MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 209 MARCH 2016

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE

NUMBER 209
MARCH 2016
Copyright 2016 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

 

  1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES
  2. Your pretty young wife hangs out with the Hell’s Angels.
    802. Someone’s paying big money to trash your reputation.
    803. Even the pimps all laugh at your garish wardrobe.
    804. Everyone makes mistakes–even God, when He made you.
    805. You’ll have to get back up and keep running–forever.
    806. That barfly’s hellbent on dragging you right down with her.
    807. You beat the murder rap, but everyone knows you’re guilty.
    808. Only a naive fool like you still believes in “Justice”.
    809. You even fear the members of your own ethnic group.
    810. Cops raid your teen’s loud party and find your meth lab.
    811. The shrink knows you’re sane but you won’t admit it.
    812. Your gun collection is stolen; you dare not report it.
    813. You have observed man’s wickedness and found it good.
    814. Your attempts to go legit are undone by sleek mobsters.
    815. Police award you a repeat customer cell in the drunk tank.
    816. Dump that movie star or you’ll lose your other eye.
    817. Whiskey, fast dame, faster car, school bus–tragedy.
    818. Bring-your-pet-to-work Day doesn’t mean “Pit Bull”.
    819. Your blackmailing therapist is an even bigger crook than you.
    820. You will be short-changed at the register–trust me.
    821. Don’t open that strange unmarked package on your doorstep.
    822. Mobsters are sickened by tainted hot dogs at your barbecue.
    823. You shouldn’t have tried to crash that roadblock in a Yaris.
    824. Morbid fear of guns will foil your fledgling holdup man career.
    825. You sold a bad batch of acid to a cop’s only daughter.
    826. The police have rented an apartment across the street from yours.
    827. Animal control will confiscate your pet lion.
    828. You have failed your test of loyalty to the Don.
    829. You will become a lowly geek in a carnival sideshow.
    830. You will be overcharged on the bill–trust me.
    831. Washing off all the bloodstains? You’re not even close.
    832. A man of your morbid disposition can never go straight.
    833. The bully of the town is out to get your family.
    834. Your friends know your war medals were bought in pawnshops.
    835. They can and will arrest your crooked great-grandfather.
    836. You were born and raised on the wrong side of Wrongtown.
    837. Don’t worry about your reunion–you’re a high school dropout.
    838. You’ll get stinking drunk and confide all to a hungry snitch.
    839. You three-card monte scam goes terribly, terribly wrong.
    840. You will be afflicted with heartburn tonight–trust me.
    841. Your Best Man runs off with bride and wedding ring.
    842. That prostitute your murdered was your long-lost sister.
    843. The cops will pin the inside job solely on you.
    844. Your bastard son will blackmail you for every penny.
    845. The Boss is sure you’ll crack under the Third Degree.
    846. Your family has zero influence with the District Attorney.
    847. Black gangsters now know you run a white power website.
    848. Your death by torture is the ailing Don’s last request.
    849. Prison tats clue the Abbot that his Monastary is your hideout.
    850. Soon you’ll get a splitting MSG headache–trust me.
    851. There’s no room to Rhumba in a Gas Chamber.
    852. Welcome to Hell. Is it hot enough for you?
    853. The hypes all call you “Too Much LSD Man”.
    854. You’re innocent but the cops have orders–Shoot to Kill.
    855. You denied a bathroom to the Don’s pregnant wife.
    856. Took the day off? The Boss will take your skin off.
    857. Your cellmate has a new name for you–“Ophelia”.
    858. Rumor has it you called the Don a Guinea Fuck.
    859. They WILL pry your gun from your cold, dead fingers.
    860. Your dogs won’t starve–they’ll feast on your bloated corpse.
    861. After they extract the bullets you’ll literally be half-assed.
    862. Even the Jukes and Kallikaks look down on your kinfolk.
    863. You’ll die in the gutter with only a lucky penny.
    864. Even Charlie Manson wants nothing to do with your problems.
    865. You’ll tell them you weren’t driving–Benny was at the wheel.
    866. You are destined to be doomed by your own mania.
    867. They will hunt you across the four corners of the earth.
    868. You are condemned–because even God hates a loser.
    869. Anger lasts a minute. Life imprisonment is forever.
    870. The universe is cold, random, and totally out to get you.
    871. Vodka, pipe bombs, bad bar coke–a cheap date.
    872. The hard cons will laugh and call you “Babycakes”.
    873. Your life is a dazzling black hole of failure.
    874. The hiring committee hated your bad attitude, so you killed them.
    875. You’ve vowed to kill all communists, starting with the Police Chief.
    876. Listen, Punchy–your entire life has been one long blood sport.
    877. Those aren’t hobos, they’re zombies–and you must die.
    878. Beg them on your knees and they still won’t respect you.
    879. They can always count on you–to play the fool.
    880. Like a broken computer they will system error delete you.
    881. The fix is in, only They forgot to tell you.
    882. You started out wrong and then you made some bad choices.
    883. You are King, but your Kingdom is The Land of Failure.
    884. Even rivers of booze won’t erase your terrible memories.
    885. You ask yourself, ‘Is it me?’ Yes. yes it is.
    886. Your life was a machine to make a psychopath.
    887. You are on the cutting edge of dysfunction.
    888. Your self-awareness condemns you to eternally apologize.
    889. Ultimately you have nothing. None of it belongs to you.
    890. All that remains for you is to live in the long-ago past.
    891. You are already beginning to pay for future mistakes.
    892. Shadows all around you, and shadows within the shadows.
    893. You’ve gone down way too far to come back up again.
    894. You thought you were going to set the world on fire.
    895. Whatever happened to the Good Old Days? Whatever happened to You?
    896. You will never rise above your station–don’t even try.
    897. You can’t rescue her–you can’t even save yourself.
    898. Your execution will give your family some much-needed closure.
    899. If only the traffic cop hadn’t spotted the loaded gun….
    900. You will never escape the Prison. The Prison is You.

 

  1. SPEND THE AFTERNOON WITH A BEAUTIFUL DOG

I was married for eighteen years. My wife–you know what I say? If you want a friend, get a dog. 

You know, when we first started out, it was touch and go. Ours is a rather unique service. But word of mouth soon spread.

I’ll tell you a secret–I first got the idea for this service when I went to an antiques store in South Street Lakeport. They had a magnificent collie in the vestibule, just sitting there, with his dish, and his bed, and a big-ass bone. It was then that i realized that a beautiful dog adds a certain “tone” to any establishment. God damn it, I said to myself, I want that dog. So I asked the owner about him. Nicely, of course.

He was a bit of an antique himself. A real nervous old coot. Flat head, buzz cut, queer-looking porkpie hat that he twisted around in his hands, faded blue suit with wide lapels. Of course, he said the dog was not for sale. Actually, he was so old, he sort of croaked it out. He was quite vehement on the subject. He said, in a high, whiny voice, that he would just as soon sell one of his own grandchildren. I mean, I understood. I got it. 

I mean, it’s like all of a sudden a giant light bulb went off over my head, you know? I said to myself, I’ll bet there’s a lot of people who would pay to spend the afternoon with a beautiful dog. All the benefits and none of the bother, you know what I’m saying? Because we all know, keeping a big dog in the city is a nuisance. There’s the license, the visits to the vet, the twice-daily walks. It takes a lot of walking to tire out a big dog. And they need a lot of attention. A lot. That’s where our service comes in. The beauty of it is, we make money at both ends. You see, people leave their dogs with us in the morning. A sort of Doggie Day Care, y’know?. And then all the other people come in and rent a room and spend the afternoon with a beautiful dog. 

