MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 210 APRIL 2016

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE

NUMBER 210
APRIL 2016
Copyright 2016 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

  1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES
  1. 901. You are being relentlessly tracked by a cold-blooded killer.
    You may not believe it, but you are God’s worst enemy.
    903. Your vanity will ironically result in hideous disfigurement.
    904. The man you’ve been following will turn around and kill you.
    905. Your court-appointed psychiatrist is even more insane than you.
    906. You can’t handle the truth. You can’t even handle lies.
    907. If you weren’t completely corrupt, you’d be nothing at all.
    908. You live at the intersection of Homicide Street and Murder Alley.
    909. Your crime partner has escaped jail and seeks revenge.
    910. Your new wife allows strange men to buy her gifts.
    911. Your life’s a dead end street; you cannot turn around.
    912. Your existence is a circle that adds up to zero.
    913. You’ve committed no crime; but your life is a crime.
    915.You eat their anger and excrete pure hatred.
    916.Fool–you’re practically telling them where to stick the knife.
    917. You spent your whole life. Payoff–a big fat goose egg.
    918. Nothing burns in you but a cold hard flame of emptiness.
    919. You’re no longer in the picture–but you never were.
    920. They see nothing in your eyes because your soul is dead.
    921. The path is full of enormous bumps–you feel every one.
    922. You’ve a long walk ahead of you. Better walk faster. Run!
    923.If you fall, nobody, but nobody, will pick you back up.
    924. Your mother will be reduced to working in a Waffle House.
    925. They are through with plotting revenge; they are ready to act.
    926. That sinking feeling will continue for the rest of your life.
    927. How can you escape when you can’t even move?
    928. The system works. It just doesn’t work for you.
    929. Your sole happiness consists in enduring a miserable existence.
    930. You didn’t start the fire–nor can you put it out.
    931. Once you’re out of the picture, the facts will add up.
    932. Prosperity is around the corner but you’re in a dead end.
    933. You’re a tough nut, but you’re up against The Nutcracker.
    934. Santa never came to your house–wrong neighborhood.
    935. You think they’re on your side. they never were.
    936. Your own brother sold you out–for a bottle of rotgut.
    937. You don’t care about yourself–They’ll take care of you.
    938. Every double-crosser in town knows you’re in it, deep.
    939. You are a never-wuzzer with delusions of has-been.
    940. Every cheap dame around has told you to Amscray.
    941. They’ll steal your inventions, then sue you for plagiarism.
    942. That Barmaid with the Panther Eyes has her hooks in deep.
    943. You’re a champion swimmer when you dive into that bottle.
    944. They all know you’re very busy–busy with them reefers.
    945. You pushed her away without meaning to. She’s gone forever.
    946. The competition you must eliminate had the same idea–first.
    947. Your mind is racing–but it isn’t built for speed.
    948. You hate their so-called “lies”–but they’re telling the truth.
    949. She had a heart of Gold. Now she’s full of Lead.
    950. You hocked your wedding ring. Pusher sold you baby laxative.
    951. You’re a sucker–there’s no percentage in wising you up.
    952. You drove the getaway car–all the way to Argentina.
    953. Dirty cops, flirty dames, bloody money, cold stiffs, tommy guns–death.
    954. Some rob you with a shotgun; some with an even bigger shotgun.
    955.No one is innocent–least of all, you.
    956. Your love is not unique–it isn’t even love.
    957. You are headed, not for the top, but right back to the bottom.
    958. You’re a dead man, Jim–even if you don’t know it yet.
    959. It’s too late to change–nobody cures a fried egg.
    960. While the sun shines the moon plots your downfall.
    961. They DID kill the Umpire–and you’re next, Sucker.
    962. You shouldn’t have gotten involved–now there’s no way out.
    963. Your wife’s jealous ex-boyfriend is known as “Psycho”.
    914. Thirty years of hate kept you warm; trouble is all you know.
    964. You will be hated for no other reason than being born.
    965. Your compromise will permanently embitter both parties.
    966. You “don’t believe in winners and losers”? You lose.
    967. You don’t sweat much–for a guilty man.
    968. Many more killers will be closing in real soon.
    969. Tomorrow is another day–but you won’t live to see it.
    970. They don’t even care enough to end your misery.
    971. Thirteen? Nowadays all numbers are unlucky for you.
    972. The Champ is very jealous of your pretty face.
    973. Once an acid casualty–soon you’ll be a real one.
    974. “Avid fan of heroin” is not a compliment.
    975. The only happy people you ever see are on television.
    976. Your murderous psychosis is actually the least of your problems.
    977. Women look into your eyes and see only a dead man.
    978. Slob–your wife convinces a hungry drifter to murder you.
    979. You’re not one of God’s Children, but the Devil’s Bastard.
    980. God is dead–and very soon you will also die.
    981. Police say your murder technique is trite and derivative.
    982. The truth won’t set you free–you’ll get the Chair.
    983. God never helped you before, and He’s forgotten you now.
    984. You’ll leave it all behind–but there’s nothing ahead for you.
    985. They taught you to be bad, but not strong.
    986. You think you’ve seen everything, but you’ve seen nothing.
    987. Impossible for you to go crazy–you were born that way.
    988. Your story might have been happy but for blind chance.
    989. 100 little things that didn’t matter; one big thing fatally left undone.
    990. It’s the last inning of your life. Score: 0-0.
    991. You’ll hand it all over, but they’ll kill you anyway.
    992. You really are a damned fool–you understand nothing.
    993. You’re an evil influence on all your so-called friends.
    994. Involuntary manslaughter? Nothing doing. You’re going to fry.
    995. Over your dead body? What will be, will be.
    996. Keep a stiff upper lip–they’ll destroy the lower one.
    997. All humanity has declared total war on you alone.
    998. It’s not the end of the world–just your world.
    999. There’s always a bright side–until they blind you.
    1000. She kicked you in the heart–and broke her leg.


2. OH FAB I’M GLAD THERE’S LEMON-FRESHENED BORAX IN YOU: THE MOVIE

Opening shot: explosion. A shack in the Utah desert.

Establishing shot: 1966. Docu footage unspools: Viet War, race riots, LBJ with head in hands. Credits roll.

Long tracking shot of California farmland. Another explosion, this one large enough to level a city block. Lemon groves are devastated by wildfires.

