MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 187 MAY 2014

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 187
MAY 2014
Copyright 2014 Francis DiMenno
http://dimenno.gather.com
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

1. THE EVIL OPPOSITE OF EVERYTHING
2. NEW CLICHES
3. LOGIC BOMBS
4. LOOK AT MY SCREAMING FACE
5. DR. GOOD AND MR. BAD
6. RADIO STATION WWJD
7.INTELLECTUAL DUMBBELL
8. THIS IS NOT ART
9.GOOFY SINGS THE BEEGEES
10. THE FOUR AD FIGURES OF THE APOCALYPSE
11. AN ENGINE OF DENUNCIATION
12. XENOPHOBES GO HOME
13. ALL ART IS SEXUAL HARASSMENT
14. CELEBRITIES ARE DESIGNER MYTHS
15. COMPOSITE MASTER OF INFINITE SPACE AND TIME
16. A CRASS ACT
17. THE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF DRUGS
18. SECRET IDENTITY POLITICS
19. YO, STEP UP AND GET BEAT DOWN
20. CAPE DOES NOT ENABLE USER TO FLY

21. MODERN WISDOM:  THIS IS WHAT I BELIEVE
You know, prison–or, as we hardened convicts call it, “Stir”– is a
lot like a Graduate School for High School dropouts. Doing time, a man
has a lot of time on his hands to formulate his very own philosophical
system.

And also to wonder what kind of turn his life would have taken if the
Jack Daniels had been watered just a wee bit more, and the bazooka
wasn’t loaded.

I have recently been released from prison–er, I mean “Stir” and I have
had a lot of time to put together my own system of thought.

So this is what I believe:

If you can’t be with the one you love, brother, love the one you’re
with. Good advice. Especially if you happen to be in prison.

I think cab drivers should be FBI men, so they’ll know where you live
before you even tell them.

If I don’t know you, you can’t be that important. If you don’t know
me, you must be supremely oblivious.

If God is in the details then who put Him there?

I love my fellow man–with gravy.

Why do garbage men make so much noise? Because if they knew how to be
quiet, they wouldn’t be garbage men.

My pet peeve? People who use the word ‘peeve.’

I often make thoughtless remarks which I later regret–because most
people are assholes. Um, present company excepted.

What becomes a legend most? More money.

A lot of people lose their virginity at just about the same time as
they begin to prostitute themselves.

If I see things nobody else can see it’s probably because I’m
hallucinating…again.

I don’t drink anymore. It’s slow suicide, and I’m in a hurry.

I don’t want kids to follow in my footsteps. So, for all you teens out
there, here is my heartfelt message: Ignore mainstream values–follow
the advice of your ignorant peers.

Kids–stay in school. Because we don’t ant you around here.

Sometimes even my friends say I’m boring, usually the minute I run out of money.

I don’t care if the world caves in. I live in a cave.

I think static cling is probably God trying to tell us something.

I don’t like a man until I’ve figured him out, and then I hate him for
being so transparent.

Do you know who I’d like to have dinner with? Einstein. You say he’s
dead? Good. More food for me!

It takes a big man to take advice. It takes several big men to shut me up.

Half my life is my work and the other half is trying to atone for it.
You believe me–don’t you? Or do you want some trouble?

When punk rockers retire, I guess they’ll get anti-social security.

I was sad because I had no toilet paper. Then I met a man who was a
complete asshole.

They say a dog bite is worse than human bite. I say most people don’t
lick their own assholes.

I went to my dentist. He’s also my psychiatrist. He told me that my
cavities are all in my head.

Move Over Butter. Fine. But nobody ever talks about “Fuck You,
Margarine” or “Die, Lard, Die.”

My dad was a liberal. So just to piss him off I brought a white girl home.

If Jesus is so popular, why does he have to ask us for money every Sunday?

Jesus turned the water into wine. Nowadays, that’s called enabling behavior.

What if the crucifixion were just a dice game that went terribly,
terribly wrong?

Nothing’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Except maybe one
monkey…in a barrel…giving you that special little smile.

Good home cooking just melts in your mouth. Then again, so does the
mercury from a thermometer.

I don’t like to use the word ‘shit.’ I prefer to call it something
nice, like ‘Brown monuments to a healthy appetite.’

Never talk down to children. Only adults are mature enough to be
condescended to.

A schizophrenic always demands your divided attention.

Why buy a cow if milk is cheap? For that matter, why buy anything if
you’re sturdy enough to beg?

Everybody repeat after me…..”Destroy all conformists.”

When I have a baby, I think, when they hand me my newborn infant,
wrapped in swaddling clothes, I’ll say, “Oh–don’t bother wrapping it,
Nurse–I’ll eat it here.”

One good thing about skinheads–they never leave hair in the drain.

All those who prefer not to answer rhetorical questions, would you
raise your hands?

You can’t have everything. The storage fees alone would wipe you out.

Every little breeze seems to whisper ‘Louise.’ I beg
you…please…make it stop. MAKE IT STOP!!

I do not have any messianic delusions. At least, that’s what God told
me. But I do remember my most embarrassing moment. I was
being crucified, and the Roman Centurion offered me a sponge soaked in wine,
and I had to admit I was a recovering alcoholic.

Everybody else always ruins it for a few assholes.

Oops, there’s the phone–I’ll bet it’s my probation officer–probably
calling to ask me yet another rhetorical question about some rubber
checks I’ve been bouncing all over town. Goodbye, Gentle Reader. I’ll
see you in another eight years or so.

22. ADVERTISEMENT: THE AWARD-WINNING “SO YOU LOST YOUR…”
SERIES OF BOOKS FOR KIDS OF ALL AGES

Brunhilda Blankenship has been delighting kids of all
ages since the appearance of her first book, “So You
Lost Your Sheep,” way back in 1952.

Her tragic death last week just short of her 83rd
birthday has saddened her fans, who can at least take
consolation in the fact that for the first time they
will be able to purchase all of her charming
books which are loved by millions.

How? Because the So You Lost Your Publishing Firm, in
celebration of its fiftieth anniversary, is proud to
present for the first time a complete collected
edition of these charming and educational books
intended for kids from one to one-hundred-and-one, as
well as especially bright dogs, cats, and ferrets.

“So You Lost Your Rattle” (1954)

“So You Lost Your Pacifier” (1955)

“So You Lost Your Baby Teeth” (1959)

“So You Lost Your Temper,”(1961)

“So You Lost Your Patience” (1962)

“So You Lost Your Childish Belief in Santa Claus,” (1964)

“So You Lost Your Illusions of Parental Omnipotence” (1965)

“So You Lost Your Illusions of Parental Competence” (1967)

“So You Lost Your Illusions of Parental Fiscal Solvency”(1973)

“So You Lost Your Illusions That the Authorities Have Your Best
Interests at Heart”(1974)

“So You Lost Your Illusions That Anyone Cares”(1978)

“So You Lost Your Illusions That Life Has Any Meaning or Purpose”(1983)

“So You Lost Your Belief in a Supreme Being Who Is All-Wise and
Beneficent” (1991)

“So You Lost Every Red Cent You Ever Sweated Blood to Earn Because of
Foolhardy Investment Decisions Made While Drunk on Sherry” (2001)

“So You Lost Your Home and Are Living In an Unheated Trailer and Your
Ingrate Son Refuses to Lend You Any More Money Or Even Talk To You”
(2008)

And the posthumously published “So You Lost Your Reason to Go On Living” (2009)

All of her books have delighted readers for five decades–AND WILL GO
ON DELIGHTING THEM FOR GENERATIONS TO COME!

23-47. INSPIRATIONAL THOUGHTS FOR TODAY
1. It was only when I started stealing weapons to commit further
crimes that my phenomenal run of good luck really began.

2. You cannot change your life by changing your life. Zero plus zero
will never equal one.

3. Nurture your mind with thoughts think by great men, for your own
are so mundane as to induce colic in fat babies.

4. A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle and remember, the
same goes for a Molotov cocktail.

5. Have no fear for what tomorrow may bring. Even though a tough gang
of street punks have promised to give you a major league thrashing,
maybe there will be a sale on bandages.

6. Honesty is the best policy–when the camera’s running.

7. In wine there is truth, and in whiskey there’s some extra strength
truth mixed in with a whole lot of hidden resentments which have been
boiling under the surface for about ten years and which only start to
come out between drink number six and number seven, and there’s also a
lot of shouting and usually stuff gets broken, and the police are
called, and I’m forced to hide underneath the house, and there’s
crawly centipedes under there, which is why I tend to stick to seltzer
water.

8. The truth shall set you free but if I were you I wouldn’t go about
sharing that particular bit of wisdom with the boys in Cell Block A.

9. Not every man is born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Especially
if he already has a forked tongue.

10. The meek shall inherit the earth and after that we’ll get to see
just how far these rubes can go with the meek routine.

