THE INFORMATION #1042 APRIL 26, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1042 

APRIL 26, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

He who does not love his own language is worse than an animal and smelly fish. –Jose Rizal  

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIREBOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART FIFTY-NINE: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

“There is,” said William Batchelder Tallent to Glen Phillips, “one quality in which the South far exceeds the north–and that is in oratory. And if you don’t want to take my word for it, just listen to this speech that my father sent me in the mail.”

CHANGE THE NAME OF ARKANSAW? HELL, NO!

Mister Speaker! Mister Speaker! Mister SPEAKER-R-R-R!! God-damn your God-damned ornery soul to hell and God-damn your ornery wife’s soul to hell, and God-damn your innocent children, too, if you got any; I will not damn their infantine souls to hell, afore they may yet grow up to be good citizens of the Republic and members of this honorable body who will have the common courtesy and manly decency to RECOGNIZE AN HONORABLE MEMBER OF THIS GOD-DAMNED HOUSE–the Honorable Cassius M. Johnson—I am referring to myself– when he is trying to call a God-damned point of order. And by the way…Good God damn you Mr. Speaker! God-damn you, and–and God-damn your eyes!

I’m out of order? NO, Sir! This HOUSE is out of order! God favors the brave, and, with the help of our Savior, who stands just over yonder, it SHALL be put right—though many may perish! For you do not know who you are dealing with! You are dealing with a Born again, Bible believing, Blood bought child of the Living God through faith in Jesus Christ and a committed follower our Lord and Savior! I am Cassius M. Johnson from Johnson County, Arkansas, and even after forty days of fasting and farting in the wilderness, I still shit bigger than your head!

Never let it be said that the Honorable Cassius M. Johnson—again, I am referring to myself—never let it be said that he is a man who refuses to act on principle, nor one who overlooks the main chance when he sees it. Now, I have heard a whole heap of showy and loudmouth talk, and an awful lot of fuss and feathers displayed here in this honorable House, which is, as any man can see, from any vantage point, chock-full of God-damneded scoundrels of all stripes, the venerable members of which are inclusive of but not limited to the following: brawling apes; odious pimple-faced simpletons who would steal the cracklin’s from their own Mammy’s fat gourd; murderous bullies, brawlers, and hooligans who carry pig-stickers as long as a highbinder’s arm; purblind eye-gougers; gaudy master-minds; bought men; kept men; sold men; young men addicted to odious vices; old men steeped in villainy. Why, I would not give a red cent for the whole damn lot of you, for you are simpering, whimpering flibbertigibbets fit only to dance a sky jig on the gallis pole!

This is indeed a House divided; divided between young and old. Your young are, to a lad, loathsome and underhanded fancy-men, who procure and peddle unchastity from teeming leprous fleshpots exclusively populated by diseased courtesans. And your old, whose fires of time-worn lust have been banked but not extinguished, are by and large mere time-servers, senescent dotards shackled in bloody chains of gold to the special interests of this land, who dast to rob the blind and the infirm, and call their infamous skulduggery by the honeyed name of “party unity”.

Of all you so-called men, none are so low and vicious as the pusillanimous pipsqueak who has dared to rise up in these hallowed halls to declare that we ought to change the name of Arkansaw. Worse, some of you grave solons are allegedly inclined to take his measure seriously! To pay heed to the preposterous puling and mewling of a putrid punk, whose freakish fabricated remains had better ought be exhibited in Barnum’s Museum in an enormous glass jar, alongside of the Cardiff Giant and the pickled mermaid!

I’m out of order? You mistake yourself, Sir! This whole world wide is out of order! And me, and God, and a bunch of the boys who are currently otherwise employed in whooping it up, are bounden to put it right—though the heavens fall!

Change the sacred name of Arkansaw? AW, HELL NO! NEVER, so long as I can still draw breath to defend her! Honored colleagues, you can reverse the course of the mighty Mississippi; you can fill the River Platte with newfangled dynamite and blow it all to hell; you can make Presque Isle into a playground populated exclusively by ruminating donkeys; you can fill the Erie Canal with whiskey and set it on fire; you can burn Atlanta to the ground and invite carpetbaggers and scalawags to toast soft, fluffy marshmallows over its smoldering ruins—but when you propose to change the Holy Name of Arkansaw—that is when I put on my fightin’ uniform! Compare the iron jaw of Andy Jackson to a rusty claw-hammer; compare the steely eyes of George Washington, grown dim in his service to our country, to a pair of rotten turnips; compare the magnificent pate of General Winfield Scott to a stinking, hollow robin’s egg; strangle Betsy Ross in her own flag; knock a sick baby off’n the pisspot; tear apart the constitution and use it for ass-wipe—but will you change the name of Arkansaw!? I say—NEVER!

Hear what I have to say! The man who would CHANGE THE NAME OF ARKANSAS is a low-down, squirming, crawly, cringing, stingy, mingy, mealy-mouthed half-brother to the slimy, sneering, scorbutic snake who first tempted our common Mother Eve! Born in a rainstorm; reared in a flood, taken in by a leper, taught the rule of three by a Gorgon, tempered by a Succubus, and married to Medusa after he jumped over the broomstick of Minerva! He eats musket-fire for breakfast, and for supper he bleeds! He got drunk, boarded Noah’s fabled Ark, threw all the animals into the briny and brought the fish on board! Look well upon this so-called Gentleman! He wasn’t born, but rather was formed of red clay mixed with the straw-filled droppings of Lucifer’s off ox! He looks at the world through eyes of mud, and sees only desolation where we, with human eyes, see a lush and verdant paradise! He is the original visionary Blind Joe Death and a certified Fool-killer, who had rather ought to turn his science upon eradicating blind chaos!  Change the name of Arkansas? The hell you say! He is the most unwholesome unmitigated traitor who would even so much as challenge that cherished name! His bloodline, say I, is so contaminated by wickedness that he must surely be a direct descendant of Judas—nay, Biblical Cain! Look well for his mark; seek ye, and mark it well, for ye shall surely find it, saith I, branded on his forehead–by the Lord God Jehovah Himself!

This man, if man he truly be, and not the boon companion to Devil Satan-n-n, has ravaged the earth for four-thousand-and-four years, seeking to commit a crime so dastardly that its infamy will ring forever down the ages in the hallowed precincts of infinity!  And he has found it! Change the name of Arkansas? Hell, no! Better you should suck the snot from Buddha’s nose until his head collapses! Better you should elect Frederick Douglass as President of the United States, with dear little Dolly Madison as his kept mistress! Better you should turn over the port of New York to Tecumseh and his band of doughty red savages! Better you should smother Lord Amherst in poxy army blankets and distribute muskets and horses to Chief Pontiac!

Change the name of Arkansas? Hell, NO! The man who would do that is a man would wipe his ass with a fidgeting bear cub, and spit in the Grizzly mama’s eye! He would pick his teeth with a thunderbolt, and spit hell-fire! He would eat shit out of a hairbrush, and proclaim the toothsome flavor most delightful through a dusty rusty tinhorn! He would play no-limit five-card stud and always draw to an inside straight! The man who would do that is the awfullest son of a hellgrammite who ever lived!

I’m out of order? You’re Goddamned right I’m out of order! The whole God-damned UNIVERSE is out of order! God will count to seven times seventy, and it will be restored—but at great cost to all those who are not true believers like myself, for there will be fields of fire and the sky will rain blood—if thou shalt dast to even THINK that ye might change the Almighty and Eternal name of ARKANSAW!

1* SALUTATION
JOHN MARTYN
WHO’S GROWN UP NOW
https://youtu.be/eeRp7URIsvk

ALSO SEE:
ROLLING HOME
https://youtu.be/jfk4M_lijA0

SING A SONG OF SUMMER
https://youtu.be/P0Z0qLaoHu0

2*REFERENCE
JESUS WAS BORN ON SEPTEMBER 11TH
www.quora.com/On-which-day-of-the-year-was-Jesus-actually-born-I-heard-it-was-not-the-present-Christmas-day?no_redirect=1  

3*HUMOR
MEN: NO SOCKS IN BED

www.gutsygeek.com/dont-get-cock-blocked-socks/  

4*NOVELTY
ITALIAN EASTER SPECIALTIES
PIZZAGAINA
https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/231645/pizzagaina/ 
 
PIZZA DOLCE VITA
https://www.justapinch.com/recipes/dessert/pie/pizza-dolce-italian-sweet-pie.html  

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
RACIST JOKES IN THE WHITE HOUSE

www.nytimes.com/1987/10/21/us/racist-jokes-in-white-house-reported-in-a-book.html  

6* DAILY UTILITY
27 Songs From The Beatles That Weren’t Hits, But Should Have Been
uproxx.com/music/the-beatles-overlooked-songs/  

7*CARTOON
WHAT RUINED HANNA-BARBERA?

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

8*PRESCRIPTION

FICTIONAL CONVENTIONS

https://books.google.com/books?dq=%22fictional+convention%22&hl=en&id=ZCHgz4345AEC&lpg=PA74&ots=li2G663j_I&pg=PA74&sa=X&sig=ACfU3U1BzCULMfIrTFPlHk_G0cvLrAISNA&source=bl&ved=2ahUKEwiI4Y-8o9fhAhUMhOAKHVGTA6MQ6AEwBHoECAYQAQ#v=onepage&q=%22fictional%20convention%22&f=false 

9* RUMOR PATROL
PETER LEVENDA

SINISTER FORCES, OCCULT HISTORY, AND THE NINE

https://youtu.be/tDn4PlUE9Fk

10*LAGNIAPPE
THE LEFT BANKESHADOWS BREAKING OVER MY HEAD

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_yCSNj50iI
ALSO SEE:

JULES AND THE POLAR BEARS

SHADOWS BREAK

https://youtu.be/vAs0Qh-7QTM

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

Marvin Gaye wasted an awful lot of time scheming about ways to get some loving. I prefer his more political songs:   

DINNER CITY FOODS (MAKE ME WANNA SWALLER)
You’re slight…ly batty
Because you are a…stupid fatty
Candy bars…you bought ’em
Double chins…you got ’em
Oh, make you wanna swaller
The way you hold your knife…
Oh, make you wanna swaller
The way you live your life…  

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

ENCOURAGING YOUNG WRITERS

What young writers usually need encouragement with is to live life and observe, and not get all their wisdom at second hand.

And to sit down and actually do the writing instead of simply talking about it.

And to hold themselves to standards of universal quality instead of taking the easy way out and segregating themselves into a category.

And to read and explore the mechanics of every style of writing, including, though not limited to, play writing, poetry, prose non-fiction, criticism, and aphorism.

And to cultivate an interest in other art forms including, but not limited to, painting, sculpture, music, and architecture.

And to realize that the writing life is a lifetime commitment: to writing as well as one can.
Attachments areaPreview YouTube video John Martyn – Who’s Grown Up Now (1967)John Martyn – Who’s Grown Up Now (1967)Preview YouTube video John Martyn- Rolling HomeJohn Martyn- Rolling HomePreview YouTube video John Martyn – Sing A Song Of Summer.wmvJohn Martyn – Sing A Song Of Summer.wmvPreview YouTube video What RUINED Hanna-Barbera?What RUINED Hanna-Barbera?Preview YouTube video Peter Levenda | Sinister Forces, Occult History, & The NinePeter Levenda | Sinister Forces, Occult History, & The NinePreview YouTube video The Left Banke – 09 – Shadows Breaking Over My HeadThe Left Banke – 09 – Shadows Breaking Over My HeadPreview YouTube video Shadows BreakShadows Break

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THE INFORMATION #1041 APRIL 19, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1041 

APRIL 19, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

All money is a matter of belief.–Adam Smith 

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART FIFTY-EIGHT: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

“Oh, but the Lincoln conspiracy sounds like a load of bilgewater and flapdoodle to me,” said Billy Batchelder Tallent to Glen Phillips. “People believe all sorts of things they shouldn’t,”

“You said a mouthful!” said Glen.

“Why, in my neck of the woods, the teacher-man tells the kiddies that Columbus discovered America, that the earth is not even six thousand years old, and that in heaven there’s cotton-candy and soda pop for all!  And the preacher-man, he tells the churchgoers that Charles Darwin is the fiend incarnate–a soulless monster who will be damned to hell for suggesting that God’s greatest creation, man, is little better than a shaved ape. The way that the preacher-man hectors his congregation every Sunday and tells them they’re all a bunch of no-good wretched vermin puts me in mind of an angry old hound dog whose toothless flabby mouth commences to shaking every time he howls at you for snatching up the rancid goody that he’d just dug up from out behind the shithouse. But the congregation eats up every word. They remind me of children. They like to be scolded, and to have people tell them what to think. None of that for me. No Siree. I’m the only one in my community that ain’t been saved. Saved for what? I want to know. Tell me! Saved so I can be led to the slaughter? No thanks! I plan to run through the gamut of all seven of the deadly sins in my own good time. Don’t need no preacher-man to tell me I’m a sinner. Let’s see–first off, there’s pride. The deadliest sin of ’em all. And I got me plenty of that. Yahoo! Gluttony? I have no problem with practicing that, either. Lust–well, that one I’m still working on. Wrath? I got no shortage of righteous anger. Envy and greed? I’ll commence to those two right smart. I’ve got plenty of time. Hm. I guess I’m missing one.”

“Sloth,” said Glen Phillips. “I myself am planning to corner the market on that one. I shall also have to fight you for the title on gluttony.”

“Glen, the fact is, fact is, folks from where I come from, why, they’ll believe everything they’re told. It’s almost like they want you to tell them baldfaced lies, because the truth is too much for ’em. Mother is an angel, and father is a saint? Hm? Well, if that’s so, then how did I get here? They exactly didn’t find me in the cabbage patch! 

“I’m sorry to say these things about my people, because some of them are my best friends, but most of ’em are no better’n a bunch of Rubes. They think farming is a paying proposition, and the only noble labor there is. And when they go bust, why, they just farm another man’s land, instead of cutting their losses and moving to the city to work in a factory…or a whorehouse. 