There’s a lot more complications to this business than you might imagine, though. The insurance is ridiculously expensive. Plus, we had to develop a method to weed out the obvious fruitcakes. You know the kind of people I mean. People who want to do improper things with the beautiful dogs. Nuts. But that’s not what these dogs are for. First and foremost, these animals like to be petted. They need human contact. And, you’d be surprised, but there’s a lot of people out there who need to spend the afternoon with a beautiful dog. More than you’d think.

We’ve had some unfortunate “incidents”. There was one fellow who was using his time with the dog to shoot heroin. That sort of thing is not what we had in mind when we started this service. I suppose we should be glad that the dog was in no way injured. The only way we found out was that the man overdosed on drugs. We had to call an ambulance; the police had a lot of questions. They wanted to know just what kind of service we were running here.The thing is, it didn’t take much convincing. You might not know this, but most cops are dog people. They can appreciate the appeal of spending an afternoon with a beautiful dog.

We’ve had to raise our prices recently. Part of it had to do with the fact that we need to get referrals from other customers in order to take on new clients. No more sketchy characters walking in from off the street, demanding to spend the afternoon with a Collie, or, God forbid, a Great Dane. We mostly trade in big dogs. Little dogs tend to be fragile. There’s also liability issues which I won’t go into here. 

Our customers aren’t pathetic nobodies who long for some form of contact with another living being. I mean, maybe a few of them are, but, for the most part, our clients are connoisseurs of fine animal flesh. We were thinking of adding cats, but I don’t know. cats are too unpredictable. I don’t trust cats. They hiss. What kind of animal hisses? And they tend to be too independent. Plus, they are prone to be moody. You know what I mean? Dogs are always the same. Loyal. Incurable optimists. Friendly animals. But cats aren’t really very friendly at all. As for loyalty? Forget it. The whole house can be burning down, and the dog will bark to wake you at the risk of his own life, but the cat will only save herself. But what else can you expect, from a creature with a brain the size of a walnut?

Furthermore, you ever notice how cats are kind of depressing? If the truth be known. Cats can be all lovey-dovey one minute, and out with the claws the next. I’ve seen it too many times. God help us if a customer got scratched as a result of improperly handling an angry feline. If only dogs could purr; then we’d have it made. Of course, some dogs do in fact do that thing where they slink around your legs and rub themselves up against you. We have a few of those kinds of dogs; they are highly prized. Some customers ask for them by name. 

This whole cult of the cat I find very harmful. Dog-lovers don’t need to be defensive. They’re everywhere. Show me a man who doesn’t love to pet a dog and I’ll show you–well, I’ll show you a crumb.

Sure, we have video monitoring in the rooms. It’s an unhappy necessity. As I said, some of our customers get a little carried away. Plus, if one of the dogs should snap–God forbid–we’d have a lawsuit. But at least we’d have film proving that the animal might have been provoked. Dogs hate it when you handle their muzzles. It’s a show of dominance, I suppose. They’d much rather be petted on their lower backs, rather than their heads. Behind the ears is fine. They have trouble reaching back there.

We’re doing pretty well for an operation that started on a shoestring. Once we got a call from The Process Church of the Final Judgment. They had some German Shepherds that they wanted us to take off their hands. Beautiful dogs. I had to tell them thanks, but no thanks. We try to avoid controversy. We try not to be political. Democrats and Republicans can agree on one thing–that’s it’s fun to spend the afternoon with a beautiful dog. More than that–it’s like nature’s own Valium. Spending the afternoon with a beautiful dog is much better for you than going out and getting drunk. I think we can both agree on that. The expense, the brutal hangovers–why not spend the afternoon with a beautiful dog, instead?

No, we haven’t any plans to expand our base of operations. Not yet. I realize that currently we operate out of a pretty sketchy neighborhood. That’s why the police were so suspicious. But the rent is cheap. And most of our clients don’t seem to mind. The only thing I worry about is gentrification. 

I don’t put too much stock in people who wear their religion on their sleeve. But I can’t help but think that, actually, we’re doing God’s own work here. Uniting happy dogs with lonesome people. I feel that, if there is a God, He’s a loving and merciful God, you know? And He put dogs on this earth for a reason. Otherwise, how else can you account for them? I know I’m getting a little sentimental here. But let’s be real. Dogs serve no real purpose on this earth, other than to love and be loved. Obviously, I’m not talking about service dogs. they’re the exception. 

Dogs are one whole hell of a lot easier to get along with than some women I could name. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. With a woman–well, women are insecure. You have to wine her, and dine her, and exchange all kinds of inane compliments. With a dog, you don’t even have to talk, although, obviously the dog would like it very much if you did. Most dogs find a human voice soothing, and they thrive on a little attention. Like watering a plant. Women tend to be moody. But a dog is only snappish when he’s sick, and we make sure that all our dogs are healthy and ready and willing to serve. That’s why we don’t never get no complaints.I guess that dogs understand me because they know I am their friend.

Our customers are loyal. Almost frighteningly loyal. You should read what they have to say on social media. They say that if we went out of business, they wouldn’t know what to do. I guess if that day finally comes–well, I guess I wouldn’t know what to do either. Building this business has been my whole life. I suppose I could always start some other dog-related enterprise. But it wouldn’t be the same. Because there’s nothing like spending the afternoon with a beautiful dog.

  1. THANKS A LOT, IMAGINARY DEITY–MY UNIVERSE IS RUINED

Evil won again today, leaving Good only five matches ahead for
domination of the universe.

Maan, like, The Lord really sucks, man!

I used to think Jhwh was schmart, but now I think he’s schtupid.

I used to think J. Edgar Jehovah was watching me from heaven.

I used to say ‘Yahweh or the Highway’.

I used to say, “You’d better show respect to Jehovah’s Fist/ Or he’ll
burn your messianic ass to a crisp.”

But, once again, my favorite God has let me down.

Douche-God has fucked up again.

I can’t believe I used to pray to that Guy.

I mean really–what has He done for us, lately?

Except coast for the last 1,980 years?

I can’t believe I give $500 a year to that Guy!

And to think that at one time I ate of His bread and drank of His wine!

I was even married in His church!

Well, I’m sick of being a sap.

I’m going to throw away all of my God memorabilia, including my poster
of World Championship Lions v. Christians from 70 A.D.

I guess I should have paid closer attention to the disclaimer on the
crucifix: “Belief in the Divinity of Christ does not automatically
entitle user to experience eternal bliss in Heaven.”

  1. WHAT SHOULD GUYS CALL EACH OTHER?

Comrade and Citizen are super-retro, Tovarich and Effendi are too darn
foreign and subversive, and Bra and Bro and their variants are rapidly
getting old, so I modestly propose that we fellers call each other
insulting nicknames modified by titles of respect.

Viz:

Sir Douchebag.
Mister Dog.
President Mutt.
Gold Tooth Fatty.
Admiral Asshole.
Scumbag, Esquire.
General Fuckwit.
Master Chief Assholio.
Doctor Shithead.
Ass Master.
Lord Gomer.
Superindentant Retardo.
Most High Handkerchief-Head.
Great Pukebucket.
Chief Shinebox.
&c.

  1. THE SITCOM

The circularity of the sitcom plot, in which nothing ever changes, is
both one of its timeless strengths, yet, ultimately, also the fatal
flaw which dooms the form to an artistic ghetto.

The same circularity was evident in radio sitcoms as well.

In fact, many of the present-day sitcom concentions come from radio,
and, prior to that, the stage and even serialized novels.

The applause when a “guest star” enters the room. The entrance-exit
lines. The tradition of changing the subject with “never mind that”
(which actually dates from the 1820s or earlier).

