Guns will make us powerful; butter will only make us fat.–Hermann Goering
WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TEN: PART FORTY-SIX: KINGDOM COME
Count Justin Victor had a good deal more to say on the topic of Prince Faraday. “So fadeth all the glories, past, present and to come! Once a Lothario–wantonly dispensing the Oil of Angels–the gilded rooster on the top of the steeple–dressed to the nines in his best gin-and-tidy to make the brums all swoon–now a fat wheezing bacon-faced Bogman–a Johnny black hair long ago turned white from fast living and dissipation. It’s wonderful how such creatures of the demimonde manage to live to a ripe old age without becoming along the way notorious police characters. Must be the luck of the Irish, from whom all good things flow–namely, Shillelaghs, brickbats, and knock-down domestic donnybrooks. Not to mention that the befoozled Irish brain is frequently home to the pink elephant and the purple wombat, along with many another creature not often found in your celebrated Zoological Gardens.
“Let’s be frank and face facts–bacon-fed fools like Prince Faraday are a dime a dozen–all their geese are swans–yet up and down the street they strut and howl as though their shit is made of chocolate ice cream. Sic Transit Gloria! The great fatness must surely do something to their brains. Surely it is the case with Prince Faraday. I have seen him, Yob, a blood and guts alderman a-rootin’ though the trash at a free lunch right here in this very saloon–most likely because of how he doesn’t want to miss one drop of the goodness. Little better is he than a tomato-can vag. He wolfs down the garbage just as fast as Tipsy Smith & Co. can keep it coming. I’ve seen many a Yellof fall plenty low, but this is a new one on me. I’m afraid his misfortunes have got something of the better of him–he is addled–I mean to say, his head has got apartments to let, and I’ll bet they’re all of them full…of food. He beats Akeybo, and Akeybo beats the devil. Nowadays, he’s a bit of a swish and a bit of a Billy Barlow–but he’s all appetite, let me assure you. It’s his outstanding feature–never mind that he tootles on the cornet like a damn amateur and his piano playing never got much beyond “The Celebrated Chop Waltz,” and he probably wouldn’t have learned even so much as that if he didn’t think that food was somehow involved. I already discussed my learned opinion of his talents on the guitar. I suppose it’s a Good Biz when a Flabbo like Prince Faraday can somehow manage gainful employment, even if he is only fit to lead the blind monkeys.
“Well, he never was back’ard about blowin’ his own Bazoo. Back in his drinkin’ days, he could slurp down the kill-devil bumbo with the best of them–I guess he would of given George Washington himself the blind staggers before he would stop lapping from the Lovin’ Cup. You could bet your bottom dollar on that much. All too often, in hours wee, he was the victim of a bug-hunter and in all the conflabberation he’d lose his Chicago bankroll to loochers. Or else on the other side, the coppers would get him on a drunk and disorderly, and before you know it he’d be off the see the Candyman–fine: five dollars. Which was just about the sum total of all his worldly goods. Well, I suppose there are those who have done less, with more. He was a real Captain Grand, him–a vain, blustering buffoon. A real Captain Cork–slow to catch the wind of a word. And a real Captain Queernabs, when he was embarassed for funds and had to parade around in a thousand mile shirt and ragged trousers, like some Joe Doakers the One-Oh from Cincinatti. He had a colt’s tooth back in those days–there’s no denyin’ it. But it’s been a long time since old sluice-mouth has come off the tall fence.
“The Man is every kind of fat. How’s that, Umpire? A bigger tun-tummied, swag-bellied sweet-lipped Tafeno you’re not likely to see in a hound’s age. He’s attracted to all forms of tack and provender like iron filings to a magnet. I suppose you could say he’s as straight as a loon’s leg, given his reputation as a long-stomached slushbucket and a splodger. You can tell by the way he talks and kinder sorter sneaks around on his shack-nasty fatty insteps, so much like a newly-oiled hog that he even has a fat, smell-feast brain, which I suppose must surely come from massaging too many Frankfurter sausages and Hamburger steaks and other toothsome delicacies down his inscrutably plump and insatiable maw. He’s a slow-back and a slug, alongside of all his other sterling qualities.Well, good healthy food on the Vaud and Girl Show Burly-Q circuit is hard to come by, but still–the man was a born cake-eater since day one, and his once-boyish figure, I’m afraid, simply couldn’t stand the gaff. Nowadays, whenever he lumbers onto a stage corner to wrangle queer sounds from his music box, management has a surgeon standing by, just in case the fat hog blows a gasket while playing one of his shapeless so-called ‘tunes’.
“All the same, his vast appetite ensures one thing: that he was never destined to live on stone soup and wind pudding. No, he’s a real scrimshanker and a scroof who deserves to be tipped the scroby for breakfast and escorted with a pair of iron darbies on his wrists to Scragg’s hotel, where may he live ever after on hardscrabble, and be as rusty-fusty-dusty as it pleases him. God’s Wounds! When I think of the times he would get up on the boards and moan like a preacher-man, divine patter and all–to be reduced to picking scrapings and leavings from an offal-bin–for that is how I have found the Nosrap, as of late–a Mizzer who has to get by as a Miss Nancy, a mere fop, and who trades on the faded glories of yesteryear, all to garner a scran. He asks me for doss-house money, and I ups and says to him, Ye Great Big Gooby! Do you see any green in my eye? I should snicker. Prince Faraday! The Great Mr. Thingumbob, the Josser! Reduced to this! O! To be Mighty in Gath! Haw haw haw! O, Jiminy Figs!”
HAVE A CUPPA TEA
All-American Vices That Were Insanely Cheap 100 Years Ago
NASA Reports Astonishing Uptick In Surface Temperature
9 animated maps that will change the way you see the world
POOCH THE PUP
“HOT AND COLD”
DOCTORS VOTE TO STOP TV DRUG ADS TO CONSUMERS
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS FROM TULSA
Some of the most repulsive cartoons ever.
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
823. DICK CAVETT