– Job xvii.,14-15.

I had an odd dream this morning.

I was in a bar in Somerville, MA.

I saw a woman working there who I knew from years ago.

She was currently in an all-female band called:

THE POPES.

She thanked me for suggesting the name of her previous band:

THE TRAITOR ROLLS.

I left the bar and went looking for my car.

It was gone.

Towed.

I tore out a portion of cyclone fence and screamed:

I HATE YOU SOMERVILLE!

I walked into a comic book store, looking for a phone to call the
police, and a friend of mine was behind the counter.

And then I woke.
http://www.paranormality.com/dream_dictionary.shtml

11. MOVIE OF THE WEEK
TO SIRHAN, WITH LOVE
Hypnotised Palestinian assassin falls in love with saucy British high
school student. Doctor who hypnotized him brags about it afterward.

12. ERIC CARMEN ARRESTED FOR DRUNK DRIVING
http://www.tmz.com/2008/09/10/hungry-bloodshot-eyes/

You know–the lead singer for the 70s band Raspberries.

Now, let me say this: I fully acknowledge the greatness of the Raspberries.

They’re like the Beach Boys with Meth Mouth.

I say Beach Boys for the close Harmonies, and meth mouth for their
faint but omnipresent aura of white trashiness.

Because there has always been something ineffably sweet but also
faintly sordid about the Raspberries. Listening to them is like
watching Donald Duck blowing teamsters down by the docks for chump
change.

For where they stand in the realm in cheap, infinitely disposable, but
somehow hypnotically relevant background noise gives them a tripartite
nature.

They were the soundtrack to the lives of the young boomers who were
born between 1956 and 1964 who were too young to be hippies, yet too
old to be punks.

Off in the city theirs was the perfect music for stoner drunks because
it was both sweet and lowdown, and it went down like Romilar doctored
with soot.

Yet it could also serve as the theme music playing in the background
as the Hillbilly gal in the shotgun shack turned to her first date and
said, “Git off me Paw; yer crushin’ muh smokes.”

Fellow musician Tim Mungenast says “‘Go All the Way’ is stentorian in
a good way. The beef-and-taters band is an effective counterweight to
Eric’s good-but-whispy voice. As my brother said when the heavy middle
section of that song kicked in, ‘Wow, now it sounds like they’ve got a
pair!'”

I agree.

The Rasbs are subtle.

But in an obvious way.

The arrangements are key.

You can tell they worked hard on them.

And that’s the problem.

It’s supposed to seem transparent.

Like good acting.

Scenery-chewing pleases the rubes, but the cognoscenti will always
disproportionately value restraint.

I get the same trailer-trashiness vibe from Heart.

Anyway, I’ll always have a soft spot for “Go All the Way.”

And “Ma-Ma-Belle.”

And, God help me, “Bird of Prey” by Uriah Heep. (Until the CD reissue,
it was available only on the import-only version of “Salisbury”.)

Anyway, I suspect that when accused of drunk driving, Eric leaned out
the window of the car with his whiskey breath, looked at the arresting
officer and crooned:

“It feels so right….”

13. THE STORY OF YOUR FAVORITE BAND
1) Years of struggle.
2) A few years of cult success.
3) A few years of mainstream success.
4) Several years of decline.
5) Break-up. Frontman goes solo. Years of obscurity. Reunion. Then:
a) Touring the oldies circuit, or
b) Scattering to the four winds.

THE INFORMATION #978 FEBRUARY 2, 2018

THE INFORMATION #978
FEBRUARY 2, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

It’s an odd thing, but anyone who disappears is said to be seen in San Francisco.–Oscar Wilde

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART SIXTY-TWO: DAYS OF WRATH