The prevalent art form of a given era says a great deal about the
temper​a​ment of the people for whom it was devised to entertain. We wax
nostalgic about the grand old movies of the 30s and 40s, though only
the good ones have risen to the top. A good 90% of those movies were
b-flicks or worse, and devised only to fill the bottom half of a
double feature.

Thus, with television. There is so much time to fill that it is nearly
impossible to devise enough original programming to fill it all. So if
TV is our thing, we are forced to entertain ourselves with the output
of overworked insiders who hand us machine-written plots and cliched
situations.

6. THE SEVEN DISTINCT GRADES OF POETRY
“There’s only one natural death, and even that’s Bedcide.”–Edward Dorn

Under the Federal Poetry Products Inspection Act, The Federal Poetry Inspection Agency (FPIA) inspects all poetry published in interstate and foreign commerce, including imported products. The Agency monitors poetry products after they reach print.

The FPIS also designates seven distinct grades of poetry.

Prime grade is produced from old, well-practiced poets of known accomplishment. It has abundant imagery and is marbled with philosophic insight and is generally published in both popular paperback editions and by reputable academic presses which provide scholarly annotations and variorum texts. Prime poetry is considered excellent for adaptation into other media (painting; graphic arts; references in literary works and films).

Choice grade is high quality poetry, but is often more idiosyncratic than Prime. Choice poems are often adjudged “difficult” or “complex,” and some poetry lovers profess to actually prefer them to Prime. These grades are nearly always the product of small university presses whose parent institutions offer the MFA degree.

Select grade is very uniform in quality and normally less verbose and ponderous than the higher grades. It is fairly easy to understand, but, because it has far less genuine philosophic content, it may lack some of the resonance and quotability of the higher grades. University Press chapbooks are one source of select grade.You will sometimes find poems of this grade reproduced on posters with appropriate imagery, e.g., a dive with an olive branch or a beautiful sunset.
Standard grade is frequently produced by poets of tender years whose verbal extravagances frequently serve to conceal a serious lack of gravitas. University press chapbooks and small, quasi-vanity presses are a frequent source for standard grade product.

Commercial grade poetry is frequently produced by pretentious songwriters, occasional poets, and scholarly amateurs. Very few people other than serious acolytes profess any interest in these frequently self-published “vanity” projects. You might also find commercial grade poetry in the pages of college literary and limited-run “little” magazines.

Utility grade poems are often written by authors of popular fictional works, superannuated actors, wives of eminent men, and former politicians. These verse collections are frequently found in the remainder bins of stores which do not specialize in books.

Cutter grade poetry is seldom, if ever, sold at retail but is used instead to make filler for newspaper columns, particularly advice columns in which the reader wishes to share “a lovely poem” with the interlocutor. It seldom, if ever scans, and offers up only the most banal of sentiments. It is very difficullt to differentiate from bad prose.

Canner grade poetry is execrable verse, which, in the vast majority of cases, is self-published, either by a vanity press, or, far more frequently, in the obituary and in memoriam columns of newspapers. High school literay magazines often publish a not inconsiderable amount of this grade.

The requirements in the “Doggerel Reduction; Hazard Analysis and Critical Control Point (HACCP) Systems” final rule are designed to minimize the likelihood of harmful doggerel being published as poetry products. However, some doggerel could be present and might become a problem if poetry is not published judiciously. To assist versifiers, the FPIA requires that versification guidelines be published on all chapbooks and other not fully refined works of poetry.

Advertisements

THE INFORMATION #878 MARCH 4, 2016

THE INFORMATION #878
MARCH 4, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

No one hates his job so heartily as a farmer. – H. L. Mencken

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

“So,” said Count Victor Justin to his barroom cronies, “my very own Mammy wasn’t very affectionate or even very patient with me. For that, I blame her own mother. That old ‘ooman was as formidable a battle-axe as you were ever likely to encounter. Steel-gray hair frozen in a perpetual bun. Alternately sullen and loudly profane. Always swatting the air around her and groaning about the god-damned flies. A real hillbilly. Smoked a corncob pipe until she was 91. Never learned to read or write. Her people crossed the mountains in a covered wagon. Fought red Injuns. Never sick so much as a day in her life. Kept a little bag of asafetida around her neck. Claimed it kept her well. Superstitious old hag. I just couldn’t get over her iron hair caught up in a tight bun. You could see the furrows in her forehead were on account of she never laughed or even smiled. Thin as a rail. Kept me from getting fat. She never fed me. She practically starved me the whole time I was with her. Said a hungry boy is too weak to get up to any mischief. But she fed the old hound dogs on the place quite well. She used to pick herbs in the woods. Wouldn’t be surprised if she was some kind of witchy woman. You think I’m kidding around with you, but I’m not. This time. I like to discuss all manners of things. Not Gramma. She didn’t. She only had two topics of conversation–the Lordie, and how life was a hard proposition for us pore sinners. And how it is a sin against Jesus to dress a boy up like a girl. Among other depravities–like card-playin’, and dancin’, and using any sort of face paint or wearing any sort of fancy dress other than one made from an old feed sack. 

“Every summer Mammy would send me to her Mother’s farm. I dreaded it. Like I said before, I never was cut out for hard work of any kind, unless it involved fleecing a rube or a sucker for a large cash reward. And to think that when I was a sprout, I would see grown men jingle the change in their pockets–and I would think they must be rich. Now I know better. Only pikers carry loose change. I always arrange my money in a Chicago bankroll–a couple of hundreds on the outside for flash, and a whole bunch of ones to dispense largesse to porters and the like. 

“Down on the farm with Granma Miller. Milking the cows, I used to dread. Squeezing those big bags and squiting the milk into a tin bucket at five in the morning. It would sometimes take me up to half an hour to complete the chore. I was so bad at it I was excused from that duty. That’s when I learned that if you act stupid, you can get away with all manners of things. That’s my religion. There is no good ner bad; there’s only what you get away with, or don’t. That’s a fact that women can’t seem to get through their pretty little heads. ‘You can’t do that!’ ‘Well, I did do it, and I got away with it too. And I’ll do it again, whenever I please!’ Why are women so bossy? Especially my Grandmama. I’m standing there up to my knees in muck, slopping the hogs, and she’s telling me I’m not doing it right. Tell me–how hard can it be? You mix the corn meal with the skimmed milk and you throw in some table scraps and bring it down to the hog pen. Simple, no? Even a low-level idiot could master that operation. Even a slow-witted toddler could do it. Even a U.S. Congressman–but I repeat myself. But it seems that I was always doing something wrong. Digging holes for fence posts. Hot and dusty work. But even that simple task was one I could not perform to the old woman’s exacting specifications. So I figured that the more I was picked on, the stupider I would act. Something would come of it. This acting job must be what led me to my current career as a grifter.

“The noble farmer–bah! That idiotic dirt farm was enough to make me swear off of fresh air for all the rest of my natural born days! Reduced to eating locusts in the starving times and wiping your ass with corn cobs!  Who needs it? Not me! I’ll tell the world!

“Farmers are some of the dumbest yellofs you’ll ever meet. Your average Rube is a slack-jawed imbecile too stupid to tie his own shoelaces. If they had any gumption, they’d be sailors in the British Navy, or soldiers in the French Foreign Legion, or prisoners on Devil’s Island. They’d be general storekeepers in a plague-infested desert souk, or hardscrabble gold miners on a played-out claim. Anything but the horror of working on the farm! All those tales of the sex-starved farmer’s daughter? They happen to be true, though what they don’t tell you is that she’s ugly as sin. Many a travelling salesman has gotten hitched at the business end of a shotgun due to an ill-considered liaison with one of these gruesome doxies. The progeny resulting from such a mating is predictable. A wandersome moron with all the intelligence of a ceiling fan. Did I ever tell you that they don’t have dental care in many parts of the country? No, they just call the horse-doctor and he brings a heavy-duty set of pliers. Did I ever tell you that the barefoot farmer’s boy is likely infested with hookworms, which make him even slower and stupider than he already is? Did I tell you that the average farmer’s child only attends school for about three months of the year, and that’s only if he’s lucky enough to have parents who even bother to send him at all? Did I tell you that when the crops are bad due to droughts and tornadoes, some of these shitkickers are forced to live on turnip greens and squirrel’s brains? 

