MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 200 JUNE 2015

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 200
JUNE 2015
Copyright 2015 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

 

  1. MODERN WISDOM PRESENTS: THE MODERN WISDOM DYSLEXICON

CINDERELLA. Frankenstein in drag.

CIRRHOSIS. Among alcoholics, a status disease.

CLUB DRUGS. All the psychoses with none of the inconvenient violence.

COCKROACHES. Are going upscale on me. They’ve tacked up a sign over the kitchen: “Welcome to Vermin Court. Weevils and silverfish, please use the servant’s entrance.”

COMEDY CLUB: A gulag for self-styled hipsters.

COMMON COLD. Good news. They’re found a cure. Bad news: the cure is heroin.

COMPROMISE: Surrender.

CONFEDERATE VETERANS. Gettysburg was their Woodstock.

CONFUCIUS. The great sage’s words have been reduced to clever sayings; a portent of what posterity holds for all people who have great ideas.

CONVOY. Supersized lemming colony.

COOLIDGE, CALVIN. People confused the fact that he said nothing with the fact that he had nothing to say.

 

  1. PRACTICAL ADVICE FOR THE HOMELESS THAT YOU WON’T FIND ANYWHERE ELSE
    Winos take forever to come.
    Joker Rolling Papers purchased from 24 hour stores tend to stick together.
    The CVS brand is a GOOD rubbing alcohol; it’s not a GREAT rubbing alcohol….
    Instant mashed potatoes CAN go bad.
    Ex-cons will always try to play you for a chump.
    Pregnancy pants with the stretch band across the midriff are surprisngly comfy.
    Disposable needles tend to be blunter than non-disposables.
    It takes awhile to get used to a hook for a hand.                            

Home is where, when you go there, they tell you to get the hell out.

  1. MODERN PROVERBS 

    Visualize world police.
    High school is a hospital where they amputate your imagination.
    Nobody ever remembers the man who gives them the amnesia pills.
    There is nothing sadder than a superannuated funnyman.
    My anger is cool but yours is just stupid.
    The American Empire’s mythology is the commodification of all myth.
    The losers can also write history.
    Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.
    My police state, right or wrong.
    This is no country for old memes.
    No ideology please, we’re Americans.
    America is zoned for business, not beauty.
    While the world about us rages, let’s go back to the media pages.
    Television programming is the random ephemera of an infinite flea market.
    Justice is no more than a luxury.
    Art is a time capsule for the zeitgeist.
    What manner of man doth dare declare me pompous?
    Advertising is a cheerful record of American selfishness.
    Tradition must change.
    Irony “rules,” “ok?”
    Hate will also find a way.
    We’re all somebody’s idiot.
    Experience is a useful pill to purge optimism.
    My instinct is to do the indecisive thing–but I’m not sure exactly
    what that is.
    A memoir commemorates our self-deception .
    The present isn’t what it used to be.
    Abandon hope, all ye who hit ‘enter’ here.
    Old men often offer laughably anachronistic advice.
    Candor is our only socially acceptable guile.
    Life is simply a quiet accumulation of tyrannies and traumas.
    Let a simile be your umbrella.
    You have the right to remain salient.
    Me is the new you.
    A marriage is made in heaven and lived in hell.
    There is a terrifying wasteland between innocence and hysteria.
    Inside of every woman there’s a fat man struggling to get out–me.
    All liberals are stupid and all conservatives are fat.
    Key definitions drive the plot.
    Fanaticism is belief exploded and hardened into dogma.
    The categories of our expectations are made to be ruptured.
    Our short national daydream is beginning.
    Democratic politics seldom explores the vast middle ground between
    buffoonery and cant.
    Past controversies are always quaint.
    Junkies are like, so 20th century.
    Life is but a gene.
    The simplest explanation is always this: They lied.
    The shameless succeed.
    When we reunite with our relatives we become uncomfortable spectators
    of our own stupidities.
    Procreation is the thief of time.
    We also rage against the coming of the light.
    We are often more spinned against than spinning.
    Sound is a bell and silence is that it has not been rung.
    Our choice of friends merely betrays the networks of our ambivalence.
    Time creates the mosaic of reality.
    Now is always the bronze age.
    They want to make you think there’s something wrong.
    Our destiny whistles through a hollow shell.
    It’s the end of the word as we know it and I–
    Let’s not forget the sins of the grandfathers, too.
    Beware the patience of an angry man.
    Pepperoni is just baloney with attitude.
    All art is sexual harassment.
    All slogans are rhetorical substitutes for evidence.
    Xenophobes all ought to go back to where they didn’t come from.
    Save the country–win valuable prizes!
    The internet is a fount of useful misinformation.
    Propaganda is a machine for the betrayal of the meaning of words.
    Televison is a voracious mirror.
    Driving is dada.
    The more illusory the enemy the more relentlessly he must be hunted down.
    Impracticality is the greatest sin.
    Many things once considered right in time become wrong.
    Who push the experts on, they are the gods.
    Arty means dirty and smart means dull.

  1. VICE PRESIDENT COPSY.

    Synopsis: President Calvin Coolidge, inveterate prankster, decides to
    appoint a midget to be his Vice President for a day. But he soon comes
    to find out that…the little man has big ideas of his own!  What
    follows is a series of dialogues between Silent Cal and the voluble
    midget, who immediately asks for elevator shoes and a top hat to belie
    his short stature.

    You’re not going to read about it in the history books, or even in any
    recent biography of President “Silent Cal” Coolidge, no matter how
    comprehensive. But, as it happens, this is a true story about what
    took place during one day in 1923 when Coolidge, newly assuming to the
    Presidency, decided to play a prank on the electorate and appoint as
    his Vice-President a midget from the Black and Red Carnival, which
    happened to be in Washington D.C. that day. Remember that these were
    simpler times. Coolidge, famous for being an early riser, merely
    strolled over to the Carnival grounds at about 6am and asked the
    proprietor, a dumbfounded Jacques “Old Blackie” Vapula, whether he had
    any midgets he could “loan” him. Old Blackie, after he got over his
    original astonishment, allowed that Cushy the Dwarf, also known as
    “Copsy,” would admirably fill the bill. “I’ll warn you, though,” said
    Black Jack, “that the little man has got a big temper. Thinks he’s
    ‘the stuff’. But you’re welcome to borrow him. He’s been in a bit of a
    sulk lately, anyhow. His father was the same way. ”

    A footnote: Coolidge, as was his parsimonious wont, made no reference
    to payment, and Black Jack was too overawed to ask for any.

    Riding back to the White House in a Pierce-Arrow limousine, Coolidge
    asked the midget (he was well-formed; not really a dwarf) why he was
    called Copsy. The little man immediately shot back, “Why are you
    called ‘Mr. President’?”

    “Because I’m the President. “

    “Well, that’s why I’m called Copsy. You heard of Topsy?”

    “Ye-es.”

    “Well, Topsy wasn’t born; she jes’ growed. I’m Copsy; I just crowed.”

    It is to be presumed that this nonsensical patter pleased the
    President, because the two of them proceeded past the gates of the
    main entrance of the south side of the White House, and walked,
    unescorted, into the West Wing .

    We have only Copsy’s own report for the preceding exchange; however,
    the White House stenographer,  W. A. Perkins,  is to be thanked for
    the transcript of the dialog which follows.

    Coolidge: So how do you like travelling with the circus?

    Copsy: It’s the shits, yer honor. Begging your pardon.

    Coolidge: What’s so bad about it, if I may ask.

    Copsy: Ask away, stoneface. I’ll tellya, a guy like me, can’t even get
    laid unless you give away a big stuffed bear to some likely bit o’
    poontang.

    Coolidge: I’m afraid I don’t quite understand half of what you’re saying.