Cut to: Office penthouse. The silhouetted figure of a man is seen and heard shouting into two telephones. Camera reveals he is XAVIER BRAND, a creepy white-haired industrialist with a withered face and a rather louche black mustache who, for diabolical reasons of his own, is trying to corner the world’s supply of lemons and Borax. Distinguishing feature: His right index finger is actually a nail file. He compulsively grooms his nails the whole time he is talking on the phones. His SECRETARY grooms his toenails.

Cut to: Exterior of office. A man with a rope and grappling hook is climbing hand over hand up the side of the building. He is FRANZ NEUMANN, sworn foe of sinister cabals. A grinning crewcut blonde giant. Distinguishing feature: His lemon-yellow eyepatch. He climbs the rope with agility and grace. He is obviously a highly-skilled gymnast.

But will he make it up the side of the building? I think not. BRAND’s sinister henchman–a midget wearing a bowler hat–undoes the hook from the cornice of the building. NEUMANN falls. An enormous American eagle swoops in and catches him. NEUMANN is whisked off to the mountaintop fortress of none other than…

UNCLE SAM, who tells NEUMANN that HE MUST NOT FAIL and provides him with advanced weaponry and two accomplices: A parrot who can mimic anybody’s voice and a cigar-smoking chimp who is an explosives expert.

A series of complications ensues, but, ultimately, Xavier Brand is foiled, Neumann gets the secretary, and a series of Fab detergent posters plastered about Futuropolis mutely testify to the fact that the surfectant now does indeed feature the miraculous novelty of “Lemon-Freshened Borax”.

3. GOSSIP
What is gossip but the way in which humans squawk their warnings at one another?

People are sometimes criticized for treating soap operas, television personalities, and other fictional and quasi-fictional constructs as though they are actually real.

But as far as our individual minds are concerned, it is possible that ALL people are, in essence, fictional characters. We can never say we truly know or can even predict with reliable certainty the actions of another.

It is interesting to speculate whether reality programs and other television shows of this nature are rewiring our brains or whether our brains are already wired to create fictional narratives about other people, whether they are real OR imaginary.

When you stop to think about it, when we gossip about another person, we are merely transmitting signals to one another. Whether the signals truly identify the nature of the stimulus is open to question. I’m no scientist–far from it–but it’s an interesting thing to speculate about. Mainly, whether gossip of any kind is not really simply an ADAPTIVE mechanism, hard-wired into the primate brain. For example, observe how monkeys hoot when they see a snake. This mechanism may even be hard-wired into the brains of lower animals; for instance, birds who emit raucous shrieks when danger approaches.

This argument may be reductive, and perhaps even slightly out of line, but it is all food for thought.

One final note: Gossip is hardly ever good news. For that, we have get-togethers which we call “celebrations”.

In our affinity groups, we gather and repulse one another like magnetized filaments.

In much the same way that birds yearly flock to migrate south in a V formation.

4. THE BESTSELLERS OF THE FUTURE!
The Dressmaker of Khair Khana…is number 12 on the nonfiction
bestseller list.–NYTBR 4-10-11

NEW…FROM EXPLOITATION PRESS!
1. The Glass Blower of Kabul
2. The Wrinkle Chaser of Kandahar
3. The Pure Finder of Herat
4. The Branding Agent of Mazar-i-Sharif
5. The Funeral Clown of Kunduz
6. The Litter Bearer of Jalalabad
7. The Silver Miner of Lashkar Gah
8. The Used Ox Salesman of Taluqan
9. The Glass Harmonica Player of Puli Khumri
10. The Salvage Diver of Khost
‎11. The Orgy Planner of Ghazni
12. The Beekeeper of Sheberghan
13. The Hat Blocker of Sari Pul
14. The Exfoliator of Farah
15. The Qat-Chewer of Mazar e Sharif

5. THIS IS NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEMES
My latest flight of introspective fancy has arisen from a
contemplation of a Flintstones episode which was brought to my
attention by Scott Shaw! It is the one in which Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm
have a hit single with their recording of “Oh Let the Sunshine In”.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVogUqWScYc

Note Pebbles’ eyes whenever she sings the word “frowners”. Creep-tastic!

Incidentally, I wrote a parody of that song when I was 11 years old.
It went as follows:

Oh let the booze pour in
Chase it with some gin
Drunkards never lose
And boozers always win
So let the booze pour in
Chase it with some gin
Open up your mouth and let the booze pour in!

This episode was obviously one of the many ham-handed attempts by the
dominant culture to satirize the musical fads of teens by offering
them an alleged “real music” alternative to the trash their unformed
minds are invariably drawn to.

Note, for instance, George Jetson’s hot jazz drum solo for the intro
of Howie Morris’ “Eep Opp Ork Ah-Ah.”
http://theinvisibleagent.wordpress.com/2009/07/24/eep-
opp-ork-ah-ah-by-jet-screamer-the-jetsons-1960s/

Note too that in the “New Lives of Superman” story from roughly the
same time period (Superman # 182 January 1966) that Superman, as
“Clark the K” approves of the “Super Cool Cat” and his Elvis riff, but
not of the Rolling Stones type band composed of louts who sing lyrics
like: “His lordship whines we stole his poke….”
Also see:
http://invanddis.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=Clues&action=display&thread=4960

Kevin Wollander writes: “I always felt that Bill [Hanna] and Joe
[Barbera] never “got” pop music of the rock age. All representations
of it on shows of this era, not only at Hanna-Barbera Studios, pretty
much summed all rock/pop as “noise” or that teen-age disease–even as
hip as [Bob Clampett’s] “BEANY & CECIL” was, check the middle of the
“Snorky” story, the worst of all ages, the teen-age, and
check carefully, in that story in which Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm sing,
how Fred is tooling the radio dial only to have a frantic reaction
when all stations are playing teen rock. The feeling of sitcoms back
then, before and slightly immediately after the “invasion” of the
Beatles was pretty much that this “phase” is inevitable and,
hopefully, it will go away. I don’t even think that animators quite
accepted bebop jazz, either, and that style of music could have worked
as soundtrack for some theatrical cartoons if characters could have
been created to represent the beat generation…. Remember that other
FLINTSTONES episode, when Fred’s backwoods relatives came to visit and
never left…until it was realized that the one thing that they
couldn’t stand was “that bug music”. Everyone in the neighborhood
donned long-hair wigs and started playing barely musical melodies on
their guitars which, of course, eventually drove the hayseeds away.
Pop music was that one rung on the ladder that no one crossed until
much, much later.”

