THE INFORMATION #805 OCTOBER 10, 2014

THE INFORMATION #805
OCTOBER 10, 2014
Copyright 2014 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

When you finally go back to your old home, you find it wasn’t the old home you missed but your childhood.–Sam EwingWHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER NINE: PART THIRTY-ONE: THE MAYOR OF HELL

Yob, when a lad is twelve years old going on twenty, or so he thinks, he pays no
mind to schoolmarms ner heifers and especially not to zooks and
other worn out hussies who say he ought to mind his Ps and Qs. Back
then, I was meat for the truant officer, and if I wasn’t batting about
Feist’s Cigar Store with the ward heelers and low-down dead pickers
and duke players, or over to the Seven Stars Saloon–not exactly an ice
palace–with the dregs-drinkers and the jug-heisters and the loocher
and moochers, or down at Moon Drugs with the buzzers and hopheads and the snowbirds all loungin’ about before they got a fanner and got loaded into the hustle buggy–or the hurry-up wagon–or over by Slopp Brokers Pawnshop with the stiffs and the crooks and the floppers–all the while listening to their palaver–then it seems as though whatever it was I WAS doing was simply time wasted until the next occasion when I had a chance to bat about with all the queer birds and odd fishes, both the down and out and all the Fancy and the Sports.

Like Doc Ketman told me, no Yob says that when he grows up he wants
to be a beefer, or a cackler, or a clover kicker or plough jockey as
is so dumb he beats his knobhead and kills his stock without battin’
an eye but gives a tender name to all his eatin’ utensils. No, the
Kiddo looks at all the flash bastards and boodlers in Noxtown
and crows out to all the world that he wants to be just like them–a
real badman and a bonafide police character, him.
It’s all gravy, Son, until someone gets kilt–usually, himself.
But next to the free and easy life of a sport, you could settle for
the life of a tramp or a high-roller. as also seemed like a free 
gratis ticket to the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
I couldn’t resist the hobo lure, me. Down at the railway junction I would
dodge John Family the town clown, and especially Bruno the Yard Master
with his wicked hogleg–and I’d come calling in at the jungle to bat about 
with the blanket stiffs and buzzards, the gandy stiffs and the shovel bums–
the boomers all called me a cat, a yap, and a tenderfoot, but they warn’t 
jockers–they kept the fuzzy tails away and they knowed I was no gonsil 
so they warned off any wolfs who would try to turn me into an Angelina 
or an Auntie. They mostly didn’t mind me batting about none, as I warn’t 
no dino ner ding bat and did my share of the work and I one time even 
made a gut plunge for ’em and brung ’em block scrapings from the ornery
roughneck butcher man (I told him it was for a dog I didn’t have–and so
he also gave me a pig’s snout and a hog’s eyebrow). Sometimes I would
even bring along fresh vegetables I’d glaum from the Italian Fruit
Stand, a feat at which I was a past master. (“Some little bastard’s
been getting into my greens,” said the excitable Tony who worked the
stall, oftentimes within my hearing. If only he knew!) “Sweet back,”
they’d call me. “Little lamb, who made thee,” they would sometimes
howl at even the very sight of me–but it was all in good fun.
They never said to me, “Here’s a match–make your own fire.” No, the
Tramps was mostly monstrous good to me. “Don’t be like me,” was the
only moral advice the Old Time ‘Bos were prone to give, and that
suited me fine after an earful on proper deportment from the stale
bazoos of the usual authorities on the subject, the blisters squawking
why don’t you get a job (who all of ’em long to be ravaged by a lusty
young tramp);  the smooth-shaven galways and the batty sky pilots and
mission squawkers with their eyes rolled up, handing out angel food;
and them as what the Bos all called the bums on the plush, men who
liked to hear the sound of their own wind and who, I’d be willing to
bet, didn’t care one straw about a  yob like you or me.
The hoboes as would sleep in a bedroom of stars under cover of the
moon and warn’t shy about spending their spare time–of which they had
plenty–riding the belly of a drag. They mought seem like slobs to you and yourn
but to me they were about the most interesting people around–the
mission stiffs and the wobs and the rounders; they were a novelty to
me; more so than the pimps and the ponces; the spongers and the 
moochers; the tramps and the debutramps; the murderers and the 
yekkmen;  and the sports and the fancy-men that batted
around my usual haunts–the ugly circuit of the drug store, the cigar
store, the saloon, and the pawnbroker.
Thinking too much and thinking not at all are both terrible things,
Yob; but of the two, thinking too much can do the most harm. The
thinking bone is a mighty powerful organ; it can blow you up or let
you down on just a whim–a whim where you don’t know where it comes from. Do
people ever really have any say-so as to who they are and what they are? I say
nay. Yellofs, the most of them, are creatures of circumstance mostly;
ye needn’t judge them too harshly; mostly, they are who they have to
be. And why? Comes from their raisin’. Put too much yeast in the bread
and it becomes a thing of mostly air; put in too little, and it’s rock
solid. People are like that, you know; if they don’t give ’em enough
of what they need, they come out all twisty, like a pretzel. But
say, all this talk of bread is making me hungry, even though with the
state of my grinders all I’m fit for is a meal of graveyard stew.
Anyways, even if you remember nothing else, Yob, remember what I’m
telling you now: darkness is greedy. And the underworld is mostly full of
dark hearts as have been broken in one way or another and
have got nothing to live for but the present day. Think of what it must be
like to be always on the run–though you may find out the truth of it
soon enough–and remember, once the easy life gets its hooks into you,
you better watch out–that’s all–watch out. That’s all.
If I had it to do over then maybe I’d of camped out at the knowledge
box like I was supposed to and learned my cipherin’ to the rule of
three and suchlike nonsense. But that claptrap was for chumps, is what
I said. Me for the wide open spaces. I was none too smart, at
thirteen, I’ll be the first to admit. No one is. I thought I’d be a
big man, if I wasn’t one already. Maybe take on a job as a razor
back–and some day I’d ride the velvet.
At worst I thought I’d shill through–I’d never be a slob sister–but
look at me now. Broken–skating on the uppers–too wore out to slam
the gate–too weak for the peanut farm–too far gone for the pill
peddlar–a ripe customer for the black bottle–and gettin’ ready for that long
dirt nap.1*SALUTATION