“You just can’t help them. You can’t give them free advice, because they’re too proud to accept advice, or anything that’s free, and they just won’t believe you even when you try to persuade them with facts and logic. They think that the Bible is the only book they need. They just…they just believe in so many things that just ain’t so! They think fortune-tellers are wicked, but they believe in ’em. They think the mind-reader at the carnival can actually read their minds.  They are convinced without a single doubt that the devil walks the earth, and he is a dapper gent who is bright red, has horns on his head and a big long tail, and cloven hooves, and that he also sports a little Van Dyke beard like some sort of Viennese Professor of Medicine  

“They also believe in astrology, and witch boys who pine to be human, and gypsies, or maybe it’s fairies, who want to steal your firstborn child. And snakes that bite their own tails and roll down the hill. They’re convinced that a cat is very much inclined to suck the breath out of babies, and they’re all scairt of creepy stuff that goes boo hoo in the forest during the dark of the moon. They believe that every deserted house, cottage, log cabin, lean-to, shanty, shack, and wigwam is probably chock full of haints and spooks who will hound you to death if you dast cross ’em. And they always say their prayers when they walk through an old graveyard at night, and then, when nothing happens, why, they praise the Lord for delivering them from the foul fiend!

“They’re also convinced that the Book of Revelation predicts the future, and every word in it is true. Meaning that at any time now a beast with seven heads and ten horns is going to come slouching around, and it’ll be a big ole panther with the feet of a bear and the mouth of a lion, and that when that day finally arrives, it will mean the end of the world, so sinners had better get ready to meet their maker, the Most Righteous and Angry Lord God of Sabaoth. 

“Down my way, all the folks believe in heaven, and angels, and pixies, and nixies, and demons, and the One True God. They think that if you pray to a certain saint, you’ll get your heart’s desire, and that if you meet the devil at the crossroads, he will buy your soul. They believe in their heart in dowsers, and rainmakers, and faith healers, and homeopaths, and miracle cures of all sorts. And root workers, too, though that’s mainly the colored folk. They believe in phrenologists who say you can tell if a fella is a no ‘count just by the shape of the lumps on his head. And if a dog howls whenever he sees you, why, then it’s perfectly obvious to them that you’re up to no good, because the dog always knows, y’see, though I guess if you’re carrying a biscuit around it must mean your intentions are pure because the dog won’t howl at you then, but will greet you like Argos greeted his long-lost master Odysseus.   

“Oh, and whenever you challenge them in any of their most dearly-held beliefs, they’ll hand you all sorts of guff about how too much book-learnin’ will ruin your shootin’-eye. But there’s a very simple reason for them sayin’ that–most of ’em couldn’t read a book if you paid ’em, or if their life depended on it.    

“I suppose you can see why I’ll never go back there, except maybe to visit, Down there, they know too much that just ain’t so. And they don’t cotton much to people who try to set them straight.”

“Well,” said Glen Phillips to Billy Batchelder Tallent, “you shouldn’t hold that against them. There’s plenty of people like that up North.” 

“Maybe,” said Billy. “But up north they won’t shoot you for saying that the Bible is a pretty myth.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” said Glen. “You never know. But, anyway, why should you care what people think? It’s pretty doubtful that most of them can even think at all. Most folks the world over are–how do I say this without coming across as an arrogant snob? Oh, dash, what do I care. You’re my pal. Anyway, what I’m trying to get at here is that most people are simply not any too bright. The man of even average intelligence is a benighted dunce. And half the people in the world are even stupider than him. It’s the human condition. Go figure. And even among the so-called intelligent people–why, more often than not, they miss things that are just as plain as the nose on their face, and then they turn around and swear to the existence of things that just ain’t there. 

“Why, Mawny, when I was on the train coming up there on the day after New Year’s, I had an unlit cigar in my mouth. The Conductor said, ‘Stop that smoking!’ I said, ‘I ain’t smoking’. So he said ‘You got your cigar in your mouth.’ And I said, ‘Yeah? So what? I also got my ass in my britches–but I ain’t shittin’!’ 

“That threw him for a loop! Oh! the look on his face! Huh! He nearly threw me off the train–but even if he had…it would have been worth it!”

1* SALUTATION
THE VELVET UNDERGROUND

STEPHANIE SAYS

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whn3K9Ll5aE   

ALSO SEE:
LOU REED & JOHN CALE
SONGS FOR DRELLAWORK

https://youtu.be/rFQNPbv_1YM
STARLIGHT

https://youtu.be/kwv3JQIdhcc
IMAGES

https://youtu.be/GphPmGOHy_Y
I BELIEVE

https://youtu.be/bKyNkjRumqY

2*REFERENCE

People use wiki often than they should, in some cases, and not often enough, in others. Wiki is easy to use for beginning to engage with a project or assignment, but worldcat is far more useful. Look up the topic there. For example, “Critical thinking.”

Results for ‘critical thinking’ [WorldCat.org]

Click on the first, most relevant link.

Critical thinking

Go to the library of congress listing (on page 4):

Item Information (Full Record)

Note that in the Library of Congress, the LC Listing for that topic is BF441 and the Dewey listing is 160.

Go to your online library catalog and do a search by LC or Dewey, and you will find all the books on that topic.

Take out a few of the books and read them. Consult the bibliography.

Pick a few books or articles from the bibliography, as available, and read those as well.

You will find all the information you need.

You don’t have to read the entire book. Use the index, if there is one, to find the portions which are relevant to your project or assignment.

Written sources are still regarded as more reliable than online sources because they have usually been edited, and a published book represents an investment on the part of the publisher, who in most cases will want to be sure that the information is timely and accurate.

3*HUMOR
POLITICALLY INCORRECT COMMERCIALS

https://youtu.be/66mQz44pPY4

4*NOVELTY
GARFIELD PHONES ON THE BEACHES OF FRANCE

www.boston.com/news/world-news/2019/03/29/garfield-phones-france

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
FAN FICTION

Fan fiction is lamprey art. It is far simpler to imaginatively reconceptualize a fabricated environment than to create one’s own story out of one’s own life experiences. In effect, Fanfiction is cheating. Detournement, on the other hand, is endlessly fascinating.

SEE:
DETOURNEMENT

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%A9tournement

ALSO SEE:WHITE ELEPHANT ART VS. TERMITE ART

https://www.moca.org/storage/app/media/cropped-images/02_White%20Elephant%20Art%20vs.%20Termite%20Art.pdf

6* DAILY UTILITY
WHY DOES IT FEEL SO GOOD TO EMPTY YOUR BOWELS?

It seems to have to do with the vagus or pneumogastric nerve being responsible for gastrointestinal peristalsis.

Viva las vagus!

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

SEE ALSO:

https://www.outsideonline.com/1784611/why-does-it-feel-good-poop  

ALSO SEE:

HARVEY PEKAR & WILLY MURPHY

“A GOOD SHIT IS BEST”

http://www.myconfinedspace.com/2013/04/19/a-good-shit-is-best/  

7*CARTOON
AL HARTLEY

Al Hartley, illustrator of The Cross & The Switchblade, Archie’s One Way, and other literary works.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al_Hartley

The Whore of Babylon seems nice:
https://io9.gizmodo.com/science-fiction-sunday-school-comics-from-the-1970s-wer-5937031 

Big Ethel all grown up? I’d do her.
http://www.misterkitty.org/extras/stupidcovers/stupidcomics112.html

8*PRESCRIPTION

WHO KILLED JAMES DEAN?

www.findagrave.com/memorial/10990655/donald-gene-turnupseed  

9* RUMOR PATROL
GEORGE H.W. BUSH’S NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE

whowhatwhy.org/2014/09/02/an-enduring-mystery-about-bush-41s-wwii-escape-from-death/  

10*LAGNIAPPE
BOOTLEG TAPES FROM MAXWELL’S 1970s-1990s

www.themckenzietapes.com/tapes  

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

HISTORY BOOKS WHICH SHOULD BE MORE WIDELY READ

The Conquest of New Spain
https://www.amazon.com/Conquest-New-Spain-Penguin-Classics/dp/0140441239/ref=pd_sim_0_1/132-0401320-5613919?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=0140441239&pd_rd_r=824b9d72-57c8-11e9-8ef0-0b4f280728eb&pd_rd_w=m7RUk&pd_rd_wg=WP7UE&pf_rd_p=90485860-83e9-4fd9-b838-b28a9b7fda30&pf_rd_r=PM24D6CKDPJW7TNWWDJJ&psc=1&refRID=PM24D6CKDPJW7TNWWDJJ  

I also like Bernard DeVoto’s books, especially The Year of Decision, 1846
https://www.amazon.com/Year-Decision-1846-voto/dp/B002CT9JEK/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=1846:+the+year+of+decision&qid=1554485595&s=books&sr=1-5  

And, even though my history thesis advisor Maury Klein din’t think much of him, I particularly admire Matthew Josephson’s books as well, especially Robber Barons, The Politicos, and The President Makers.
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=matthew+josephson&i=stripbooks&ref=nb_sb_noss_1  

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURETHE ADVENTURES OF STUPID DAD
I guess the world is clamoring for s sitcom with that title.

Because it seems to be the selling point of nearly every sitcom made after 1963.

Except for the ones featuring Brian Keith.

How was it that nobody noticed that every time he had to interact with the moppets on Family Affair, he always looked like he was passing a kidney stone? Or that when he interacted with luscious young Cissy, he always livened up a little bit? Though an objective observer would no doubt conclude that it was Mr. French (!) whom he truly loved. 

Something which was not lost on MAD magazine. Recall the MAD parody, wherein Boffy and Jokey were revealed to be vice-addicted midgets.
https://embarrassingtreasures.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/madpage1.gif
https://embarrassingtreasures.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/madpage2.gif 
https://embarrassingtreasures.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/madpage3.gif 
https://embarrassingtreasures.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/madpage4.gif

“I mix my martinis five to one!” 

MAD leaned pretty heavily on the midget gag. That was also the big reveal of their Lassie Parody. 
http://www.lassieweb.org/lasslizz.htm  

Finally, apropos of nothing:
Your Uncle is like your Dad, only he usually has better drugs. And better jokes.

THE INFORMATION #1040 APRIL 12, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1040 
APRIL 12, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

In every country unscrupulous wealth can, by artificially “making opinion,” mislead and beguile the people more easily and with less chance of detection than in any other way. Democracy has no more persistent or insidious foe than the money power, to which it may say, as Dante said when he reached in his journey through hell the dwelling of the God of Riches, “Here we found Wealth, the great enemy.”–James Bryce, 1st Viscount Bryce

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART FIFTY-SEVEN: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

“Nature is red in tooth and claw,” said Glen Phillips to Billy Batchelder Tallent, “and human beings are hardly exempt, even at the loftiest precincts. Only, in our case, money takes the place of brute strength. It has truly been said that money is this day the power in this land. It is well known among people who are not actually wet behind the ears that the whole of American politics is little more than a shabby conspiracy among money-hustlers.   

“And speaking of conspiracies, uncommon sense,will tell you that there was something very suspect indeed about the Lincoln assassination. I suppose that as a Southerner, you were jumping for joy at his murder”

“Not at all,” said Billy. “I was hardly born yet. And I wouldn’t wish that fate on any man.”

“That’s why you’re a good person.” said Glen. “More than a bit naive–but a good person withal. Now, I’ve hung around newsrooms quite a bit, and heard the reporters when they’re in their cups, and one topic always comes up when they’ve guzzled down enough skullpop. Who REALLY killed Lincoln? For instance, where the hell was Andy Johnson while the whole thing was going on? Probably off getting as drunk as a boiled owl. Remember what Lincoln said about him: ‘Andy ain’t no drunk.’ Hardly what I’d call a ringing endorsement!  As a matter of fact, Lincoln had very little use for Johnson. He basically cut him dead. Ignored him. Left him out of decisions. So why was Lincoln shot? You have to ask yourself–who benefits? Andy Johnson, drunk or no, became the President, and promptly set out to bring back some of the fine old practices of the South. And who was John Wilkes Booth, anyway? A Southerner! I think that what happened was that the money-men knew that once peacetime arrived, honest Abe would start going after the greedy hucksters who made their fortunes charging extortionate shipping rates, peddling shoddy munitions, and selling rotten garbage and calling it pure food.

“Do you know who was chummy with Andy Johnson? Why, it was none other than Mr. Booth himself! Booth knew him! That right there ought to make a reasonable man suspicious. As a matter of fact, the two were practically related. Why, back when Johnson was Governor of Tennessee, he and Booth both kept a mistress. And the two of them just happened to be sisters! And they used to get drunk together and rumor has it that they were generally inseparable whenever Booth was in town. Why, Mary Lincoln was absolutely convinced that drunk old Andy Johnson had something to do with the conspiracy. Maybe she was a little bit nutty–but you should never discount the intuition of a loving woman. There was no love lost between those two, I can tell you. Why, after Mary Lincoln made a big hoot and a hollar after Lincoln was laid to rest–very improper behavior for a high-born lady–and took her good old time about moving out of the White House–Johnson more or less had nothing whatsoever to do with her. Who can blame her for weeping and wailing? She was the one who insisted on going out to see the damned play–even after Lincoln told her about his disturbing dream, in which he was lying on his bier, dead as a mackerel. In a way, she was the one responsible. Maybe she even planned for it to happen. Maybe all that fuss and feathers was just an act, to cover up her own involvement.”

“Monstrous,” said Billy Batchelder Tallent.

“I dunno. Maybe Andy had a guilty conscience. He never DID hang old Jeff Davis from a sour apple tree, as was promised. Johnson was very likely little more than a confederate stooge, just like Booth. Some say Judah Benjamin, the Confederate Secretary of State, was at the head of it all. After the war, he high-tailed it to England and stayed there. Mighty suspicious, don’t you think? Or maybe it was Harry Rathbone. They say he tried to stop Booth. Well–look at the result. He couldn’t have tried very hard, could he?