There are countless examples of this tendency throughout recorded
history, in which old fogies blast the fads of the young as decadent
and pointless. There may even be examples of Neanderthals cussing out
those new-fangled Cro-Magnons….
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neanderthal_extinction_hypotheses

6. I HEART FRANKENSTEIN

Thursday October 29, 1812

Castle of Victor Von Frankenstein
99 Monster Island Road
Ingolstadt

My Dear Doctor Frankenstein,

 

On the date referenced above I had left my calling card with your servant but I thought that I might also take this opportunity to initiate a correspondence with you.

On Tuesday evening last at 10 post meridian an unearthly shriek, demonic grunting, and a series of sickening groans were heard to emanate from your demesnes, and it has also been brought to my attention yesterday that many of the municipal pump faucets that morning were seen to have been running sanguine with what I hopefully must assume was the blood of some animal.

I can assure you most sincerely that I do not wish to meddle with your property rights. I have no interest whatsoever in whatever it is you do in that castle of yours, insofar as your activities shall not have any effect upon the orderly workings of the Town of Ingolstadt.

However, when town residents repeatedly complain about the ghastly noises and uncanny doings emanating from your precincts, would you not agree that it is my duty as a town official to make a respectful inquiry?

Accordingly, Herr Doctor, would you be so kind as to send your representative to my offices on Friday, October 30, at 1:00pm sharp so that we might discuss this unpleasant matter? I hope that in so doing that we can therefore arrive at a mutually satisfactory agreement.

Sincerely,
Manfred Winkelstein
Director
Department of Health
Town of Ingolstadt

Thursday November 5, 1812
The Hon. Count Von Falkenstein
Lord Mayor
Town of Ingolstadt

Herr Mayor:

In response to your recent missive, countersigned by the Chief of the Constabulary:

Much to my infinite frustration I addressed the animal mutilation issue with Count Frankenstein’s attorney on October 30. At that time I was assured that the matter would be resolved in such a way that would be of mutual satisfaction to both parties. I’m afraid I grew rather insistent that the matter be resolved at once, and was blandly assured by Von Frankenstein’s rather smug attorney, Herr Blankenfeld, that such “unfortunate occurences” were “regrettable”, but were to regarded as “things of the past”. He further assured me that there would be “no repetition” of the “offending behavior”.

In no way do I find this man’s assurances either plausible or even credible.

From the start I have gotten the distinct impression that Frankenstein cares not for the rules and regulations of the town of Ingolstadt. His electric dynamo creates a noise nuisance and flocks of game birds flying over it have been observed to have been struck stone dead. As you know, Frankenstein has flat out refused to observe certain proprieties. I sometimes wonder if he is actually a Doctor at all. His actions seem to me either unethical or actually constituting outright misfeasance; notably, his late attempt, which you surely must recall, to pay his property taxes with straw rather than with gold coin; his persistent way of staring at one’s skull as though measuring it for some unfathomable but likely infernal purpose, and, finally, his publicly sworn oath to usurp such prerogatives as men of sense all agree belong solely to the Maker of the Universe.

Furthermore, in terms of getting him to make improvements on his property to bring it up to the standards set forth in the town building code, I have been aggressively lobbying his attorney for the slightest concession in regards to that matter, but Von Frankenstein has simply refused to budge.

I have had to put up with his stubborn inanition for the past week. Result: Once again, Frankenstein himself, or, even more frustrating,  certain creatures of this despicable man acting without his authorization, have given me one more of what have proven to be a series of shortsighted–can I go so far as to say  nonsensical?–promises; then he proceeds to do nothing, and, as the problem grows worse, more draconian alternatives will eventually have to be implemented, and months of delay will be the result. In the interim, I get a reputation for intransigence among the townspeople, the villagers are inconvenienced, and my staff is demoralized.

Pray forgive my tone, Herr Mayor. Permit me to assure you that I have been monitoring the Frankenstein matter. I  will call upon him again tomorrow at  2:30pm and will issue you a status report in regards to the situation no later than Monday, November 9.

Sincerely,
Manfred Winkelstein
Director
Department of Health
Town of Ingolstadt

Monday November 9, 1812
The Hon. Count Von Falkenstein
Lord Mayor
Town of Ingolstadt

Herr Mayor:

As I promised in our previous correspondence of 5 November, I once again called upon Herr Frankenstein very early that Friday and left my card with his servant, a nasty little hunchback whose face I seem to recall as similar to that of a man under suspicion by the Danzig police for a series of inexplicable cadaver mutilations. I was told that the Doctor was very busy and could not at that time suffer any disturbance.

I then rather slyly lingered outside of the precincts of his castle walls and, noticing that the Castle seemed to be suffused with a peculiar, unprecedented variety of ambient heat, I therefore out of a sense of idle curiosity measured with a mercury thermometer I happened to have to hand the ambient temperature immediately outside the castle walls and achieved the following results:

10:45am: 52 degrees (the outdoor temperature was 38 degrees.)

11:15am: 61 degrees (the outdoor temperature was 42 degrees.)

12:40pm: 68.8 degrees (the outdoor temperature was 42 degrees.)

1:40pm: 75 degrees (the outdoor temperature was 44 degrees.)

At 1:55pm the temperature outside the castle wall registered as an astonishing 84.2 degrees, while the outdoor temperature was no greater than 45 degrees. The temperature of the exterior walls seemed to be rising at a rate of 7 or 8 degrees every 60 minutes. Flocks of migratory fowl are once again observed to drop stone dead when flying over the castle. At this time I myself feel rather enfeebled.

I immediately set forth upon my steed and after a nearly two hour ride called upon my old friend Professor Gruenberg at the University here. He told me that the phenomenon was virtually inexplicable to him–unless Frankenstein were somehow tapping some source of enormous source of energy within the thick stone castle walls in excess of 2000 degrees Fahrenheit; one, furthermore, sufficient to throw off the above-mentioned radiant heat as surplus temperature. Professor Gruenberg has suggested that  the government in Danzig be notified and the militia should perhaps be alerted. I will await your instructions in these matter.s In the interim, I shall keep you apprised of developments as they occur.