“They universally despise city slickers, and see them as a race of godforsaken bottle-suckers, barn-burners and well-poisoners. It kind of makes you wonder then, why the clodhoppers go to the county fair once a year to be uniformly fleeced by a rabble of low-down carnies. I think it’s so they can see a side of real living…which staring behind a plough at a scrawny mule’s ass utterly fails to evoke.”   

1*SALUTATION

Thumbs & Curly

Lil Liza Jane

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHBdUuYKM6I

2*REFERENCE

EVERY ISSUE OF OZ, LONDON’S LEGENDARY PSYCHEDELIC NEWSPAPER, IS AVAILABLE ONLINE

http://dangerousminds.net/comments/every_issue_of_oz_londons_legendary_psychedelic_newspaper_is_available_onli

3*HUMOR

Yoko Ono: artist? Or shrieking, Beatles-snuffing hag?

http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/advice/a1117/esq0506af-56/

ALSO SEE:

http://www.spin.com/2016/02/yoko-ono-beatles-breakup-nothing-to-do-john-lennon-us-weekly-interview/

4*NOVELTY

Dating back to 1400 BC, this is the oldest surviving melody and it sounds totally amazing

https://m.thevintagenews.com/2016/01/01/43554/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

WHY POLITICAL PUNDITS ARE BECOMING MORE WRONG

http://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/why-political-pundits-are-becoming-more-wrong

6* DAILY UTILITY

Free Tools to Keep Those Creepy Online Ads From Watching You

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/02/18/technology/personaltech/free-tools-to-keep-those-creepy-online-ads-from-watching-you.html

7*CARTOON

COMPLETELY UNUSABLE STOCK PHOTOS

http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/60-completely-unusable-stock-photos#.jcWaBGkK9o

8*PRESCRIPTION

The political preferences of U.S. religious groups

http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/02/23/u-s-religious-groups-and-their-political-leanings/ft_16-02-22_religionpoliticalaffiliation_640px-2/
9*RUMOR PATROL

Fact Checking Absurd Memes Attacking Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders
http://www.forwardprogressives.com/fact-checking-some-of-the-most-absurd-anti-hillary-clinton-and-bernie-sanders-memes/

SEE ALSO:

HOW AMERICA MADE TRUMP UNSTOPPABLE

“We asked for a thoughtful reform of both the political and economic systems after the 2008 crash and none was forthcoming. Instead, our government just sent more fake money to those who are the problem and did so in the name of the democratic party as the democrats clamoured for more and more free cash obtained through bribery and blackmail (see Clinton Foundation). So, stronger and more violent alternatives to governmental intransigence must now be entertained. Overturning a defunct and completely self serving political realm has always been The People’s nuclear option to these impasses through all of recorded time.”–Mark Anderson

http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/how-america-made-donald-trump-unstoppable-20160224

ALSO SEE:

David Duke: Voting against Trump is ‘treason to your heritage’

http://www.politico.com/story/2016/02/david-duke-trump-219777

SEE ALSO:

Donald Trump: I Don’t Want David Duke’s Endorsement

http://www.nbcnews.com/politics/2016-election/donald-trump-i-dont-want-david-dukes-endorsement-n416566

ALSO SEE:

THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY TO STOP TRUMP NOW

http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/politics/news/a42416/how-to-stop-trump/

10* LAGNIAPPE

NOT JUST FOR JOHN HUGHES FILMS: OMD WERE A MUCH BETTER GROUP THAN THEY GET CREDIT FOR

http://dangerousminds.net/comments/orchestral_manoeuvres_in_the_dark_were_a_much_better_group_than_they_get_cr

ALSO SEE:

THE MANUFACTURED INVENTION OF THE BEATLES

“The fact that “The Beatles” had their music and lyrics written for them by Theo Adorno was concealed from public view.” John Coleman, former MI6 agent.

https://tabublog.com/2015/12/26/the-manufactured-invention-of-the-beatles-stones-grateful-dead-and-the-birth-of-rock-n-roll-by-the-tavistock-institute-a-jesuit-corporation/

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

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

It wasn’t about mockingbirds at all. And I wanted to know how to kill them, and I still don’t. What a disappointment.

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
837. BEST GRAPHIC NOVELS OF 2015

RUN LIKE CRAZY, RUN LIKE HELL. TARDI & MARCHETTE.

DISPLACEMENT: A TRAVELOGUE. KNISLEY.

MARCH: BOOK TWO. LEWIS.

THE GRAPHIC CANON OF CHILDREN’S LITERATURE. KICK.

IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME. PROUST, HEUET & GOLDHAMMER.

HIP-HOP FAMILY TREE 3. PISKOR. 

OUT ON THE WIRE. ABEL.

ANN TENNA. MARCHETTO.

KILLING AND DYING. TOMINE.

TERRORIST. REHR.

TRASHED. BACKDERF.

BITCH PLANET 1. EXTRAORDINARY MACHINE.

SUPER MUTANT MAGIC ACADEMY. TAMAKI.

SOUTHERN BASTARDS. AARON & LATOUR.

SOLDIER’S HEART. TYLER.

ROSALIE LIGHTNING. HART.

EMPIRE: UPRISING. WAID.

THE INFORMATION #877 FEBRUARY 26, 2016

​THE INFORMATION #877

FEBRUARY 26, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

No man succeeds without a good woman behind him. Wife or mother, if it is both, he is twice blessed indeed.–Godfrey Winn
WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TEN: PART FIFTY-NINE: KINGDOM COME

Count Victor Justin addressed the assembled bar-room loafers gathered around the large rectangular bar at the Seven Stars Saloon. “Won’t you all sit still and pipe down for a minute? Be more like the old cowboy–don’t say nothing that don’t improve the silence. Tipsy, why don’t you bring a round for the boys? It’s on the house. And the effort they put into downing their drinks will keep them from flapping their gums, and buy me a blessed moment of tranquility. 

“I don’t know–is it me? Am I getting old? Should they shove me in the dotard’s corner because I’m old and in the way? It seems that everything nowadays is noise noise noise. Noise and rickety-rackety-rack–the clanging of the goddamned electric trolley, the ringing of the dod-blasted telephone, the buzzing of the infernal doorbell which ought to be outlawed, or, at the very least, damned to tarnation–whatever happened to peace and quiet? Seems to me a man doesn’t need a new-fangled burglar alarm when a good old hound dog will raise a ruckus and wake all the neighbors when a thief in the night makes his clandestine forays into your domicile. But that’s the way of the world. The new and untested topples and defeats the tried and true–every time. 

“I blame the womenfolk. With their child-like love of novelty, and their fripperies, and their need for fancy clothing, they’re the ones who create a market for the cotton mills to sell their output. Used to be the good old church bell would wake us up. Them days are gone forever. Now it’s far more likely to be the lunchtime factory whistle. I don’t mind. I have made it a principle of my life to sleep until noon every chance I get. It is a great hardship for me to waken before ten am on any given day. I suspect that others feel much the same, only they ain’t in any position to do nothing about it.  