11. Beggars can’t be choosers, but certain people and I name no names
can stand in line at the supermarket checkout counter haggling with
the clerk over raggedy assed 20 cent off coupons which expired weeks
ago, counting out every lint encrusted penny from the bottom of their
mildewed change purse and answer me this if they’re so penny
conscious, then why haven’t they already added up the total in their
heads and gotten the exact change ready in advance… unless they’re
really desperate even for negative attention?

12. Everything’s coming up roses, which is too bad, because actually I
was fixing to grow me some poppies, hemp and mushrooms.

13. Business before pleasure, especially if you’re a prostitute.

14. Happiness is realizing there’s always someone less fortunate than
you, or, better yet, that there’s someone more fortunate than you but
not any more because you just slipped on his driveway and your lawyer
is F. Lee Bailey.

15. Life is just a bowl of cherries but remember that President
Zachary Taylor died of indigestion after eating too many cherries.

16. There is strength in numbness.

17. The family that prays together stays together. I guess that’s true
even if what they’re praying for is a quick and easy death.

18. Blood is thicker than water, but I’d prefer tomato juice, if you don’t mind.

19. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink, only
who can afford to keep a horse these days?

20. Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face: it didn’t work for
Michael Jackson.

21. No labor, however humble, dishonors a man. Except maybe telemarketing.

22. Remember: always look on the bright side, unless you’re driving
late at night and it’s the oncoming headlights of an out of control 18
wheeler.

23. If an alien came to earth and said take me to your leader I think
that on the way I would suggest we stop at the International House of
Pancakes, just to give him a taste of the sheer diversity of this
kooky planet.

24. Hysteria repeats itself.

25. I wanted to be known as an optimist–a haven of supreme reason in
a confused, frustrating and seemingly futile world. But then I
realized that it was hopeless.

48. BAND NAMES
Thee Quick-Acting Hypnotics
Asking For Trouble
Milk Of Amnesia
Origin Unk
Gonna Do It For Johnny
Cowards Of 911
Acid Is Groovy Kill The Pigs
They Eat Their Young
Radioactive Snowmen
Terraplane Soup
Laugh It Up Furball
To The Batcave
Famous Movie Drunks
Booger Buddies
Thank You For Not Killing Us
Shitfire Island
The Filthy Monkeys
Hiroshima Pwned
Brain Feast
The Murder Of Abraham Lincoln
Old People In Hell
Gorilla Crime Boss
The Incomprehensibles
The Scum Bozoes
Sleep In The Grave
Russia’s Greatest Sex Machine
S.E. Hinton’s First Novel For Adults
Not So Fast Faggot
We Belong Dead
Pushkin Shot In Duel
His Bread In My Shoulder
My Wife’s Handwriting
The Bear Wiped His Ass With The Rabbit
I Can See Your House From Here
Old Fashioned Hate
Circuit Of A Dogma
Jabbering Dynamo
Sleepy Rigamarole
Odd Enough To Be Your Father
Teenage Centurions For The Coming Armageddon
This Turbulent Priests
The Hammer Comes Down
Honey, I Smoked The Drugs
The Washington Consensus
Cosmic Ruthlessness.
The Drizzlin’ Shits
A Queer In Boys Town
Eagle On The Sunday Dollar
The Clusterfucks
Tricycle Bastard
Stalin The Clown
Xenophobic Lesbians
Born-Again-Christian Circus
Scientific Aborigines
Muslim Photographers
A Puritan Christmas
The Beatnik Jet Pilots
Vertigo Zombies
Stompbox Wankers
The Containment Boys
Please Advise
Tear Factory
Mascot Parables
Please Be Kind
The Minor 6145 Choir
Alpha Radiation
The Clean Getaways
Mrs. Babymother
The Mosquito Apologists
A Pagan Suckled In A Creed Outworn
Industrial Solvents
Eunuchss Of Empire
The Rat Parade
Big Cats
Sonic Interval
Manly Pansies
Squirrel Brains
Tweeter
Blowjob Alibis
Rackety Critters
Humiliated Jockeyboys
Sticky Trim
Alcoholic Penitentiary Inmates
Pharmacy Robbers
Cruelty To Bears
Derelict Rejects
Corleone’s Thunderbolt
Shitfire And Brimstone
Fuck Bias
Amphitheater Bums
Me Love You Long Time
Crackhead Junkies
Dance With The Go-Go Gophers
Supernatural Hitler
No Reasonable Offer Refused
Curses Fried Again
Smash Ugly
Confederate Rap
Inspector Pig
Pricked
Sphincter Monkeys
Swinger Square
Dancing Hen On A Hotplate
Thee Psychonauts
University Of Blonde Delinquents
Whiskey Rebellion
Hash And Lentils
Club Godhead
Pork Messengers
Industry Godfathers
Vagina Puppets
Soggy Tramp Gumbo
Drunk Protestants
We Refuse
Orange Twang
Atlas Mugged
Amoeba Chow
Mossy Wax
Sea Urchin Jerky
Dylan Girls
Vacation Amid The Rubble
Papa Bunk
Lifestyle Porn
Project Madness
The Fat Little Nothings
The Plastic Bottlecaps
Ghost Soup
The Lemon Detectors
The Red Hot Pistols
Tranqs For The Memories
Bennies From Heaven
Ramadan-A-Dingdong
An Ashanti In Old Ashanti Town
The Bad Actors
The Fat Biker Chicks
The Car Toads
Bungtown
The Cake Eaters
Doctor Medicine
First Of May
The Spit-Backs
The Highbinders
Ready John
Oil Of Joy
The Prairie Comedians
The Drunkery
The Turnscrews
The Wet Quakers
Wild Train
The Bird That Goes Beep Beep
Fight For Might And Right
Too Young To Know The Danger
Long Ears And Tail To Match
The Akasic Record Company
70 Bone-Breaking Secrets
Young Liberace
Jealous Daddy
Walk It Off, Jesus
The Ice Cream Soldiers
The Voice Of God
11 Benevolent Elephants
Thee Mystifying Oracles
Wood Beez
A Fool’s Journey
The Daily Beatings
Nixon’s Revenge
Sweated Labor
Secret Justice
Moneyland
Mint Suckers
Anger Points
Recursive Loop
Puritan Jealousy
Six Months Away From The Bin
Beatles UK
Duce Come Back
72 Virgins
Jesus Loves Porn Stars
Bitter Apple
The Most Disappointing
My Funny Hitler
Booger Ranchers
Jumbo’s Colostomy Bag
The Jolly Munchers
The Piss Poor Boys
Daddy’s Smelly Pipe
Kibbles ‘N’ Bits
The Power Of Eminent Domain
The Way Back Machine
The Coffee Virus
The Goddess Years
Robot Ham
Lake Nowhere
Incarnation Evaporated Milk
God 2
Secret Soundtrack
Nonstop Circus Of Angst
House Of Meth
The Season Of Anarchy
Secret Mark
Explosive Battle Of Giants
Meat River
Shitware
The Fatal Romantics
Filthy Midget Mart
Pavlov’s Coffee
Wife In A Can
Blind Man’s Television
100,000 Words Or Less
Tin Ear
The Four Moptops Of The Apocalypse
Oswald And The Patsies
The Givenchy Code
The Peanut Shit Wranglers
Batman Could Beat Superman
Voices Echoing In My Head
Jughead King Of Queen Archie’s World
The Popcorn Trick
Pas A Douche
Not Your Grandfather’s Fascism
Puritan Jewelry
Eight Minutes From The Sun
Four Roses Logic
Give Back Those Blankets
Genocide In Slow Motion
Who Said Dat Word Fuck?
The Bullshit Detectors
Dogs Bred To Be Eaten Like Chickens
Slob Killers
Brosephus
Guy Who Throws A Glass Bottle In A Crowd And Sneaks Into The Corner
Uglier Than Thou
Animal Pals
Atomic Opera
Designated Punching Bags
32 Animal Pals
The Throwstars
The All You Can Eat Challenge
Ahoy There Sailor
Americans Live Forever
The Angry Gourmets
Bacon Is Death
Bitter Drink
Boy’s Nation
Dawg Treet
Girl Reaction
Izzard
Jeckyll Park
Kali
Kill Crazy Dillinger
Mental Radio
Mickey Death
Negative Brow
Pirate Radio
Silk Purse
Tempermental Artistes
Tin Soldiers
Tired Eyes
Two-Backed Beasts
The Wet Parade
Wonderland
Zandor And His Herculoids
Unacceptable American Conditions
Teflon Junkies
Electroshock Veterans
Toxic Schlock
Deadly Mentors
Antheap Gods
Peyote Place
The Picknickers
Thousand Mile Stare
Hate Paper Dolls
The Tyros
Will Work For Gas
Everything Is Love
Silly Hitler And The Degenerate Art Ensemble
The Hollywood Finocchios
Reality Tunnel
Global Obsession And The Self-Fulfilling Prophecies
Googled My Ex
Gunner And Sarge, With Pooch
Relax, Love, Messiah Is Coming
My God I’m Tough
Scary Norms
Let Love Be Obeyed
Murderous Bouncers
The Crazy Cat Ladies
Shiloh The Beagle And His Boy Master
12 Foot Long Hot Dog
Craziest Cereal You Ever Met
Big Money Big Money
Paul Is Dead at 64
Touche, Douche
White Slaves In America
Commander Robot
Terror Masters
Team B
Kill All The Devils We Can
Build High
Pure Fiction
Mature Living Choices
Delicate Weeds
U-977
The Darned Sure
G.I. Dope
High-Decibel Circus
Bad Success
Lady Boner Immediately Goes To Zero
Family Uplift
Pissing Match
Burnt Paris
Bummer Command
Six Guns Blazing
Day Without Sunshine
Spineless Wonders
1969 OK
Tarantula Beware
Hot Girls With Manly Faces
Coke Nail
Police And The Crooked Landlords
Spare A Dollar For An Old Altar Boy
Canned Creamed Koran
Tiger Hand Beats Rock
Booger Bear
Dog Bullies
Favorite Prostitute Your Wife
John Wayne Gacy And His Famous Rope Trick