    Copsy: Or maybe you understand me all too well. Look, Chief, we’re all
    adults here. And you ain’t exactly no sucking babe.  It’s a good thing
    your stenog ain’t no she-male, else her ears would be flaming red.
    What’cha drag me over to this joint for, anyhoo?

    Coolidge: How would you like to be my honorary Vice President for a day?

    Copsy: Are you shittin’ me? I’d like it swell, Chief.  But…

    Coolidge: Yes?

    Copsy: Do you think you could get me something in the way of liquid
    refreshment? It’s been a long time between drinks.

    Coolidge. What would you like? Lemonade? Moxie? A glass of iced water?

    Copsy: Phaw-haw-haw! You really are a Larry, ain’t yuh? I’m looking
    for a stimulant. Whiskey, gin, hell, I’ll even take rum.

    Coolidge: I think I could set you up with a glass of Brandy. But
    surely you don’t wish to imbibe this early. It’s only seven o’clock in
    the morning.

    Copsy:  I like to keep odd hours. Now’s just about the time when I go
    to bed. A little nightcap will brace me right up.

    Coolidge: You really are quite a little character, aren’t you?

    Copsy: You ain’t so bad yourself, for a Looky-Loo.  So what does this
    job amount to? You want me to smile for the birdie and look pretty?

    Perkins: I think, Mr. President, he means do you want to have his picture taken?

    Copsy: Saay, Chief—who is this bird?

    Coolidge: My Stenographer.

    Copsy: Well, tell him not to butt in.

    Coolidge: I don’t suppose you know how to sew. I have some socks that
    need mending.

    Copsy: Phaw-haw-haw! [Pause.] Oh—you’re serious, ain’t yuh?

    Coolidge: Many people say so.

    Copsy: Phaw-haw-haw!

    Coolidge: My observations are for my own diversion. They are not
    intended to entertain.

    Copsy: Say—where can a fellow get a bite to eat around here?

    Coolidge: I was just about to sit down to breakfast. Steaky. And potatoes.

    [Breakfast is brought in. At this point the transcript devolves into a
    great deal of slurping and smacking from Copsy, along with cries of
    “Eat ‘em up” and “Mm-boy, that’s good!”]

    Copsy: That was a good little snack. You really know how to tie on the
    feed-bag, don’t yuh? Say—you wouldn’t happen to have a good cigar now,
    would you?

    Coolidge: It just so happens that I do.

    Copsy: Say…this is a good cigar.

    Coolidge: I must say that it is customary to remove the band before smoking it.

    Copsy: Me, I always keep it on—in case I want to save some for later.

    Coolidge: You’re quite the little man, aren’t you?

    Copsy: I’ll tell the world!

    Coolidge: I mean to say, you’re quite the big man—among your circus friends?

    Copsy: None bigger.

    Coolidge: I’m telling you this, my man, to make you cheerful., because
    I’m going to make a few remarks about your manners. They’re atrocious!

    Copsy: Atrocious? What’s that—a city in New York? I played Rochester
    once. Wotta  dump! But they did have this fried chicken joint that was
    outta this world. I wonder if it’s still there?  They had a great
    sweet and hot sauce that was out of sight. I remember I got tired
    of trying to sleep in my trailer, because the elephant had a toothache
    and was bellowing all night.  So I got me a haircut at Ray’s
    Barbershop and had a little snifter of something good at Vallot’s
    Tavern and then I stayed for a night at the Gibson Hotel. Back then it
    was run by the Gibson brothers, but I think one of them croaked.  We
    used to call them mole-heads, because the looked like a pair of
    snuffling moles. I remember it like it was yesterday—got up in the
    morning, had me a breakfast of bacon and eggs at LaRue’s Restaurant,
    and then it was back to the grind. Say, this being Vice President
    ain’t all that hard. You know, confidentially, I can think of two or
    three—got any more of that Brandy? Shall I just keep holt of the
    bottle there? Thanks, don’t mind if I do.  Anyway, Chief, I can hook
    you up  with two or three ways to improve this country that maybe you
    ought to look into.

    Coolidge. Thank you.

    Copsy: First of all, there ought to be a law against women drivers.
    Second, why can’t something be done about mothers-in-law? And, third,
    the owners of circuses and carnivals are some of the biggest crooks
    around. Can’t something be done to hem them in?

    Coolidge: I’m afraid that what you ask is quite impossible. As much as
    I’d like to help you.

    Copsy: Why not? You’re the President, ain’t youz? You can grant me my
    birthday wish!

    Coolidge: What might that be?

    Copsy: More of this here Brandy. I’ll tell ya what, Calvin, old
    sock—here’s what you need to do. You need to loosen up a bit. Take off
    that sour face and crack a smile every now and again. Walk around in
    your carpet slippers and bathrobe. For Christ sakes, you look like you
    were born in that suit. Mooch around with some Cat’licks. Saay, them
    Pope-lovers are the boys who know how to have a good time!

Oh, I know, I know–“Keep Kool With Koolidge”. I hear the boys in the
Klan have got a thing for you, in spite of you being a Republican.
Say–is it really true that Harding was part nigger? I’ll bet you know
a lot of secrets that you ain’t tellin’. Like, Teddy Roosevelt was a
drunk. And Honest Abe Lincoln didn’t believe in God.

Coolidge: I don’t know where you hear about these slanders, but they ain’t so.

Copsy: Oh, don’t worry, Prez. I won’t tell a soul. So–tell me–what
does the Honorary Vice President do?

Coolidge: Besides drinking my best brandy and smoking my best cigars?
Not an awful lot, it seems.

[Here the transcription ends. It is said that Copsy was brought back
to the Carnival that afternoon, and, true to his word, said nothing
about the President other than that he was ‘a swell gee’ and ‘all
right for a Rube.’]

But later, Copsy was known to get drunk and harangue anyone who was
willing to listen with what he should have said to Coolidge. “George
Washington cut and run, more times than he ever fought–didn’t he?
Thomas Jefferson had children with his slaves! Grover Cleveland spawned
a bastard child! And Wilson was a helpless dummy for two years, while
his wifey ran the country! I know all about it! And so does Silent
Cal–there’s no fooling HIM!”

 5. CASPER THE FRIENDLY JUNKIE

Look, buddy, I know you want to be friends, but I gotta tell ya, I had a serious drug problem for years and years and it’s a wonder I’m not dead…or maybe I am!

How it first started was, I got pretty heavily into the bennies which is where I got that high-pitched Richard Widmark giggle that drove most grown-ups bats, but after I burned out on Superman pills I discovered the barbs and got really strung out. Spooky had a nasty little junk habit, but back then I was afraid of the needle, and the Ghostly Trio were into reefers, big time, but I didn’t dig what hemp did to them, it made them stupid and mean, so I steered clear. Nope, leapers and downers were my bag until I got too strung out on coke in the 70s and Famous Studios invoked the morals clause and cancelled my contract…I got cleaned up though, thanks to Wendy and a little help from Richie Rich, who, by the way, is my living twin brother who was separated from me at birth. So now I’m back on top and better than ever. OK, so my second movie went straight to video, but hey–it’s been 50 years and I’m still hanging in there, which is more than I can say for poor Lenny….

Do I remember CBGB’s? Yeah, the Trio played there in 74 after I got pretty heavy into DMT which is where I got that thousand-mile stare that spooked the shit out of most normal people, but after I burned out on shrooms and acid I discovered booze and got really heavily into freebasing coke in the 70s and had to do the twelve-step tango with NA after I started getting migraines and nosebleeds all the time. Get this–I was a fucking GHOST with nosebleeds, not very friendly-looking either….