“With just a little more scratching you can pin the thing on the Rothschilds. Lincoln turned down their loans, and they stood to lose a lot of money on commodity speculation, and they concluded he was bad for business, and their schemes for taking over all the United States banks, and so he had to go. Of course, they were probably also working fist-in-glove with the Jesuits. They say that only a Jesuit assassin was clever enough, and devious enough, to plan and carry out the crime.The Church had it in for Lincoln because, of course, they approved of slavery. Also, Lincoln humiliated one of their bishops in court, back when he was a lawyer. Besides, the Vatican was well-known for its propensity to murder folks who got in the way of their holy enterprises. And then again, there were also the Northern businessmen and cotton speculators who wanted slaves to go right on picking that cotton. It wouldn’t be too hard for them to hire some stooge to arrange the matter. Or maybe it was the people from New York. At the 1864 Democratic Convention, one of the delegates stood up and said that if we can’t get him with the ballot, we’ll get him with the bullet. Nice talk! So maybe McClellan had something to do with it. Who knows? 

“Poor Lincoln! He was surrounded by veritable fiends! His drunken bodyguard. His goofy Vice President. The members of his own cabinet! The Secretary of War, for example. Stanton. He warned Grant not to attend Ford’s Theater. He did nothing to stop Booth’s getaway. He shut down all the telegraph lines. He made sure Booth was killed before he could talk.  He even tore pages out of Booth’s diary! 

“Now, I don’t put much stock in the ravings of a bunch of drunken reporters. But I do believe there was something mighty fishy going on there. The whole thing stinks to high heaven. I’m not the least bit superstitious. But I do believe that every sign, every symbol, every name, and every place is connected. Every action is part of a larger ritual. And every ritual makes something happen. So…maybe it was actually the Freemasons. What was THEIR motive? The Killing of the King, of course. 

“That’s the only motive the likes of them have ever needed.”

1* SALUTATION
OUTKAST

HEY YA!

https://youtu.be/PWgvGjAhvIw

THE FLAMIN’ GROOVIES

SHAKE SOME ACTION

https://youtu.be/2XXLQozrq1g

CAPTAIN BEEFHEART

DIDDY WAH DIDDY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXXFj5wzLFA

MANNFRED MANN

DO WAH DIDDY DIDDY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43vOAw2sAFU

2*REFERENCE
THE BEST WAY TO LEARN ANYTHING

getpocket.com/explore/item/the-feynman-technique-the-best-way-to-learn-anything  

3*HUMOR
EDITORS

I’d love to see what a modern-day editor would do for (or to) Charles Dickens.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”    

(RE: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” PICK ONE. CAN’T BE BOTH. OR PREFER, “It was both the best and worst of times.” BREAK UP EXTENDED CLAUSE INTO SINGLE SENTENCES.) RE: That last sentence. IT IS INCOMPREHENSIBLE!

“It was both the best and worst of times. Not only was it the age of wisdom, but also of foolishness. Men’s beliefs shaded into incredulity. The light and the darkness contended for primacy.  The winter of despair vied with the spring of hope. We had both everything and nothing before us. We were on an express to both Heaven and Hell. In fact, 1789 was so much like 1859 that you had to either love it or hate it.”

getpocket.com/explore/item/the-feynman-technique-the-best-way-to-learn-anything  

4*NOVELTY
THE PARALLAX VIEW
THE INCREDIBLE MONTAGE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXBkR5bZjvY 
Turn off the sound on this ^ and synchronize this sound with this picture from the beginning>.

ZAL YANOVSKY
LT. SCHTINKHAUSEN
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-TXo1YIl2w&list=RD8-TXo1YIl2w&start_radio=1&t=0   

The two line up amazingly well.   

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
BILL MONROE

COTTON EYED JOE

https://youtu.be/NK2sbpzF0w0

LENA HORNE

GOOD FOR NOTHIN’JOE

https://youtu.be/Dznr7nMmvK4

THE ROCKY FELLERS

KILLER JOE

https://youtu.be/pAlvELZriXY

ETHEL WATERS

HAPPINESS IS A GUY NAMED JOE

https://youtu.be/lFe-blnr4wI

FRANK ZAPPA

FLOWER PUNK

https://youtu.be/_CKUvljDdss

6* DAILY UTILITY
AMERICAN FLAGS 1767-PRESENT

https://datavizblog.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/american-flags.jpg

7*CARTOON
THE CROSS & THE SWITCHBLADE

www.misterkitty.org/extras/stupidcovers/stupidcomics617.html  

8*PRESCRIPTION

FREE ADVICE

Don’t eat free bar snacks. They’re covered in fecal coliform. Because people don’t wash their hands!  

9* RUMOR PATROL
In Vietnamese Pidgin English, “Number ten” means the worst, and “number one” is the best.
books.google.com/books?id=MCn3waJFZBUC&pg=PA39&lpg=PA39&dq=In+Vietnam,+%22Number+ten%22+was+the+best,+and+%22number+one%22+was+the+worst.&source=bl&ots=TysSqg7dEo&sig=ACfU3U2itQzYDYDO9WJgPSQIHuRD7yKhxQ&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiL9tTLprHhAhXLs1kKHX-UD58Q6AEwAHoECAoQAQ#v=onepage&q=In%20Vietnam%2C%20%22Number%20ten%22%20was%20the%20best%2C%20and%20%22number%20one%22%20was%20the%20worst.&f=false

books.google.com/books?id=LaVRAAAAQBAJ&printsec=frontcover&dq=Hope+and+Vanquished+Reality&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiTiYGap7HhAhXP1lkKHR9gCpYQ6AEIKjAA#v=onepage&q=Hope%20and%20Vanquished%20Reality&f=false

10*LAGNIAPPE
LOU REED

LIKE A POSSUM

https://youtu.be/-2aH2kytNks

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

MOVIE REVIEWS IN EXACTLY TEN WORDS
Scent of a Woman:  Blind Colonel sniffs girls, drives car, threatens preppies with flamethrower.
Othello: Lost Snotrag enrages Moor, cooks Desdemona’s goose; jealous employee held.
Superman: Flying alien falls for implausibly affluent reporter; spins world backward.
Batman: Vigilante in bat outfit bests gaudy homicidal clown, gets girl.
Spider-Man: Adolescent shoots sticky fluid from appendages; not a wet dream.
Underdog: Flying Beagle battles mad scientist, impeccably tailored cigar-smoking wolf.
Taxi Driver:  Insomniac cabbie talks to mirror; murders pimp; becomes hero.
A Place in the Sun:  Boy drowns pregnant girlfriend, lusts for Elizabeth Taylor, is fried.  
The Last Temptation of Christ:  Hallucinating nomad preaches peace; is entangled in dice game; dies.
Titanic: Hag bores salvagers with love story; drops sparklers in drink.
Alice in Wonderland:  Girl falls down rabbit hole, ingests ‘shrooms, sees strange critters.
Se7en:  Dante-allergic cop finds pregnant wife’s head in mysterious box.
The Devil’s Advocate:  Demon lawyer fucks hick who gives birth to hick lawyer.
Pretty Woman:  Filthy diseased whore gets cosmetic makeover and marries older rich guy.
The Magnificent Ambersons:  Young man thinks he’s better than everybody, only he’s not.
M*A*S*H:  Smirking bawdy medics give cruel nickname to young army nurse.The Battle of Algiers: Documentary makers demonstrate that Algerian rebels die the darndest deaths. 
Leaving Neverland:  Aging ephebophile outed; outraged superfans condemn film, audience, and victims.
12 Monkeys: Man meets himself as child; however, there’s not enough chimps.

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

FAILED CATCHPHRASES OF YESTERYEAR
Old people belong in hell
I is someone else
Not Your Grandfather’s fascism
Four Roses Logic
Who Said Dat Word Fuck?
Ahoy there, Jesus!
Everything Is Love, Charlie!
Relax, Love, Messiah is Coming
My God I’m Tough
Let Love Be Obeyed
Touche, Douche
There were white slaves too, you know!
My lady boner is set to zero!
Smell My Coke Nail, Booger Boy
Tiger Hand Beats Rock!
My favorite prostitute is your wife
A Bagel With Everything, and step on it!
Show me your famous Rope Trick Mr. Gacy

MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 249 APRIL 2019

MODERN WISDOM

NUMBER 249

APRIL 2019

Copyright 2019 Francis DiMenno

dimenno@gmail.com

http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com  

1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES

SECOND SERIES

701. You have the strength of an ape, but none of its cunning.

702. It took a whole vile age to raise you, child.

703. You ran away to join the circus–and the circus ran away from you.

704. Law-abiding citizens have nothing to fear. But you certainly do.

705. You can’t handle the truth. You can’t even handle the lies.

706. That’s life: you sharpen the pencil and the pencil sharpens your head,

707. The police know you are a criminal with the courage of your convictions.

708. Time is not on your side, and it never will be.

709. You have lost everything. there is no reason you should be here.

710. Your past mistakes have sunk all your future prospects.

711. None of your accumulated wisdom is worth preserving.

712. For now you are killing time. Soon it will be the killing time.

713. O, you are surely a dead man only you don’t know it yet.

714. Weak one, you are doomed in all possible worlds.

715. In your purblind foolhardiness you are deaf to the sound of approaching menace.

716. You make Johnny Rotten look like Sweet Betsy From Pike.

717. Don’t you know they mock you as a little gutter boy?

718. Thank you for being a patsy–but now you must die.

719. Congrats! You have made a fool of yourself in every conceivable way!

720. You are drunk with jealously, and soon you will drown in it.

721. Your continued existence has become increasingly unlikely.

722. It is completely impossible to prove your innocence,

723. Better if you were good; better still if you never existed.

724. Your life is a compromise and you will die in compromising circumstances.

725. People think you’re a fun guy, but only because you’re a weirdo.

726. You were once a good example; now you’re a ghastly warning.

728. You are poor; not a crime, except to your loan shark.

729. You had a heart but now it’s lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry.

730. You are an oaf who thinks himself cunning.

731. True, Hippie, you are a gentle man–but so was Charlie Manson.

732. You were once a well-honed criminal but you have lost your edge.

733. Your so-called friends only care about your money-roll.

734. You’ve gone out of your way to be obliging, only to be cheated.

735. The rich dame is already spoken for and the poor dame won’t let go.

736. When will you learn, card sharp? Never cheat a mobster at Poker.

737. You look like a stupid asshole, and, unfortunately, you are.

738. They hunt you. No rest. But soon–the perfect sleep.

739. You used to be absent-minded but now you are absent a mind.

740. People no longer admire you. they consider you a nuisance. Go away.

741. You are so guilty even Jesus would give you the breeze.

742. You have been up for 24 hours. Soon you’ll be down for 25 years.

743. Bankrupt, all your friends have taken a slight disinterest in you.

744. You are now completely sane…but your problems linger.

745. You needed the money. And now you’ll never stop paying.

746. Animal, you are not superhuman. You are barely subhuman.

747. You have built your criminal foundation on faulty facts.

748. You can’t fool The Brain with your driveling bullshit.

749. Tough guy, you are merely a sheep disguised as a wolf.

750. Of all the lawyers in the world, you had to pick the only honest one.

2. MODERN WISDOM

The Hillbilly Godfather: “Leave the musket. Take the pork rinds.”

When I correct people, it’s because I love accuracy. When people correct me, it’s because they are shallow and pedantic.

Libertarianism is anarchy for shitheads.

In “The Allegory of the Cave,” Plato anticipated television. The internet. And Facebook. Because, Plato.

Christians arrogantly presume they’re on a first-name basis with the Son of God. Shouldn’t they refer to Him as “MISTER Christ?”

I am frightened and repulsed by these young whippersnappers and their weaking chatter about “fairness” and “equality”. Let ’em all suffer like I did!

People in the future are always appalled at how savages in the past would poison, mutilate, and delude themselves.

Dear one-friend-in-common folks on Facebook: I am not interested in befriending needy prostitutes. Sorry.

I got me a sticker for MY bumper. It says I HAVE NO CHILDREN AND MY LIFE IS MEANINGLESS SO GO AHEAD AND RUN ME OFF THE FUCKING ROAD.

Advice for the Ladies: Get pregnant by the Dashing Rogue. Then marry the Reliable Guy.

All this talk about repulsive freaks–why no love for the handsome, good-looking freak?  I suppose that every time a bell was rung, Pavlov’s cat sucked the breath out of a baby.

 3.                                                     HIGH SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL

A PLAY IN ONE ACT

BY FRANCIS DI MENNO

I-a

SCENE ONE: Mag’s office. Noon.

SCENE TWO: Mag’s office. One PM.

SCENE THREE: Mag’s home. 5:30PM.

1-I-i

                                                                                                SCENE ONE

(MAG, a dark brunette of medium height, clearly in her late 20s, is seated in her office cubicle, pen in hand, looking at the telephone. Her dark blue jacket hangs on a nearby coat hook. She is clearly agitated. She stares vacantly into space, tapping the pen on her desk. Finally, her hand trembling slightly, she dials the phone with the eraser tip of a pencil.)

MAG

Hello. Could I please speak to Joan LaLonge. Reception….Yes, I would. Could you please have her call Mag Dozorwac? D…O…Z…no, wait, just tell her it’s Mag. She’ll know who it is. …She knows the number. …No, it’s nothing urgent….Thank you very much. Bye now.

(She hangs up and dials 411.)

Wilmington, Mass. Interleaf. Shipping department. Thank you.               

                                                                                                (She hangs up and dials.)

Hello. Could I speak to Skip? Skip. Skip Wharton. Oh. When are you expecting him?…Uh-huh. Uh-huh.…O…K. No, that’s OK….No. Are you expecting him?…OK…No. No message. Thank you.  

(She hangs up the phone and dials another number. She lets the phone ring eight times, moving her lips on each ring.)