49. ANTI-SEMITE HALL OF SHAME

1. Hitler. Fun-hating testicle-depleted Austrian had an irrational
hatred of the Chosen Ones. To say the least.
2. Stalin. Another meanie, though he also took on Kulaks and cosmopolitans.
3. Genghis Khan. Didn’t have it in for Jews, per se. Just a nasty guy
in general.
4. Count Dracul aka Vlad the Impaler. Pretty much hated everybody.
5. Henry Ford. Helped publicize the spurious “Protocols of the Elders
of Zion.” Hitler was a big fan.
6. Caligula. Attempted to defile the Temple but was put off by
Petronius. ‘Nuff Said!
7. Johann Gottlieb Fichte. Father of nationalism. Another Hitler favorite.
8. Edison. “I wish,” he wrote, “they would all quit making money.”
9. Wagner
10.Dostoyevski

Dishonorable mention:
1) H. L. Mencken (‘The Jews could be put down very plausibly as the
most unpleasant race ever heard of’)
2) George Bernard Shaw (‘Stop being Jews and start being human beings’)
3) Henry Adams (‘The whole rotten carcass is rotten with Jew worms’)
4) H.G. Wells (‘A careful study of anti-Semitism, prejudice and
accusations might be of great value to many Jews, who do not
adequately realize the irritation they inflict’)
5) Edgar Degas (characterized as a ‘wild anti-Semite’)
6) Denis Diderot (‘Brutish people, vile and vulgar men’)
7) Theodore Dreiser (New York is a ‘kike’s dream of a ghetto,’ and
Jews are not ‘pure Americans’ and ‘lack integrity’)
8) T. S. Eliot (a social as well as literary anti-Semite, even after
the Holocaust)
9) Immanuel Kant (‘The Jews still cannot claim any true genius, any
truly great man. All their talents and skills revolve around
stratagems and low cunning … They are a nation of swindlers.’)
10) Cicero
11) Tacitus
12) Pierre Renoir

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THE INFORMATION #783 MAY 9, 2014

THE INFORMATION
#783 MAY 9, 2014
Copyright 2014 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to
pause and reflect.–Mark Twain

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER NINE: PART NINE: THE MAYOR OF HELL

Old Doc Ketman told me that he had some especially powerful hexes in
mind to circumvent the “demon-workings” of Richard B. Stolas. He said
that his incantations needed to be performed in the presence of the
demon’s enemies, and so there we were at the Seven Stars, with the
usual crew drinking and roistering and making loud nuisances of
themselves, and there was Ketman, looking downcast and holding before
him a foaming schooner of beer and muttering dark imprecations.

“I pray that this donkey soon may bray his last. Betray him, all you
demons. Beat him back. Trap him, trip him, grip him, you saints and
angels and saintly demons. Take this ranting behemoth and place him on
the griddle. Prick this puny punk, sink this shitty linthead; rent him, dent
him, bend him. No one wants him. Send him below. Afflict him with
warts.Send him back to where he should have gone long before. Smear
him with the dirt of his soul. The sleeping servant of blood. Darts
should round engirt his brows. Make him rife with vermin. Gift him
with plague and dropsy. Remove from him all signs of life. Turn his
children into waifs. Bait him with wild dogs. Raid him in his lair.
Put paid to his expectations. If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore. Hobble his gait. Pain him. Make
him lean. Make him moan. Moat him round with sorrows. Back his boat
upon the shore, that there shall not be one spot of love. Jesus
walketh with Ketman. He is my head; I am his limb. Therefore walketh
Jesus with Ketman.

“I call upon the mystical force!

“Beat him! Beat him back. Defile his features! Push him from his lofty
seat of pride! Reduce him to a toadstool! Make all his thoughts and
words like those of madmen! Sear him, tear him, smear him, bear him in
wild spite away across so wide a land! Roar, you oceans! Make him age,
and fade, and die! Load him ’til he staggers like a mule! May his male
parts wither; may he find holes in all his fine rainment; may he
be reviled amongst the multitudes! Warp the soles of his shoes! He is
not worth a cheap slipper. He weighs half of what a hair on my head
would weigh! He may be bought and sold, God! God speed the day! Cast
him out among the lost! Burn his bed to catch a flea! Tie him to the
mast and lash him! The mute devil under the smarting rod! I, Ketman,
appear before the house of the Judge. Three dead men look out of the
window; one having no tongue, the other having no lungs, and the third
was sick, blind and dumb.

“I call for the intervention of spirits!

“Beat him back! He shall be among the last; and the last shall BE
last! He shall be cast down among the most low! His path to Hell shall
be made easy! He is truly base; base with corruption; give him the
rope to hang himself; he wears the cape of shame and the robe of
defiance! All that is meet and good and proper shall flee from him, that one
time did him seek! He shall cast about in vain for the path to the
shore for he shall be among the lost at sea forever! He shall have no hope; no
ease; cursed be his very stones! He shall rule not in heaven nor earth
but in deepest Hades! Demons, tickle him, and further, render him
mute. Let him be as one whom moth and rust consume. Break, may he:
burst, may he; bullet, smart him; axe, rent him; fire, burn him; rock,
crush him; river drown him; tick bite him. May he go to his eternal
rest in eternal torment. Blessed wound, blessed hour, blessed be the
day on which Jesus Christ was born.

“I do declare that I shall call upon the elements to deliver unto him
my malediction!

“Muses, aid me! God made serpents and rabbits; God did not make him.
He was never born. Rather, he was grown. Crack him, rack him; when he
begs for water, fill his throat with silt and sand. Misfortune, test
him.  May his paradise be infiltrated by devils. Heaven, refuse him;
Hell, embrace him. May all his luck run out. May he be sicken with
cold. Cast him unto the deep. He is a weed among flowers; he is an ape
among men; he is a counterfeit among the genuine and the good; flay
him: bleed him! Send him around a blind bend! Make him accursed among
all the land! In the name of God, I make the attack. May it please my
Redeemer to assist me. Upon the holy assistant of God I depend
entirely; upon the holy assistance of God I rely very truly. God alone
be with us. Blessed be Jesus.

“I meditate his demise!

“May his bones break; may he melt off the face of the earth; may his
firstborn drown in a pond; may his second-born be trampled by horses!
May be be warm as a serpent and fit as a starveling pig! May he wander
over the face of the land, may be never sleep the sleep of the just,
may he drink but always still thirst; may he waken in the middle of
the night every night and rest no more! Devils, make a flute of his
nose; make a bagpipe of his guts, make a drum of his cheeks; of his
bones make drumsticks! May he smell a rose and be stung by a bee; may
he take a dose of salts and beshit himself in the street; may the
devil stamp upon his toes; may he lose all mortal flesh; may he catch
a fatal dose; may he be surrounded by foemen! May his snout wither and
fall into his gaping maw! He is a snake; he is a harlot; worse; he is
a bad Christian! Therefore ring him like a church bell is rung; beat
him like a drum; bolt him to the fiery stake and step upon the bellows extra
hard to stoke the fire! Hold him to the flame; singe every hair from
off his heathen head; Fortuna, hear me and be not in his favor. Smite
his fingers; afflict his toes; swell his tongue; deafen his ears; make
his eyes fall out! May all the perfumes of Arabia strive in vain to
sweeten his fat and freakish hand! Before the night is over; before
the day is through. Jesus, beneath thy guardianship I am safe against
all tempests and all enemies.

“I call upon the powers of the mind!