“But, too, out in the good old far west, Yob–you know, the frontier country–the people are different from you or I,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy. “For openers, they are a fair sight more gullible. Secondly, they are a lot more prone to be quite fond of strong waters. And thirdly, by and large they are a rather lubberly lot. Not to say that there ain’t some aristocrats among them, real and imagined. Only, usually, they have been imported from back East. A lot of smart people, too, some of them, but many of them are triflers, and don’t amount to a whole hill of beans, or else they would of stayed back East. But seeing as how they’ve probably gotten caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy or some such peccadillo, why, they migrate West to make a new start. Where else can a former pickpocket become a sheriff, or a vice lord start a new lease on life as a well-loved philanthropist, or a con man become a Governor of the whole state? Them other ones who come here, who ain’t in disgrace, tend to be paupers. They stream into sunny California and are savages, most of them, from the midwest. Especially Indiana, for some damn reason. Maybe things down south have gotten too hot for those goddamn Hoosiers. There’s something about that place, I don’t know what. Maybe it’s the preponderance of lead in the water. Ask Eddie Gibbon. Anyhoo, some of the most notorious grifters I ever met out there were from some bumfuck little town outside of Fort Wayne or Gary, though nearly all of them maintained that they actually came from Indianapolis. That’s the Capital city, y’see. That’s also the only one that most people have ever heard of. Gives you some idea of the intellectual firepower of those fucking Hoosiers, that they couldn’t even come up with a more original name than ‘Indianapolis.’ That would be like me calling a town ‘White Man City.’ Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Though when it comes right down to it, every town is White Man City. And don’t the riff-raff know it. Ain’t nothin’ the nigra can do about it, neither. It’ll be about another hundred years before that happens, and we’ll all be dead.

“Some of them migrants only make it as far as Denver. And a more trifling lot of desperadoes I’ve never net anywhere else. Those who do go all the way west tend to figure out some kind of grift for themselves. In San Fran’ you’ll find madmen, pickpockets, gay cavaliers, and all the same sort of big city trash you’ll find in the east, only they’re more likely to wear cowboy boots or abstain from meat. And the whores! Whores to rival the demimondaines of fabled Storyville. San Francisco is also where you will find hissing Japanese whose breath smells of raw fish and sluggish Chinamen intoxicated with the fumes of opium and enormously fat Hawaiians with fingers good and greasy from eating an entire roast pig with their fingers and wiping their asses on banana leaves. Then there was the down and out drunken Irish pug named Sailor Kelly, who’d get into the prizefighting ring down on Pacific Street with a one-eyed bear named Professor Stuffington.

“The Barbary Coast along the North Shore is a dangerous place for to venture. Even Pinkertons and Fly Coppers ain’t any too fond of going there. Go to get your ashes hauled and you just might wind up in a panel house, where a gorilla hidden behind the arras might maul you, goodo. Or the barkeep at a deadfall might mix you a Mickey Finn–raw alcohol with a chloral chaser– that would put paid for ye. Leastways, you’d never be the same man again. Ye might even get yourself Shanghaied and end up on a slow boat to China. Or a lush-roller might knock some sense into your noggin with a lead-lined cosh and teach you a lesson in temperance. Or a dance-hall girl might cozen you into fucking her and leave you with an empty wallet and a dose of the clap. Or a pretty waiter girl at a melodeon might coax you into spending a year’s wages on food and drink, and later on the Bluto at the door might shove you unceremoniously out onto the street, head first, once all your oofish was gone. Many are the pitfalls of neighborhoods like Little Sydney and The Coast, p’ticularly in the days before the great fire. You could go to Chinatown, Yob, and float off to Nirvana of the fumes of Opium, but then you’ll be after getting a habit and ending up in the clink, where you’ll end up clucking with the dope sick and shittin’ out a full-grown yen shee baby. I’ve personally witnessed this nasty little operation, and brother, I’ll tell you what–it sure looked as though it hurt like Mr. Dickens Himself.

“Let’s face it, Yob–the thugs of Noxtown and Blowtown come across as pikers when you compare them to the criminal element out West. The thieves out there are mucho slick; the burglars are more wily; the whoremasters are more brutal, the zooks are more treacherous, and the killers are more fearsome in both reputation and appearance. The gambling houses run more crooked games than anyone can imagine, and right out in the open, too, no less. The Clap Doctors all do a land-office business, and the priests work overtime to counter the influence of the never-stemmed tide of blasphemy, profanity, and lewd behavior. Out West, the poor are more wretched, even though for most of the year they’re not likely to freeze to death. Maybe it’s the easy living that makes them come a cropper when it comes to stick-to-itiveness. The miners and sailors get into frequent rows and all too often ordinary citizens are called upon to pick sides. Young men and their so-called volunteer fire departments fight battle royals over who is going to get to quench a given flame. Oftentimes these Brannigans and donnybrooks take place while the fire itself roars brightly in the foreground, with the result that the house or store has oftener ‘n’ not already burned to a crisp before anyone has managed to spray so much as a drop of water on the inferno….