Come on, Skip. Pick up.

(She finally hangs up by pressing her finger on the button. She dials another number. Waits. Talks into an answering machine.)

Hi, Mom? Listen, I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to come down this weekend. I’ll call ya back around six to let ya know. Love ya. Bye.

(She presses her finger on the button and puts the telephone hook back on its cradle. She sits expectantly, idly shuffling papers. The telephone rings.)

MAG     

Boston Re. How may I direct your call? Oh—Joanie! Pretty good. Listen, you’re never gonna believe who I ran into last night. Skip. Skip. Skip! Didn’t I ever tell you about Skip? High school. Yeah, a couple months.

                                                                                                (She adjusts the phone.)

2-I-ii

                                                                                                MAG

I don’t believe I never told you! Yeah—him! Remember I told you about him when we were in college? Naah. He never went. Yeah, he was. Mr. Big Shot. Freshman year. Yeah, he came down in September. He had that mustache. Yeah, that was him. That’s right. I never saw him after that. He’s just gotten married. Some truck stop waitress of somethin’. No…I haven’t seen him in over ten years. At the Club. The one on Brookline Street. The one with the Teddy bears. He was with somebody. No, somebody he just met. Yeah. He bought me a drink and then SHE said she wanted to get over to Man Ray. Yeah, I could just see him in Man Ray! No, I didn’t go. Then he called. I don’t know how he got my number….But how did he even know I live in Meffuh? Could be. Might have been. Well, he works out in Wilmington. I think he lives out on the North Shore, I dunno, I didn’t ask him, I should of. Yeah, it’s funny that he knew who I was. He said I haven’t changed one bit. You think he would have changed, but he didn’t. He was always kind of wild lookin’. You know what we used to call him in high school? Charlie. As in Charlie Manson…because that’s the way he would look atcha. Yeah, I went to the reunion. Naah, he wouldn’t go to something like that. I heard he lost his job over at Tweeter. For stealin’ equipment, is what I heard.   Mom told me. She said he was livin’ in Seekonk. No, I don’t know why he moved. You ask him! I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it. Mom’s OK. Yeah, yeah. Dad’s real sick. Uh-huh. I hope not. I been down there every week. Uh-huh. I been tellin’ them they oughtta move out of there. That neighborhood’s getting’ bad. No, they don’t live on the East Side. They live in East Providence. No, not yet. I left a message. How’s yours…really? That’s too bad. Skip’s parents got divorced. He wasn’t even livin’ at home. His mother threw him out. He was livin’ with his buddies in some dump off of Dexter Road. Sixty bucks a month. I don’t even know how he managed to graduate high school. Yeah, right next to the projects. I don’t know. Selling dope, probably. Not only that, but the place is filthy. Yeah. That’s what I called to tell you about. We went out last night. Huh? Yeah, I can hold.

(She taps her nails on the desk in a staccato motion. A strand of her hair has fallen loose from her bun and she tucks it back in.)

MAG

Hello? Joanie? Can you talk now? OK. Twenty minutes. I’m on my break. Sure. Sure. Bye now.

(MAG hangs up. She suddenly looks very unhappy. She looks at her watch. She seems torn. Should she stay at her desk in case she gets a call? Finally, she takes her purse and jacket from where they are hanging on the coat hook, folds her jacket over her arm, methodically, so as not to wrinkle it, and leaves her desk.)

BLACK OUT.

3-II-i

                                                                                                SCENE TWO

(MAG is sitting at her desk, looking at her watch. She                         takes a round, hand-sized mirror from her purse and examines her lips. She glides a fingernail across her top lip, then wipes away the lipstick with a tissue. She puts the mirror and the crumpled-up tissue in her purse and dials the phone.)

MAG

Can I speak to Joan LaLonge? Yes,  I’ll hold.

(Fifteen seconds pass. MAG takes the tissue out of her purse, wipes under her nail, and puts the tissue on her desk.)

MAG

Hi, Joan? Don’t they ever give you a break over there? You did? No, I wasn’t. I had to run out and get some aspirin. No, it’s usually pretty quiet. Ever since that Bhopal thing. They laid off a lot of people. Gary tried to tell them. “No nukes, no pharms.” But the boss’s son thought he could pick up the risk. I’ve been with them for a long time, so they didn’t want to let me go. Remember that cute guy, that telex operator? He used to come by and ask me to read Gary’s handwriting. I read him his horoscope. He said he didn’t believe in horoscopes. Capricorn. Typical. Virgo. It would have never worked out. Yeah, I still read his in the paper. He was nice. He was interested in the French girl. No, she graduated and quit. Her father’s a professor. Are you busy? Uh-huh. Are you sure? I can always call you back. No, not much. Gary’s out. It seems as though they keep me around because I’m the only one who can read his writing. He just had a granddaughter. We’ll have to start calling him Gramps. No, he’s funny. Yeah. I wanted to tell you about Skip. Skip! You know! Hey, ‘member that time I told you about us going to that motel? Uh-huh. NO! He would of KILLED him! My Dad has a temper like you wouldn’t believe. First time I brought Skip home, he actually showed him his shotgun! Dad looked so disappointed. Like he lost his only friend. I couldn’t stand to see him lookin’ at me like that. Yeah…Well, it wasn’t very funny at the time.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  (Laughing}

I knew we were going to get together, though. I did. But wait’ll I tell you what happened. Oh, I’m out of it, I don’t know how I’m going to make it though the rest of the afternoon.

                                                                                                (Yawning)

Maybe I can skip out a little early. Gary’s not here. He’s the boss.  I’m always early and I never take any sick days.

4-II-ii

                                                                                                MAG

Anyway, here’s the story.

(She speaks the next two sentences in a rising intonation.)

I met him at the club? I said we oughta get together?

                                                                                                (She teases her loose strand of hair.)

No, I don’t remember giving him my number. Maybe I mentioned that I lived in Meffuh. No, he didn’t tell me where he was living. I didn’t ask him to call. I’m sure I said something like, “why don’t we get together, talk about old times?” So the next day he calls me. What was I gonna do? Oh God, I don’t even know where to start. Well, first, we went to my place. We had highballs. That’s what he calls them. I know I don’t. Just this once. He wanted to see some movie. I told him I already saw it, even though I didn’t. I hate Rambo. I just hate it, that’s all. So we went to this terrible place. The Shell Club. I dunno, maybe it was The Wagon Wheel. It was just like bein’ in high school all over again. He was always taking me to these dumps like The Sportsman’s Grille. I mean, really?  Full of…what do they call ‘em—one-eyed hillbillies.  Wait, wait. What? Yeah, I can hold.

                                                                                                (Ten seconds go by. MAG taps her pen.)

Joanie, honey, listen. They had this band? I dunno, Johnny Scumbag or something like that. I about died! I was all dressed up and everybody else was wearing jeans. We were about the only ones who didn’t come in a pick-up truck. The band was wearing lumberjack shirts. People were throwing stuff. It was awful. He was having a great time. I kept telling him I wanted to go and he kept saying lemme finish my drink and then he’d order another one. Somebody threw a shot glass through the drum. I got beer all over my dress. So finally I got him out of there. I said, “What do you think I am, one of your bimbos?” I said if you don’t go home right now I would leave by myself. So we left. I wanted him to drop me off. No way! So, you know what we ended up doing. No, not that. We went to my place and we played hearts. Until three in the morning. Well, then he wanted to stay over and I told him I had to go to work in the morning. He said he’d fix me breakfast. Can you believe that? He kept hollering for a washcloth. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Ask his mother. Next morning he grabs me. Hello would have been nice. He was sittin’ there, drinkin’ coffee, not saying anything. And I asked him, “What kind of relationship do you want?” And he looks at me for a minute and then he changes the subject like he doesn’t know what I’m talkin’ about. Then he starts telling me about his Uncle who has a fruit stand and how he used to keep a monkey because it made people good to see a monkey around all those banana only bananas were the one fruit the monkey wouldn’t eat.  And then, right out of the blue, he says that back in high school he knew I had a crush on his best friend because he saw me kissin’ him in the stairwell and that’s why we broke up. No! I had no idea what he was talking about. And then he tells me he went to see a gypsy fortune teller and she told him how he was going to die. She said that he would “die at the peak of his powers.” Yuck. So by that time I wanted to get him out of there, so I said, Skip, listen, let’s get together tonight and let’s talk about it, and then I told him I had to go to work and he said he was sick and could he just lie down for awhile and what could I say? So I was getting’ dressed to go and he says, “What’ll we do tonight? Let’s go to Canobie Lake Park!” And I’m like, what?

5-II-iii

                                                                                                MAG

So I’m like, no, I’m going down to Seekonk to visit my parents and he looks at me like he thinks I’m lyin’ to him and then he says, “The new roller coaster is the balls!” and I told him not to use that expression around me. He thinks he’s talking to one of his poker buddies! Well, he goes in the bedroom and lays down and I was going to ask him why he drinks so much but I already know the answer, it’s because his old lady’s an alcoholic and he takes after her, only God forbid you should ever use the word “Alcoholic,” y’know? I mean, I know. My dad, y’know? Only he doesn’t any more. He’s been sick. He still keeps all the empties in the cellar. Old newspapers. Mom’s been trying to get him to throw it all out. My brother keeps all his weights down there. He likes to go down in the cellar with his buddies and lift weights and play blackjack and listen to AC/DC. Yeah…

                                                                                                (Laughing.)

And then they drink beer and admire themselves in the mirror!

                                                                                                (Long pause.)

I don’t know. That’s a good question. I called my home phone number and nobody picked up, so maybe he left. Or maybe he was sleeping. REALLY? You think he wants to settle in? Oh God, I can see it now. Potatoes, gravy stovetop stuffing, you call this dinner, rub my back, have a drink, we’ll watch TV, what, you never used to turn down a drink. “Let go of all your tensions.” That Infinite master of timeless love routine. What a fake. King of the phonies.

                                                                                                (Long pause.)

You are? I have to get that sweater. Anyway, I don’t want to have to take care of a sick little puppy. Huh? Three minutes. And that’s bein’ generous. Squeak squeak squeak and done.

                                                                                                (Long pause)

Did I tell you about when we was goin’ together in high school? Yeah, The Prom. He took me to this horrible motel. The night man was laughin’. He stole the towels. Oh no, his place was even worse. I wouldn’t go there. Mice. Mattress on the floor. Dust balls. So we went to this cheap motel in Woonsocket. I was in a cold sweat. And then we did it….Well, let me just say that we could of rented the room by the minute!

                                                                                                (Laughing)

I don’t think he’s still there. I hope not. Listen, Hon, I better get back to work. Call ya later. Right. Talk to you then. Right. Take care.

(She presses the button down on the phone, quietly puts the hook back on the cradle, opens a bottle of aspirin tablets, and swallows three of them dry.)

BLACK OUT.

6-III-i

                                                                                                SCENE THREE

(MAG is in the kitchen of her apartment, seated at a   small blue kitchen table.)

MAG

Hello, Joanie? Ohh, no. I’m OK. Yeah, he finally left. Just now. I don’t know what he did all day. Well, I told him I was going down and see my Mom. I gotta call her and tell her. No, I told her around six. Yeah, I COULD get down there in about an hour, maybe, if I left at seven, but by then it would be dark. Well, I told him he had to go because I was going to see my Mom, and he said, “Well, you do what you want.” Which is what he used to say when we were going together in high school, only what he really meant was “You do what I WANT.” And he gave me this look. I was scared of him for a minute. I told you what they used to call him in high school. Yeah, Charlie Manson. How’d you know? I told you? My dad never did like him. Not one bit. When I first brought him home, Dad had this horrible look on his face. Like he was living in his worst nightmare. He just looked so old. That’s the same night we went to the hotel. They had this ugly yellow lamp in the lobby with this filthy yellow lampshade. Butts in the potted plants. The whole place was filthy dirty. Everything about it. I wanted to die. I can still see the night man’s face. His yellow teeth.

                                                                                                (Annoyed)

Yeah, I’m OK. No, he didn’t make any trouble. I told him my father was sick. He said that’s too bad. No….He just turned around and left. No, I don’t care. I’m kinda tored. I gotta fix dinner. You know how you get them stomach ulcers. You’re drinkin’ coffee at work all day and then you go home, and you’re, uh….

                                                                                                (She clears her throat.)

Yeah, you start drinkin’. And that makes it worse. It’s like a rolley coaster.

                                                                                                (Long pause.)

That’s a very good idea, because if he left something behind he’ll make some excuse to come back. Well, he left some gin.

                                                                                                (Long pause.)

I was watchin’ him pull out of the driveway, he was backin’ out real slow, then all of a sudden he hits the gas and he dug up all the gravel. …Yeah, I guess. I guess I would if he called. I know he isn’t any good! I know! He’s never gonna straighten out. He’s thirty years old and he’s a shipping clerk over at Interleaf, or that’s what he says, only I don’t think he’s even a clerk…he probably works on the loading dock. Well, I called there and asked for them and they didn’t even know who he was….Yeah, let’s get together. It’s not something I want to talk about over the phone. I wanted to scream. Then I wanted to run after him. Yeah, I know it’s bad. I need to talk to someone….Oh God, she’s got enough to worry about. Yeah, I’ll tell her you said hi. I’ll call you on Sunday. No, I’m fine! Don’t worry, I will. Don’t worry, we will. Sunday.

7-III-ii

(MAG hangs up, frowning. She picks up the nearly empty bottle of gin, pours a drink in a water glass, and sips it down with a perplexed frown.)

BLACK OUT.

THE INFORMATION #1039 APRIL 5, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1039 APRIL 5, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Things do not change; we change.–Thoreau

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART FIFTY-SIX: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

“Mawny, Mawny, Mawny, what ARE we going to do with you? I need to tell you,” said Glen Phillips to Billy Batchelder Tallent, “That you may be smart…but not smart enough. No common sense.”