“Make his head ache as though it would burst! Afflict his pale belly
with the bloat. Crawl inside his head deep in the night and send my
enemy in shaded flight. Afflict his limbs with the palsy; make him
limp with the gout; damn him as the foe who has harmed me! Fill his
mouth with silt and his eyes with salt! Lay a dagger before him; let
him cut himself. Afflict his back with a hunch; afflict his neck with
boils; may he mate with a succubus; may he arrive too late for heaven
and just soon enough for hell. May the devil use his guts for a string
and stretch his blasted skin upon his bleached bones to form a kite to
soar high above the flames of Hell! May his fate be the fate of all
who have fallen into the lake of fire! May he be impaled upon a pike;
may he be washed out with the tide; may time and tide beat upon his
flayed back an everlasting tattoo; curse his home by hate and wrath
and make him fight both night and day! May luck hide from him as the
sun hides behind a thundercloud; may his wife tire of him; may his
children flee from him; may the devil file his teeth to nubbins; may
the baleful one use his stones for croquet balls; may the serpent bite
his heel. May he weaken and grow sick; may he weaken and die; may he
be as one dead and yet not die. May he reap what he has sown. May all
his goods be piled upon a ship and sunk in the briny deep. May he
always have his eyes open and may he always have good cause to weep.
Bring forth the pain of all the madness both known and unknown; lay it
upon his head!

“The oneness of all I call upon to aid me! Ananiah, Azariah, and
Missel, blessed be the Lord, for he has redeemed us from hell, and has
saved us from death, and he has redeemed us out of the fiery furnace
and has preserved us even in the midst of the fire; in the same manner
may it please him the Lord that there be no fire.

“For he alone is unholy. He alone is low. And he alone is the prince
of all that is ridiculous and despised! Amen.”

Well, all that was quite a mouthful, even for Ketman, and the
remarkable thing about it is that it was all recited from memory.

But soon–all too soon to suit me–Stolas got wind of these goings on.
There was a Judas among that crowd of barroom loochers, and it was
none other than the
barkeep and sudspuller, Tipsy Smith. Tipsy told Smash Conklin and
Conklin–of course–made a beeline to his patron–Stolas.

1*SALUTATION
CHARLES MINGUS
WEDNESDAY NIGHT PRAYER MEETING
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=skDHzBsVk68

2*REFERENCE
USEFUL WEBSITES
http://www.buzzfeed.com/jessicaprobus/33-amazingly-useful-websites-you-never-knew-existed

3*HUMOR
WHAT MARK TWAIN DIDN’T SAY
http://www.realclearpolitics.com/articles/2012/12/10/fake_twain_quotes_and_other_hazards_of_twitter_116376-3.html

4*NOVELTY
ONLINE CALCULATIONS
http://io9.com/the-10-weirdest-calculations-you-can-make-online-right-1566425439/+Mark-Strauss

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
UP CLOSE ON BASEBALL’S BORDERS
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2014/04/23/upshot/24-upshot-baseball.html?_r=1

6* DAILY UTILITY
ARE YOU AN INTOLERABLE INTELLECTUAL?
http://www.buzzfeed.com/regajha/are-you-an-intolerable-intellectual

7*CARTOON
TESTICULAR CAT ATTACK
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jIoOJKLHeY0

8*PRESCRIPTION
SEX DEGREES OF SEPARATION
http://calculators.lloydspharmacy.com/SexDegrees/index.aspx

9*RUMOR PATROL
FACEBOOK KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/04/22/watch-dogs-facebook-privacy-settings_n_5191237.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000063

10* LAGNIAPPE
2,3
WHERE TO NOW
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4f0AEmTggzA

ALL TIME LOW
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3OQzFZRo2o

ALSO SEE:
SWELL MAPS
FULL MOON IN MY POCKET
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngVY50Jut7o

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
PROTEST MUSIC
Protest music is every bit as oppressive as the injustices it is
supposedly intended to eradicate.

*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
1001 BIZARRE ROCK AND ROLL STORIES. LODGE. **1/2
ABSOLUTE FRIENDS. LECARRE. ***1/2
AVENGERS 4. INFINITY. ***
BATMAN & SON. ****
BIRDS OF PREY 1. ***1/2
CATWOMAN 3. UNDER PRESSURE. ***1/2
THE DIVIDE. TAIBBI. ****
EARTH ONE. 2. STRACZYNSKI. ***
ELEKTRA 3. RELENTLESS. ***1/2
ELEKTRA 4. FEVER PITCH. ***1/2
FIRSTWAVE. AZZERELLO. **1/2
FLASH BOYS. LEWIS. ****
GREEK STREET 1. MILLIGAN. ***
GREEK STREET 3. MILLIGAN. ***
HOUSE OF BUSH, HOUSE OF SAUD. UNGER. ****
JLA 4. ***1/2
MEMORIES OF MYSELF: ESSAYS BY DANNY LYON. ****1/2
THE NATURAL. KLEIN. ***1/2
OLD FRIENDS. KIDDER. ****
THE ORCHARD. ROBERTSON. ****1/2
PINK TRIANGLE. PORTER. ***
SPY CATCHER. WRIGHT. ***1/2
STEIG LARSSON’S GIRL….MINA. ***
SUICIDE SQUAD 2. ***1/2
SUICIDE SQUAD 3. ***1/2
SUPERMAN 3. FURY AT WORLD’S END. ***1/2
ULTIMATE COMICS SPIDER-MAN 4. ***

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
741. BARBRA STREISAND
All aesthetic arguments which nominate Ms. Streisand for the status of
immortal greatness presuppose that everyone is on the same page in
terms of interests, orientation, and background, and that we all must
therefore be unanimous in acclaiming her and her narcissistic
showboating. My own visceral dislike of her is based on both her
personality and her legions of shrilly vociferous acolytes who insist
that by virtue of whatever dubitable talent she has, she is therefore
to be accorded carte blanche when it comes to the way she treats other
human beings.

THE INFORMATION #782 MAY 2, 2014

THE INFORMATION
#782 MAY 2, 2014
Copyright 2014 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The world is run by one million evil men, ten million stupid men,
and a hundred million cowards.–Gregory David Roberts, SHANTARAM

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER NINE: PART EIGHT: THE MAYOR OF HELL

In his younger days Cokey Stolas, for all his fondness for snorting asthma
powders, was also a known trencherman who would gobble and grunt his
way through a virtual banquet every noontide at the Pink Elephant
Restaurant. He could easily chow his way through two whole chickens, a
pan-fried steak, and three different chocolate desserts–let’s just
say he warn’t much of a dab hand for eating his vegetables.

After lunch, Cokey Stolas unbuttons his vest and strolls across the
street, where he spends the early afternoon puffing on a big Havana
and holding forth at Feist’s Cigar Store, ranting about ‘the progressive
menace,’ and ominously saying as how “in other towns the hangman is
kept busy stringing up these derelicts.”

Present were Philo Marbas, the liquor-store proprietor; Nathaniel Bune
the petty clerk, “Foxy” Zepar the local ward-heeler, and some half
dozen other men of leisure–Noxtown locals who stroll in and out,
and who make the place their afternoon retreat.

As Stolas held forth they all listened in a state of awe.

“Why do we permit these levelers to preach their nonsense gospel of
soak the rich? If they ever worked a day in their lives, or even took
a regular bath, I could perhaps see some merit to their claims, but why
do we allow these agitators to breathe the fresh air of the land of the
free? The bearded rascals need a shave and a haircut and a freshly
shined pair of shoes before I would even so much as let one of them in
my office.”

Nervous haw-haw from the assembled.

“They’re not like us. They have no head for business and no respect
for money. They’re either ignorant rabble or over-educated goo-goos,
and there’s no in-between! How dare they talk such rotten guff about
nationalizing the railroads and providing old age pensions! Why do we
suffer these radicals to live? With all their loose talk about free
hospitals and public education and the right to form labor unions. The
only rights the workingman has are those that the factory owner
chooses to give ’em, and I will say for a dead cert that I will close
down every one of my mills rather than kow-tow to these asinine wobblies,
and their gobbling demands for ‘safety measures’ and ‘fair pay’!’

A smattering of applause from Zepar, who turns around and, seeing that he’s
the only one clapping, with a red face, desists.

“They claim they can’t support a family on what I pay ’em. I say,
‘Don’t have so many damn kids!’

Applause fills the room.

“And if you do, don’t count on me to feed your lazy brats! Put ’em to work!

More applause.

“You see those smoke stacks on the horizon? That’s the smell of money!
And if I can’t use the river for dumping my dyes and chemicals just
like every other honest businessman, I might as well close up shop!
Nobody cares about the time and effort it takes to maintain a payroll!
What about MY rights? Listen–I hire people who are there to work–I’m
not in the business of giving gainful employ to a scrofulous pack of
scroungers and whiners! You might call me the worst kind of
reactionary, but do you know who uses that kind of lingo? Socialists!
And worse–anarchists! The day I’m forced to hire some blue-gummed
Senegambian or rat-eating John Chinaman to work in my mills is the day
I hang up my hat and retire! Chiselers and loafers who don’t want to
work ain’t gonna dictate to me how I run my business! Not no how!”