Y’know, y’ashk people t be yer friend and they just SHIT all over ya…I’m shick of it…the Ghostly Trio can go to HELL. They got tricks? Well, I got a few tricksh…some muffuckas need some hurtin an they’re gonna get some hurtin’…did you steal my drink? 

  1. DO YOU REMEMBER?
    Plastic pink flamingoes that poor people put on their scraggly front lawns.
    The news that these items will no longer be manufactured.

    Lawn darts.
    The banning of lawn darts.

    Nodding dogs on the back shelf of cars.
    Replaced by nodding junkies in the back seats of cars.

    Green plastic pickle whistles.
    These were known as “pickle-os”. They hearkened back to a time when
    there actually was a piccolo player in a big band.

    William Frawley.
    Vivian Vance, who despised the drunken Frawley and referred to him off
    camera as “that old man.”

    Stumbo the friendly giant.
    The vaguely European residents of “Tiny Town”, which is the actual
    name of a Denver suburb.

    Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hats.
    The Bob Dylan song of the same name.

    Metracal, the meal in a can.
    Carnation Instant Breakfast, which is still made but no longer
    incessantly advertised.

    “Goodnight Irene.”
    A criminal about to be publicly executed would traditionally sing a
    song of lament. The technical name for this song was a “Goodnight”.

    Margarine sandwiches on Wonder Bread.
    Before we knew that margarine was made with the dreaded trans-fats.

    Tiparillos.
    And the misguided ad campaign, “Should you offer a lady a Tiparillo?”

    Bronzed baby shoes.
    There is now a process whereby you can preserve them in plastic or something.

    Penny Loafers.
    Long since fallen to the lure of “Retro chic.”

    The buck-and-wing.
    Tap dancing is celebrated as an art form and is allegedly no longer
    considered degrading.

    My metal Batman and Robin lunch box that now would be worth a small fortune.
    Well…actually, ir would depend on the condition.

    Supermarket cantaloupes so big that they looked like they were from
    another planet.
    Though when you’re a kid, everything looks far bigger than it actually is.

    Computers so enormous that they took up an entire large air-conditioned vault.
    And people who are fond of pointing out that the same components now
    fit in a unit the size of a calculator. As if this makes us modern!

    The movie soundtrack that would play this peculiar motif that went
    “Rada rada ra, ra ra ra ra, rada rada ra, ra ra, ting” whenever an
    Oriental person appeared.
    I have a Casio SK-1 keyboard purchased in 1989 that has that motif.
    Some cell phones also feature it as a ring tone.

    Danny and the Juniors.
    And the Beach Boys song, “Do You Remember,” that references them as
    nostalgia less than ten years after the fact.

    Feeling uneasy around nuns.
    As though they were about to tell you that your sins have found you out.

    The Boogie Man.
    Now considered a racial slur.

    The man who would drive around our neighborhood in a truck with a
    three-horse merry-go-round mounted on his flat-bed. It cost a nickel
    to ride. The man was a drunk, or so they parents said. They never gave
    me a nickel.
    I saw an empty beer bottle in his truck, so maybe it was true.

    The song, “Donkey dear, the sun is on the mountain.” We sang it in second grade.
    We would make comical chewing motions during the lyric “Eat your
    hay/And let’s be on the way.”

    Pressing all the buttons on the elevator.
    Still fun to do, though only when you’re angry.

    Little girls being afraid that the bottom or top of the escalator
    might suck them in.
    I used to frighten my sister about bridges collapsing as we were
    travelling over them. It’s over 30 years later, and she’s still
    traumatized.

    Not being allowed to have a turtle because “they spread disease.”
    Toxoplasmosis, if I recall correctly. The scare began around 1965. It
    was recently listed. But those turtles can grow to enormous size, so
    it’s probably still not a good idea.

    An Easter chick dyed pink that took a crap on my best friend’s head.
    The chicks seldom lived long enough to be a nuisance. There were
    citydwellers alive in 1960 who actually remembered rural life!

    People named Adolf.
    Or ‘Adolph’. Still don’t know how the meat tenderizer people got away with it.

    The card game “Spoons.”
    Now it’s Texas Hold ’em. Twenty years from now, who knows?

    The expression “Good Lord.”
    Popular in EC comics of the 1950s. Usually accomponaied by “Choke.”

    Mean, brawny, abusive gym coaches.
    I had one named Mr. Maddox. He even haunted me in my dreams. One day I
    woke up and thought I saw his head in the corner, staring at me. But
    it was only a basketball.

    Raymond Burr and his ridiculously fat face.
    Maybe that’s why he sat down so much on the set of Ironsides.

    Sending in boxtops to get “free” prizes.
    Usually made of cheap plastic.

    A Chihuahua so small it could fit in a teacup.
    Yo’ Mama so fat, she leads a hippopotomaus on a leash and it look like
    a chihuahua!

    Organ grinders with a monkey on a chain who would tip his little hat
    when you dropped a coin in his tin cup.
    I guess it never occurred to us to question whether this wasn’t just a
    little bit cruel.

    How people (usually your parents) would say “Listen to me.”
    Though I also saw the expression used in a commercial for a accident lawyer.

    How people (usually older people) would say, “Goodbye and good riddance.”
    With an accent grave on the “rid”.

 

  1. SUPERMAN IS AUTISTIC

I mean, not to make fun of a man with this tragic condition, but doesn’t he have nearly all the symptoms?

 

The big red flag for me is that he never seems to need to sleep. I mean, what’s up with that? 

 

And that monotone voice!

 

Also, he has a restricted behavioral repertoire–I mean, he’s always trying to RESCUE people, as though that’s his JOB. (Holden Caulfield, call your office.)

 

I have also observed in him a marked inability to engage in social play. When is the last time you saw the man laugh? What, in fact, would MAKE him laugh? I can’t even IMAGINE it.

 

OK, and get this–isn’t he ALWAYS attending to irrelevant stimuli? Like, “Excuse me Perry, I, err, there’s an emergency”–and he flies out the window! No explanation, no nuthin’! Creepy!

 

Plus, he engages in physical overactivity, always juggling planets, capping volcanoes, rescuing people from tsunamis and earthquakes, and such-like–and, not satisfied with all that, he also wastes his time subduing angry robots, and even nabbing small-time bank-robbers and stickup artists! I mean, couldn’t BATMAN be doin’ that stuff?

 

And he’s definitely oversensitive to noise, which he actually chalks up to “super-hearing,” as if there’s any such thing! Talk about DENIAL!

 

Plus, he’s impervious to pain, or, at least, he professes to be. Get this–people are SHOOTING at him, with REAL bullets–and he just stands there! I’m surprised he doesn’t hug himself and mumble in a cracked sing-song while he’s at it!

 

These are all symptoms. And all that is just for starters. Need I go on?

 

Clark Kent, if possible, is even worse. He always wears the same clothes, AND he is often impersonated by a ROBOT–and nobody ever even NOTICES!

 

And here’s the real capper–he’s described as “mild mannered” even though he’s a REPORTER–that’s right–A REPORTER–and tell me–when’s the last time YOU ever met a mild-mannered reporter?

 

Listen, if I were a shrink, that right there would convince me–inappropriate affect, no body language to speak of, inability to swim in the social world–and remember, this guy is supposed to be a REPORTER!

 

Hey–don’t take my word for it. A quick look through Silver Age comic titles will reveal many examples of the following:

 

INAPPROPRIATE AFFECT

LACK OF IMPULSE CONTROL

DELUSIONAL BEHAVIOR

FASCINATION WITH SHINY OBJECTS

CLAPPING BEHAVIOR

ODD PLAY

DIFFICULTY MIXING WITH OTHER PEOPLE

RESTRICTED BEHAVIORAL REPERTOIRE

INTO RULES

‘Nuff said!