“Huh,” said young Master Tallent. “Common sense is what dumb people use as an excuse to make you feel stupid.”

“Well, it has truly been said that common sense isn’t very common,” said Glen Phillips, in a jovially soothing tone of voice. “Was that Voltaire? Anyway, I’m sure you’re regarded as quite trig in your own home town. Quite the swanky jew. I doubt you miss a trick. I have no doubt that you know how the game is played amongst the backwoodsmen and hill folk. I’ll bet that after a hard day of shootin’ varmints you come home to a modest little supper of eggs, cornbread, jelly, preserves, pork chops, red-eye gravy, potted cheese, and plenty of butter, plus cake and pie for dessert. Well, let me tell you something–a self-respecting city man would never sit down to a banquet like that–unless he was known as a professional glutton. Hereabouts, as the saying goes, we don’t live to eat–we eat to live. That’s one major difference between us and them. We’re not stupid from staring at a mule’s ass from the vantage point of a two-wheeled sulky-plow. If we grow anything at all, we grow flowers–in a window box. But most of us don’t even take that much trouble. Why should we, when you can buy fresh-cut flowers practically anywhere you go? And we don’t slaughter our own hogs, or make our own bread, or harvest our own crops, unless we’re in that line of work. We buy our grub at the butcher’s and the baker’s and the general store. Why should we get our hands dirty? People in these parts don’t die from picking poison mushrooms, and we can buy all kinds of exotic treats that you rebels never even heard of, like bananas and chocolate bars. And we don’t hunt for food–we hunt for sport. 

“You see, Mawny, you’re in the north now. The kind of wisdom and know-how you can expect to learn from a farmer or a trapper or an old black mammy isn’t respected as much as where you’re from. Up north, we hire people to do the dirty work. Your version of ‘common sense’ doesn’t make any sense at all north of the Mason-Dixon line. Most city folks don’t give a red-hot damn about horses. We use street-cars to get around. Or we go on foot. If you want to thrive hereabouts, you need to know the ins and outs of how the game is played. Why do you think the schoolmasters here at the Manor are so strict? Do you think they take joy at pushing striplings around? Well, maybe some do. But if so, they are deficient men. No–most of the good teachers push you because they know that someday you’ll be grown, and burdened with a wife and kiddies, and the boss will come around and say he doesn’t like the cut of your jib. What are you going to do when that happens–and you can bet it will. Are you going to fall to pieces? Not if you’re a Stropmuth Manor boy, you won’t. I tell you Mawny, if you can make it through four years of this hell, ain’t nothing going to bother you. But if you’re going to make good, and someday be a head boy, or maybe even the valedictorian, then you have got to learn the way they do things in these parts. 

“You remind me of two other boys who passed through here. There was poor, hapless Andy Tump. He was the most timid country younker you ever did see, with a straw mop of blonde hair–you could practically pick the hay seeds out of it! And he was terrified of all the teachers and the monks–particularly Mr. von Linger, the German teacher. Dear God, how he used to make poor Andy jump! Nothing that Tump could do was ever good enough to satisfy von Linger. Why, one time, he asked Andy to say the word “I” in German, and, instead of saying “Ich,” Andy said “Ick.” You should have seen von Linger go off! Like fireworks! “Tump!” he shouted. “You IDIOT!” And he threw a piece of chalk at Andy’s head. Luckily it missed him. Instead, it hit the blackboard and crumbled into a cloud of dust–that’s how hard he threw it at poor Andy’s head. Well, after that particular incident, Tump was a gibbering wreck–and who could blame him? He didn’t come back for the fourth form year. Y’see, his problem was that he had no finesse. He was simply never trained in how to learn the ropes. All he really had to do is repeat after von Linger everything he said. But von Linger frightened him. You don’t get to meet too many Prussian aristocrats in the big stick country. And besides, Tump had another problem. He smelled. He wasn’t any too fond of washing, is what it was. I guess that back in his neck of the woods, a bath was a semiannual occasion. No matter how much we tried, we never could impress on him the simple fact that he had to wash himself every day. He got so ripe that this one time, in the Spring, we picked him up and threw him in the bay, clothes and all. 

“I’m sorry now that we were so mean to poor old Tump, but that just goes to show that even the kindest and best-intentioned people will lose patience pretty damn quick with a stubborn coot who simply will not do what he’s told. When you’re a big man, you get to make your own rules, it’s true. But when you’re not, you’ve got to learn to toe the line. You’ve got to learn all the written rules you can safely ignore, and all the unwritten rules you simply can’t ignore. That’s all a part of growing up. Of course, even worse is the fellow who knows all the rules, but is determined to follow his own set of standards and not listen to anybody else.

“Now, having standards is all very well and good, but you have got to be able to fit in. That’s what people who hire you for a job of work are going to want to know. Not, can you do the work so much–they can train you to do that. No, they want to know if you’re going to fit in. Because if you don’t, or you won’t, or you can’t, then they’re going to drop you like a hot potato. We had a fellow here who was kind of like that. His name was Roger Sylvester Yager. He might of had a number after his name, I don’t know. He was an unreconstructed rebel. He’d have you know that he was from one of the first families of Virginia. If so, they never taught him what a whole lot of nines were. Of course, we called him Sylvester, which used to drive him wild. He wanted to go by ‘Reb,’ or some other idiotic handle. Unlike Andy Tump, he was no dummy. But the fact of the matter is, he was just a little too smart for his own good. Thought he could openly flout all the rules. Got into fights for no reason at all. In general, comported himself like a little Lord. Pretty much openly said that he didn’t give a damn about nothing or nobody. Now, that sort of behavior might have passed muster in East Jesus, Virginia, but not hereabouts. The more Yager swanned around like he was something special, the more of a hard time we gave him. He got woken up of a midnight on plenty of occasions. Ice-cold water has a tendency to work wonders in that line. One time we even put a skunk in his room. Well, Sir, that’s what did it. He left for Christmas break on the first train smokin’–and he never did come back.

“Now, Mawny–I’m not saying all of your countrymen are either dunces or hotheads. But around here, why, they’ve cultivated a certain reputation, and, if you;’re going to stay the course, you’d be well-advised to not follow in their footsteps. Use a little of that old…uncommon sense.”

1* SALUTATION

WISH I WAS A SINGLE GIRL AGAIN

BLOOD ON THE SADDLE
https://youtu.be/lIb4VWhBReI
ROSCOE HOLCOMB

https://youtu.be/ojFVnBOsRzU
EVA CASSIDY

https://youtu.be/_ec9NpzYcDY

2*REFERENCE
Lost Titles, Forgotten Rhymes:
How to Find a Novel, Short Story, or Poem Without Knowing its Title or Author

https://www.loc.gov/rr/program/bib/lost/poems.html

3*HUMOR
AMERICA FUCK YEAH!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7R5A0pg4oN8&fbclid=IwAR3RqkD2WcsMev_xrUHrXTelUHLSFi_hcMfltiQtAXVAy609fzXD_Vq_630

4*NOVELTY
NAZI BAGELS
www.washingtonpost.com/history/2019/03/25/german-billionaire-family-that-owns-einstein-bros-bagels-admits-nazi-past/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
WOMAN ATTACKED AND KILLED BY OWN PIT BULLS OUTSIDE ANIMAL HOSPITAL

https://www.boston25news.com/news/trending-now/woman-attacked-killed-by-own-pit-bull-dogs-outside-animal-hospital/933988353

6* DAILY UTILITY
HOW TO COOK BEANS

https://cooking.nytimes.com/guides/21-how-to-cook-beans?utm_source=Facebook_Paid&utm_medium=social&utm_content=Guides&utm_campaign=kwp&kwp_0=156744&fbclid=IwAR1d_wMwRRDr5uN4f2bBSG9Y1kFywcUnMc_8swrTRM8QbOx_2XwQQ4Gg6m0

7*CARTOON
THE MEANING OF SUPERHERO COMICS

https://zodml.org/sites/default/files/%5BTerrence_R._Wandtke%5D_The_Meaning_of_Superhero_Com.pdf

8*PRESCRIPTION

FOOD HISTORY TIMELINE

http://www.foodreference.com/html/html/yearonlytimeline.html  

9* RUMOR PATROL
CONSPIRACY THEORIES CAN’T BE STOPPED

“Summoning — and demonizing — the belief in conspiracies can also have political consequences. “During the Bush Administration, the left was going fucking bonkers … about 9/11 and Halliburton and Cheney and Blackwater and all this stuff,” Uscinski said. “As soon as Obama won they didn’t give a shit about any of that stuff anymore. They did not care. It was politically and socially inert.” In turn, conspiracy theories about Obama flourished on the right. Uscinski said he is frustrated by this tendency for partisans to build up massive conspiracy infrastructures when they are out of power, only to develop a sudden amnesia and deep concern about the conspiracy mongering behavior of the other side once power is restored. It’s a cycle, he said that threatened to make social science a tool of partisan slapfights more than a standard of truth. And in a 2017 paper, he argued that conspiracy beliefs could even be useful parts of the democratic process, calling them “tools for dissent used by the weak to balance against power.”
fivethirtyeight.com/features/conspiracy-theories-cant-be-stopped/  

10*LAGNIAPPE
JOAN CRAWFORD VS. THE CORLEONES
Joan Crawford is hard to beat:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BcWBknYCZk

Of course, sometimes she went just a little too far:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqM1ttqNA9k

Fredo Corleone is pretty weak.  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2X9E9n6GHC8

Moe Greene comes on strong. But where is he now?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DZNDEqcSi0&t=4s

Speaking of greaseballs:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPmTp9up26w

Nothing quite like wakin’ up with a dead prostitute in your bed!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=im3vHOEm-r4

Well, bonus points go to Joan for sheer effort. But if you favor more subtle effects, I think the Corleones win it.

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

FOUND POETRY

Spring is here
Sun is out
Share a Big Mac
With friend or spouse
(Poem written on a McDonald’s bulletin board in downtown Pittsburgh ca. 1974.)

 *11A  BOOKS READ AND RATED

50 PHILOSOPHY IDEAS YOU REALLY NEED TO KNOW. DUPRE. ****1/2

ALT-RIGHT. WENDLING. ****

AMAZING SPIDER-MAN. RED GOBLIN. ***1/2

AMERICAN DISCONTENT. CAMPBELL. ****1/2

ANT MAN & THE WASP: LOST AND FOUND. ***1/2

THE ANTIFA COMIC BOOK. HILL. ***1/2

AVENGERS ACADEMY 1. THE COMPLETE COLLECTION. ****

AVENGERS ACADEMY 2. THE COMPLETE COLLECTION. ****

BATGIRL YEAR ONE. ***1/2

BATMAN: THE GOLDEN AGE 4. ***

BATMAN: THE GOLDEN AGE 5. ***

BATMAN: WHITE KNIGHT. ****

BATMAN 6. BRIDE OR BURGLAR? KING. ****

BATMAN TMNT ADVENTURES: THE TERROR OF THE KRAANG. **

BERLIN. LUTES. ****1/2

BLACK PANTHER 1. THE INTERGALACTIC EMPIRE PART 1. ***1/2
BLOOM. PANETTA & GAMATHEAU. ***1/2

THE BOOK OF GENERAL IGNORANCE. LLOYD & MITCHINSON. ***1/2

CAPTAIN MARVEL: PRELUDE. ***
CAPTAIN MARVEL 1. HIGHER FURTHER FASTER MORE. ***1/2

CHLORINE GARDENS. ROBERTS. ***

CICADA. TAN. ****

A CLASH OF KINGS: THE GRAPHIC NOVEL. MARTIN. ****

COYOTES 1 & 2. ***DINOSAURS: FOSSILS & FEATHERS. REED & FLOOD. ***1/2

FENCE 2. PACAT. ***1/2

FLYING MACHINES: HOW THE WRIGHT BROTHERS SOARED. WILGUS & BROOKS. ****

FORM OF A QUESTION. ROSTAN. ****

FULLY COHERENT PLAN FOR A NEW & BETTER SOCIETY. SHIPLEY. ****1/2

GIRL TOWN. NOWAK. ***

THE GRAPHIC CANON OF CRIME & MYSTERY 1. KICK, ED. ****

HARLEY LOVES JOKER. DINI. ***1/2

HEDY LAMARR: AN INCREDIBLE LIFE. ROY & DORANGE. ****
IF IGNORANCE IS BLISS… LLOYD & MITCHINSON. ****1/2

INFINITY WARS. ***

INJUSTICE 2. VOLUME 2. ****

INSTANT GENIUS: SMART MOUTHS. ****

JUDGE DREDD CLASSICS: THE DARK JUDGES. ***

JUSTICE LEAGUE DARK 1: THE LAST AGE OF MAGIC. ***1/2

THE LIFE OF CAPTAIN MARVEL. ***

MACHETE SQUAD. DULAK. ***1/2

MANDELA & THE GENERAL. CARLIN & MALET. ****1/2

MISTER MIRACLE. KING & GERADS. ****

NIGHTWING 7. THE BLEEDING EDGE. ***1/2

NON-CONFORMITY: WRITING ON WRITING. ALGREN. ****1/2

THE PERINEUM TECHNIQUE. RUPPERT & MULOT. ***1/2

THE RED & THE BLUE. KORNACKI. ****

ROYAL CITY 2. LEMIRE. ****1/2

SAGA 9. STAPLES & VAUGHN. ****

THE SECOND BOOK OF GENERAL IGNORANCE. LLOYD & MITCHINSON. ***1/2

SECRET AGENT DEADPOOL. ***1/2   

SHOWTIME AT THE APOLLO. FOX & SMITH. ****

SIDE SHOW. BONE. ****
SOLAR SYSTEM: OUR PLACE IN SPACE, MOSCO & CHAD. ***1/2

THE SONS OF EL TOPO. JADOROWSKY & LADRONN. ****1/2

SPIDER-MAN/DEADPOOL 7. MY TWO DADS. ***

THE SPOOR OF SPOOKS & OTHER NONSENSE. EVANS. ****

A STORY ABOUT CANCER… DESJARDINS & FERRER. ***1/2

THE STRANGE CAREER OF JIM CROW. WOODWARD. ****

SUICIDE SQUAD: HELL TO PAY. ***1/2

SUPER CHILL. ELLIS. ***1/2

SUPERMAN: THE UNITY SAGA: PHANTOM EARTH. BENDIS. ****

TYLER CROSS. NURY & BRUNO. ****1/2

VON SPATZ. HAIFISCH. ***1/2

WEST COAST AVENGERS 1. BEST COAST. ***1/2

WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED? CHANDLER. ***1/2

WONDER WOMAN/CONAN. ***1/2

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURETHE WORST PARTY PEOPLEThe asshole who throws a bottle into the middle of a crowd then runs away.  
The new breed of scumbag who can’t fight without a weapon.  
Dude who comes out of the shitter without washing his hands and sticks his filthy paws in the peanut bowl.  
The fellow who puts a live goldfish in the ladies’ toilet and snickers when they all hold their water because nobody wants to flush Goldie down the commode.  
The drunk guy who thinks he took a shit in a golden toilet but it actually turned out to be your tuba.