Stolas pauses here, to take a nip from a pint bottle, then resumes.

“And I’ll tell you another think. Most of these poisonous agitators
are anti-Christ and anti-God and anti-money and anti-everything!
Scratch a radical, and you find a felon–or a bomb thrower! These
so-called progressives seem to think that business is there for one
purpose only–to sink our hard-earned money into an endless rat hole
of give them this and give them that! Listen: Is it Uncle Sam or Uncle
Gimme Gimme Gimme? Is our proud national symbol a bold American
eagle–or a lazy flea-bitten tramp?

Stolas paused again, to take a deeper and more significant nip.

“When I say the Wobblies are a damned menace I am quite serious. Why
are these police characters even permitted to roam our streets? I fail to
see why WE should continue to support these loafers. Maybe if they cleaned
themselves up and got an honest job they’d think twice about making a
spectacle of themselves–marching in parades and protesting on the
streets–throwing rocks at policemen–they’ll be throwing bombs,
next–just a bunch of radicals–ought to all of ’em be deported
whether they were born here or not–Christian Charity is all very well
and good–but it can be taken too far–why do we allow and even
nurture these vipers in our bosoms?

It was a rhetorical question. Stolas paused to take yet another nip.
His face turned bright red as be began speaking in a louder and more
intemperate voice.

“What itches me the most is that these slackers and no-goods and
God-haters and no-account parasites actually have the right to vote!
That deplorable state of affairs is in no small part to that imitation
Cowboy in the White House. President McKinley–for all his faults–too mild on
the radicals for my taste–too much of a humanitarian–at least he was
a REAL Republican.  THIS man is a conceited demagogue! All that talk
about national parks–that’s socialism! Impulsively inviting a jigaboo
to lunch–that’s a slap in the face of every white man! He must have
been on one crazy drunk to pull a tomfool stunt like that! And all
that canting talk of his of National Greatness–while with both hands
he’s busy giving away the store! It’s a wonder Wall Street hasn’t
crashed a half-dozen times while this toothy maniac grins and
bloviates from his rotten perch. He denigrates businessmen–the very
businessmen who vainly try to teach him common sense as he blathers and
prates on and on about a square deal for loafers and chiselers. He
don’t give a rat’s ass for men as work hard to keep this country busy
and on the beam. Hogging the limelight, declaring with all the
solemnity in the world that black is white, turning the front lawn of
the White House into a zoological garden–is there no act of gross
vulgarity to which this man will not sink? He cries about corruption
while his hands are dirty with finagled loot as he consorts with
boodlers and outright villains! He’s been bought–but what’s even
worse is that he won’t stay bought! His craven name will reek with
odium as long as it is remembered–and God Speed the day when King
Teddy is once more a back number! He is as big a blackguard as has
ever befouled the halls of history! He doesn’t fight crime–with his
lawless acts and feeble-minded preachments, he, rather, incites it! He
is a liar and a most atrocious liar, one who never tells the truth on
any occasion when an outright lie would suit his needs far better, and
sometimes he will lie when the truth will do just fine–he lies, it seems,
simply to keep in practice. He has the morals of an alley-cat and he
uses punch-drunk rhetoric that would shame a Bowery Bum!

The assembled listeners were respectfully quiet as Stolas took a final
nip and worked his way up to his climax.

“Listen: That pistol-packing buck-toothed maniac they have sitting in
the West Wing right now is a HERETIC! When has that scoundrel or any of his
detestable dupes or sworn acolytes ever so much as met a payroll? And
yet this hypocritical bully dares to talk about the wealthy as though
somehow they are the sworn enemies of the republic–instead of its
very life’s blood and purpose! Savior of the common pee-pul! He’s
living in a fool’s paradise–but mark my words–every dog has his day!

The local yokels and petty bureaucrats who composed Stolas’s audience
applauded vigorously at the end of this peroration.

Why?

Because, like I told you before, over and over and over again,
it just didn’t pay to get on the wrong side of the Big Man.

1*SALUTATION
ABERIKULA EN LA HAVANA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ZPid2ZZibqA

2*REFERENCE
MRI SCANS OF FRUITS AND VEGETABLES
http://offbeat.topix.com/story/11415-20-mri-scans-of-fruits-and-vegetables-these-are-both-mesmerizing-and-vaguely-terrifying

3*HUMOR
HUMOROUS ADS FROM VIZ COMICS
http://artoftheprank.com/2008/06/13/humorous-ads-from-viz-comics/

4*NOVELTY
PENDULUM WAVES: HARMONICS IN ACTION
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yVkdfJ9PkRQ

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
21 things you have to explain to out-of-towners about Boston
http://www.thrillist.com/entertainment/boston/things-you-have-to-explain-to-out-of-towners-about-boston?ref=facebook-869

6* DAILY UTILITY
THE LEGACY THAT POVERTY IMPRINTS UPON THE BRAIN
https://www.facebook.com/frank.dimenno?ref=tn_tnmn

7*CARTOON
TIJUANA BIBLES
http://www.tijuana-bibles.com/index.html

8*PRESCRIPTION
BABY CHART
HISTORICAL NAME ANALYSIS TOOL
http://www.babychart.us/

9*RUMOR PATROL
10 FILMS THAT PREDICTED THE FUTURE
http://listverse.com/2012/05/14/top-10-films-that-predicted-the-future/
http://celebs.answers.com/movies/10-films-that-predicted-the-future?param4=fb-us-mo-gut&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=null&utm_content=null-null

10* LAGNIAPPE
JO STAFFORD
TOMORROW MOUNTAIN
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pDHf-mVGdLY

ALSO SEE:
SWING
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hPTQl00guMg

LITTLE MAN WITH A CANDY CIGAR
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-qOWAmKw3M

ALSO SEE:
ARTIE SHAW
CARIOCA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9PvnHya_iXw

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
NOSTALGIA AS AN EXPLANATION OF HOLLYWOOD REMAKES
We tend to be nostalgic for things which struck us at the age of
ten–when our taste is at an all-time low.

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
740. ZORRO
Yawn. More like Snore-o. Is there any time and place more
snooze-inducing than Spanish California?

THE INFORMATION #781 APRIL 25, 2014

THE INFORMATION
#781 APRIL 25, 2014
Copyright 2014 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

My opinions may have changed, but not the fact that I’m right.― Ashleigh Brilliant

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER NINE: PART SEVEN: THE MAYOR OF HELL
 
It was the spring of the year I think it was, Cadger Tandy said to me, which led up to the long-awaited confrontation between Doc Ketman and the Big Man, Cokey Stolas, The Big Yob, The Big Yellof, He Whose Name Must Be Obeyed.
 
I followed the Big Man on his rounds, much to my danger, never suspecting that he would ever think a puny mite like me would dare to spy upon him.
 
Fair to say that there was two types of men around Noxtown, as far as I could tell. Those who knew that any day could mean their demise and who stood out of the way of trouble, hoping it would fix on someone else. Them there was th’ no ‘count folks who nowadays tend to keep to their own. They are the weak fish who have every reason to avoid the outside world. There have always been Jelly men Yellofs like this and I speck there allus will be.
 
Then there is also the hard Yobs– ones who don’t seem to hear too good when you try to tell ’em sompthing. They will never admit that they’re scared of sompthing, because in their minds, what they have of a mind anyway, they are scared of nothing, and they must truly be in some part mad, because they don’t have what every creature in nature can feel in his bones–an instinct for self-preservation.
 
But even these heedless men took pause. Not at the cries of women–the woes of womenfolk they think as being beneath their notice. Women will talk, says the man among men. And women will cry. What matters it to me?
 
Not at the bruised looks of children and dogs. There’s always another bairn to slap or another mutt to kick around. Don’t make no never mind.
 
Not even at the wrath of strong men. Life is hard. Nature is red in tooth and claw. To be a man means to fight. Carnage. The harder the battle the better.
 
But didn’t no one want to go up agin The Big Man.
 
Tommy Dodd, the turfside scribe–a big tough Yellof in a checked suit–one who very much liked the ponies and fine food and champagne living–as fearless a man as a reporter could be–fit in the war with Spain–Rough Rider–warn’t back’ard none–but you won’t hear a word from him about the Big Man–not no more–not ane–not since he lost his two front choppers to a couple of yekkmen after he spotted The Big Man at the track one fine summer day, and said as much in one of his colyumns. Says he laid a five-spot on “Delmonico” in the fifth. The Hoss came a cropper and The Big Man tore up his ticket. Tommy Dodd picked up the torn pieces, which is what I guess irked Stolas the most–the thought that some Yellof be riflin’ through his garbage.
 