“Very appropriately, too…. San Francisco? Small wonder the zooks and Sailors call it Madport. For a mad inferno it be.”

1*SALUTATION
SHANNON & THE CLAMS
POINT OF BEING RIGHT

SEE ALSO:
THE RAT HOUSE

ALSO SEE:
THE WARLOCK IN THE WOODS

ALSO SEE:
THE TAMMYS
EGYPTIAN SHUMBA

2*REFERENCE
THE RISE AND FALL OF ROME IN FIVE MINUTES
http://mentalfloss.com/article/53163/rise-and-fall-rome-5-minutes

3*HUMOR
MAKE YOUR DOG FEEL IMPORTANT
fourcolorshadows.blogspot.com/2010/12/milt-gross-reviews-news-picture-news.html

4*NOVELTY
GORILLA SUIT DAY
On Wednesday, January 31st we will celebrate the 55th anniversary of National Gorilla Suit Day.
happydays-365.com/gorilla-suit-day/national-gorilla-suit-day-january-31/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
BEING SINGLE IN AMERICA
http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2015/07/06/has-being-single-in-america-changed/a-rise-in-the-number-of-those-living-alone

6* DAILY UTILITY
RODNEY DANGERFIELD
RAPPIN’ RODNEY

7*CARTOON
SNAKE HANDLERS
fourcolorshadows.blogspot.com/2010/12/snake-worship-in-usa-picture-news-1945.html

8*PRESCRIPTION
TO BUILD A FIRE
JACK LONDON
A corking yarn of life (and death) at 50 below.
americanenglish.state.gov/files/ae/resource_files/to-build-a-fire.pdf

ALSO SEE:
OYMYAKON: COLDEST TOWN ON EARTH
https://www.wired.com/2015/01/amos-chapple-the-coldest-place-on-earth/
weather.com/weather/tenday/l/RSXX5470:1:RS

9* RUMOR PATROL
SALVADOR DALI VS. BUGS BUNNY
“Later he left New York en route to Cannes, carrying a 5-foot-tall, purple Bugs Bunny doll that had been given to him as a bon voyage gift. ‘This is the most ugly and frightening animal in the world,’ he said.’I will paint it with mayonnaise and make it an object of art.'”
http://articles.latimes.com/1989-01-24/news/mn-969_1_salvador-dali

10* LAGNIAPPE
OS MUTANTES
A MINHA MININA

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS: CARROT TOP VS. HITLER
Some people just give you the douche chills.

I admit that I would be hard-pressed to decide who was worse.

Between Carrot Top:
The 5 Worst Carrot Top Bits

And Hitler:

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
WHAT IS VOCAL FRY?
People who use vocal fry sound for all the world like middle schoolers talking trash in front of a box fan.
https://youtu.be/4L7-9N1xQZA

THE INFORMATION #977 JANUARY 26, 2018

THE INFORMATION #977
JANUARY 26, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

“There’s a sucker born every minute, and one to trim ’em and one to knock ’em.”–anon.

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART SIXTY-ONE: DAYS OF WRATH

“Leave town, Yob, if you know what’s good for you,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy. “Because the home folk will weigh ye down, and hold you back. Always. Count on it. The way I see it, tending to their needs is way worse than an oil-burner drug habit. So don’t ye let ’em drag ye down. Cut ’em loose, first chance as ye get. Y’see, due to their own improvidence the home folk are unwilling to live within their means–as their pride makes them always want to act the big shot, y’ see, and what does it get ’em? Laughed at, mostly, by people who save their dosh and invest it frugally. Now, I like the high life as much as the next Yellof, or maybe a little more–but I won’t spend my last century note livin’ in a penthouse suite, like some would-be flash characters are prone to do. Such ostentation goes against my grain, in any event. It’s not a part of the story I tell the world. Only the nouveau-riche and other such parvenus make a big splash with their ooftish to wow the locals. Me, I operate more in a mode of quiet restraint. I like a good bottle of champagne as much as the next toper, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna drop a deuce on that swill they sell in those fake bottles with the musty corks.