“Don’t get me wrong–I love women. Their rosebud lips remind me of cupid’s bow. And their white teeth are verily like snow shut in a rose. I just love to hug ’em and kiss ’em. But I’ll love them and leave them. I’ve probably got a bairn in every one of the 45 states. But that suits me. Women should be quiet, and stay at home and raise the kiddies, and don’t interfere in the work of men. What is all this foolishness I hear about the working girl? Them gals need to work–to find them a husband, if they can. And keep him, if they know how. The answer is simple. Be submissive to your husband and be modestly dressed. Otherwise, you are just a whore. It’s all right there in the Bible. Not that I place much stock in everything the good book says. But in this case, they’re right on the money. Why O why must a woman go around and pretend to be a man? I’m not blowing sunshine up your ass. If the cat had kittens in the oven, we wouldn’t call them biscuits. I mean the she-males in their pantaloons and their short hair who act all mannish. Why?

“I am a loveless critter at base. I would rather pay cash money for my caresses than enslave a woman, good or bad, by making her my wife, and having to live with her volatile temper, or the guilt feelings at her eternally meek demeanor. Nobody wants to fuck a martyr. Maybe that’s why nuns are cloistered the way they are.  

“Here’s what else irks me about the womenfolk. They warm their cold feet on you when they’re in bed. They fart, and pretend it wasn’t them. They flirt with other men at parties and social gatherings–outrageously so, almost as if you haven’t bought and paid for them. I don’t mind a little independence in a woman; but there’s such a thing as going too far. Plus, they’re as jealous as a cat is of her kittens when it comes to hubby pitching some clandestine woo. And why won’t the damn hussy darn your damn socks? Or sew your fucking buttons on? Or get the goddamn ironing done in a timely fashion? Or use the right dad-blamed soap to do the laundry? Why must she always be half an hour late when you’re waiting to meet her under the big clock downtown? Why must she have a pretty new dress when she’s parading herself around the town, but wear any old thing when she’s in the house and it’s just you as sees her?

“And why, oh way, will she ask you for your advice and not follow it, or, even worse, she won’t ask you for your advice at all, but instead just run out and do as she pleases, spending your money like a drunken sailor on shore leave? Now, you may say that these are the musings of an idiot. But I’m only talking cold hard facts here–cold hard facts and nothing more. 

“It starts in the home, and how her own mother raises her. I am firmly convinced of that fact. 

“My own old mother was no saint. I can say it; though I dast another man to utter so much as a yip agin her. In that case, it’s the horse-whip for sure. Any man who won’t defend his own mother agin the depredations of starngers is no man at all. I firmly believe that, and I don’t believe in much.  

“My mother taught me everything I know, and I don’t mean that in a good way. She was no sort of big hugger and kisser herself…never seemed to care what i was up and about doing…and if she caught me in a lie she would just haul off and smack me.

“Back when I was a sprout, I used to think my Mamma knew it all. Then I was convinced my Pappa knew it all. Then I thought that I knew it all. Now I realize that nobody knows it all. And that nobody ever has, ner ever will.” 

1*SALUTATION

The Mummies 

(You Must Fight To Live) On The Planet Of The Apes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyWK0qUfop4&feature

2*REFERENCE

Bernie Sanders’ Phantom Movement

http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/bernie_sanders_phantom_movement_20160214

ALSO SEE:

The Republican Debate Finally Proved It’s Not Trump Who Has Lost His Mind

http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/politics/news/a42147/republican-debate-recap/

SEE ALSO:

Robert Reich Nails It: The GOP Is Dead And Has Fractured Into 6 Warring Tribes

http://news.groopspeak.com/robert-reich-nails-it-the-gop-is-dead-and-has-fractured-into-6-warring-tribes/

3*HUMOR

Douglas Rushkoff: ‘I’m thinking it may be good to be off social media altogether’

http://www.theguardian.com/technology/2016/feb/12/digital-capitalism-douglas-rushkoff

4*NOVELTY

The secret anti-languages you’re not supposed to know

http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20160211-the-secret-anti-languages-youre-not-supposed-to-know

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

Waffle House Employee Allegedly Spiked Co-Worker’s Drink With Meth

http://www.eater.com/2016/2/17/11031924/waffle-house-poisoned-worker-methamphetamines

6* DAILY UTILITY

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF CAPTAIN BEEFHEART (FULL TEXT)

http://arouseyourpassion.blogspot.com/2016/02/acidheads-keep-annoying-beefheart-with.html
7*CARTOON

The U.S. Map Redrawn as 50 States With Equal Population

http://mentalfloss.com/article/58809/us-map-redrawn-50-states-equal-population

8*PRESCRIPTION

Sketches in Bedlam; or Characteristic traits of insanity, as displayed in the cases of one hundred and forty patients of both sexes, now, or recently, confined in New Bethlem, by Constant Observer 

http://publicdomainreview.org/collections/sketches-in-bedlam-1823/

9*RUMOR PATROL

‘Pornography Is What the End of the World Looks Like’

Chris Hedges

http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/pornography_is_what_the_end_of_the_world_looks_like_20150215

10* LAGNIAPPE

THE BALLAD OF MIKE LOVE

http://www.rollingstone.com/music/features/the-ballad-of-mike-love-20160217

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

Mark Zingarelli
Here’s a List of Truly Awful Similes [from Grenville Kleiser’s Fifteen Thousand Useful Phrases:]

A breath of melancholy made itself felt like a chill and sudden gust from some unknown sea

A glacial pang of pain like the stab of a dagger of ice frozen from a poisoned well

A name which sounds even now like the call of a trumpet

As amusing as a litter of likely young pigs

Brute terrors like the scurrying of rats in a deserted attic

Cheeks as soft as July peaches

Debasing fancies gather like foul birds

Dull as champagne

Each moment was an iridescent bubble fresh-blown from the lips of fancy

Easy as a poet’s dream

Grazing through a circulating library as contentedly as cattle in a fresh meadow

He snatched furiously at breath like a tiger snatching at meat

He was so weak now, like a shrunk cedar white with the hoar-frost

Her dusky cheek would burn like a poppy

Her expression changed with the rapidity of a kaleidoscope

Her hair dropped on her pallid cheeks, like sea-weed on a clam

Her laugh is like a rainbow-tinted spray

Herding his thoughts as a collie dog herds sheep

His nerves thrilled like throbbing violins

His talk is like an incessant play of fireworks

I was as sensitive as a barometer

Laughter like a beautiful bubble from the rosebud of baby-hood

Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue

Like a damp-handed auctioneer

Like a festooned girdle encircling the waist of a bride

Like a slim bronze statue of Despair

Like a summer-dried fountain

Like dead lovers who died true

Like Death, who rides upon a thought, and makes his way through temple, tower, and palace

Like some unshriven churchyard thing, the friar crawled

Like the detestable and spidery araucaria

Like the sea-worm, that perforates the shell of the mussel, which straightway closes the wound with a pearl

Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality

Love had like the canker-worm consumed her early prime

Odorous as all Arabia

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
836. Five things the media does to manufacture outrage

https://medium.com/@parkermolloy/5-things-the-media-does-to-manufacture-outrage-ba79125e1262#.vag9q2u4y

THE INFORMATION #876 FEBRUARY 19, 2016

THE INFORMATION #876
FEBRUARY 19, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

“The thing that impresses me most about America is the way parents obey their children.”–Edward VIII

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

Count Justin Victor looked around at what was a nearly full house at the Seven Stars saloon, with excited loafers congregated around a newly-installed but rickety pool table immediately opposite the bar, and in a loud voice made his opinions known regarding today’s youth.