Let’s face it–The Big Man–I WILL say his name–Richard B. Stolas–he was the spider, and all of us were his miserable flies. It was his web and we was all just players in it. Buzzing our confused and merry way until the collision–the struggle–and the coup de grace. Was there any enterprise in all of Noxtown he didn’t have a finger in? The Yellof as gave him the dragon tattoo and blabbed about it was found trussed up in his shop with an apple is his mouth; his hair was snow white. The banker who said he would need the weekend to consider a big loan was called on the telephone and ordered to fall into line, and he opened the bank on Sunday to transact his business–first time he done that since the run on gold! The Mayor his own self lived in mortal dread of falling afoul of the Big Man and gave him just about anything he wanted in the way of lagniappe. With but a word, he made the men who ran the Trolley Lines feed the hosses a better grade of oats. Not that he cared for the dumb brutes; he only done it because he COULD. He controlled all the drug stores and had influence over many other establishments in ways which I couldn’t know about then.
 
I shadowed him for a day. One fair Saturday in early spring. Crocuses was blooming, leaves were sprouting buds of green. I dinna ken if he saw me and I dinna ken if he didn’t. If he did, he didn’t call me out. First stop was Feist’s Cigar Store, where he dubbed the jigger, saw nobody in sight, and pilfered him a handful of Havanas–just walked right behind the counter and took ’em. Left his calling card–as “payment”, I suppose. Next stop, Moon Drugs, where the Big Man allus went to get his special asthma powders. He walked out with a big bag of ’em, which he stuffed in the brimming pockets of his striped suit. Paid with a check, I noticed–a check which would likely never be cashed. Took a paper from the corner newsie. Didn’t pay for it. Looked at the front page and threw it in the gutter. You could see sure ‘nough that here was a man, everything he did he done it on the odno.
 
The mean old butcher man was as awesome and scary a Yellof as you’d like to meet–a muscular cove with a big bald head, triple chin, black and white apron always covered with old blood and guts–but even he would start to blubber and fawn when the Big Man hove near, and a small boy would be dispatched with a fresh t-bone to be taken express to the Big Man’s Kitchen. No money changes hands–meanwhile, customers are waiting, and silently fuming–they mought not know that this be The Big Man, but they can sense he’s someone important the way the Bullyboy Butcher grins and trembles at the very sight of him.
 
Next the Big Man’s path takes him to the local fire station, where he hands out stogies–not the Havanas, I noticed, but cheap el stinkos–to all the b’hoys–and claps them on the back all jolly like–and tells ’em to keep up the good work, which, knowing him, means keeping a weather eye out for the homes of ginks that done the Big Man wrong and lettin’ ’em burn to a crisp, right down to the ground.
 
Then we see the Big Man as he hustles Cleary the Baker out of a fresh lump of French bread, which the fat man practically begs Stolas to take off his hands for him. Even his wife, a spavined, sickly and disappointed wench who has nary a kind world for man ner beast, manages to crack a weak smile in the presence of the Big Man.
 
The Blacksmith–a strongman with muscles the size of Cincinnati hams–even he would turn to a jelly man when the Big Man looked his way. “How’s the shoes for my horses coming along.” “All done, Sor,” says the big brute, a giant of a man who could crush the likes of me between his two rock-hard paws. And I thought I saw him commence to tremble. Here’s a man, thunk I, who wrestles hosses to the ground, and he’s as frightened as a little girl in a thunderstorm. What gives?
 
The undertaker–the man in black–lounging outside the funeral parlor–ducks into his shop quicklike when he gets wind of the gen that the Big Man is on the march. 
 
Ditto the lady who makes the wedding cakes–and the fat cheesemonger–all of a sudden, they find they have other things to do and maybe they even shutter their shops because, as far as The Big Man is concerned, no news is good news. 
 
You ought to see the Romish priest, a bobbin’ his head and grinnin’ to beat the band when the Big Man deigns to give him a nod. This priest is a large and portly fellow with many years on him and a thatch of pure white hair, and it is said that this man is afraid only of two things–God–and The Big Man–but that The Big Man runs a very close second.  
 
Even the talky-face Jewish pedlar stoppers his gob and his maw hinges ope in awe as he spies The Big Yellof. And horses that shy and nicker are strangely calm as Big Dick Stolas comes a-rumblin’ past. Sure and I was a green mite–too cocksure and dumb to know what mought become of me an I was caught out a spyin’ on him. Call it the dumb luck of a kiddie–but if HE knew what I was up to, HE didn’t let on that he was wise.  
 
Even the sign-painter was in fear and awe of The Big Man. Painted his name on the office door–in gold leaf–wouldn’t take a cent. Remember me to the Missus and the kiddies, was all he would say. Stolas’ brats was swarming around, pickin’ up the flakes of the gold leaf that fluttered to the ground. Sure and you can keep those, said he, tremblin’, and he walked backwards and away after he gathered up his effects. 
 
Never you mind going up agin the Big Man–he had his thralls and his secret looks and his handshakes and his significant gestures and that was all he needed because he truly had the power, and whether it was the power of an angel or–more likely still–the power of the Evil One, not one man would say except the one man who professed to know him for what he was–that being half-crazed old Doc Ketman.
Watching him go his rounds, even a squirt like me could gen one major fact. No one gets in the way of The Power unless they plan to leave it all behind and start afresh in a locale afar far away.
 
No, Yob: Didn’t no one want to go up agin’ The Big Man.

1*SALUTATION

THE ZOMBIES
2*REFERENCE
 
3*HUMOR
NEW AGE BULLSHIT GENERATOR

http://sebpearce.com/bullshit/

4*NOVELTY
Overview of Women’s Dime Novels and Cheap Fiction
http://chnm.gmu.edu/dimenovels/the-american-womens-dime-novel
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
6* DAILY UTILITY
BIG DATA HAS BIG PROBLEMS
http://boingboing.net/2014/04/02/big-data-has-big-problems.html
ELECTRIC PRUNES

GET ME TO THE WORLD ON TIME
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6C4OjOGSzdM

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

EASTER
When people eat ham to celebrate the resurrection of a deceased Jewish rabbi.

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.

739. KENNEDY ASSASSINATION BY STEVE HAGER

Recently, Paul Krassner was sent an interesting new theory about the JFK assassination. Krassner knows my interest in this area, so he forwarded it to me. The article began with:

Was Doolittle the Mastermind of the Kennedy Assassination?The origins of the John Birch Society is a fabrication. It was founded in order to put pressure on Eisenhower to approve more funding for the ANP. I believe the Birch Society was a front pressure group founded by Doolittle. Doolittle is the one who let Roosevelt know Joe was dead.

To: Paul Krassner

From: Steve Hager

The assassination was directed on one level through James Jesus Angleton’s “Executive Action” program, which was headed by William Harvey, and on another level by Chicago Mob Boss Sam Giancana….

http://stevenhager420.wordpress.com/tag/steve-hager/

THE INFORMATION #780 APRIL 18, 2014

THE INFORMATION
#780 APRIL 18, 2014
Copyright 2014 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER NINE: PART SIX: THE MAYOR OF HELL

It was early spring and a man and a boy were seated in a basement dive. “Note the customer over in the corner,” said Doc Ketman to Cadger Tandy, as the two of them sat in the Seven Stars saloon. Ketman crossed himself three times and muttered: “Matrix, patrix, lay thyself right and safe. Seven arts. Jesu bless us. Savers sent. O! Savers nest. Plus! Naves tress. Perge! Naves rest. Aio! Raven Set. Hui! Snare vest. Hem! Save rent. Jesu bless edgy Narc Tad. Jesus bless Cadet Monk. Or thou or I shall on the third day fill the grave.”

“Note that fat yellof well. It’s Ninny Mick. Or Mick Ninny. Or Nick Minny. Maybe even Minny Nick. Who can be troubled–to figure out his real name? Maybe he wants no man to know it. Everyone hereabouts calls him Musky Dan. He’s also a Dusky Man. He’s got that dusky old man smell about him. And his ear is full of potatoes. Joy of watchfulness. “
 
“He’s never done a day’s work in his life, I’d wager. They say as a youngster he met The Evil One at the crossroads and cut him a deal. He never had to move a muscle and The Black Man could use him as a cat’s paw. I done already told you about the monkey and the chestnuts. If this be true, we need a powerful charm to protect US from Musky Dan. Snaky Mud am dun sky. Without going out my door.” 
 
At this point, Doc Ketman let loose with an incantation which went approximately as follows:
 
“Satan resolve son. Satan sever loom. Satan verses nolo. Satan noel verso. Satan slovens sore. Satan’s novel rose. Satan’s lesson over.”

“Ye cannae be too careful, using that name. It can come back to bite ye. The Lord of the Flies does not like to be called forth from His domain. It is a place of celestial froth and fallen tomfoolery. Why do I dare call upon Him today? Every April first His portal opens to the earth. So he’s less inclined to snap back at ye. Still–powerful stuff, Yob. Don’t you be fooling with that name. By the power of Malkin Tower, by the power of Manlike wort, by the power of terminal worm, by the power of mark towline. I call forth Kilter Woman, I call forth Wrinkle Tom, I call forth Tinkle worm. O Rim Town Lake! This mantle I work. Ink worm tale. Wake Milton! Wreck Milton! Water on Milk. We trail monk. Air knew molt. Air melt know. Walk rime not. Walk no miter. Mark night owl. Nark low time. Maker wilt on. Maker win lot. Maker nil wot!”