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THE INFORMATION #839 JUNE 5, 2015

THE INFORMATION #839
JUNE 5, 2015
Copyright 2015 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The gallery in which the reporters sit has become a fourth estate of
the realm.–Macaulay

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TEN: PART TWENTY-ONE: KINGDOM COME

 “I’ll tell you, and I’ll tell the world–some other ways that cops
and reporters are the same,” said Count Justin Victor to Tipsy Smith
and Pappy O’Day.

“Cops and reporters both have top brass to answer to. Cops and
reporters both like to bend an elbow. And they both like to stick with
their own kind. And when they get together, they swear enough to turn the air blue. And you can usually smell both kinds from a mile away. When I’m in a strange town, my good instincts and my keen sense of smell has kept me out of trouble more than once. Believe me, you don’t want to talk to either a cop or a reporter if you can get out of it with your honor and dignity intact, or, forget that, without leaving your skin behind. It’s a losing proposition on both ends. A cop will haul you in just on general principle, and a reporter will misquote you–either because he’s too sloppy drunk to write down exactly what you said, or, worse, he’s just clever enough to twist around what you actually did say to make for a better story. At least if you’re dumb enough to say anything to a cop, they’ll TRY to write down exactly what you said. If it suits them. Otherwise, they’ll club you with a smile. First the smile; then comes the Billy. They’ll kick the snot out of you just to keep in practice.

“Reporters are more like con men. They won’t touch a hair on your
head; but they’ll eviscerate you in print, sure as shootin’. Now, I’ve
never been a cop, but I’ve been a Confidential Agent, and have acted
in my day as a sort of Private Detective. So I know how the cops
think. It’s amazing what you can get away with by merely waving a
double-sawbuck in front of their nose. Now, not all cops are on the
take—more’s the pity. But you just tell them that you’re good friends
with the Mayor and you show them your card and, even if they do haul you in, they won’t be having a truncheon party and be giving you the old hickory bath. That’s for honest.

“Do you think that Judge Rance Sniffle would do a thing about it? Not on your life! He works directly for the Gib Yellof. By the way—you won’t see HIS name in any of the papers. Any reporter intrepid enough to mention the name of the Gib Yellof is got bats in the belfry. He’s as mad as a hatter. And they all wear hats, you know. The reporters. And the smart ones is got some padding inside of those oversize fedoras. Just like the Boy Scouts: ‘Be Prepared.’

“What would you say if I told you that nearly half the wealthy people
in Noxtown keep a certain shyster lawyer on permanent retainer, just
to fix things with the police brass and the newspapers in case
something goes wrong? You’d probably call me a liar, and, maybe I’m just guessing, but I read the papers pretty carefully, and it’s only a certain kind of cheapskate or dunce who lets himself get dragged
through the everyday muck. Any smart boy with money has sense enough to pay up, and pronto, when scandal looms. Let the gossips yak among themselves; if’n it ain’t in the paper then there’s no permanent record of it for folks to make hay with. Alderman Adam Tyler can frequently be persuaded to put in a good word with the publishers of the paper. But he’s small potatoes. He’ll take graft from anyone, anywhere, at any time. No, the lawyer I’m talking about numbers some of the most important people in the Big Town as his clients.

“His name—not that you need to know it, is Titus Peep. A
sorrier-looking knobby headed ginger rascal you’re not likely to see,
but rich as Old Croesus from all the blackmail money—you may as well call it exactly that—which he manages to extort. The simply well-off are the schmoes who call on him the most. The very well-to-do usually have a phalanx of lawyers of their own to take the necessary steps. He’s got little spirals for eyes, does Peep, and I swan that he would bid fair to mesmerize you if you were foolish enough to stare into his orbs. If you have no money for him, of course, then he don’t give a shit. He’ll just laugh in your face, for that’s the kind of boy he is. Cash on the barrelhead within 24 hours, because you can’t dine off fine promises in my business. That’s what he told me once, when I was framed on a bogus rap. I paid up. What else could I do?  Oh, I have no love for Titus Peep, and I’ll tell the world. He got the charges quashed, but it ended up costing me more than I managed to take from the sucker. It puts me in an ill humor.  No–who could ever forget Titus Peep, the red-handed lawyer? Him, big and clumsy as a brick shithouse—him, with his busted galluses and his white shirt with gravy stains—no married man, he–with one thick thatch of crazy red hair on his bald and knobby head which in his vanity he kept slicked down over his forehead as if to say You’d best not trifle with me lad, for all my baldness I’m still a man. And his eyebrows was thick and fuzzy as a wooly caterpillar and when he looked at you from under ‘em with his tiny little eyes he bid fair to hyp-mo-tize you. He hob-nobbed with the swell Yellofs in the Uptown district, where many a Doctor and Captain of Industry hung their shingle. No, I’m no anarchist—no true criminal ever is—they mostly want to keep things they way they are, for the bye-and-bye—the last thing they want is some kind of softies in power, wanting to ‘rehabilitate’ them—no, give me the strong man with whom you can always cut a deal—that’s the kind I want running the town—not the namby-pambies with dishwater in their veins. I’m no bomb-chucker—but, if I was going to plant one, it wouldn’t be on the doorstep of the coppers, but in the love-seat of none other than that low-down pettifogging mouthpiece Titus Peep.”

1*SALUTATION
STEPPENWOLF
MONSTER
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sk3sURDS4IA

2*REFERENCE
CRYPTIDS AND CREATURES
http://disinfo.com/2015/05/a-compendium-of-cryptid-and-creature-infographics/

3*HUMOR
TOP 20 WORST BANDS EVER
http://www.laweekly.com/music/top-20-worst-bands-of-all-time-the-complete-list-2403868

4*NOVELTY
VICIOUS CYCLE OF LEGALIZED CORRUPTION IN AMERICA
http://disinfo.com/2015/05/vicious-cycle-legalized-corruption-america/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
FAITH, EVOLUTION, AND CLIMATE DENIAL
http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/energy-environment/wp/2015/05/20/this-chart-explains-why-faith-and-science-dont-have-to-be-in-conflict/

6* DAILY UTILITY
TEN WORST BODY LANGUAGE MISTAKES
http://www3.forbes.com/leadership/10-worst-body-language-mistakes/

7*CARTOON
GREAT MOMENTS IN DRUG WAR PROPAGANDA
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/26/drug-war-propaganda_n_3816574.html

8*PRESCRIPTION
MAPPING MIGRATION IN THE UNITED STATES
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/16/upshot/mapping-migration-in-the-united-states-since-1900.html

9*RUMOR PATROL
IRAQ COVER-UP
http://www.salon.com/2015/05/24/theyre_all_still_lying_about_iraq_the_real_story_about_the_biggest_blunder_in_american_history_and_the_right_wings_obsessive_need_to_cover_it_up/

10* LAGNIAPPE
THIRTY CONTROVERSIAL ALBUM COVERS
http://www.noiseaddicts.com/2009/04/30-most-controversial-album-covers/

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
CHANDLER TRAVIS AND DAVID GREENBERGER
Iddy Biddy Records
Bocce and Bourbon: The Comfortable Songs of Chandler Travis and David
Greenberger
19 tracks