I have also noted with some alarm that as the the icicles which flange the castle eaves are melting, and that the water therefrom turns to steam before it even hits the ground. The outdoor air intake which serves to ventilate the interior of the castle is covered with a sticky red fluid which might be…blood?    
Sincerely,
Manfred Winkelstein
Director
Department of Health
Town of Ingolstadt

Tuesday November 10, 1812
The Hon. Count Von Falkenstein
Lord Mayor
Town of Ingolstadt

Herr Mayor:

Quite the afternoon. Seeing double. I called upon Frankenstein this AM. Felt I would be remiss in my duty to the village if I neglected to attend to this situation as quickly as possible. F. most hospitable. Offered me a delicious herbal tea. Head feels kind of funny.

Sincer

Tuesday November 10, 1812
The Hon. Count Von Falkenstein
Lord Mayor
Town of Ingolstadt

Herr Mayor:

The matter regarding Victor Von Frankenstein has been resolved in a most satisfactory fashion. Frankenstein’s experiments are wholly benign. The Doctor was merely conducting a series of procedures the results of which bid fair to offer great advances to medical science. The intense heat of the castle is caused by insufficient ventilation. The problem has been rectified. For my part, I have signed on to become the assistant of Doctor Frankenstein and am therefore resigning forthwith my position as Director, Department of Health, Town of Ingolstadt.

P.S. Please address all future inquiries regarding the state of Frankenstein’s affairs to Herr Blankenfeld, Esq.

Sincerely,
Manfred Winkelstein (alias “Igor”)

​7. LITERATURE OF THE FUTURE
…Shall we blame/ A dog’s rapacity upon/ The carelessness of man/ And
query thus the need/ T’ solicitously discard/ Our punctured tins? Fie
on’t! / When Tray, Blue and Queenie ceaselessly besot our yard/ And
turn a quivering face against the deed!–The Tragicall Melodrama of
Rin Tin Tin

‎[The Ranger] in telling us not to steal the pickanick basket/
Delights in seeing us steal the pickanick basket/ For he has not yet
been superceded by/ A world which has no need of parks, or
Rangers, or n-yea-hey-hey-hee, of food..–Prologue to “The Yogi Cycle”
(Yogi Tyrannis, Yogi at Colonus, Yogi Agonistes), attr.
Hammurabi-Barbarus

THE BOOK OF SCOOBIE 10. 1. A tax collector of the town did come to Shaggy
and did say unto him, 2. Master, when the doorbell doth ring, Scooby
beginneth to bark. 3. And when visitants come late at night, this
barking of the hound doth surely make the neighbors wax sorely
wroth. 4. And Shaggy did reply: Verily, friend, I say unto ye, and Yoinks, it is
actually very simple. 5. When ye doorbell doth ring, thou shalt give
unto Scooby a snack. 6. And Scooby shall lift his tail and bow his
shoulders and circle three times his bed then go to the Msyetry Machine. 7. And
thereafter any time ye doorbell doth ring Scooby shall go unto the
Mystery Machine in expectation of a Scooby snack and so peace shall
reign in thine home forevermore.​

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THE INFORMATION #883 APRIL 8, 2016

 

THE INFORMATION #883
APRIL 8, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Gossip is the art of saying nothing in a way that leaves practically nothing unsaid.–Walter Winchell

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

“Life,” said Count Victor Justin, raising his glass as if to toast the assembled barflies and loochers who hung around Tipsy Smith’s saloon, The Seven Stars. “It pulls the old Gypsy Switcheroo on all of us, dunnit? When you’re between hay and grass and wearing your best bib and tucker you grow up thinking you must be someone pretty special because your Mammy says so, and you come to manhood only to learn that you’re on the high road to getting your snot nose pushed in, because you’re in your Sunday go to meetin’ clothes and anybody can see that you’re a greenie and a milksop, a situation that you must rectify none too soon, or else. Most people learn this hard lesson they first time they get into a school-yard fight and the other Yellof doesn’t egg-zactly follow the Marquis of Queensberry rules and regulations. That’s when you find out that you’re not the only duck in the pond. And you get taken down a notch or two. I’m telling you straight from the horses’s mouth. Once you’ve been through the mill, you learn a thing or three. Once you’ve seen the elephant and heard the hooty owl, you maybe finally start to get it. Some yellofs, you know, they never get it.  The reason is very simple. Of all the fifty impossible things a man can do before breakfast, the hardest one of them all–is simply to think. 

 
“Anyway, the first thing any boy should learn is that when it comes right down to it, nobody with any sense cares about the rules–especially when there’s nobody else watching. The policeman walks the beat only to ensure that the poor don’t steal–while malefactors of great wealth, to quote our esteemed President, do just as they damn well please.
​”I will say this: The rich have an iron sense of duty​–to rob the poor. I’ll also admit that they have a will to do the right –which nearly always means means lining their own pockets. So why should I be a common drudge, and coast along for thirty-odd years, toiling my heart out, only to be rewarded in the end by a gold watch, a swift kick in the arse, and a cheap monkey-suit to be buried in? Nay, Sir, better to be a Grifter, and go hungry betimes, then to live in constant fear that the big Boss might hover near and tell you that he doesn’t like your shirking. Better to be a vagabond prince than to owe fealty to a pinch-penny Patroon. 
 
“There’s always one thing you can depend on, no matter who you are, no matter where you go, and no matter what you do. It’s simple. It’s that people will talk. Why do you suppose the farmer’s wife spends her husband’s chewing tobacco money on a new feed sack for to make her a dress? Because if she doesn’t, then the neighbors might get to talking about what a poor ole woman she really is.

 
“You may say you detest a gossip, but gossip is just our way of letting loose with a warning cry that somebody or something isn’t on the up-and-up. If you grow up on a farm you know perfectly well that hens will peck a sick birdie to death. Here, we just kill an odd duck with solicitude. Gossip is a warning to stay far away from that Yob. He’s bad news. He’s yesterday’s papers. He’s a used-up man. He’s not one of God’s children. He’s a rotten apple. A bad egg. I have a bone to pick with him. An axe to grind. He’s pert-near to bein’ a scalawag.  Enough of that sort of palaver, and, before you even know it, your reputation is ruined.
 
“When them womens let their claws come out they sure can be deadly. But it’s a dainty, powder-puff kind of dreadfulness, to be sure.
 
“Notice that I speak especially of the women-folk. Sensitive critters, the lot of ’em. If you’re aiming to get bit by a gossip, cherchez la femme, as the Frenchies say. Women are great ones for keeping up appearances. It seems that they, and they alone, are the only creatures who understand how important it is. To be sure, there’s the old saying that clothes make the man. What turns a quack into a bonafide sawbones? A white smock. What distinguishes the copper from the grifter? The uniform of blue. How do you distinguish a sky pilot from any garden-variety Bible-clutching kook? The clerical collar. 
 