THE INFORMATION #1038 MARCH 29, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1038 MARCH 29, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

As a remedy to life in society I would suggest the big city. Nowadays, it is the only desert within our means.–Camus

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIREBOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART FIFTY-FIVE: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

“Yeah, bo, go to heaven, go to hell, but just do SOMETHING! I’ve been to a few places in my short life,” said Glen Phillips to Billy Batchelder Tallent, “but I’ll tell you what–Noxtown has them all beat for sheer–I don’t know–je ne sais quoi. Now, lookie here, Mawny, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that folks who live in the big city are all dyed-in-the-wool cut-throat cynics like me. Let’s look on the bright side for a minute. What’s the city got that the country ain’t? Well, there are plenty of unexpected advantages to city life. Like ice. And the ice-cold ice-man. Just think of it–ice cold ice–just about any time you want it, you can buy it from the man, and he’ll bring it up to your flat, and when it’s hot out you can take it right out of the ice box. And if you want ice cream, there’s a pharmacy on every corner. You want coal, there’s the coal man. You want a bow-tie, you can go to Trench and Snook and forget about waiting on the Monkey-Ward Catalog to send you one. Yes, life in the city is fine. If you got money, it is especially fine–salubrious, even. Why, I hear they even have indoor plumbing in some of the sweller joints. Of course, there’s the problem of sewer gas, and rats coming out of your toilet. Oh well.

“Like anywhere else, there are a great many people in the city both good and bad. But the big city seems to bring out the craziness in some people. I’ve lived there long enough to see it with my own eyes. Out in the big stick country, if you walk down a strange road you may be confronted by some high-spirited youths who might invite you to wrassle with the biggest of ’em, but they are usually good-natured creatures who mean you no harm. But in the city–there’s where you’ve got to watch your step. Roving gangs of B’hoys are usually up to no good, and will do you an injury if you don’t watch your step. You will see altercations on the trolleys between angry colored ladies who resent being shoved and lumbering white men who resent being lectured. It’s not like down south, where colored ladies who give you lip are considered amusing and are mostly tolerated. Up here, the colored man has also been known to express himself against the white citizenry by using certain choice words. You must steel yourself to let it pass. Up north, the black man is free. Or so we are told.

“All the best people come to the big city–either to visit, or to put down roots. Also, some of the very worst. Nowhere else outside of a circus or a funeral are you going to find such a mix. You can go to an ice cream social in the afternoon, a book club in the early evening, a play at 8:05, and a swell dinner party after the final curtain, and then embark upon a slum expedition down by the waterfront, where you can hear flute music and dance an Irish jig with sodden dock wallopers and and disreputable wharf rats, and, if you escape with your life, you can go to bed at about the time the red-eyed sun comes peering up over the painful blue horizon, having lived and experienced more in one day than most country younkers know in a month of Sundays. You see, the City is a enormous swirling cauldron. Bean soup? It’s been soup long enough….Err…that’s a joke.”

Billy laughed. He felt it was only polite. Even though the jest was a ‘groaner’ that had penetrated by then to even the furthest backwoods.

“Like I just said, in one night alone you can meet more people than you would meet in a whole lifetime if you stayed in that little horse-trough village of yours. You can walk down the main street of Noxtown in broad daylight and see a swaggering yekkman casually assault a toff wearing a top hat and a monocle. You can see a leering brown-eyed taffy and a drunken sailor fighting over the dubious favors of a blood-mouthed soiled dove who is either just a day over sixteen or just a day under thirty–who can tell? You can see ragged Holy Joe the sky pilot, looking like a black-robed scarecrow with his turned-in white collar, holding down the fort in a public park, damning the sinners and describing crimes so despicable and using imagery so lurid that if he tried to stage it as a melodrama the Decency League would run him out of town.  And on the other side of the park, looking like a hobo, you’ll see Red John, standing on a soapbox and decrying the capitalist system in such a reasoned tone of voice you might take him for a college professor, which he is, or used to be, until he got caught being a bit too intimate with some choice portions of the student body. You might see a stolid fat Dutchman standing in his tenement doorway a-puffing away at his pipe while two filth-encrusted brutes try their very best to murder each other over a trip, a stumble, a collision,or some other imaginary insult. You’ll see the policeman on the beat, no better than he has to be, and often a great deal worse, whose formula for dealing with a ruffian or a vagabond is a lick of the old truncheon on the knee or elbow–never the head–he’s wise to that breeze–many of these brutes wear thick linings in their hats to offset the cudgel. On one street you’ll see the whining schoolboy, dragging his books along with a book strap, and one street over from that you’ll see a gutter urchin begging in the most piteous voice imaginable for a penny from the swell-looking women passing by–knowing that if he doesn’t lay hold of about five of ’em so he can rush the growler, his old man will beat him half to death. In one office you’ll see the captain of industry, barking orders at his scriveners and secretaries, and in another office in the back you’ll see at his desk bearing a crow-quill pen a shabbily dressed, superannuated clerk who looks as though he’s ready at any time to breathe his last but who still has it in him to make one, final, terminal effort to earn his crust. You can go to a Gentleman’s club and see a rich man in a tux preening like a haughty bronzed Apollo, while, holding the door open for him, you’ll encounter the sorriest looking scar-faced gargoyle in all Christendom. Where else but in the city can you walk across town for hours, and, if you keep your ears open, pick up on about twenty distinct languages, accents, and dialects?

“Some people swear by the Grand European tour, but I tell you Mawny–the Big City–there’s MY meat!”  

1* SALUTATION

CLEO BROWN

LOOKIE LOOKIE LOOKIE (HERE COMES COOKIE)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ytLOWfyTqs&feature=share  

2*REFERENCE
TOPSY AS “TRANSGRESSIVE MIMIC”

https://books.google.com/books?id=1-U1Mjz0XWsC&pg=PA130&lpg=PA130&dq=TOPSY+TRANSGRESSIVE+FIGURE&source=bl&ots=1n21juFyP7&sig=ACfU3U3VyymNvRuuzdqp20SXHVynGLdUCg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiU07-5oJHhAhVOuVkKHVkfBHQQ6AEwCXoECAgQAQ#v=onepage&q=TOPSY%20TRANSGRESSIVE%20FIGURE&f=false

ALSO SEE:

https://imgprx.livejournal.net/39579b556d88a1fb67e474d0e8813600f5f39194/dHz19lIJL6C-3fcv-P3YbaQF07W8Xyiuc_WFU-T7yjI4Z6GWrWf9l_yMRoLKIt0ZoeF01nadQoej_E7z6sXCNzEyDQHPiNROhwvWfcHs-cA

https://www.avisca.com/v/vspfiles/photos/aw_XU_uncletomscabin_740-2.jpg

http://utc.iath.virginia.edu/xml/media/films/figures/fiar169b.jpg

3*HUMOR
EUGENE TEAL

FROGS SUNDAY FUNNIE

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10156950155160782&set=a.136249865781&type=3&theater

ALSO SEE:
JAY LYNCH: THE FINAL INTERVIEW
http://www.tcj.com/jay-lynch-the-final-interview/?fbclid=IwAR0YDbWL-YcVuyETePpWAab4qkofpVLNr64ZbNAw7JWC0UzxVxCKwfcYkLo 

4*NOVELTY
THE BEANO (1974)
archive.org/details/TheBeano1974

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
SODA INCREASES HEART ATTACK RISK

https://www.inverse.com/article/54132-soda-increases-heart-disease-and-cancer-risk  

ALSO SEE:
Mama June’s weight-loss secret revealed!
http://www.wbrz.com/news/reality-tv-star-mama-june-arrested-in-alabama/

6* DAILY UTILITY
AL GREEN

CALL ME (FULL ALBUM)

https://youtu.be/ZYSNWOiND6U

ALSO SEE:

AL GREEN

Christian Disco.

I FEEL GOOD

https://youtu.be/CBcOXL6iRIU

7*CARTOON
BARE BONES E-ZINE
http://barebonesez.blogspot.com/

THE DUNGEONS OF DOOM!

http://barebonesez.blogspot.com/2015/10/the-dungeons-of-doom-pre-code-horror.html

8*PRESCRIPTION

ONE PUNK’S MOVIE GUIDE

http://razorcake.org/one-punks-movie-guide-by-mike-plante/

9* RUMOR PATROL
CAPTAIN MARVEL 

All of Marvel’s iterations of Captain Marvel have been placeholder characters, seemingly published solely to keep the rights to the name Captain Marvel from reverting back to DC, who won a lawsuit against Fawcett back in 1953 over copyright infringement regarding the similarity of the original Captain Marvel to Superman.  

DC was playing hardball because Fawcett’s Captain Marvel consistently outsold their flagship title, Superman. There really weren’t all that many similarities. Captain Marvel’s powers were supernatural in origin; his secret identity was a ten year old boy; the tales were whimsical and cartoony and clearly aimed at younger children.

The original Captain Marvel disappeared in the US for 20 years. In the UK, they published a knock-off called Marvelman, brilliantly revived in the 1980s by Alan Moore under the title Miracleman. DC revived the character as Shazam in the mid-70s.  The latest graphic novel tied to the character, The Life of Captain Marvel, attempts to retcon her character by having her mother also be from outer space. It’s a big bag of wind–awful New Yorkers writing their idea of what a working class Maine accent sounds like, replete with obsessive attention to  doughnuts and drunk driving.  The boy who pined from our heroine from afar for years and years even works in–get this–a doughnut shop. And the heroine’s brother is–temporary–sent into a coma as a result of–you guessed it–drunk driving. Rule of thumb: When you run out of story ideas, always have the superhero’s friend or lover or spouse or close or distant relative also develop superpowers, or reveal that they actually come from another planet and/or the distant future.

10*LAGNIAPPE
HAWKWIND

ORGONE ACCUMULATOR

https://youtu.be/MPISXvQwm_E

ALSO SEE:

BRAINSTORM

https://youtu.be/MwteyOJ9nmw

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

LEGALIZATION OF CANNABIS
Marijuana abuse is generally a laughing matter.  

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR

SOCIETY
1. “Many students, especially those who are poor, intuitively know what the schools do for them. They school them to confuse process and substance. Once these become blurred, a new logic is assumed: the more treatment there is, the better are the results; or, escalation leads to success. The pupil is thereby ‘schooled’ to confuse teaching with learning, grade advancement with education, a diploma with competence, and fluency with the ability to say something new.”

2. “The very existence of obligatory schools divides any society into two realms: some time spans and processes and treatments and professions are ‘academic’ or ‘pedagogic,’ and others are not. The power of school thus to divide social reality has no boundaries: education becomes unworldly, and the world becomes noneducational.”

3. “Equal educational opportunity is, indeed, both a desirable and a feasible goal, but to equate this with obligatory schooling is to confuse salvation with the Church. School has become the world religion of a modern proletariat, and makes futile promises of salvation to the poor of the technological age. The nation-state has adopted it, drafting all citizens into a graded curriculum leading to sequential diplomas not unlike the initiation rituals and hieratic promotions of former times. The modern state has assumed the duty of enforcing the judgment of its educators through well-meant truant officers and job requirements.”

4. “The public is indoctrinated to believe that skills are valuable and reliable only if they are the result of formal schooling.”

5. “School is the advertising agency which makes you believe that you need the society as it is.”
learning.media.mit.edu/courses/mas713/readings/DESCHOOLING.pdf  

ALSO SEE:
Pierre Bourdieu
Citation: C N Trueman “Pierre Bourdieu”
historylearningsite.co.uk.

The History Learning Site, 22 May 2015. 5 Mar 2019.

Pierre Bourdieu developed the cultural deprivation theory. This theory implies that higher class cultures are better when compared to working class cultures. Because of this perceived superiority, people from upper and middle classes believe people who are working class are themselves to blame for the failure of their children in education. Bourdieu also believed thatMarx influences cultural capital. Bourdieu also believes that people should not assume that the higher class is better that the working class. Bourdieu argues that working class failure in schools if measured by exam success, is the fault of the education system, not working class culture.

Cultural reproduction – the major role of the education system, according to Bourdieu, is cultural reproduction. This is the reproduction of the culture of the dominant classes. These groups have the power to impose meanings and to impose them as legitimate. They are able to define their own culture as worthy of being sought and possessed and to establish it as the basis for knowledge in the education system. However, there is no way of showing that they are any better or worse than other subcultures in society.

Bourdieu refers to possession of the dominant culture as cultural capital because with the education system it can be translated into wealth and power. Cultural capital is not evenly distributed throughout the class structure, and this largely accounts for class differences in educational attainment. People who have upper class backgrounds have a built in advantage because they have been socialised in that dominant culture. Bourdieu says that success in life depends on the earlier accomplishments in life, e.g. primary schools were the best time to succeed. Children from the dominant classes have internalised these skills and knowledge during their junior years. The educational attainment of social groups is therefore directly related to the amount of cultural capital they possess. Thus middle-class students have higher success rates than working-class students because of middle class subculture are closer to the dominant culture.