“Billiards! Boh! Nowadays the Chicago outfit trying to take over from the Black Hand, jabbering Italians shooting up the town and there’s bloodshed in the streets. You ever notice the complacent look on their faces as they jaw-jaw in their greasy tongue? You ask me, they all ought to all be hung, 

“And what do the true he-men do for fun and profit, here in Blowtown? Why, this rotten gang right here is wasting their time on a foolish game. Is that table even level? And where did the chip in the cue ball come from? And how is it them pool cues are already warped? The whole set-up reeks of second-hand goods. It’s just yet another new-fangled contrivance brought in to suit the younger crowd, who can never be quiet and never stay still. What’s next–are we going to install a bowling alley? If so, let me know. I could use a day job–as pin boy.

“I fear for the future when I see the young people of this new century. They are lazy half-hearted blabbermouths who are as ignorant as the day is long. Afraid to work. Afraid to even eat. All this fuss about tainted meat. Fooey. It was good enough for grandpa, and it’s good enough for me. What about the tainty-taint meat? You heard of the tainty-taint meat? Taint mine, and taint yours. 

“I say that you can always tell a youngster, but you can’t tell him much. Plucking on those banjos and mandolins and blowing on those gawdawful cornets. They say you can listen to such music on phonograph records, too, instead of wax cylinders. I say phooey on all of it. Give me the concert by the bandstand any time. Not that I have time for amusements such as that. And grand opera is for stuffed shirts, and fat gals with solid gold lorgnettes. 

“Young folk today are spoiled rotten. They burst into great blubbery tears whenever they’re thwarted. We were of a hardier breed. We would wake up in the mornings shivering to the spectacle of a freezing room and clean ourselves up from a bowl of water where you had to break off all the surface ice before commencing to wash your face. If you wanted to take a shit, there was a handy outhouse and you would trudge through the snow to get to it, so if’n you were smart you would either use a chamber pot or learn to hold it in. Lawd! These young people today, with their indoor plumbing and their infernal wristwatches–they think they hung the moon. They think with their emotions, not their heads, and they lead with their tempers. Look at the sons of the rich swells, uptown. They know nothing of horses but prefer instead to fiddle-faddle about in their brand new steam-driven automobiles. It’s a disgrace! Furthermore, most of them are stuck-up slick-faced brats as refuse to grow any kind of facial hair, and they sport long manes and curls instead of soap-locks, and they wear sissified stiff collers made of celluloid like a bunch of she-males. In my day, a man who couldn’t raise a mustache of a set of sideburns was hardly what you’d call a man at all. Back then, there was a name for such folk, but it would do no good to repeat it here. Next thing you know, these so-called men will be going all in for face paint, and dousing themselves with perfumey water.Hell! In the olden days we never so much as took a bath from Halloween to Arbor Day!

“Bah! To make matters worse, I hardly know what to make of the young folk in Blowtown any more. They don’t go in for athletic clubs or set up shop as fire-fighters no more, like they did back in my day. They got me dum-foozled is what. Snuffing them asthma powders and jabbing needles in their arms. Playing crazy. Acting oh-so ironic when ye ask them a direct question. They wouldn’t put up with such behavior out west, oh no siree. They would shoot such vagabonds on sight. With actual firearms. Even the g’hals get into the act, what with their ether frolicks and their chloral habits. What is this world coming to? Skunk wagons befouling the air. Steam radiators! What ever happened to the good old pot-bellied stove?   

“Children today are soft. That’s all. They play with scooters, and hoops, and cap guns. In my day, too much book-learnin’ was known to ruin your shootin’ eye, and any man who couldn’t shoot was no man at all. We didn’t have telephones, or ice cream, or fancy cocktails. We was too busy blowing the heads off’n bluebirds and squirrels. Kids today are dominated by their mothers. Weak-hearted women they are, who won’t let a real boy get involved in the rough-and-tumble which is his surest training ground. Oh, no–nowadays, you mustn’t even raise your voice to your bairn, let alone spank him, or else you might frighten the little critter clean out of his growth. But I say that it never hurts a little man to get his britches dusted every now and again, even if he ain’t done nothin’–nothin’ you know about, anyway. ‘Spare the rod and spoll the child.’ Truer words were never spoken, and, of course, it is just that much better if the boy had to go out with his jack-knife and cut his own switch. Haww…. That’ll learn him! ‘Children should be seen and not heard.’ Whatever happened to that fine old saying? As my old man used to say, ‘When the big boats get in the water, the little boats stay out’. Children were supposed to be quiet and respectful around adults–not have their every whim catered to, like they do nowadays. 

“No, I see nothing good coming of these developments–nothing good at all.”

1*SALUTATION

VOTE; WHO IS AMERICA’S WORST GOVERNOR?

http://thepoliticus.com/content/who-americas-worst-governor

2*REFERENCE

DEAD MEDIA SOUNDBOARD: THE MUSEUM OF ENDANGERED SOUNDS

http://boingboing.net/2016/02/10/dead-media-soundboard-the-mus.html

3*HUMOR

Peaceful Chimpanzee Breakfast With Post Cereal
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUCRJtz_fec&feature=youtu.be

4*NOVELTY

PSYCHEDELIC IHOP COMMERCIAL: 1969

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lt_OS54FFFE

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

W-18: 10000X MORE POWERFUL THAN MORPHINE

http://www.vice.com/read/everything-we-know-so-far-about-w-18-the-drug-thats-100-times-more-powerful-than-fentanyl

6* DAILY UTILITY

Kasich’s Spiritual Adviser Thinks Gay Rights Activists Are Fascist “Thought Nazis”

http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2016/02/kasichs-spiritual-advisor-called-gay-rights-activists-fascists

7*CARTOON

THE TROUBLE WITH SUPERMAN

http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/02/the-trouble-with-superman/435408/ 

8*PRESCRIPTION

STAYING SAFE ON THE SUBWAY

http://abc7ny.com/1195633/

9*RUMOR PATROL

Jerry Lewis has broken a 40-year silence about his “disaster” of a Holocaust movie

http://qz.com/613084/jerry-lewis-has-broken-a-40-year-silence-about-his-disaster-of-a-holocaust-movie-on-german-tv/

10* LAGNIAPPE

How America’s Sporting Events Have Turned into Mass Religious Events to Bless Wars and Militarism

http://www.alternet.org/news-amp-politics/how-americas-sporting-events-have-turned-mass-churches-give-blessings-imperial

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

SINATRA: THE CHAIRMAN
By James Kaplan. Hardcover. Doubleday. 992 pages.

For the first time in over a year I have foregone sleep to finish reading a book – namely, Kaplan’s brand new three-pound Sinatra biography, spanning the years 1954 to 1998. (The compelling first half, covering the years up to 1954, is called Frank: The Voice, and came out in 2010.)

Here is where most amateur reviewers might insert some anecdote of how deeply touched they were by the Old Man’s songs. About the first song of His they ever heard, maybe, and how old they were. They might even gush over the fact that the man was known as “The Entertainer of the Century,” and blather on about what a towering figure he was, and how meaningful and important his career was.

Here’s a secret. I don’t admire the man’s music. I never did. It has always mostly left me cold. Maybe it’s a generational thing; maybe not. Anyway, I am not hypnotized by, nor do I have any sentimental attachment to “The Voice.” I do not revere “The Chairman,” whose career trajectory has always struck me as a story of ruthless ambition yoked to thuggish behavior. So why did I bother to read both the first, and this, the second half of his biography?