“Of course, in the grifting profession, you will do well to keep your head down. It will not do to parade around the town in gaudy finery like a gigolo foreigner. No–you want to be a swell dresser, sure, but not too swell–lest you excite suspicion. Lord knows that people in those backwoods metropolises have little enough to talk about than a goofy-looking stranger. They’re in love with old folks, old dogs, old roads and old ways. Most of them won’t even use a telephone except to call the croaker when they’re staring at the hinges of hell. Out in the big stick country they’re all a bunch of saps and yahoos as far as I’m concerned, and if you were to run across their like in your own wide travels I’m sure you would agree, but the aim is not to impress them, so much as to lull them into a sense of complacency–give them the idea that you’re just like everybody else, y’see, and they’ll fall right into your lap and you can use them for a cat’s paw or for anything else. 
 
“That’s why, most of the time, you never practice the grift on a woman. Their intuition is too keen; they can always sense when something is out of the ordinary, and, worse, will gab about it to their girlfriends and assorted relatives. That’s the kind of publicity you don’t need. Remember the old saying: the three means of communication are telephone, telegraph, and tell a girl. No woman is harmless, and the sooner you remember that, the better. What did the poet say? ‘The female of the species is more deadly than the male.’ Are you familiar with Kipling? No, I never Kippled. Haw! ‘East is East and West is West and Never the Twain Shall Meet.’ Hell, I can write better stuff than that!
 
One and one is two,
There’s nothing you can do.
Two and two is four,
It’s time to close the door.” 

1*SALUTATION

DESMOND DEKKER & THE ACES
ISRAELITES
FREE ANIMATION SOFTWARE
UNLIKELY DISCO ARTISTS
ALSO SEE:
COMIC BOOK DRUG REFERENCE

4*NOVELTY

No self-respecting adult should buy comics or watch superhero movies

WHY DO SOME PEOPLE HATE THE MINIONS SO MUCH?
“Any new radical thinker is now required, as if by law, to spend most of their time engaging in irreverent readings of Hollywood blockbusters. People who call themselves scholars and intellectuals happily and uncritically munch down anything a cynical culture industry squeezes into their mouths, whether it’s a stupid two-hour car chase or a music video torture flick, so long as they can claim it’s empowering.”
https://www.vice.com/read/sam-kriss-minions-are-good-833

ALSO SEE:
153-pc. Street Gang

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

These Trippy 1970s TV Ads Warned That The Government Was Spying On You
BEST FILM NOIR
ALLEGRO NON TROPPO (1976)

Is That Really Craft Beer? 27 Surprising Corporate Brewers

HOW DOES YOUR PERSONALITY IMPACT YOUR LIFE?
ALSO SEE:
IMPOSSIBLE OCCUPATIONS
THE ONE HUNDRED GREATEST HIPPIE SONGS OF ALL TIME
ALSO SEE:
Ranking: Every Alternative Rock No. 1 Hit From Worst to Best

http://consequenceofsound.net/2016/03/ranking-every-alternative-rock-hit-from-worst-to-best/2/

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

LOMAX ARCHIVE GOES ONLINE
*11A BOOKS READ AND RATED
750 YEARS IN PARIS. MAHE. ****
A-FORCE VOLUME 0. WARZONES! **1/2
ALEX + ADA. LUNA & VAUGHN. ****
ANDRE THE GIANT. EASTON & MEDRI. ***1/2
BATGIRL 2. FAMILY BUSINESS. ***
DAREDEVIL BY MARK WAID. 4. ***1/2
DEADPOOL 2. POSEHN. ***
DEATHSTROKE THE TERMINATOR 1. ASSASSINS. **1/2
DEATHSTROKE 1. GOD OF WAR. ***
DEATHSTROKE 2. GOD KILLER. ***
GROOT. LOVENESS & KESENGER. ***
GUARDIANS OF THE GALAZY 1. BENDIS. ***1/2
GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY 2. BENDIS. ***1/2
HINTERKIND 1. THE WAKING WORLD. ***1/2
INJUSTICE. YEAR 3 VOLUME 2. ***1/2
JUSTICE LEAGUE 1. ORIGINS.. ***1/2
MADISON’S GIFT. STEWART. ****
MIRACLEMAN: THE GOLDEN AGE. GAIMAN & BUCKINGHAM. ****1/2
REDHAND. TWILIGHT OF THE GODS. BUSIEK. ***1/2.
SEXCASTLE. STARKS. ***
SUICIDE SQUAD 1. TRIAL BY FIRE. **1/2
THE VALIANT DELUXE EDITION. ***1/2
WHEN THE RIVER RISES. WALKER & OLIVIERA. ***

WILL EISNER’S SPIRIT: THE NEW ADVENTURES. ****

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
842. LIST OF BANNED BAND NAMES FROM CHRISTIAN RADIO STATION

 
ALSO SEE:
IN HIS STEPS

THE INFORMATION #882 APRIL 1, 2016

THE INFORMATION #882
APRIL 1, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The mind is ductile, very much so: but images, ductilely received into it, need a certain time to harden and bake in their impressions, otherwise such a casualty as I speak of will in an instant obliterate them, as though they had never been. We are but clay, sir, potter’s clay, as the good book says, clay, feeble, and too-yielding clay.–Melville

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

​ “There’s a little bit of the confidence man in everybody,” said Count Victor Justin. “Every man has within him a moiety of devilment  mixed in with a large dollop of larceny. The exception to this rule is either a sage or a saint or a damn fool. Or the world’s greatest liar. A truly honest man is one in a thousand. Take it from one who knows what he’s talking about. It all starts very early, this natural tendency. The crumb-crusher who wails and blubbers for a sugar-tit–ain’t he running a short con on his Mammy? And when he gets into the jam jar and says it wasn’t him, when the evidence to the contrary is smeared all over his face–ain’t that a baldfaced and a brazen lie? And how about the schoolboy who hasn’t done his homework? Doesn’t he nearly always spin some wild and implausible tale? Or when the office drone calls in sick from a king-sized hangover–or maybe so’s he can attend a baseball game–ain’t that a swindle? Or when he comes in to work and drags his heels because he just don’t feel like cooperatin’? Ain’t that some kind of grifting? A hobo who would pull that cute stunt in the jungle would be called a bummer, and worse. Or how about when the cake-eating Dandy of a husband begs off on Wifey’s opera night on account of some unspecified dyspepsia, when all he’s really doing is cadging for to play some hands of Eucre with The Boys down at The Club? ​Or how about the drunk in the tavern, whining for you to buy him a drink? He’ll wheedle and moan, and agree with anything you say, just so long as you keep feeding him his favorite brand of pop-skull at regular intervals. Or let’s consider this example: the old man who pretends to be as deef as a stone when he hears any palaver that ain’t to his liking, but will chime right in–when the conversation’s agreeable to his sensibilities! 
 