Alexis Zoumbas
Lost Recordings
2*REFERENCE
HOBO LINGO
WHEN FART JOKES WERE COMEDY’S LAST TABOO
EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT ELLO
GREAT NEWS FOR PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY READ BOOKS
WHAT NERVE! ALTERNATIVE FIGURES IN AMERICAN ART
WALLACE WOOD GALLERY
15 BOOKS BANNED FOR THE MOST ABSURD REASONS EVER

9*RUMOR PATROL

HITLER AND THE SEA MONKEYS
10* LAGNIAPPE
THE MOVE
THE LOST BROADCASTS

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

THE DIRECTOR. By David Ignatius.  
Newly appointed CIA Director Graham
Weber is an outsider hailing from the world of business, not
espionage. In the environment of cyber-terrorism that has permanently
altered the world of spy craft, he soon finds himself in over his head.
So Weber places his trust in a protege–the elusive and brilliant
former (and possibly current) computer hacker Morris–an act which
could lead to global financial catastrophe. The author has a
reputation as an espionage and suspense writer who is quite
knowledgeable about foreign affairs. In his latest novel depicting the
maneuverings inside of the puzzle palace of the CIA, he proves equally
adept at portraying modern-day international intrigues–in a
nail-biting fashion which will convince you that the events could be
taking place right now.
*11A BOOKS READ AND RATED
52 PICK-UP. LEONARD. ***1/2
AFTERLIFE WITH ARCHIE 1. ***
AMAZING SPIDER-MAN: FAMILY MATTERS. ***
AMERICA AT WAR. FINN. ***1/2
ASTRO CITY: THROUGH OPEN DOORS. ****
B.KRIGSTEIN COMICS. ***1/2
BATMAN 4: ZERO YEAR–SECRET CITY. ***1/2
BATMAN ’66. 1/ ***
BAD SEX ON SPEED. STAHL. ***1/2
BIRDS OF PREY: DEATH OF ORACLE. ***
CALIGULA 1. LAPHAM. ****
CALIGULA 2. LAPHAM. ***1/2
THE CASTAWAYS. VOLLMAR & CALLEJO. ****
CASTLE: RICHARD CASTLE’S STORM SEASON. ***1/2
THE CITY. MASREEL. ****1/2
THE DARK KNIGHT 3. MAD. ***1/2
DOC SAVAGE; THE MAN OF BRONZE. **
DOC SAVAGE; THE SILVER PYRAMID. ***1/2
THE DIRECTOR. IGNATIUS. ***1/2
DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SLEEP 5. ****
DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SLEEP 6. ****
THE FORGOTTEN MAN. SHLAES, RIVOCHE, DIXON. ***1/2
THE FOX 1. FREAK MAGNET. *1/2
JOHN WAYNE’S AMERICA. WILLS. ****
LANDSLIDE. DARMAN. ****
MIRACLEMAN 1: A DREAM OF FLYING. ****
OVER EASY. POND. ****1/2
READY FOR A BRAND NEW BEAT. KURLANSKY. ****
RESURRECTION MAN 1. **1/2
SHOCKED AND AMAZED. TAYLOR. ***1/2
THE UNWINDING. PACKER. ****1/2
VELVET: BEFORE THE LIVING END. ***
X-MEN: BATTLE OF THE ATOM. ***CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
763. COMIC STRIPS, THE PULPS, COMIC BOOKS AND HARRY DONENFELD

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