“The trouble with April first,” said Ketman, “Is that it’s a day of havoc. Trickster time. And that’s when Musky Dan is at his strongest. The Lord of Misrule makes powerful his thralls.’For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints.’ Look at him, just setting there. laziest man in the world. Note how now he gets up from the table and walks over with a low rumble. He senses we be talking about him, but will he dare to say me nay? I’d like to hear what he has to tell. In the name of the father. Make me an island for my soul which many waters cannot overflow!
Musky Dan indeed came stumbling and shuffling and skulking over to the table–or call it the tabernacle–where Doc Ketman held court. Tipsy Smith was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he sensed a storm brewing and he sensibly decided to go and see what the boys in the back room would have.  

Musky Dan plumped down hard on a sturdy oaken chair, which strained beneath his weight as though it were about to break, but, through some internal strength managed to stay whole.

“Think you’ve got to gen on old Musky Dan,” says he. “Think you’re right smart. A big shot. Me, I’m just an absent-minded beggar…crazy as a bedbug to the likes of you. A dyed in the wool luna-kick. But don’t be so fast to judge, me fine broth of a boy. You can go over my entire life with a fine-toothed comb and you will find that I never did a single thing to harm no one.”
“The Devil you say,” muttered Ketman. 
Musky Dan pretended not to hear. “Long time no see, Doc. How’s tricks? Listen: Ketman: There’s far more to me than meets the eye. You might say that I was like Topsy–I just growed. And I didn’t grow up; I grew out. The way I was raised, it was a dastardly crime, I tells yuh. If it wasn’t one thing it was another. I notice, young man, that you’re squirming in your seat. Keep your shirt on! Little pitchers have big ears, and chillun should be seen and not heard. Let me tell you about my own childhood. We fought Injuns on the savage plains. I was kidnapped by ’em and spent eighteen months among them, learning their lore. Pagan savages as never knew a God, but who had plenty of dark rituals to amuse themselves on cold nights. The women was farmers but the braves would spend all their spare time either hunting of play-actin’ at the hunt. I’ll tell yuh what else we did. We killed many Mexicans. Who knows how many? Who cares? Many of the braves couldn’t count past twenty; I’m sure we killed more than that. I escaped the Indians–don’t ask me how, and when I got home I discovered that everyone shunned me as being a savage, wild. It did take me some time to get accustomed to civilized ways. The local dogs weren’t safe when I was around, at least until I got my bearings back. My folks was fit to be tied. I decided to join the Army. What we did to the Injuns there I wouldn’t care to tell ye, but it turned even my stomach, and I bore them savages no great love. Me, I never was no pie-in-the-sky kind of fellow, but I got religion after I left the army. Settled down with a nice woman and we was all set to raise a family only she died of the scarlet fever, and the baby too. I was all tore up. What’s more, I didn’t have a pot to piss in. So you see me now. A broke-down old man, dependent on the charity of louts and layabouts. Don’t think it can’t happen to you, little laddie. It can happen to anyone. I was a dead shot with a rifle. I still ain’t too shabby with a sidearm. I guess I still could, if I would. But life just lost all meaning once I lost my angel and the bairn. Sure, I turned my back on religion. Who wouldn’t. But don’t you be repeatin’ no rot about me and the Devil. I got shut of Him a long time ago. Maybe there was a time where I might have fallen for his wiles, but no more. If I did sell him my soul, what of it? I got nothing in fact. I’m just a wore-out old man. Ain’t got a leg to stand on. Just as you’d espect. The whole world is spect to me. I don’t care nought for your new inventies. I seen the savage country; this ain’t nothin’ very much new, only it’s the bad country. In Noxtown there’s a gin mill on every corner, seems like; I’d almost rather take my place with the savages on the plains. I can see you looking suspectable. I’ll say it again. I mean no man harm. Is everybody happy? But still you sneer, Ketman. Let me lay it on the line. Get off my back! That’s all there is, there ain’t no more. Sure, I’m bitter. I blame the bloody British. Sure and I would have been a happy bairn back in my ane home country if the changerously threated meddlars hadn’t pushed my kin away afar across the seas. There’s nothing about me that means harm to any man; only I got caught in the middle. Do you think I would sell my immortal soul to anyone, for any reason save one? To bring back my angel and my angel pup. So you can call me anything you want. A lazy bummer. A ninny. A mooch. A common cheat. But I never rolled no man for his coin and I never stole so much as a fish head from an alley cat since I was old enough to wear long-johns. Ye say I have the gift of Blarney–but look at me, Yellof, and say you begrudge me that one talent. For me, the old days was the best days. these days is hardly like I’m living in them at all. All I’m good for is to listen to the people talk. And oh, they WILL talk. Things was FAR better in the olden days. Slaves, they didn’t have it so bad. Try bein’ a captive of the Redskins, then get back to me. All the furriners here-abouts, with their gibble-gabble–they ought to be grateful that we suffer them to live.”
Just then Tipsy Smith came out and told Ketman and “his brat” to “clear out o’ here and stop disturbin’ the payin’ customers.” For his part, as he hustled Cadger Tandy out the door, Ketman turned on Tipsy Smith and spake the following invocation:
“My spit hits Pity Smith. Misty Pith. Shitty Imp. Hide-bound, be off my back and ribs, since Christ, our Lord, spoke truth with his lips!”
And he bustled sidewise through the swinging door of the saloon just a second ahead of an angry spittoon which Smith had hurled at his departing form.
Ketman told Cadger Tandy that what he saw and heard at the Seven Stars that day was a deep dark secret which he was to tell no man, on a promise. A promise which he kept –until nearly his dying day.

1*SALUTATION

THE GRAINS OF SAND
THAT’S WHEN HAPPINESS BEGAN
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79kvml6M6Is
ALSO SEE:
2*REFERENCE
3*HUMOR

DRINK SCHLITZ OR I’LL KILL YOU
Burnett Agency’s ill-considered ad campaign enabled, perhaps ensured, Schlitz’s slide to oblivion.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_baloTGt5M&feature=share

4*NOVELTY
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
Whole Foods: America’s Temple of Pseudoscience
http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/02/23/whole-foods-america-s-temple-of-pseudoscience.html
6* DAILY UTILITY
CAN A COMEDIAN SUE IF SOMEONE STEALS HIS MATERIAL?
http://slate.me/1iacY5x
ALSO SEE:
HENNY YOUNGMAN ROASTS DON RICKLES
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mTk1yAg-Jus
7*CARTOON
ALSO SEE:
8*PRESCRIPTION
9*RUMOR PATROL
10* LAGNIAPPE

MILTON BROWN & HIS BROWNIES

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

LOST CLASSICS NOW AVAILABLE ON YOUTUBE

LUXURY CONDOS COMING TO YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD SOON
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JH8yo4M2zx0

BACH’S BOTTOM
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpBJNGzeYTk

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.

738. VINYL???!
Vinyl? Pooh! I still miss Shellac. Christ, that Bojangles could tap-dance! Did you take my drink? Jesus, Mary and Joseph! TWENTY DOLLARS for a HAIRCUT! That used to be half a week’s wages! The old days was the best days. Lemme tell you something–kids today–they don’t know how good they have it. What with their floppy discs and their newfangled cordless phones–they don’t know what it’s like to suffer, and I hope they never will.

The Beatles were Communists, you know. All the hippies were. Hippies, Yippies, Zippies, Bippies, Mippies–who needs em? Give me the good old days when gum-snapping cuties with husky whiskey voices pitched woo at fresh-faced soldier boys who gave you a smart salute and barked “Rajah!”

Me, crazy? I guess I am. It’s a crazy world. Nobody understands me anymore. Listen: Talk about Crazy! Back in the olden days there was Crazy Mitch. Back in Kindergarten he used to do an award winning impression of Frank Fontaine. I later hear that Johnny Carson had some problems with his marriage. Who in the devil is this whippersnapper, this Don Rickles character? Somebody ought to poke that bullet-headed rascal right in the old snoot.

Gol dang it, I remember when Eisenhower was president AND THERE WARN’T NO PUSSYFOOTING IN THE WHITE HOUSE AND THE MARGINAL RATE WAS 90%–me fine bucko! WHAT, AM I SPEAKING CHINESE? You may think I’m a senile codger, but don’t sell me short–I’m human too! Just because my shoes are floppy and I walk with a hitch and a shuffle, don’t mean I’m ready for the boneyard yet!