​”Of course, all that is for when you’re older, and settled some. ​When you’re just starting out,​maybe you think ​the world is your oyster. You can head​due east or sky-​

west or anywheres in between, and it don’t make no never mind–just so long as there’s lots of plump and willing skirts. 

​ So what if you have to knock over a few banks on your way to the pleasure domes of Xanadu or the Opium Joints of Shanghai Alley?”
 

What you don’t realize though, is that the way of the Yegg is as follows–all roads lead to Crime Street….which is a dead end. One that takes you to Salt River…The Big House…and the Hot Seat.

​ That’s why developing a grifter sense early on can come in handy. Why run a risk of getting tackled in the midst of a snatch or jobbed in the ​middle of a cute little caper when you can use the short con to separate the sucker from his ooftish, and use smooth-talk to worm your way out of a beef? It’s very easy to put people off their guard. Usually, praising them for a quality that they wish they had, but don’t, will do the trick right smartly. Telling the tongue-tied oaf that he declaims wonderfully will earn you his eternal gratitude. Unless he thinks you’re making mock of him–but only one in twenty are slick enough to smoke you out–no, make that one in every fifty. Most people assume that when you praise them, you’re saying what you mean. Conversely, you can criticize anybody, just so long as you wear a smile and tell them you’re only chaffing ’em. These, of course, are simple stunts that any googling sprat can master. People tend to trust you if you look ‘dignified’. Don’t ask me why, but for most people, glimming a backwards collar means they’ll take you for being as honest as the day is long. There’s also a certain harsh tone that you might use with a recalcitrant dog or a small boy which practically demands obedience. I have found that the carny is the best school for teaching these little tricks. But any smart Yellof should be able to dope them out on their own. 
 
“You can always smell out the brazen greenhorn on the lot of the Carny. He simply doesn’t get it. He don’t get it because he ain’t with it and for it. To him, it’s all just another day, another dollar. He doesn’t have that keen awareness of a way of life that people in the grifting trades tend to have. He hasn’t been wised up, and can’t nobody do it for him, because there’s no percentage in wising up a sucker–none. 
 
“Most professional men, they’re so buried in their specialties that the rest of the time they’re like sleepwalkers. Doctors are the easiest folks to swindle–mostly because they’re so smart it never occurs to them that someone would try to put one over on them. Newspaper reporters have a tough exterior, and act as if they’ve seen it all, and they usually have, and yet they’re suckers for a get-rich-quick scheme if you know just how to appeal to their vanity and their sense of greed.Bankers are tough men to swindle–they tend to be highly skeptical in money matters–but it can be done, if the situation is auspicious. 
 
“Jack Tars are some of the easiest marks. 

They tend to be a bit slow on the uptake. They’re good at swabbing decks and trying knots, but they ain’t any too bright otherwise, with rare exceptions. When they get to shore, they like to go on a drunken revel. And whenever they’re in their cups, money drops from off’n their fingers. They’ll hand out huge, impossible tips. Keep that in mind, Yobs, next time you’re low on ooftish. It’s easy to roll a Gob. Hell, if you cozy up to them nice and snug, then they’ll practically hand over their shekels for the asking. Trapped aboard a floating coffin for nine-tenths of the year, it’s small wonder that sailors go wild when they reach good old terra firma. They’ll go after any female, or she-male too, for that matter. It’s like the old song says:

 
Maybe she didn’t get my letter,
Or maybe she found someone better,
Maybe I don’t want to be bitter,
So…maybe I might as well forget her,
For one is as good as the other, 
They’re all the same–except for mother,
So maybe…I’ll find another.

1*SALUTATION

RAGG MOPP
THE TRENIERS
 
ALSO SEE:
BEANY AND CECIL

“D.J. THE DJ”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05_t0smIkrE

2*REFERENCE

The Individual vs. the Psyop Called Reality

http://www.zengardner.com/individual-vs-psyop-called-reality/

ALSO SEE:
LIST OF COMMON MISCONCEPTIONS
 
SEE ALSO:
101 THINGS YOU THOUGHT WERE TRUE
 
ALSO SEE:
GEORGE JEAN NATHAN AND H.L. MENCKEN

THE AMERICAN CREDO
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/23858/23858-h/23858-h.htm

3*HUMOR
FIRST ANNUAL WALMART CAR SHOW
https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipMiSX37IXbC2aC0ug4huXZdHSgJiMYOxNOpTebPht9JDnPBx5d9uD8vnhKC6aZ1mA?key=ZG5VMWlnN2xkYzM5TnpIRFc4dlp5akdZdUJ6MVB3

4*NOVELTY
Snap, Crackle and Pop v Soggy, Mushy and Toughy “Breakfast Pals” 1939 Cartoon Films for Kellogg’s
The Sharing Economy Isn’t About Trust, It’s About Desperation
ALSO SEE:
THE SHARING ECONOMY ISN’T ABOUT SHARING AT ALL
QUICKEST WAY TO GROW TOMATO SEEDLINGS
ANDY’S EARLY COMICS ARCHIVE
THE LEMON DROPS 
I LIVE IN THE SPRINGTIME
HITLERY VS. BERNITO

Follow the Money: How Bernie Sanders’ Campaign is One Giant Con on the American People

Bernie Slanders: How The Democratic Party Establishment Suffocates Progressive Change

 
ALSO SEE:

Why Donald Trump is winning: His supporters think America is failing whites

SEE ALSO:

Camille Paglia: This is why Trump’s winning, and why I won’t vote for Hillary

10* LAGNIAPPE

Trump: A Smart, Sophisticated, Satirical Graphic Humor Magazine
http://www.printmag.com/publication-design/trump-graphic-humor-kurtzman/

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

35 Most Overused Lines of Dialogue in Screenplays

https://screencraft.org/2016/03/18/35-most-overused-lines-of-dialogue-in-screenplays/