David Greenberger (Duplex Planet) provides all the lyrics for this
compilation, which features eight mostly excellent unreleased songs
scattered throughout. This collection features Chandler Travis solo
and with various aggregations of bands he is or was involved with.
These include The Incredible Casuals with the punk-rocking “She
Laughed,” the meticulously melodic slow-burning “Take Me With You,” and the stuttering, tensely angular, and irresistible “Typos.” The Chandler Travis Philharmonic is also represented, notably by the
bluesy, inimitable “Baby Come Get Your Cat”; the wondrous, insanely catchy Dixieland apocalypse New Orleans stride piano-driven “Graciously”; and the reverential, upbeat, lyrically Randy
Newman-esque, movie soundtrack-ready “This Is Home.” “Calling Me Back Home” is from Chandler Travis’s 2009 release After She Left and deserves mention as an world-weary classic full of glorious thrumming. Heavy metal and psychedelia fans will find much to like in The Catbirds’ “The Crutch of Music.” “Make the Small Things Pretty” is a lovely gem from the Chandler Travis Three-O’s 2012 release This Is What Bears Look Like Underwater. Best of show is the spare, but melodically effervescent and touching “(You and Me) Pushin’ Up Daisies”, from the 1998 Chandler Travis solo release Ivan In Paris, which is a stone cold classic. Of the new songs, “Air, Running Backwards” has a glorious Beach Boys feel with the inimitable Chandler Travis touches—this smooth song halts and judders amid Sam Woods’ shrewdly metronomic drumming. “All In a Day” is a comfortable, if not downright mellow jazz-inflected ballad which owes a lot of its appeal to Mike Peipman’s lonesome trumpet and Fred Boak’s meticulous vocal phrasing. “I Bit the Hand That Fed Myself,” is a strident rocker that sounds a bit like early XTC or Gang of Four; a stylistic mix credited to Chandler Travis with Rabbit Rabbit. “By the Way” is a sparkling and pneumatic tune with a glorious melody and beautiful string accompaniment by John Clark with Dinty Child, with egregiously lovely keyboards by Berke McKelvey. “I’ll Wait” is a Kinks-like melody with laconic vocals, also by Child. “When the Roses Shine in Picardy” is a French folk-inflected tune with a tasteful woodwind arrangement by
Keith Spring. “The Strongman of North America” sounds a bit like
late-period XTC with a similarly high-quality combination of melody
and percussion; it features a masterful march rhythm by Rikki Bates
and string bass by John Clark. “Waters of the World” is a musically
liquescent Chandler Travis solo effort. There are so many talented
sidemen who enhance this project that I wish I could mention them all. This is not exactly the long-awaited greatest hits compilation I’ve
been hankering after, but is highly recommended all the same.

*11A BOOKS READ AND RATED.
ALL NEW ULTIMATES 2. **1/2
AMAZING SPIDER-MAN. PETER PARKER, THE ONE AND ONLY. ***1/2
THE AMAZON. LESKOV. ****1/2
BATMAN ’66. VOL 2. ***
BATMAN THE DARK KNIGHT 4. CLAY. ***
BATMAN/SUPERMAN 2. ***
CAPTAIN AMERICA 4. THE IRON NAIL. ***1/2
CAPTAIN MARVEL 2. STAY FLY. ***
DAREDEVIL 18. FALL FROM GRACE. **1/2
DEAD LETTERS 1. ***
DRY VALLEY. BUNIN. ****
ENVY. OLEYESHA. ****
THE ETERNAL HUSBAND.  DOSTOYEVSKY. ****1/2
FABLES 20. CAMELOT. ***1/2
THE FADE OUT: ACT ONE. BRUBAKER & PHILLIPS. ***
FALSE DAWN. WHARTON. ****1/2
FANTASTIC FOUR 17. AKK IN THE FAMILY. ***1/2
FIRST LOVE. TURGENEV. ****1/2
THE FLASH 5. HISTORY LESSONS. ***1/2
GREAT AMERICAN SHORT NOVELS. PHILLIPS. ****
GREAT RUSSIAN SHORT NOVELS. RAHV. ****1/2
GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY 4. ORIGINAL SIN. ***1/2
HADJI MURAD. TOLSTOY. ****1/2
INJUSTICE. VOL. 1. ****1/2
INJUSTICE. VOL. 2. ****1/2
INVINCIBLE 12. STILL STANDING. ***1/2
INVINCIBLE ULTIMATE COLLECTION VOL. 7. ***1/2
AN IRANIAN METAMORPHOSIS. NEYESTANI. ****
LEGENDARY STAR LORD 1. ***
LOST IN NYC. SPIEGELMAN & GARCIA SANCHEZ. ***
MAGGIE. CRANE. ***1/2
MARCH BOOK ONE. LEWIS. ****1/2
MARCH BOOK TWO. LEWIS. ****1/2
MELANCTHA. STEIN.  **
MILT GROSS’ NEW YORK. ****
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL. SCHWARTZ. ***
THE OXFORD BOOK OF AMERICAN SHORT STORIES. 2E. OATES. ****1/2
PETTY THEFT. GIRARD. ***1/2.
THE PILGRIM HAWK. WESCOTT. ****1/2
SUPERMAN/WONDER WOMAN 1. ***1/2
SUPERMAN/WONDER WOMAN 2. ***1/2
SUPREME CITY. MILLER. ****
TEEN TITANS. A CELEBRATION OF 50 YEARS. ***1/2
TEEN TITANS 5. THE TRIAL OF KID FLASH. ***
TEEN TITANS. EARTH ONE. 1. ***
THE TERRIBLE AND WONDERFUL REASONS WHY I RUN LONG DISTANCES. ***
TRUTH IS FRAGMENTARY. BELL. ****
UNCANNY AVENGERS 3. ***
THE WAKE. SNYDER & MURPHY. ***1/2
WASHINGTON SQUARE. JAMES. *****
WONDER WOMAN 5. FLESH. ***1/2
A WRINKLE IN TIME. L’ENGLE & LARSON. ****
X-MEN. DAYS OF FUTURE PAST. ***1/2
X-MEN. NO MORE HUMANS. ***1/2
YO, MISS. WILDE. ***1/2

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
798.THE BIGGEST LIE EMPLOYERS TELL EMPLOYEES
http://www.vox.com/2015/5/22/8639717/reid-hoffman-the-alliance

THE INFORMATION #838 MAY 29, 2015

THE INFORMATION #838
MAY 29, 2015
Copyright 2015 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TEN: PART TWENTY: KINGDOM COME
“Ye might as well know, Yob,” said Count Justin Victor to the loafer
Adam O’Day and the barkeep Tipsy Smith, “that me and a whole lot of others who ain’t common plugs owe our livelihoods to the Gib Yellof and the payments as gets funneled to him by way of the bluecoats and the town officials. Police Captain Tom Aston is a wealthy man because of us. Don’t see why he wouldn’t tip us a friendly nod every now and again.

“But it’s the great pantomime of life that crooks and cops are painted as irreducible foes. That’s all eyewash and window dressing for the chumps as believe everything they read in the newspapers. Or worse, the old fools that don’t believe anything in the newspapers and who get angry because of something they read.

“Haww…. I could tell you certain home truths about the newsboys that would curl your toes! Why, did you know that the last place to look for justice is in the newsroom? And I’ll tell you why. Folks credit reporters for knowing what’s what; for having kokum. And, to a certain extent, they do. But allus remember that their editors and publishers are only after one thing, and that is selling bits of paper with ads on ‘em. Everything else is window-dressing to them.

“Listen to me! There’s three layers of lies in every news story. First
of all, there’s the so-called testimony of the eyewitnesses. I’d say
that nine-tenths of these people didn’t even know what they were
seeing. And why should they? They have their own lives to lead. Why be observant? It don’t pay to see too much. Not, of course, unless you’re in my line of business. That’s why pickpockets are so
successful. Because most people are oblivious to what’s going on
around them.