Bourdieu is somewhat vague when he attempts to pinpoint the skills and knowledge required for educational success. He bases his studies on the style the children present themselves rather on the content. He suggested that the way a student presents him/herself counts for more than the actual scholastic content of their work. He argues that “in rewarding grades, teachers are strongly influenced by the intangible nuances of manners and styles”. This means that you are more likely to succeed, because you are closer to the dominant class. The emphasis on style discriminates against working – class pupils in 2 ways:

i) Because their style departs from that of the dominant culture, their work is penalised.

ii) They are unable to grasp the range of meanings that are embedded in the grammar, accent, tone, delivery of the teachers. Since teachers use “bourgeois parlance”, as opposed to “common parlance”, working-class pupils have an in-built barrier to learning in schools.

The habitus – this refers to the lifestyle, the values, the dispositions and the expectations of particular social groups. A particular habitus is developed through experience. Individuals learn in the best way by what they see in life and how to expect life. Because different social groups have different chances and experiences in life, the habitus of each group will be different. People control values but they are not, in total, captives of the habitus. They are free to act and choose what to do but this will lead them to making certain choices such as behaviour. The point of view of Bourdieu says “Individual have to react in particular events, many of which are novel, but they tend to do so in terms of behaviour that they have come to see, as reasonable, common sense, behaviours. This means that the habitus is an infinitive capacity for generating product. This includes the idea of thought, perceptions, expressions and actions-whose limits are set by the historically and socially situated conditions of its products. Taste, class and education.

Bourdieu uses a survey for his study; he claims that peoples taste is related both to upbringing and to education. The taste could include art, films, music and food. He claims to show that there is a very close relationship linking cultural practices to educational capital and secondary, to social origin. Different tastes are associated with different classes, and class factions have different levels of prestige Legitimate taste has the greatest prestige and includes serious classical music and fine art. According to Bourdieu, the education system attaches the highest value to legitimate taste and people find it easier to succeed in the education system and are likely to stay in it for longer. Once you have acquired a certain amount of legitimate taste through upbringing and education, then you can start to cultivate your own. However, good taste on its own does not guarantee a well –paid job, but it does help in some cases.

The social function of elimination – Bourdieu says that a major role of the educational system is the social function of elimination. This involves the elimination of members of the working class from higher levels of education. It is accomplished in two ways: by examination failure and by self-elimination.

Working class students already know what they have to do in school. They know that if they work around working class boys, they don’t have a big chance of succeeding.

To conclude, Bourdieu says the role of education in society is the contribution it makes to social reproduction. Social inequality is reproduced in the educational system and as a result it is legitimate. The education system help maintain to dominance of the class.

Courtesy of Lee Bryant, Director of Sixth Form, Anglo-European School, Ingatestone, Essex
www.historylearningsite.co.uk/sociology/education-and-sociology/pierre-bourdieu/

THE INFORMATION #1037 MARCH 22, 2019

THE INFORMATION #1037 MARCH 22, 2019
Copyright 2019 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Behold the rain which descends from heaven upon our vineyards, and which incorporates itself with the grapes to be changed into wine; a constant proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy!–Benjamin Franklin

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART FIFTY-FOUR: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

“I tell you, Mawny,” said  Glen Phillips to Billy Batchelder Tallent,  “the whole point of schooling is to teach basic manners to small boys. And it looks like you’re simply not getting the message. Savvy? You don’t seem to understand the requirements. Always hanging back and asking questions and bothering people. You’re bright enough to realize the minimum of what’s expected of you, so why don’t you just do it? Nobody wants a genius. Let me repeat myself: Nobody…wants a genius. An old feller named Jim Johnson told me that. For some reason, everybody called him Musky Dan. Maybe because he wasn’t any too particular about bathing. Now, I don’t usually take my advice from barroom loafers, but in his case I’m willing to make an exception. He told me a lot of things–about how you should stick to your own kind until you just can’t stand them anymore. At which point, it’s time to move on. He was no saint, was old Jim. I expect he hotfooted it out of whatever town he was from and left behind him a whole passel of Johnsons. For all I know, he left wives and babes all across the 38 states, and the Dakota Territory to boot. But Musky Dan, he wasn’t one to mince words. Didn’t care much for colored folk, or, for that matter, anybody who wasn’t Irish. Now, me, I’m willing to concede that the Irish are human. I mean, they even talk some form of English, and that’s got to count for something. But let me  tell you something about the Irish. I’m from good English stock, and I know these people–you have got to keep an eye on them. The sallow, ill-featured wretches are the cause of half the Empire’s woes. Their cuisine is abominable, their self-pity is deplorable, and their twinkly-eyed red-face bloated with drink charm me not at all. The Scots, aren’t so bad. At least they know how to hoard their shekels. They are sharp dealers, but they tend to be honest to a fault. But the Irish–well, they tend to be sneaky and underhanded. Not as bad as the Wops, but nearly as sly. Say–you don’t happen to be Irish, do you?”

“Maybe a little–on my Father’s side.”

“Well, you never know what a man’s going to get himself up to from one day to the next. For all I know my grandpappy might’ve consorted with a Tahitian. Though I’m not banking on it. Anyway, old Jim had quite a bit to say about geniuses, self-styled or otherwise. He said that, first off, they have an awful tendency to see things that just ain’t there and believe things that just ain’t so, and, to his mind, that put a feller mighty close to a lunatic. Ha! You surely couldn’t get one over on old Musky Dan! A country younker in the bar he was holding court in was listening to him for a spell, in total silence, and Musky Dan turns around and says to him, ‘A penny for your thoughts, Old Hayseed–if you have any.’ And the Hayseed ups and says, ‘Mister–I was just thinking you are mighty close to a fool.’ And Jim snaps back, right smart, ‘Indeed I am, Hiram–and if you want to know how close, all you got to do is just measure the distance between us.’ Well, all of the loafers and the spongers in the bar set up a big laugh, and they all wanted to buy Musky Dan a drink, and Jim Johnson was a true son of the Auld Sod and he was hardly the man to disappoint them. Once he was rather spectacularly in his cups, he really turned on the gift of gab. He said that, in his humble estimation, geniuses are purt near to madmen, always talking about elves on the ceiling and worms in the oatmeal and suchlike. They say stuff that even a learned doctor can’t make hide ner hair of, says Jim. They insist that everything is connected, somewhere, somehow, like in a spider’s web, and that even a stinkbug can cause a famine off in China somewheres. 

“These so-called geniuses talk like the biggest blamed fools in creation, says Jim Johnson. Always trying to stir things up for no good purpose and saying controversial stuff just to get a rise out of simple folk and maundering on and on about things that no white man need ought to worry his head about. These alleged masterminds either totally deny that God exists, which of course is a foul untruth, or else they’ve made up their minds that God is everywhere, all the time, and responsible for everything, which must put a mighty strain on His constitution, having to be all good all the time and never so much as nibbling at a chocolate eclair or throwing a wink to a pretty gal. These brainy fellers try to tell us all about an invisible world totally undetected by our apprehension, said Jim, and that they and they alone have to key to what makes the universe tick. Your typical crackpot genius is the kind a feller who fills a whale-oil lamp with ashes and expects it to burn as brightly as before. Say, said Jim, these genius fellers don’t even know enough to get out of the rain, as they’re always conducting some sort of ‘experiment’ or other, which they try to explain to the unenlightened, only what they have to say usually makes absolutely no sense at all. They look into their cracked crystal ball and say that someday soon they’ll be able to peer into the Imperial Court of Zaitian by means of transmission of invisible waves through the ether. The very worst of them make themselves out to be some sort of inventor, but either they invent things that people don’t want, or else all their fancy contraptions inevitably have a midget hidden inside them to make ’em go. Try to tell a genius his newfangled gew-gaw doesn’t work, and he’ll tell you that he’s still ‘working on it’. Try to tell the man he’s crazy, said Jim, and he’ll always shoot back with something like, ‘You just don’t understand.’ A genius, says Jim, will always tell you that he’s just doing what he was born to do, because ‘it’s his destiny.’ Now, said Jim, any feller says that he’s following the path of destiny, is delusional to the point of delirium and has been hittin’ the old snake-root just a little too hard. 

“Finally, Musky Dan told those assembled rummies and semi-rummies and spinster aunts and soiled doves that, when it comes right down to it, nobody needs a feller who thinks he’s been touched by God. People, said he, was put on earth to be among other people, and any man who thinks he’s better than anybody else and doesn’t need a friend to lend a helping hand is a king-sized fool who is going to turn out to be a lonely feller–one who will spend his final days cursing life as a big fat joke. Now, I was there, and I took all of this in. And I think that Musky Dan was spot on.

“After all, who am I, to contradict a drunken Irishman?”

1* SALUTATION

WILMA LEE & STONEY COOPER

THIS WORLD CAN’T STAND LONG

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpRO6bkL1Gw

ALTERNATE VERSION

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwI42gzj144

SEE ALSO:

OZIE WATERS

OLD MAN ATOM (TALKING ATOMIC BLUES)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QlxqCoCzq1U 

ALSO SEE:
THE IPANA TROUPADOURS
NAGASAKI
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVO1GOQuX4I&fbclid=IwAR1KgWvPR2PeNGm2BWAGGfNMDyWQFHnoDuB6ae0KpcrhwV1YrkmzLJEb6z0

ALSO SEE:

THE LOUVIN BROTHERS

THE GREAT ATOMIC POWER

https://youtu.be/AojCqHwsbX0

2*REFERENCE
POETIC RHYTHM

If you want to write poetry, look into “meter” and “scansion”. It’s not easy to master; nor is it impossibly difficult. What’s difficult is matching what you say with how you want to say it.  

Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote in sprung rhythm.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sprung_rhythm

Here are some other forms.
https://www.writerscookbook.com/different-forms-of-poetry/

And some fun ones:
https://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/list-of-50-poetic-forms-for-poets

Another useful list:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Poetic_form

ALSO SEE:

THE WRITING LIFE

Frankly, a committed writer should try to find a somewhat routine, low-stress job that pays a decent salary and includes benefits, so he or she can pursue their writing on their own time.

“Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.“– Flaubert

3*HUMOR
Our Funny President

Our funny president is not a God or king. 
He’s not a puppet on a cotton-candy string. 
He’s not a circus monkey on a plastic chain. 
You’ll sometimes hear him singing in the rain. 
He’ll never cuss or holler when he hits his thumb. 
He never peddles papers on a crowded bus 
He’ll always give a nickel to a hungry bum. 
He doesn’t sail a flaming paper airplane from 
The highest window of the local Y. 
He doesn’t use the New York Times to fashion paper hats 
Except to entertain a group of foreign diplomats. 
Our President’s a very funny guy. 
He never uses disappearing ink to sign a bill to law 
And hardly ever pisses in the sink 
When filled with dirty dishes from the night before. 
He’d never hit a lady with his naked fists. 
He’s always careful to protect his precious wrists 
So he can stamp his memos with the seal of state. 
He doesn’t use a beer can for a paperweight. 
His nerves are steady and his eyes are keen 
Describing countries that he’s never seen. 
He doesn’t stretch or snicker when he’s in a church. 
Our president is not a parrot on a perch. 
He always exercises and he likes to fish 
And steak fajitas are his favorite dish. 
He’s just as well-informed as you and me 
And works a steady day from 9 to 3. 
He rules this nation the very best he can. 
Our President’s a very funny man.

4*NOVELTY
OPHELIA’S “NOTHING”

https://books.google.com/books?id=y941X6FmC4sC&pg=PA59&lpg=PA59&dq=%22Ophelia%27s+%27Nothing%27%22&source=bl&ots=OeJSs5bjsD&sig=ACfU3U0Vk5Q8eRywlgFnINB8pWaTB4_fvw&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjovvaGkfHgAhVqZN8KHYd9BeEQ6AEwDXoECAAQAQ#v=onepage&q=%22Ophelia’s%20’Nothing’%22&f=false

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
Report: World Wildlife Fund hires paramilitary torturers and murderers in developing world
https://boingboing.net/2019/03/04/wwf-hires-torturers-and-murder.html

6* DAILY UTILITY
SAMUEL JOHNSON’S LETTER TO LORD CHESTERFIELD

“Seven years, my lord, have now past since I waited in your outward rooms or was repulsed from your door, during which time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before. . . . Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached ground, encumbers him with help? The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind: but it has been delayed till I am indifferent and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary and cannot impart it; till I am known and do not want it.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Letter_to_Chesterfield

7*CARTOON
CARTOON CLICHES

Abominable snowman
Airport security line
Aliens arrive on Earth
Alien abductions
Asking directions
Atlas holding up the world
Banana peels
Beached whales
Bed of nails
Bedtime story
Big fish eating little fish
Bird versus worm
Bowling pin versus bowling ball
Burglars in masks
Cat versus mouse
Cave paintings
Centaurs
Chalk outline at crime scene
Chicken and egg
Cinderella
Cloud watching and identifying
Comedy and tragedy masks
Counting sheep
Couple caught cheating in bed
Couple on house during a flood
Crash-test dummies
Crawling through desert
Desert island
Easter bunny
Easter Island heads
Equations on blackboard
Eskimos
Evolution
Fountain of youth
Funeral-parlor viewing
Galley slaves
God looking at Earth
Goldilocks
Good cop, bad cop
Greeting cards
Guillotine
Guru on mountain
Hansel and Gretel
Mobsters and victim with cement shoes
Humpty Dumpty
Husband behind newspaper at breakfast
Invention of fire
Invention of the wheel
Judges
King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table
Lawyer reading will
Life-raft survivors
Light-bulb idea
Little Engine That Could
Little Red Riding Hood
Lover hiding in closet
Man in stocks
Marriage counsellors
Mazes
Men working
Men’s Club codgers
Mental undressing
Mermaid on rock
Metal detector
Military round table
Moby-Dick
Modern art
Moses parting the Red Sea
Moses and the Ten Commandments
Mother-in-law
Mountain climbers
Murphy beds
Napoleon
Noah’s Ark
Nudists
Operating theatre
Panhandling
Patent office
Pinocchio
Pirates’ buried treasure
Police lineup
Rapunzel
Robin Hood
Robots
Rubik’s cube
Sandcastles
Scarlet letter
School of fish with leader
Sisyphus
Snails
Snow White
Song lyrics as captions
St. Bernard rescue dog
St. Peter
Stargazing
Star constellations
Statues
Stock-market graph
Superman / Batman / superheroes
Talking trees
The-End-Is-Nigh Guy
The Thinker
This Side Up box
Three Little Pigs
Tombstone
Traffic cop pulling over speeding motorist
Trojan horse
Tunnel of Love
Turtle and Hare
TV weather forecasts
Two guys in a horse costume
Umpires
Volcanoes showing that the gods are angry
Voting booths
Vultures
Walking the plank
Weather forecasters
Why did the chicken cross the road
William Tell
Wishing Well
Witch’s broom
Witch’s cauldron
Woman trying on shoes
You-are-here map
Zeus throwing lightning bolts
Zzzzz (sleeping)  

8*PRESCRIPTION

TEN LESSER-KNOWN BOOKS BY FAMOUS WRITERS

The Disinherited by Budd Shulman, author of What Makes Sammy Run? 
Journeyman by Erskine Caldwell, author of Tobacco Road.
Marabou Stork Nightmares by Irvine Welch, author of Trainspotting.
The Great American Novel by Phillip Roth.
Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov.
Something Happened by Joseph Heller. 
The Universal Baseball Association by Robert Coover.
Edwin Mullhouse by Steven Millhauser.  Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy.
The Clear-Blue Lobster-water Country by Leo Connellan.