I read it voraciously, and with great enjoyment, because in the center of it all is a fascinating exploration of the territory comprising the crossroads of the mob, American politics, and popular entertainment; particularly in the Kennedy portions of the book. Kaplan doesn’t shy away from the worst of it – he mentions, albeit in passing, an incident at the Cal-Neva lodge which occurred about a week before Marilyn Monroe’s death, in which a drugged-up Marilyn was being ridden like a horse by Sam Giancana –while Frankie snapped photos. The author even has the balls to twit acclaimed Johnson biographer Robert Caro for never once mentioning an allegedly crucial fact – or conjecture – regarding Johnson and Kennedy – namely, that Kennedy picked Johnson for VP because LBJ and Hoover were extorting him via potential scandals such as “womanizing,” etc. Of course, Caro is a serious and high-minded historian respected by academics; Kaplan is more along the lines of a smart and super-competent journalist who has seen and assessed every Sinatra motion picture, as well as having heard and ranked every Sinatra album virtually song by song (though I don’t know how he could have left out Sarah Vowell’s prescient and hilarious condemnation of “My Way”: “[It] pretends to speak up for self-possession and personal vision when, at base, it only calls forth the temper tantrums of 2-year-olds or perhaps the last words spoken to Eva Braun.”)

On top of all that, Kaplan has read just about everybody else who has ever written about Sinatra: From supportive gossip columnist’s Earl Wilson’s early (1976) biography to Gay Talese’s snarky but risible April 1966 Esquire essay Frank Sinatra Has a Cold; from Kitty Kelley’s scandalous and scandal-filled 1983 hatchet job His Way, to Anthony Summers’ conspiracy-minded Sinatra: The Life (2005); from Randy Taraborrelli’s gossipy Sinatra: Behind the Legend (1997) to Tom Santopietrio’s entertaining Sinatra in Hollywood (2009). Kaplan, in fact, is such a Sinatra expert and close reader of all things Sinatra that he can almost seamlessly balance certain aspects of the Sinatra legend (his world-spanning charitable work; his generous moral and financial support of individuals) with certain less-savory aspects of the man’s behavior (his hatred of critical journalists; his well-known inclination to nurse lifelong vendettas; his mobbed-up associates; his famously volatile temper).

It’s a thinking man’s biography; but it essentially gives short shrift to Sinatra’s career in the 1970s and practically ends with 1981, and the release of his final album for Reprise, She Shot Me Down. Perhaps Kaplan is sentimental and prefers not to focus too closely on the decline of Sinatra’s talent in his sunset years; more likely, it was a mercenary editorial decision which was taken to edit the book to a manageable length. To be sure, angling for a Part Three – arguably a necessary component – would have been pushing it. Not a commercially viable decision.

Then again, in other places the book might have profitably been shortened, particularly in Kaplan’s account of the years 1954-1965, by omitting the seemingly interminable lists of Sinatra concert attendees, Sinatra party attendees, and Sinatra girlfriends, who notably included Gloria Vanderbilt, Lauren Bacall, Kim Novak, Anita Ekberg, Juliet Prowse, and Judy Garland. And Judith Campbell, whom he shared with mobster Sam “Momo” Giancana and pimped out to none other than the President of the United States, John F. Kennedy. (Small wonder Jackie Kennedy regarded Sinatra as, at best, a boorish nuisance and, at worst, a certified menace.) But such lists, I suppose, were a part of Kaplan’s always painstaking research, and perhaps he was loath to jettison them. Besides, Sinatra, who famously hated to be alone, was very much a social animal, and such accounts of his pals and gals help to define him as a social creature.

Kaplan, in addition to quoting every Sinatra authority out there, also seems very much inclined to rely extensively on accounts by people who are Willing to Talk; most notably, Sammy Davis Jr.; estranged Sinatra valet George Jacobs (whom Sinatra charmingly called “Spook”): and legendary comedian Shecky Green, source of the famous Sinatra-related quip (cited in print by Wilson): “Sinatra saved my life in 1967. Five guys were beating me up, and I heard Frank say, ‘That’s enough.’ ”

What ultimately emerges from this biography is a picture of a complex, contradictory man, which Kaplan shows us examples of time and time again, so that even the most unrepentant Sinatra-hater (or idolater) must surely get the picture: That there is far more to Sinatra than meets the eye. The man was both admirable and contemptible. Many people don’t even know themselves; how can they presume to know what truly rests in the heart of another? Kaplan tries, and, to his lasting credit, he comes about as close to unraveling the history and mystique of Sinatra as anybody I’ve read.

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.

  1. The movie that foretold the rise of Donald Trump

https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/the-movie-that-foretold-the-rise-of-donald-trump/2016/02/08/76358d7e-cb7c-11e5-a7b2-5a2f824b02c9_story.html

 

THE INFORMATION #875 FEBRUARY 12, 2016

THE INFORMATION #875

FEBRUARY 12, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The goal of Dr. Martin Luther King is to give Negroes a chance to sit in a segregated restaurant beside the same white man who had brutalized them for 400 years.​–Malcolm X

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

​As the winter slowly unwound and became the spring. Count Victor Justin ceased his confidential chats with Pappy O’Day and began to address the full complement of barroom loafers who were attracted to the Seven Stars, in part due to his largesse at the bar. Perhaps he mistook the thirst of his audience for their grave attention; anyway, if he knew that his listeners were only there for the free booze, he never let on.

“I hardly know what the world is coming to these days. I know this has been the lament of the shuffling dotard since time immemorial, but it seems to me as though things are changing faster than they’ve ever changed before. Why, even as recently as sixty years ago, who dreamed of stink wagons careering around and frightening all the horses, or of wireless radio, or of Negroes sitting down to eat with the President?

“Nowadays it seems as though every slew-footed, sachel-mouthed, tap-dancing, watermelon-eating, chicken-stealing, razor-wielding and dice-rolling Negro is as innocent as the day is long and that, even though he is as black as melted midnight, he must still be clasped to our bosom as a man and a brother. Well, Sir, I’m from the South; and I firmly aver that nothing good can come of such antics; such assimilation is where I most firmly draw the line. Mind you, I don’t mind having them shine my shoes and bring me my food; and I’m quite willing to even have them shave me when the occasion arises. But I am not about to sit down and break bread with a single one of them.

“Face it, Yob; the whole African race is childish. They were born to play. Like small boys, or monkeys, they steal fruit, hoot and holler, and most avidly follow the results of athletic contests and feats of strangth. Look to the career of the Galveston Giant; the so-called champion of the world. Morons and children are his chief partisans. And Negroes. I use the polite term, for I remember well the lessons handed down to me by my own sainted mother, who told me quite earnestly that the other word was a vulgar one and never used by gentlemen. At least, not by any gentlemen she knew; however, she was used to refined company. Not the sort of gangly and disreputable sport who would be perfectly acceptable around the stable, perhaps grooming the horses, but not a man you would invite to sup with you at the dinner table. 

“That’s what all the proud and outspoken advocates of the elite Negro forget to consider, at their own peril: that there are many degrees of white men as well as the degrees of the Negro: field hand and house slave. There is the low white trash who I wouldn’t have any truck with to save my life. There is the poor white sharecropper who works from can to cain’t and who is as ignorant as the day is long. The mill-wright, who is as poor a specimen of intellection as you’re likely to see this side of the laughing academy. There is the small-time small-town merchant, arrogant, close-minded, and oh so easy to swindle. There is the unassuming yokel from an allegedly good family; land-proud and purse poor, who is every bit as much fun to lay the grift upon. There is the lowly factor agent; a dull drone whose idea of a hot time in the old town is getting himself a manicure by some attractive she-male; I could go on. Should I go on? There’s the flatulent reverend minister, who farts pomp about how the world as we know it won’t last long because it gets more wicked every day–and meanwhile the fat hog feasts at the tables of the high and mighty with a gimlet while pretending to care about the poor. There’s the pompous big businessman, who thinks his shit tastes like chocolate ice cream; and leave us not forget the society swell, who struts about with his gold-headed cane and his evening dress, without so much as a stray thought rattling about in his supremely empty noggin. Then, too, there’s his close relative the shifty racetrack tout, who always has a hot tip which turns out to be a dud. Let’s not forget the bullheaded and querulous foreigners who populate these shores; born lackeys to a man. There’s the dago fruit vendor, who’s always having a temper tantrum over nothing; there’s the two-fisted hunkie who works fourteen hours a day in the steel mills and spends his free time drinking and getting into brannigans, and repenting of both on a Sunday; and then there’s the Irish drunkard, who beats his wife and daughter and drives his half-growed son to seek his fortune in the cruel world at an unnaturally early age; must I belabor the point? I must. 