“Not that I would ever stoop to such work. Confidential agents such as myself prefer to let the sucker hand over the goods on his own
volition, with maybe just a little gentle prodding. It is far beneath
us to boost goods from a merchant or crack a safe. Leave that for the gonsils. So—first of all, you have the witless eyewitnesses. Then you have the reporter. They are all cynical cusses, to a man, and they think they’ve seen it all, and you can’t tell them anything—they will jump to a conclusion, and once they land on it they land on it hard. And then there’s the editor. Even if the eyewitness is solid; even if the reporter happens to quote him exactly—the editor needs to justify his salary, don’t he? So he’ll jazz the thing up to sell some papers. Making mountains out of molehills—that’s his job. The publisher’s happy, the reporter gets his salary, the people get their blood and guts, and everything’s Jake, except for the poor sap who they misquoted, and who, if he knows what’s good for him, will keep his blubber shut and won’t talk to no more newsboys.

“Because getting a newshawk to change his mind is harder than pulling teeth, and I should know, because I was in that line once upon a time when I was on my uppers. Pullin’ teeth, that is. Also did a little press work here and there. Handbills, and the like. Selling ads to the saps for “Who’s Who In Fat Punk, Nebraska.” Or you bite the Masons for a donation for the sick babies of Chump Junction, Omaha. There’s a little bit of a Hamfatter in every Mason. All them people who belong to the fraternal organizations have the intellects of small boys.

“I done a little bit of everything in my younger days. Even sign
painting. I was no good at it, though, and it was too much hard work.

“Did my share of Doctorin’, too, out west. Most people manage to get over being sick all by themselves, you know. But the patients still think some magic pill or tonic is going to work wonders for ‘em. So you send ‘em to your pal, Dingbat the Druggist, for a bottle of sugar pills, bite ‘em for five smackers, and shoo them on their merry way. Everyone gets what he wants, and everybody’s happy. It’s the folks as have the real ailments that you got to be careful of. Them’s the folks you send to a real doctor. Let him take the blame when the sucker croaks. Meanwhile, always have your bag packed and ready to leave town on a moment’s notice. Those hashish pills you give to ladies with female complaints don’t always suit ‘em. And spooning laudanum into the mouths of sick babies is not a long-term solution neither.

“So, anyway, I know the newsboys and all their devious ways. Them and the police are tight as the fingers of a fist. Of course, they’re two very different types of birds. They often only have one thing in common—they was in the army. And your newshawk was in the rear echelon like the smart boys they are while your copper was right there on the front lines, like a stupid lummox.

“Cops and Muckrakers are the same in a lot of ways. Both their little
hearts go pitter-pat when they get wind of a murder shack, or, let’s
say that the President of the First National Bank ran down a
pedestrian in his horseless carriage—that’s something new, and that’s news, and it all goes into the hopper. (Imagine how much dosh that Bank President has to ladle out to keep it from the Police Blotter and the front page of the paper. Haww….)

“Police write the reports and reporters get the story. Both sides of
the fence are covered in glory. But I’m getting off the subject.
Reporters and Cops are also both liars. A cop will swear up and down that the prisoner must have blowed his own head off, and a reporter will write it down just like he says it, because he knows that if he don’t, some other Gee will do it for ‘im. Cops live for a live case, and reporters live for scoops. I’m talking about the good ones. The bad ones are lazy; that’s all. And usually drunks in the bargain. But all cops and reporters is drunks. Some of them hold their liquor
better; that is all.”

1*SALUTATION
THE MODERN LOVERS
SHE CRACKED
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJfPGgr8080&feature=youtu.be

2*REFERENCE
THE BEST AND WORST PLACES TO GROW UP
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2015/05/03/upshot/the-best-and-worst-places-to-grow-up-how-your-area-compares.html

3*HUMOR
BEAR VS. GORILLA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVAP5qWnBek&feature=related

4*NOVELTY
LIBRARY BARCODE FAILS
http://dangerousminds.net/comments/dicks_for_breakfast_and_other_library_barcode_fails

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
FAKE BEATLES PHENOMENA
https://vimeo.com/43378668

6* DAILY UTILITY
CDC Predicts How You Will Die Based On Where You Live
http://disinfo.com/2015/05/cdc-predicts-how-you-will-die-based-on-where-you-live/

7*CARTOON
SAMPLERMAN
http://samplerman.tumblr.com/

8*PRESCRIPTION
THEMES IN CHEMICAL PROHIBITION
http://drugpolicycentral.com/bot/pg/propaganda/theme1.htm

9*RUMOR PATROL
TEN POPULAR MIND CONTROL TECHNIQUES
http://disinfo.com/2014/11/ten-popular-mind-control-techniques-used-today/

10* LAGNIAPPE
CARLISLE BROTHERS
MAGGIE GET THE HAMMER
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THlUKm2eAdk

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
EVERY MAD MEN EPISODE RANKED
http://www.buzzfeed.com/kateaurthur/every-mad-men-episode-ranked-from-good-to-perfect

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
797. JERRY LEWIS VS. BING CROSBY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0YdQLrR-0Q

THE INFORMATION #837 MAY 22, 2015

THE INFORMATION #837
MAY 22, 2015
Copyright 2015 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The corruption of the best things gives rise to the worst. –David Hume

 

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TEN: PART NINETEEN: KINGDOM COME

Count Justin Victor turned to Tipsy Smith and Pappy O’Day. “As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted…what were we talking about? Not Dagoes. Ner Negroes, either. Don’t tell me there ain’t no difference. Why, I could tell you stories about the blue-gummed Big Black Bucks down south as get likkered up and run wild–stories that would turn your hair white, if ye had any, Pappy.  What were we talking about? Ah, Yaas. The Gib Yellof. G.Y. Old Bog Hisself.  He’s known in all the groggeries, you can be sure. Who do you think owns half the breweries and distilleries in Noxtown? And yet, he leagues himself with that dry
preacher, Reverend John Cross. That’s what’s known as playin’ both sides of the street, Yob. He walks by day and preys by night. That’s prey with an e, Yob. Does he own a few pharmacies? He does. And does he keep a weather eye on the stock of rat poison, and who’s buyin’ and who’s sellin’ it where? That he does. There might be a human rat or two who needs to be crushed. I mean literally, Yob. The G.Y. will give you change for your dollar. I can’t say no more than that, only, next time you hear of an unfortunate accident down at the quarry don’t come running to me, because I know nothing. But five will get you ten that the man who was injured and kilt was a Yob who was unpleasing in the sight of the G.Y. He will be cleansed in both blood and fire. But the G.Y. does a brisk trade in all sorts of pills and potions. Again, I can’t say more, only look at the kiddie gangs who go around snuffing those asthma powders and taking on three full-grown policemen once they’re goofy on happy dust. The remedies at his pharmacies have made
more corpses than they be graves to hold ‘em, and the most pleasant aspect of the whole sorry business is that it’s all legal. You’ve heard tales of a powder he has that he can put in a woman’s drink or sprinkle on her food, and it makes her his slave? I know that old Doc Ketman has been spreading such tales, and that is why he dasn’t show his face around here much. You two and myself are OK, but there’s a snitch among us, sure as I’m born, and if old Doc shows himself in these parts, word is bound to get back to the G.Y.

“Speakin’ of Dagoes—remember that run on the bank? Supposedly started by Luigi, the fruit vendor? More doin’s of the Gib Yellof. Something about the Second National on Main Street was displeasing in the sight of the G.Y.  Maybe because he has no interest in it. But he does have an interest in the Farmer’s Bank, and the Building and Loan, and half the others in town.  Now, what does the Gib Yellof have to do with the Dagoes? He can speak to them in their own tongue, it is said, and just like you talk to a woman whose virtue ye want to impair.”

“Such talk,” said Pappy O’Day, “Is not seemly in the presence of the little pitcher.”

Referring, I suppose, to me.