9* RUMOR PATROL
Michael was mostly innocent. He just got a little behind with his payments.

SEE:
NEGATIVLAND
MICHAEL JACKSON
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-ODYHoGFfQ&start_radio=1&list=RDq-ODYHoGFfQ&t=0&fbclid=IwAR0uM1NKmAvCy3aP97VIOivblzxagNJTzV_4eSobdWgZF0ctUv2RZDbFbBE

ALSO SEE:JOHN WATERS ON MICHAEL JACKSON
https://youtu.be/HW65Qany_eU

10*LAGNIAPPE
THE MONKEESMOMMY AND DADDY (UNEXPURGATED) Do-Do- Whata Do-Do-Whata- dig-itta (repeat) Ask your mommy and daddy, “What happened to the Indian?” Ask your mommy and daddy to tell you where you really came from… Then mommy and daddy will probably turn and quickly walk away Then ask your mommy and daddy who really killed J.F.K Wa ta tick it ta too too… Ask your mommy if she really gets off on all her – all her pills Ask your Daddy, “Why doesn’t that soldier care who he kills?” After they’ve put you to sleep and tucked you safely down in your bed Whisper Mommy and Daddy, “Would it matter if the bullet went through my head? If it was my blood spilling on the kitchen floor If it was my blood, mommy, would you care a little more?” Don’t be surprised when they turn and start to cry And tell your Mommy and Daddy, Their living in a lie! tell your mommy and daddy Scream it to your mommy and daddy They’re living in a lie, a lie, a lie It’s all a lie, a lie, a lie A lie, a lie…  https://youtu.be/tOdRFbXnCrE

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

UPTON SINCLAIR VS. SINCLAIR LEWIS

Upton Sinclair writes, in his book The Cup of Fury:

One person in our midst was destined to become eminent,
although we did not know it. We kept him busy tending our
furnace, sweeping our public rooms and staircases, and clean-
ing the little fishpond in our glass-roofed court.

His name was Harry Sinclair Lewis.

“We called him Hal. He was tall and lanky, a twenty-
year-old eaglet who was fledging his feathers; he had vivid
red hair, and an abnormally florid complexion. You know
him as Sinclair Lewis — author of Main Street, Babbitt, Arrow-
smith, Dodsworth, and a dozen other novels.

Hal was eager, talkative, and a good listener. And at
Helicon Hall, there were many people worth listening to:
a philosopher from Columbia University, William P. Mon-
tague; a professor of manual arts from Teachers College; a
Swedish writer, Edwin Bjorkman, who was translating
Strindberg; a couple of minor novelists; a physician; and
others who could tell much about life and letters.

Hal had quit Yale in order to learn about co-operative
living. With him came a friend, Allen Updegraff, who also
aspired to write. I had a secretary, Edith Summers; and these
three — Hal, “Up,” and Edie — formed our junior literary sec«

tion. They liked to sit apart and talk about the books they
read; and they spoke with zest of the books they hoped some-
day to write.

Edith eventually married a workingman named Kelley,
and tried raising tobacco in Kentucky; what she got out of
it was starvation, and a powerful, realistic but little-read
novel called Weeds, Later she became blind.

“Up” went to live in France, and there wrote novels,
one of them giving an appalling picture of the drunkenness
of American expatriates on the Riviera.

As to Hal, I have more to relate. He soon had enough
of furnace-work and general education, and went off to New
York. There, incidentally, he wrote a playful article about
our Helicon “home- colony” life for the New York Sun. It
has been reprinted in the collection of Hal’s miscellaneous
writings called The Man From Main Street: A Sinclair Lewis
Reader, and you may enjoy reading it. It was a harmless
enough piece, but it worried Professor Montague because he
was teaching in a woman’s college then headed by a strict
lady dean; and she was not the sort to enjoy reading about
her professor dancing with our pretty Irish waitress on Satur-
day evenings. Particularly since Hal neglected to mention
that Montague’s wife, a medical student, was always present
at such times! Rereading the article recently, I wondered
about one thing: why young Sinclair Lewis had endowed us
with a bowling alley and a swimming pool, neither of which
we possessed — unless you counted the fishpond, about eight
inches deep and six feet by three in area!

Years passed before I saw Sinclair Lewis again. He had
become editorial adviser to a publishing house, and I offered
them one of my novels, Sylvia. We met for lunch and Hal
had the sad duty of telling me that the novel was declined.
Then when I moved to California, he came to my home for
an evening, bringing his first wife. More years passed, and
I next saw him at his New York hotel. We corresponded
sporadically, and sent each other our books. Several of mine
he praised, and I quoted his opinions; and I did the same for
him. On a dust-jacket recently, I saw what I wrote about
Babbitt when it was first issued: “I am now ready to get
out in the middle of the street and shout hurrah, for Amer-
ica’s most popular novelist has sent me a copy of his new
book, Babbitt, I am here to enter my prediction that it will
be the most talked-about and the most-read novel published
in this country in my lifetime.”

In Money Writes, however, I criticized Hal’s novels for
lack of social vision, and this annoyed him; he never took
criticism kindly, and he wrote me a cross letter. But I was
told by a friend that in a group where my numerous faults
were under discussion, Hal was generous enough to add as a
postscript: “But you can’t help liking Upton!”

I was glad of all the success that came to Lewis, and
deeply regretful for the misery. For it was as in the case of
Jack London: alcohol destroyed him.

I began to hear about it, but there was nothing I could
do; Hal always resented any effort to interfere. I met an
oldtime journalist with an absorbingly interesting story of
real life to tell, and I said to him, “You ought to get Sinclair
Lewis to help you make that into a bestseller.” His answer
was, “No, thank you! He is doing his writing on booze. He
gets drunk in public and makes violent rows, and I’m too
good a quarreler myself.” More details came from the writer
William E. Woodward. Bill told me that never had he seen
anyone get so blind drunk as “Red” Lewis. He had been
drunk in Woodward’s home for days and nights.

The art expert, Martin Birnbaum — who was my class-
mate in college — tells of an excursion out of Venice on a
yacht owned by the Princess Marina Raspoli. “We suddenly
missed ‘Red,’ and when we found him, he was so hilariously
drunk that we had to ship him back to Venice.” Martin’s
nephew, the late Dr. Jerome Ziegler, “was the only man who
could control [Lewis] when he was seized with a desire to
drink.” Phyllis Bottome, who was a close friend, attributes his
mad drinking to his two marriage failures. She calls his first
“a most heart-rending senseless marriage,” and his second
“bitingly unsuccessful.”

My own belief is that drinking is a cause rather than a
result of marriage failure; but I suppose it is like the problem
of the hen and the egg — each is both cause and effect.
Phyllis pays tribute to “his peculiar powers of sympathy and
kindness. I think,” she says, “that he would have done any-
thing for his friends, and at any sacrifice; and I think that
any man was his friend who treated him with integrity and
good feeling.” This I can confirm.

For some of his doings — such as getting slapped by Theo-
dore Dreiser, or for standing in a church pulpit and “daring”
God to prove that He existed by striking him dead on the
spot — I used to get some of the blame. The similarity in our
names caused confusion in people’s minds.

I would receive his mail and he would get mine. In 1935
my wife and I took a twenty-thousand-mile motor tour,
while I lectured in thirty or forty cities. In St. Louis I had
as chairman an eminent astronomer, and he spoke as follows:
“Ladies and gentlemen, when I consented to introduce the
speaker of this evening I made a study of his life and works
and wrote a paper which I asked my son to read and revise
for me. My son informed me that I had got hold of the
wrong writer; that our speaker was not the author of Main
Street and Babbitt. So I made another study and wrote an-
other paper, which my son has approved.” The astronomer
then read a brief account of my life and works, and con-
cluded: “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I take great pleas-
ure in introducing Mr. Sinclair Lewis!”

The facts concerning our ex-furnaceman’s misfortune
have been revealed in biographical material which appeared
after his death — the quart of brandy a day, the shakes, the
tapering off, the swearing off, the wine phase, the wandering
over the earth, the avoiding of friends and the seeking for
peace where there is no peace, the decline in writing power,
and the final delirium.

Hal wrote his last novel in Europe. His closest friend
at the time was Perry Miller, professor of American literature
at Harvard University; and in the April, 195 1, issue of The
Atlantic Monthly, Dr. Miller compassionately described his
friend’s final months in these words:

As soon as he finished the manuscript, he
started drinking, until his Florentine physician for-
bade him spirits. When I reached him in April, he
was guzzling quantities of red wine, and despite
Aleck’s strenuous efforts, he generally succeeded
in knocking himself out by afternoon. (Editor’s
note: Alexander Manson was “secretary, chauffeur,
nurse, and interpreter” to Lewis during the last
months of his life.) At a Florentine restaurant he
commanded the orchestra to play the sentimental
tunes of his earlier escapades; he peeled off and
flung about five-thousand-lira notes — Babbitt on a
spree — until Aleck could get him out and pour him
into the car. By August he was drinking only beer,
but he had already had two serious heart attacks
and should not have touched even that.

I suppose hundreds of people in three decades
have seen Sinclair Lewis drunk; no doubt he made
a vast public spectacle of himself. I cannot say
what kept him going through the years of creativ-
ity; I do know that at the end of it, his back to the
wall, facing himself drunk or sober, he did not
flinch. There was something positively reckless
about it. He was not drinking because he was
miserable and wanted solace; neither was he what
you would call a drunkard. He was no disen-
chanted, alcoholic Scott Fitzgerald, drinking com-
pulsively. There may not have been much joy in
what Red was doing, but there was still plenty of
defiance.

Through a miracle of physical stamina, Hal made it to
the age of sixty-six. More tragic than any shortage of years
was the loss of productivity, the absence of joy. He must
have suffered in those last days in Rome, waiting for death
to take him out of the clutches of his tormentor.

Catastrophe struck Helicon Home Colony a couple of
months after Hal had left for New York.

At four o’clock on a Sunday morning in March I was
awakened by thundering crashes. To get out of the tower
room where I slept, I had to run along an open balcony to
the stairway. The place was afire; heated air was blowing
out of the stucco walls of the building. Flames swept up
over the balcony, and I remember how they scorched my
nightshirt and one side of my head. I ran across the open
court, over embers and broken glass, and we all shouted
alarms and searched for anyone who may have been trapped.

The place burned to the ground. And one life was lost.
archive.org/stream/cupoffury00sinc/cupoffury00sinc_djvu.txt

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTUREGREATEST BANNED SONGS OF ALL TIME!
During its debut performance, Stravinsky’s “The Rite of Spring” caused a riot.

Hitler banned Mickey Mouse, jazz, and other forms of “Entarte Kunst.”

The suicide-inducing song “Gloomy Sunday” was widely banned.

“Louie Louie” was allegedly widely banned. Its incomprehensible lyrics were thought obscene. Rumor has it that The FBI was brought in.

“A Day in the Life” was banned by the BBC for the line “I’d love to turn you on”.

The BBC also banned “Lola” because of its reference to Coca-Cola, a commercial product.

The FBI also got into the act regarding John Lennon’s “Some Time in New York City.” FBI Agents asserted to their chief that the songs were “not up to Lennon’s usual standard.”

Surely some radio station, somewhere, refused to play “Walk on the Wild Side.”

In 1980 I got kicked off WDOM as a guest DJ for playing Leonard Cohen’s “Don’t Go Home With Your Hard-On.” (Oh…I forgot. I also played Lucille Bogan’s “Shave ‘Em Dry.”)

Legend has it that Aspen CO radio stations wouldn’t play Neil Young’s “Tonight’s the Night” because, bummer. maan.

The PMRC went after Prince for “Darling Nikki.”

During the Gulf War, certain songs were proscribed, including The Cure’s “Killing an Arab,” which was actually a reference to The Stranger, a novel by Camus.

ALSO SEE:
The greatest banned songs of all time – ranked!
www.theguardian.com/music/2019/feb/14/the-greatest-banned-songs-of-all-time-ranked