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
841. THE BABY HUEY SONG

THE INFORMATION #881 MARCH 25, 2016

THE INFORMATION #881
MARCH 25, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com
This City is what it is because our citizens are what they are.–Plato

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

“I tend to mind my own business. So I dinna generally make it a point,” said Count Victor Justin, “to  excoriate or otherwise cut up the poor or even criticize them for their lack of enterprise. But in this great land of ours, there’s no excuse for not getting yours by grabbing for it with both brawny fists. What do they teach you in the schools? Nothing good. Readin’, writin’ and cipherin’ to the rule of three is all well and good, but these can only take you but so far. What they don’t teach you is how to succeed in the rough and tumble of the big city. That you must learn from your fellow students, and most of them have no more idea how to go about it than my colored manservant. Instead of learning a boy how to be a man in a man’s world, most schoolmasters and all schoolmarms have the sap of the American Sucker running through their palsied veins, and all they teach them is a bunch of meticulous nonsense about honor and charity and one’s civic duty. The kids, meanwhile, are starving, half of them. Better to teach them how to pinch an apple from the fruit stand–and not get caught. Oh, I’m sure–anyway, I’ve been told–that teaching is a fine profession, sure. But tending to the needs of a bunch of miserable, ungrateful, runny-nosed squalling brats is not my idea of a five thousand dollar vacation, nosiree. The only people who get suckered into that profession are dumb saps too weak to do any real work, and too lazy to even beg. They’d be bums and worse, most of them, if they only had the gumption. And these are the people we put in charge of our children. Great God! Rather than be one of those piss-poor, penny-ante flannel-mouthed pedants, I would rather work as a muck-raker–at least the pay is halfway decent.I would rather be a dipsomaniacal lumberjack–plenty of fresh air, and good grub, and who cares about a few missing fingers? I would rather work as a cigar store clerk–that there is where a young man can learn the ins and outs of how the world works. Everybody who’s of any consequence visits the tobacconist–right down from your small-time merchants right on up to your ward-heelers and grand sachems. That there is a worthwhile business to be in, and I ever have the ooftish I might very well set myself up as a proprietor. See if I don’t.    
“Your average working man would rather do anything than think for himself, and that’s why he’s scared of going into business. because your average working man has no conception of how to get one over, and get back at the swells who are doing him dirt, and therefore he is always and will never be anything more than a harmless drudge. He lives by the sweat of his brow, and his wife is a fat, sweaty harridan in a greasy shift who smells like burnt onions and cabbage. His children, of which he has far too many, are a snot-faced gang of blubbering sprats with their beaks wide open and chock-full of noisy demands for someone to cram their trembling maws with grub. 
“You can always tell a man who has grown up poor—he will shovel in the chow whenever he gets a chance. He will refuse to spend so much as one red cent unless he absolutely has to. Buy his wife a flower for two cents? Faugh! He would rather buy himself a frosty schooner of lukewarm reeb to chuck into his swillbucket of a belly. 
“As for the wife, his so-called better half, she would steal the cracklin’s from her Mammy’s fat gourd. She would swipe the old man’s drinkin’ money out of his very pocket or even out from under his own pillow as he sleeps off a lush–and use the ooftish to buy some foolish gew-gaw like a bolt of cheap cloth for to fashion her a blouse. Though what she needs with such finery is a mystery; she is long past being over the hill.  Any allure she still holds for the old man is generated from the bottom of a wine bottle, if you know what I mean. The poor fool snaps at that bottle of vino and glugs down the cheap poison like pink lemonade, and decides then and there to give the old woman a tumble, and who cares if the kiddies should happen to hear? 
“How anybody can live that way I don’t know; but I am assured by some very reliable sources that they do. These people can’t even afford to dress their own children for school, so their crumb-crushers spend their idle time roaming the streets and eatin’ out of dustbins and stealing fruit and eventually graduate to robbing stores, and then they’re thrown in the reformatory, where they learn new and novel forms of deviltry. All because the old man simply cannot harness his appetites. To witness such a spectacle is far from edifying. It’s enough to make a man commit blasphemy against all the saints. All the lying ministers and all the prating politicians say You’ve Got To Have Hope—but the way I see it, the mass of men in this great country have just about played themselves out. On the farm they are stone ignorant and as innocent of city ways as a suckling sprat. In the city, they are even more degraded and miserable, so far as I can see. At least out on the farm, you can stave off hunger with potatoes and turnips, and burn cow flops for warmth. In the slums of the big city there are no such amenities, especially in the dead of winter. 
“Here in the city, night soil men pick up the reeking effluvia which would otherwise run in torrents down the filth-choked cobblestones of the City Fair. And nearly all the children are addicted to pickles and strong drink. That’s a fact! If any of the wretches had ever seen a toothbrush, or even a bar of store-boughten soap–then I’ve seen a pig that can fly.” 

1*SALUTATION

PHIL OCHS
KANSAS CITY BOMBER
BOB DYLAN
OPEN THE DOOR, HOMER
2*REFERENCE
THE DEATH OF SATIRE
LENNY BRUCE ON THE IRISH
DREW FRIEDMAN
THE SAGA OF FRANK SINATRA JR.
 
ALSO SEE:
FRANK SINATRA JR.
LENNY’S CLAM BAR AD
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
The Lawrence Welk Show was TV’s best party—until it wasn’t
WHAT IVY LEAGUE STUDENTS ARE READING THAT YOU AREN’T
CHUCK JONES
RIKKI TIKI TAVI

A Thousand Hours of Early Jazz Records Now Available Online

ALSO SEE:

Bluesville Jukebox
100 Instrumental 45s
http://exoticaproject.com/4/

9*RUMOR PATROL
JACK IN THE BOX: DEADLY DANGER
NATIONAL REVIEW: WORKING CLASS WHITES HAVE MORAL RESPONSIBILITIES
 
ALSO SEE:

The Republican Elites Have Finally Turned on the Rubes They’ve Swindled for Decades
“And, if you happen to be someone whose personal finances went down the drain when sharpsters wrecked most of the economy and stole what was left, unless you’re willing to line up behind Tailgunner Ted Cruz, you’re just a worthless leech staggering from pharmacy to pharmacy with ragged fake prescriptions clutched in your shivering fists.”
http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/politics/news/a43042/republican-elites-turn-on-trump-supporters/

ALSO​ SEE​:
http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/politics/news/a43055/trump-hillary-general-election/