“Aw, he lives in a whorehouse, for Crissake. Ain’t nothing he ain’t
heerd before. He could probably teach us a few tricks, like ‘The
Chicago Cross-jostle,’ can’t ye, Tandy?” This was from Tipsy Smith. I almost fell off my chair, because I had spent whole evenings in the Seven Stars when he had spoken nary more than three words all together.

I said nothing; pretended I hadn’t heard, and the Count resumed his
blustering talk.

“Listen to me, Yobs, when I tell you that the Gib Yellof fetches up
the bullies and blutos he recruits to do his dirty work from all the
most wretched places in all the land. He sends his agents to recruit
for human scum in places where such men gather: in the hobo jungles down by the river; in the tenement back yards huddled around trash fires; in the gambling hells and dance halls and vaudeville houses; gathered in post offices and around pharmacies; anywhere a harmful influence is to be felt, that is where you will find agents of the Gib Yellof; a church graveyard, yes, but never a church; a jail-house, sure, but never a state penitentiary; a beer-hall for sartin but never a Salvation Army meeting; a bail-bondsman’s office but not a school or college. The Gib yellof likes the sight of desperate men, but they got to still have some fight in ‘em; he don’t want them totally beaten down and broken, so he’ll recruit hoboes and tramps but never bums; he’ll recruit boys from the reformatory but never from the Sunday School; he likes card-sharps but looks down on degenerate hoss-gamblers; he don’t care if you’re handicapped just so long as you can do a job of work for him, and he don’t much care what be the cut of your jib or whether ye be black, yed, yellow or brown; just so long as you can do his dirty work without flinching. He don’t have no use for a Yellof who can speak in Latin, but one who can and will indulge in knife-play is a man after his own heart, in a manner of speaking. He don’t need a man who can raise a pile of money for the accomplishment of good works, although the philanthropist is a mask he wears by day—eleemosynary, my dear Watson.

“And when I say he has a hand in some dirty work, I have hardly
expressed the merest fraction of what I know as a fact. Look in an
issue of the Pink ‘un and if you see a great crime as has never been
solved, you might do worse than calculate that the Gib Yellof had a
hand in it somewhere. Mark my words; he is dangerous; this whole
discussion is dangerous, I am dangerous because of what I know, and if word of this little discussion ever passes beyond these four
walls–then none of our lives will be worth a wooden nutmeg.”

1*SALUTATION
WORST JOBS FOR 2015

http://www3.forbes.com/leadership/the-worst-jobs-for-2015/

2*REFERENCE

MICHAEL O’DONONGHUE

http://splitsider.com/2014/11/saturday-nights-children-michael-odonoghue-1975/

ALSO SEE:

INSULTING MOBSTERS WITH DON RICKLES

http://gangstersinc.ning.com/profiles/blogs/insulting-mobsters-with-don-rickles#.VUzY4hIhfl4.facebook

3*HUMOR
L.G. ILLINGWORTH
http://john-adcock.blogspot.ca/2015/05/illingworths-genius-on-ve-day-1945.html

4*NOVELTY

BANDS FROM BOSTON

http://www.ranker.com/list/boston-bands-and-musical-artists-from-here/reference

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
MYRON FASS
http://www.badmags.com/bmmyronfass.html#

6* DAILY UTILITY

WHY MARVEL’S FEMALE SUPERHEROES LOOK LIKE PORN STARS

http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/marvel-a-force-female-superheroes?mbid=nl_050815_Daily&CNDID=29824384&spMailingID=7727647&spUserID=NjE0NzczOTExMDkS1&spJobID=680855413&spReportId=NjgwODU1NDEzS0

7*CARTOON
JOAN CORNELLA COMICS

http://dangerousminds.net/comments/the_most_fcked_up_comics_of_all_time_check_out_the_dark_humor_of_joan_corne#mblYDOXTQaFi9GKf.01

8*PRESCRIPTION

FRANK SINATRA HAS A COLD

http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/a638/esq1003-oct-sinatra-rev/?fb_ref=Default

9*RUMOR PATROL

BOOKS THAT LITERALLY ALL WHITE MEN OWN

http://the-toast.net/2015/05/12/books-that-literally-all-white-men-own/

10* LAGNIAPPE

WEBSITES THAT PAY $100 AN ARTICLE

http://www.freedomwithwriting.com/freedom/uncategorized/10-websites-that-pay-100-per-article/

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
CAPTAIN CARVEL AND HIS FLYING SAUCER
Watch out for thet Mikey Icey Wicey. He looks like he’s on the goofballs.
http://www.misterkitty.org/extras/stupidcovers/stupidcomics260.html
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
796. THE SUPERMAN/AQUAMAN HOUR
Superman! Aquaman!
All the super-duper heroes,
They always fight for what is right!
Live with danger and adventure,
They are Men of Might!

Superman, the Man of Steel
Performs super deeds with ease!
Aquaman’s the bold and daring
King of the Seven Seas!

Hawkman, from another planet
Swoops down on the foe!
Nothing stops the Teen Titans
Anywhere they go!

Flash defies the eye to follow
With his super speed!
Against the force of evil
The Atom will succeed!

Green Lantern’s power ring
Can accomplish anything!

Superman! Aquaman!
All the super superheroes
Are the Justice League of America,
Men of Might!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmu1lpGpeNk

For nearly 50 years I have been puzzling over these immortal but
cryptic lines of verse, which, admittedly,  make the author of  “The
Waste Land” look like a puling punk. First of all, why pair Superman
with C-lister Aquaman? That’s like yoking Yogi Bear to a microbe.
Also: “Aquaman”? What in hell kind of name is that? What’s next?
Waterman? Carbon Man? Dustman? Or should we go in a more daring direction: The Secular Humanist. Existential Man? The Post-Modernist? Also: Aquaman’s power is to commandeer the creatures of the ocean depths. Tell me: What’s so “bold and daring” about telling a bunch of fish what to do? Furthermore: if Green Lantern’s power ring really can “accomplish anything,” then what’s the point of the show? All he has to do is tell the ring to solve the problem. Total elapsed time: One minute. Leaving 59 minutes to go. No—to this very day I’m afraid that this stentorian theme song leaves far more riddles than answers behind.

THE INFORMATION #836 MAY 15, 2015

THE INFORMATION #836
MAY 15, 2015
Copyright 2015 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

SIXTEENTH ANNIVERSARY ISSUE

Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence. –Hal Borland

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TEN: PART EIGHTEEN: KINGDOM COME

Just as Count Victor Justin was midway through his peroration about the Big Man, in comes Irish “Alienist” Francis Costello, supposedly to drink himself blind but really just to rail about the Italian Immigrant Menace.

He didn’t waste any time.”These Dagoes…come to this country, expect to be paid fifteen cents an hour–and they can’t even speak English! Just some foreign jibber-jabber that nobody understands! Their filthy clothing reeks of garlic and fish, they have hairy legs and smelly feet, and they spit on the sidewalk and spread all sorts of diseases! I know whereof I speak, boyo. I had one as a client. A real bruiser he was, too. A real Jacketeer. Seems as though he hated his old man for being a Greenhorn, and was all torn up over how he was ever going to become a great man in his own right with a background such as his. You see—even the Italians hate the Italians!

“And don’t get me started about their women. The old ones go about
dressed from head to foot in black. As for the young ones, you’re
better to have never loved at all than to have loved one of them.
First and foremost, they act as though they are doing you a great
favor by even noticing your existence. Secondly, you can’t ever get
close to one, because there’s always a father or a brother or a
jealous boyfriend lurking around somewhere who thinks he’s the gilded rooster on the top of the steeple and will give you good reason to hold your maw and slope off like a slink.