“I knew a boxer out West–Frisco Eddie, I think it was. They also called him ‘Sailor,’ on account of how he was some kind of fisherman or something. Anyway, once he won a couple of fat purses, you couldn’t tell him nothing about maybe socking away some of his ooftish for a rainy day. No, he threw away his corn-cob pipe and started in to smokin’ dollar cigars. He got a big tattoo of a skinny mermaid on his back. He turned up his nose at beer and would only lap up the finest French brandy. Instead of a nice salad and some lean steak to build muscle, he would go the whole hog–caviar and oysters and suchlike. Soon, he was spending the shekels as fast as he brought them in, and then he started in to gambling and lending money to his new pals and living beyond his means and was unfortunate enough to fall into debt with some pretty rough customers and so he had to throw a few fights in order to get square with them and very soon he was a bum–just another pug as has fallen on hard times. I had touched him one time for a c-note, and when I paid him back, his gratitude knew no bounds, and he began following me around like a little puppy and I had to give him the brush off, though kinda gentle like, as there’s no percentage in making an enemy of a man who thinks you’re a swell gee. Especially if he’s won more fights than he ever lost. My God, but boxers can be stupid. Lemme tellya, you don’t see no surgeons or carpenters getting into bare-knuckle brawls. Frisco Eddie’s hands were lacerated with rope burns from pulling up heavy nets and were also scarred pretty good from gutting and scaling fish. He maybe should have bowed out of his fishing career a bit sooner. It was his old man who kept him working at it. He never figured the boxing thing would ever pan out in the long run. And he was right. Some pugs save their dosh and buy a restaurant or a bar. Not Frisco Eddie. As I understand it, he got into some kind of trouble. They caught him trying to carry off a whole safe. Woulda got away with it too, if it wasn’t for the bulldog. Some of his gangster pals chipped in and got him a good lawyer, and he skipped bail and went back to Frisco. But then, as it turns out, he blew town after the great earthquake and fire, and the last I heard, he was working at a fruit cannery for the Hunt brothers down in San Jose. Under an assumed name, natch. No more champagne suppers for him! Every now and then, someone recognizes him from his days in the ring. ‘Say…ain’t you…?’ ‘Maybe once. But I ain’t no more.’

“It must of been hell for him, to have to work in a factory for his three squares a day. Y’know, most boxers are lazy and somewhat allergic to hard work. Why else would they get into a game where you’re paid to brawl? Of course, only the ones who are industrious ever get anywhere. They do their road work, they work out with the medicine ball and the light and heavy bag, they get plenty of sleep, and they chaw on raw meat and spit out the gristle and swaller the blood. They certainly don’t go around chasing floogies and painting the town red the night before a big match, less’n they’re planning to take a flop and they want the whole world to know it, which ain’t likely. But that is just what Frisco Eddie would do. I’m halfway convinced that a lot of these pugs beat on on other fellers because what they really want to be doin’ is be beatin’ up on themselves.

“Speaking of Yobs as like to punish themselves…I don’t know how people can stand to gamble on sporting events. Don’t they know that the fix is always in? Boxing is the worst, of course. But even major league baseball games are fixed. And don’t get me started on college football games. All it takes is one letterman with a weakness for Gin…and Gin Rummy…and you’ve got yourself a willing confederate. And all your popular games of chance is mostly gaffed. Shaved dice–or even tat dice that only have fives and sixes–rigged roulette wheels, marked cards, you name it, and someone has thought of it. So why do so many people who ought to know better indulge in this pastime? Pure greed, that’s all. The desire to get something for nothing. Which, according to the laws of physics as I understand them, just ain’t possible. Sure, I’m a grifter. Honest work pains me. A life of drudging along just to stay afloat is not for me. I know the grift, and I’m with it and for it, all the way. But even a born grifter has got to put some thought and effort into fleecing the chumps and savages. That’s why I almost never gamble. Because the fix is in. The fix is always in. In fact, that is the only fact you can count on.

“Forget politics. Forget reform movements. What point of view will win? Whatever side has the most money. That is always the way.”