“There’s the boardwright, with his rheumatic hands full of itsy bitsy splinters; the lobster fisherman, whose fingers are twisted into claws from handling the stinging reel; the ashman, with his braying foghorn voice, who makes a racket because he hates everybody and everybody scorns him; the drayman, a horrible beast in human form; a black-hearted brute who beats his horses, just because he can; the surly plumber, who plunges his hands into warm shit and gets bitten by poisonous spiders; the horse doctor, who gets snapped at by ungrateful dogs; the social worker, ditto; the able seaman, who has a license to drown; the talky barber, a bloated frog prince swollen with pride for all his lowly work in shaving drunks and beating his little Lather Boy; a man who will try and fail to charge you two bits for a lousy haircut; the world-weary carman, who’s seen it all and will swindle you for twice his normal fare every time; the streetcar conductor, who freezes in the winter and roasts in the summer in that absurd blue uniform. All of them would rather stay home and do nothing; none of them have that choice. Far from being nature’s noblemen, they are nature’s suckers; no better than the beasts of the wood, who are forced to forage for their food and shelter.

“Don’t you know that hard work is a racket, designed to keep lesser personages in their place? It’s all to keep the crowd herd tired and busy, so they won’t cause mischief. True aristocrats know this; hence all the cant they spread about regarding ‘honorable professions’. Me for the plush sofa and the social rounds; I only work when I have to; when the coffers are low; then I get me to grifting. Other times, I travel and relax. And make the social rounds–like I’m doing now.”  

​1*SALUTATION

​JOSEPH SPENCE

OUT ON THE ROLLING SEA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=alfqX3WRJP0&feature=share

2*REFERENCE

​DID THE CIA CREATE MIND-CONTROLLED SLAVES?

http://disinfo.com/2016/01/cia-create-mind-control-slaves/

ALSO SEE:

THE DEVIL’S CHESSBOARD

https://www.laprogressive.com/allen-dulles/

3*HUMOR

​THE 100 JOKES THAT SHAPED MODERN COMEDY

http://www.vulture.com/2016/01/100-jokes-shaped-modern-comedy-c-v-r.html?mid=fb-share-vulture

ALSO SEE:

HAW HAW AND HERBIE POPNECKER

http://herbiepopnecker.com/examples/says-haw-haw/

4*NOVELTY

​STREAM HUNDREDS OF OUT-OF-PRINT NOISE ALBUMS ON YOUTUBE

http://www.electronicbeats.net/feed/youtube-channel-200-rare-print-noise-albums/

SEE ALSO:

50 WEIRDEST ALBUMS

http://www.mojo4music.com/14320/50-weirdest-albums/

ALSO SEE:

50 EVEN WEIRDER ALBUMS

http://www.mojo4music.com/14604/mojo-readers-50-weirdest-albums/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

​I like Bernie Sanders. His supporters? Not so much

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/feb/02/i-like-bernie-sanders-his-supporters-not-so-much-berniebro

​ALSO SEE:

The “Bernie Bros” Narrative: a Cheap Campaign Tactic Masquerading as Journalism and Social Activism

https://theintercept.com/2016/01/31/the-bernie-bros-narrative-a-cheap-false-campaign-tactic-masquerading-as-journalism-and-social-activism/

6* DAILY UTILITY

​Ted Cruz Isn’t Crazy – He’s Much Worse

http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/ted-cruz-isnt-crazy-hes-much-worse-20151204

​ALSO SEE:

5 Reasons Ted Cruz Is Scarier Than Donald Trump

http://www.nationalmemo.com/5-reasons-ted-cruz-is-scarier-than-donald-trump/

SEE ALSO:

ON THE ROAD WITH TRUMP AND CRUZ

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/02/01/the-duel-faceoff-ryan-lizza

​7*CARTOON

​1954 | The Picture That Cost the Picture Editor His Job

http://www.nytimes.com/times-insider/2014/09/04/1954-the-picture-that-cost-the-picture-editor-his-job/

ALSO SEE:

DOWNLOAD FREE COLORING BOOKS

http://www.openculture.com/2016/02/download-free-coloring-books-from-world-class-libraries-museums.html

8*PRESCRIPTION

​17 LEADERSHIP FAILS THAT RUINED GOOD COMPANIES

http://www.ratemyjob.com/leadership/22489/17-leadership-fails-that-ruined-good-companies#page=1

9*RUMOR PATROL

13 Outlandishly Unconventional Cities That Were THIS Close To Being Built
http://www.swifty.com/cities/39901/13-outlandishly-unconventional-cities-that-were-this-close-to-being-built

10* LAGNIAPPE

​FAT MAN DRINKS SO MANY ENERGY DRINKS HE DIES

http://nypost.com/2016/02/02/worlds-fattest-man-loved-energy-drinks-not-wisely-but-too-well/

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

​STEVEN WRIGHT

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/steven-wright-immortal-king-of-one-liners-and-literalism

*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED

  1. BURNS. ***1/2

21ST CENTURY TANK GIRL. **1/2

ALL-NEW CAPTAIN AMERICA 1. HYDRA ASCENDANT. ***

THE AUTUMNLANDS 1. TOOTH AND CLAW. BUSIEK. ****

BATMAN VS. SUPERMAN: THE GREATEST BATTLES. ***1/2

BATMAN ETERNAL 3. ***1/2

D4VE. FERRIER. ***

DEAD BOY DETECTIVES 1. SCHOOLBOY TERRORS. ***1/2

DEAD BOY DETECTIVES 2. GHOST SNOW. ***1/2

DRESSING. DEFORGE. ***

FLASHPOINTS. FRIEDMAN. ****

FRANK: THE VOICE. KAPLAN. ****

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY: GALAXY’S MOST WANTED. **

THE HERO: BOOK TWO. RUBIN. ****

INJECTION 1. ELLIS. ****

INVINCIBLE ULTIMATE COLLECTION 8. ***1/2

INVINCIBLE ULTIMATE COLLECTION 10. ***1/2

ISCARIOT. VIDAURRI. ***

THE MANGA GUIDE TO PHYSIOLOGY. TANAKA. ****

MILES MORALES ULTIMATE SPIDER-MAN ULTIMATE COLLECTION 3. ***1/2

MONSTER. MYERS, SIMS, AHYABWILE. ***1/2

  1. MS. MARVEL 4. LAST DAYS. ***

THE MULTIVERSITY. MORRISON. ****

NANJING: THE BURNING CITY. YOUNG. ****

NEW SUICIDE SQUAD 1. PURE INSANITY. ***1/2

NIMONA. STEVENSON. ***1/2

OUTCAST 1. ***1/2

OUTCAST 2. ***1/2

ROSALIE LIGHTNING. HART. ****1/2

THE SANDMAN: OVERTURE. GAIMAN. ****

SINATRA: THE CHAIRMAN. KAPLAN. ****

SOLDIER’S HEART. TYLER. ****1/2

SOUTHERN BASTARDS. AARON & LETOUR. ****1/2

THE STORY OF MY TITS. HAYDEN. ***1/2

TEEN TITANS 1. BLINDED BY THE LIGHT. ***
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.

  1. ​ TOO POOR TO RETIRE AND TOO YOUNG TO DIE

http://graphics.latimes.com/retirement-nomads/