THE INFORMATION #779 APRIL 11, 2014

THE INFORMATION
#779 APRIL 11, 2014
Copyright 2014 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER NINE: PART FIVE: THE MAYOR OF HELL
Doc Ketman was setting in the Seven Stars Tavern with young Cadger Tandy even though both were fast becoming unwelcome. The very sight of the Doc hurt the eyes of Tipsy Smith because Doc never bought nothing save only a short draft from time to time, and Cadger Tandy raised eyebrows every time he set foot in the place because he was only twelve years old and the bad-tempered whore who was his guardian, Red Mary, would of thrown somersaults had she heard he was hanging about the low dive. Doc was filling Cadger Tandy’s ear with accounts of some of the local color, as part of his extracurricular learning which was considerably more entertaining than readin’, writin’, and ciphering to the rule of three.

You ever see the likes of Jimmy. You know–Jimmy the Ragmop. Jimmy Ragmop, said Ketman. If not, then ye never will. There’s a Lot of Things You Never Learn at School.You know him–the ginger-haired Polack layabout–Tipsy Smith keeps him on out of the goodness of his heart as a sort of Bar Boy–bearded wretch–looks like the devil himself–likes to sing as he works–the big boys invited him to their shindies to provide a song or two–he’d always forget the lyrics–In the Good Old Summertime–what was so good about it I wonder–especially when you sing the same verse over and over–In the Sweet Bye and Bye–he sung it in a low baritone which was anything but sweet–Beautiful Bird Sing On–O Beautiful Bird Please Don’t–My Old Kentucky Home–and why don’t ye go back there, by God–Always in the Way–truer words were never spoken. The Jack Tar March–well, march it right on out of here, me Bucko. Jesus, I will arise.

He’d sing at the drop of a sparrow. You’re As Welcome as the Flowers in May. But faith, an you’re not. I’m Thinkin’ of You All De While. Please–don’t.  It’s a Lovely Day for a Walk. Then walk on out of here. And Jesus, do thou accompany me. 

Ah, me! To each his own. The violin don’t play for everybody–In the City of Sighs and Tears. One man likes playing violin, and the other likes it when his feet are smelly.  Jesus, do thou lock my heart into thine.

They called him “The Voice”. Suffering clarity! He was a cheery idiot. Lapped up his beer like a thirsty pig–would squeal and snort while drinkin’ down his bellywash–God Bless him, I suppose–His happiness is between the lips and the rim of a glass–The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous–would demolish the free lunch–didn’t care that there was enough salt in there to float Remember The Maine–nobody knowed his real name and nobody cared. Any more than a pig can see the sky. It was allus Jimmy Ragmop. Or “Id” –for Idiot. Sometimes he would pose in front of another man behind the curtain who was doing the actual singing and would clown around as though the sounds was coming from his mouth. His own voice wasn’t bad. A middling tenor, if only it was trained. Jesus, let my body and my soul be commended unto thee.
You cannae fault him for not being friendly. Maybe because he was always slightly lit. He didn’t have a truly evil thought in him, from the looks of him. His eyeborows was allus lifted in surprise. What one thinks when sober, one says when drunk. Far as I can tell, he was always talking about the weather. that was is favorite gambit. Brr! Cold! He’d say. then he’d set back as though he was spinning one of them phony-graph cylinders and would listen as his correspondent would wax on about how they was sick of the winter and all this snow and thank God for Spring and what does it take to get a drink around here and Jimmy Ragmop would hustle himself behind the bar and say I can pull you some suds and the Mark would say how about some of that top shelf stuffy-wuffy and Jimmy Ragmop would get all secret-looking and whisper out of earshot of Tipsy Smith, “Confidentially, friend, it’s all the same.” No wonder Tipsy the barkeep blamed Jimmy Ragmop whenever anything went wrong in the place!  Innocence itself sometimes has need of a mask.  And so every now and again Jimmy Ragmop would say something that would indicate he wasn’t merely a simple dunce.The Lord is crucified.
There was a rival establishment across the street, The “8” Ball Cafe, which was built on the former site of the Della-X Underground Nitro Factory and Gravel Pit, and from time to time Jimmy Ragmop would say “We ought to get some of that leftover soup and blow that joint to smithereens,” or “We ought to blast that place to Kingdom Come,” or “We ought to burn that greasy spoon right down to the ground.” You couldn’t fault him for his loyalty. Nowadays you must go to heaven to meet an angel. May God guard my senses that evil spirits may not overcome me.
He was a zany, a floppy Kid; a beer slob who would walk around with his lips around the entire mouth of the glass mug; a sentimental Albatross, he was, as had a huge mash on every Dame that worked for Red Mary but who never had the pelf to sidle up to one of them for a night of joy. Anyways, he was right afreerd of Smash Conklin, and with good reason. Old Uglyface couldn’t even be troubled to call him by his first name whenever he visited the bar. I dinna ken why Uglyface took such a violent dislike to Jimmy, but it was so.
“Ragmop,” says Conklin as he strode in one day. “You’re as ugly as ever.”
“Can I get something for you, Sir? On this hot day.”
“You can get ye gone. I don’t like the looks of ye.”
And Jimmy confronted him, mildly, as was his way. He was a good soul at heart, spite of his more violent instincts.
“Why you no be my friend, Mistah Smash?”
That mild remark got old Uglyface into a furious uproar.

“Ragmop, you are a twisty-mouth, red faced, red-bearded rascal with about as much sense as God gave a goose. You are a flea in my ear! Look at you! You are a miserable, satchel-mouthed rascal with the devil’s own green eyes! Your mouth is twisted up into a crooked smile but I bet you would be willing to kill all of us in our sleep–smother us in gas, maybe, or croak us with some poison Redeye. You are a fountain of sin, you red demon! You’re a half-bred, half-dead, half-human, half-wit!” 

And Jimmy Ragmop, in a supreme sign that suffering Christ still walks amongst us on the earth, had only one thing to say to the brawling rumbustious Bully: “I’m sorry,” he said, “that you feel that way. I always admired you.”

What could Conklin say to that? He turned on his heel and stalked out of the joint, while muttering something about a charmed life and next time I’ll trim his sails, I will. A soft answer turneth away wrath, as the Good Book says, but I knew Conklin, and I knew that he was not so easily appeased. I also knew that Jimmy Ragmop had a dark side, and it interested me to speculate what would become of him if he set to feuding after Conklin with a vengeance. In the name of God the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.

1*SALUTATION

BLOOD ON THE SADDLE

I WISH I WAS A SINGLE GIRL AGAIN
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwDD8HBIzHw
2*REFERENCE
3*HUMOR
ALSO SEE:
4*NOVELTY
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
7*CARTOON
ALSO SEE:
8*PRESCRIPTION
9*RUMOR PATROL
WHICH DEWEY DECIMAL CATEGORY ARE YOU?
http://content.easybib.com/which-dewey-decimal-category-are-you/#.Uzr4sPldWD8 ALSO SEE:
POLICE ARREST NAKED MAN WHO WAS RIDING TRICYCLE WHILE HIGH ON COCAINE
http://www.thesmokinggun.com/buster/naked-man-on-tricycle-675432

10* LAGNIAPPE

STUFF SMITH
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
JERRY LEWIS IS STILL AN ASSHOLE
I saw Jerry signing his book in Cambridge Mass. circa 1982. I wish I had shouted out my questions about his percodan addiction and The Day the Clown Cried, but he had several goons there who would no doubt have hustled me out of there. He insulted one pathetic little old man who wanted to have his picture taken with Jerry: “Where did you get your clothes? At the Salvation Army?” And practically reduced him to tears. This compassionate humanitarian!
http://www.vice.com/read/jerry-lewis-is-still-alive

*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED

AMONG SCHOOLCHILDREN. KIDDER. ****
APRIL 1865. WINIK. ****

AVENGERS: ENDLESS WARTIME. ***1/2

AVENGERS ACADEMY 3. **1/2

BAD FOR YOU. PYLE & CUNNINGHAM. ***

BLOOD WILL OUT. KIRN. ***1/2

CAN’T BUY ME LOVE. GOULD. ****
GOTHAM CENTRAL 4. CORRIGAN. ****
HERE’S MORGAN! MORGAN. **1/2
IMPERFECT THIRST. KINNELL. ****
ISAAC’S STORM. LARSON. ****
JSA ALL-STARS 1. CONSTELLATIONS. ***
THE SIMON & KIRBY LIBRARY: HORROR. ***
SUICIDE SQUAD 1. ****
THE TWELVE. 1. STRACZYNSKI. ***1/2
UNKNOWN SOLDIER 3. DRY SEASON. ***1/2
WITH MALICE TOWARD NONE. GATES. ****
WITHOUT MERCY. BEASLEY. ****
WOLVERINE MAX: VEGAS. ***
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
737. ARMOUR BRAND VIENNA SAUSAGES
In July 1987 a Florida woman was arrested for feeding her two children a can of Vienna sausage on a Miami commuter tram. The sausage company sent her $125 to pay the fine. http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1368&dat=19881202&id=mqNRAAAAIBAJ&sjid=nhIEAAAAIBAJ&pg=1540%2C320032