1*SALUTATION
THE WALKER BROTHERS
THE SUN AIN’T GONNA SHINE ANYMORE

2*REFERENCE
The philosophy of William Shakespeare delineating in seven hundred and fifty passages, selected from his plays, the multiform phases of the human mind
https://books.google.com/books?id=5Z8NAAAAQAAJ&pg

3*HUMOR
PORNIFIED CLASSICS
ANNE OF GROIN GOBBLES

More:
http://prince.org/msg/100/84705
http://prince.org/msg/100/84705?&pg=2

4*NOVELTY
Google’s museum app finds your fine art doppelgänger
https://www.engadget.com/2018/01/15/googles-museum-app-finds-your-fine-art-doppelganger/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
French Actor Catherine Deneuve Says Men Should be Free to Seduce Women
http://time.com/5096442/catherine-deneuve-sexual-misconduct-defense/

6* DAILY UTILITY
Protect your baby from the evil eye
http://www.thenamemeaning.com/baby-articles/evil-eye-curse-protection-cure-for-baby-and-kid/

7*CARTOON
JACQUES DUTRONC
ET MOI ET MOI ET MOI

ALSO SEE:
Françoise Hardy & Jacques Dutronc
MINI MINI MINI

She was the French yéyé’s romantic and tormented songwriter, he was their clownish playboy: two of the 1960s legendary muses were meant to get together. But being a couple is not obviously synonymous of being together for the unusual lovers. A couple since 1967 and married since 1981, Françoise Hardy has never hidden her partner’s multiple affairs, his strong taste for alcohol and eccentric night trips. Because the affection and love they have for each other has never faded, the singers propose a new definition of romantic relationships, independent and free: Françoise Hardy, in Paris with her astrology books and cats, Jacques Dutronc, in Corsica with his cigars. She was the first to officially go on a passionate romance with another and he now presents his new partner, Sylvie, to the media. Yet still no separation nor divorce has occured and the two lovers that evoke twins because of their physical similarities are maybe simply that: twins, an emotional unity within two separate bodies.”

theredlist.com/wiki-2-24-224-270-view-very-french-profile-francoise-hardy-jacques-dutronc.html

8*PRESCRIPTION
Rib Eye ala Mediterranean
Take one three pound rib eye roast. Salt heavily on both sides, with kosher or rock salt. Bake in pan at 425 for 20 minutes.

Remove from pan. Knock off excess salt. Set oven at 325. Add about 8-12 ounces of vegetable broth, and about eight potatoes. Restore roast to pan. Cover with aluminum foil. Bake in oven for one hour, or 20 minutes per pound. When removing roast from oven, let sit for at least ten minutes before carving.

Take two slices of rib eye. Cut into about ten stripes. Put in bottom of dish. Add salt to taste. Drizzle with good olive oil. Layer cooked potato sliced into strips on top. Layer spinach cooked with garlic on top of steak and potato. Layer mushrooms sauteed in olive oil on top of meat, potatoes and spinach.

9* RUMOR PATROL
MLK: SEX FIEND?
“I’m fucking for God!”–MLK
http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/books/1998/02/all_kings_men.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/16/magazine/what-an-uncensored-letter-to-mlk-reveals.html

10* LAGNIAPPE
LES PAUL & MARY FORD
HOW HIGH THE MOON

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
REX REED BANGS A GONG ON THE MEDIOCRITY OF MODERN LIFE
[Rex Reed] once signed a petition supporting John Lennon when the government was trying to deport Mr. Lennon because of his drug use and political activism. Mr. Lennon thanked him with a one-year subscription to TV Guide, Mr. Reed said, adding, “That was his bible. All he did was lie around stoned watching television.”

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
Macaulay, on Boswell
“Servile and impertinent, shallow and pedantic, a bigot and a sot, bloated with family pride, and eternally blustering about the dignity of a born gentleman, yet stooping to be a talebearer, an eavesdropper, a common butt in the taverns of London…; such was this man, and such he was content and proud to be….Every thing which another man would have hidden, every thing the publication of which would have made another man hang himself, was matter of gay and clamorous exultation to his weak and diseased mind.”
https://books.google.com/books?id=6fIXAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA170&lpg=PA170&dq=