THE INFORMATION #877
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.”
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Bernie Sanders’ Phantom Movement
The Republican Debate Finally Proved It’s Not Trump Who Has Lost His Mind
Robert Reich Nails It: The GOP Is Dead And Has Fractured Into 6 Warring Tribes
Douglas Rushkoff: ‘I’m thinking it may be good to be off social media altogether’
The secret anti-languages you’re not supposed to know
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
Waffle House Employee Allegedly Spiked Co-Worker’s Drink With Meth
6* DAILY UTILITY
THE LIFE AND TIMES OF CAPTAIN BEEFHEART (FULL TEXT)
The U.S. Map Redrawn as 50 States With Equal Population
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
‘Pornography Is What the End of the World Looks Like’
THE BALLAD OF MIKE LOVE
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
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