“And then, even if you can manage to get close to one of their women, I’ll advise you here and now—don’t. Fact, if one of them happens to set her sights on you—run. First of all, they’re very particular about how they want their boyfriends to look. She’ll have you looking like a pimp or fancy-man in nothing flat. Even if she’s a lowly scrubwoman, it’s pearls she’ll be wanting, and those white fur wraps that grand ladies favor, and other whim-whams and gew-gaws. It’s a life of crime you’ll have to adopt if you ever hope to keep up with what every Italian woman wants. Which is to live by the seashore and lay there soaking up sunbeams for seven hours a day while the cook and the maid and the butler and the chauffeur and the nanny do all the real work.

It’s the life of Reilly she’s a wanting. She’ll expect you to pay her
every attention during the day, and if you do one thing she doesn’t
like—make a slip in just one of the duties you must pay to a lady—she’ll have a headache when the nighttime comes. Plus, there’s the lapdog. She treats it like a baby and caters to its every whim. If you see an Italian woman with one of those in tow, then run. Just run. It won’t be long before she has you wipin’ its ass and rendering all sorts of other repulsive services to the little beastie.

“Plus, they have a temper, these women. Far worse than that of any
honest Irish Lassie, I can assure you. I say this not out of a
misplaced sense of pride, but as a cold, hard, and brutal fact. I may
be an alienist, but I don’t go in for those fancy notions put about by
Freud and company. Just the cold hard brutal facts—that’s what I
wants. Ohh, they have a temper, all right, and it’s a devious one, and
they like to practice how best to lose it, the better to tighten the
noose around your neck and drive you half-way crazy. Don’t doubt me, me fine boyos; I know whereof I speak. They will seek to ruin you for any other woman. This is the voice of experience you’re listening to, and not just another drunken Irish storyteller. Not only do they have a temper, but they are as jealous as the day is long and will scratch their diggers in your dial face if you so much as look as another woman.

“And, even if you manage to live in peace with such a woman, you’ll
find that your troubles have only begun. Ye say the Irish have the
gift of gab? That they’ve kissed the blarney stone? That’s not the
half of it. Italian women will talk about anything and everything, and
will go on talking long after they have run out of anything worthwhile
to say. Oh, sure, first it’s a summation of all the qualities in which
you fall short of her expectations, and then it’s a summation of all
the fine young men she could have had if she hadn’t been saddled with the likes of you, and then off she goes into the realm of what her
girlfriends are up to—she has no male friends, that’s a given—but
plenty of lovers–that she thinks you don’t know about. And you can
never win an argument with an Italian woman. They may be as dumb as a stone, but they all have the brains of a trial lawyer when it comes to making a case. Don’t argue with her at all, or you’ll live to regret
it. Mark my words.

“Now, let’s say you manage to fall in with one of them anyway. First
thing they’ll do, they’ll try to fatten you up, sure as anything.
That’s to keep you from straying too far from their hearth. But
they’ve never heard of a potato, the silly little hussies. Tomatoes,
onions, green peppers and garlic on everything, drenched in greasy
olive oil, and putrid vinegar that smells like an empty wine cask and
tastes even worse. And if you don’t like having to eat pasta with
every meal, they’ll cry and scream and throw up their arms and send
dishes sailing past your head. Oh, I’ve seen it with me own two little
peepers, I have. And at the light imputation that they might be
growing a bit fat or they’re not as fresh as they was on the day you
met them or they’re somehow lacking in some certain indefinable
essence rare, why, home to their mothers they’ll go, and tell her the
whole sordid story of your wrongdoings from top to bottom. And then, you’re the monster, and the Mother will never forgive you. The father hates you already, and the brothers are just awaiting the word to knife you in your sleep. No honest Irishman can have a day’s peace with an Italian women—they’re best left strictly alone.

“What’s wrong?” said Count Victor Justin. “have you just been jilted?”

“No,” said Francis Costello, “that’s the hell of it, That’s what my
client the jacketeer told me. Me–personally? I wouldn’t go near one
of them women for a cool million!”

1*SALUTATION
BLIND JOE REYNOLDS
OUTSIDE WOMAN BLUES
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEI4MYoTBMM

2*REFERENCE
SPORTS DRINKS ARE VIRTUALLY WORTHLESS
http://foodbabe.com/2012/07/10/the-secret-behind-gatorade-how-to-replenish-electrolytes-naturally/

ALSO SEE:
http://www.livestrong.com/article/41036-replace-electrolytes/
https://www.acefitness.org/certifiednewsarticle/715/electrolytes-understanding-replacement-options/
http://skinnyms.com/re-hydrate-with-electrolytes-healthy-alternatives-to-sports-drinks/
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/23347391

3*HUMOR
NEW SLOGANS FOR BUD LIGHT
http://www.eonline.com/news/653749/john-oliver-came-up-with-some-non-creepy-slogans-for-bud-light-and-they-re-genius

Out-takes:
“It tastes like Robert Durst’s aquarium.”
“You know the disappointment your parents feel for you still working in this job? That’s what Bud Light tastes like.”

VIDEO:

https://youtu.be/mxyGGKWGV70

4*NOVELTY
SEVEN INVENTORS KILLED BY THEIR INVENTIONS
http://www.mnn.com/green-tech/research-innovations/photos/7-inventors-killed-by-their-inventions/tragic-irony

ALSO SEE:
SEGWAY TYCOON PLUNGES TO DEATH
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1315518/Segway-tycoon-Jimi-Heselden-dies-cliff-plunge-scooters.html

FACEBOOK HUSBAND DIES IN TREADMILL ACCIDENT
http://www.express.co.uk/life-style/science-technology/574995/David-Goldberg-Facebook-SurveyMonkey-CEO-Tributes-Treadmill-Accident

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
PUTIN: STALIN HAD ‘GOOD INTENTIONS
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3069108/The-rehabilitation-Stalin-Putin-rewrites-history-convince-half-Russians-megalomaniac-dictator-just-man-good-intentions.html

6* DAILY UTILITY
THE MILITARY MINDSET
http://www.quora.com/What-are-the-disadvantages-of-hiring-someone-who-has-been-in-the-US-military

7*CARTOON

MOST RACIST PLACES IN AMERICA

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/wonkblog/wp/2015/04/28/the-most-racist-places-in-america-according-to-google/

8*PRESCRIPTION
OLD CROW
Old Crow is the coolest bottom shelf liquor you don’t know about. When you pull out a bottle of this, people look inquiringly at the
unfamiliar label, and you tell them you’re drinking the favorite
whiskey of the most badass drinkers in American history. Then you ride a bald eagle into a red-white-and-blue sunset while firing six-guns into the sky.
http://www.thesavory.com/drink/bottom-shelf-guide-buying-cheap-whiskey.html

9*RUMOR PATROL
HEARST A LIAR
In the 1890s, William Randoph Hearst’s New York Journal was in a
circulation war with Joseph Pulitzer’s New York World. When the World published an obituary of “Reflipe W. Thanuz,” Hearst revealed a trap —there was no such person, so Pulitzer must have stolen the item from his paper. (“Reflipe W” is “we pilfer” spelled backward, and “Thanuz” is “the news”.)

Pulitzer got his revenge, though. He planted the name “Lister A. Raah” in a World story, and when the Journal ran a similar item, he revealed that the name was an anagram of “Hearst a liar.”
http://www.futilitycloset.com/2008/01/29/bad-news/

10* LAGNIAPPE

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF COLOR IN MARKETING

https://medium.com/@gregoryciotti/the-psychology-of-color-in-marketing-74f9b00834a2

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

HARVEY KURTZMAN

http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2015/04/mad-man/391838/?utm_source=SFFB

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
795. BAN MEN FROM LITERARY READINGS

http://review.gawker.com/ban-men-from-literary-readings-1700491985/+leahfinnegan