11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE CRAZY GRANDMA COMIC BOOK PRICE GUIDE
http://www.misterkitty.org/extras/stupidcovers/stupidcomics43.html

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
840. JERRY LEWIS TURNS 90

Pure, Unfiltered Id: Reappraising Jerry Lewis’ Brutally Unfunny Comedy

 
ALSO SEE:
JERRY LEWIS SHOW WITH GUEST DON RICKLES
ALSO SEE:
JERRY LEWIS ANSWERS THE MEDIA
SEE ALSO:
JERRY LEWIS GETS MAD AT AN IMITATOR
SEE ALSO:
11 FACTS YOU MAY NOT KNOW ABOUT JERRY LEWIS
ALSO SEE:
BATMAN MEETS JERRY

THE INFORMATION #880 MARCH 18, 2016

THE INFORMATION #880
MARCH 18, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

“Why, the most monstrous of all hypocrites are these bears: hypocrites by inversion; hypocrites in the simulation of things dark instead of bright; souls that thrive, less upon depression, than the fiction of depression; professors of the wicked art of manufacturing depressions; spurious Jeremiahs; sham Heraclituses, who, the lugubrious day done, return, like sham Lazaruses among the beggars, to make merry over the gains got by their pretended sore heads — scoundrelly bears!”–Herman Melville

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

“Back in the olden days,” said Count Victor Justin, “once upon a time, when pigs spoke rhyme and monkeys chewed tobacco, I remember suffering me some lean and rugged days. As fast as I rooked the suckers of their ooftish, it seemed I was spending it even faster. Of course, in my line of work, flashing a Chicago bankroll is practically a compunction. ‘Getting and spending lays waste my hours.’ Giggly water also runs into a sum. As do oysters on the half-shell. And fifty-cent cigars. Plus, a man’s got to look good, especially in my game. Nobody pays any attention to a man who dresses like a tramp in need of a shave and a bath. Hence the heavy expenditures for some trig rainment. Just as the robin is known for its red breast, so the professional grifter for his smart attire. You can’t be buying your duds from the Jewish rags and old clothes man when you’ve got a front to maintain. Diamond tie-pins and pearl buttons and felt derbies and the like. The front that worked best for me was always ‘prosperous businessman’. You may scoff if you like, but I’ve made many a pretty penny simply from looking the part.”

“I remember how I got my start. Standing on the street corner in a strange town, luring strangers into a saloon, advising them in a friendly way that there were pickpockets abroad and offering to hold their watches for them until tomorrow. Of course, by then I’m long gone, and ‘tomorrow’ never comes. Only once did I fail with that cute little stunt. Some thrifty Scotsman handed me a busted ticker. Set me back the price of two drinks. I just about broke even on that one.

“There are any number of small grifts that the apprentice con man can use to get his feet wet and raise some ooftish on the q.t. and tout suite. I’m sure I’m not giving away any trade secrets when I tell you the gist of them. Of course, any grafter worth his salt usually disdains a penny-ante score, but these stunts are useful when you find yourself financially embarrassed of a sudden. Let’s say you were robbed by an enterprising whore and her fancy-man; or you bet your whole wad on a piece of horseflesh that didn’t even finish in the running; or a big score you’ve been nursing for months fell through because the damned mark was a mackerel-snapper and he confessed it to his priest, who told him it was a sin and urged him instead to donate a big chunk to the church—yet another competing racket.

“Explore any dark and twisted alley and you’ll find a groggery where you can ply your trade with saloon bets—coin tricks and stunts with cards and matchsticks and the like. There’s a pretty rough element that hangs their hat in those joints, though, so it’s always best to have a confederate—someone with sheer muscle. A real Mutt and Jeff team. Of course, from time to time you run across a piker as won’t pay up, and there’s nothing much you can do when you’re facing down his whole rotten crew of Plug-uglies. Except to vow eternal revenge.

“Then again, as a last resort, you can always say you’re selling tickets to Commodore Dutch’s big soiree, or any other charity you care to make up out of whole cloth; it scarcely matters, just so long as you can spin a convincing yarn. You can even sell tickets to the Policeman’s Ball; only you have to be careful lest the vindictive coppers get wind of your doings, for they’ll be sure to shake you down. I’ve seen them take a pair of scissors and cut the hidden seams of a grifter’s jacket just to extract his hidden greenbacks; money he’d been saving against taking a fall.

“You may say that such small-time grifts are strictly from hunger, but if you’ve ever been on your uppers, you wouldn’t be so quick to turn up your nose at such cute little gags. Hell, I’ve even been known to steal a dog or two from own his back yard and sell him to the highest bidder at a neighborhood tavern on the other side of town. There’s all sorts of ways to make your way in the city– if you ain’t too proud. Sure beats working for a living, I’ll tell you that. Oh, I’ve worked some—I’ll admit it. In my younger says I was a hod-carrier. Back-breaking work, and your fellow playmates are all a bunch a broke-down mules with hardly two nickels to rub together. I’d almost rather be a farmer. Then there was the time I was a strikebreaker without knowing it and was offered a job as a streetcar conductor. A brick tossed at the side of my head by a hot-tempered Hunkie sure cooled me of that notion in a hurry. ‘There’s nothing,’ says he, ‘that’s worse than a low-down scab,’ and me, I didn’t argue. I was a smart-aleck in my youth; but I was no dummy. And now I’m older and wiser still. I’m not about to tangle assholes with the IWW. You meet a fair amount of them huskies while hoboing. The railroad bulls hate the Wobblies like poison. Especially down south. You’re taking your life in your hands anyway, riding the rails in a state like Mississippi. They got the chain gangs, and they’ll work you. You’ll bunk down in the Stockades at the Parchman Farm. First they break your spirit, then they break your bones. God help anyone who’s misfortunate enough to end up chopping cotton in a place like that. Escaping from such a place is worth your life to try; and yet, it’s the only way. Otherwise, all hope is gone, for God has forsaken you.

“I need not remind any of you gentlemen that the grifter preys on hope. Hope is his bread and butter. Like the little rascal who ought to have his britches dusted pines for his warm apple pie, so suckers are always whining for an easy buck. It’s plain and simple an axiom. Womenfolk pine for money so they can buy gew-gaws and fancy duds; menfolk want them the ooftish so they don’t have to work and can laze their days away with booze and card-playing and wild wild women.

“So. Show the Mark a crooked deal where he stands to make a pretty penny–and you’ll see his glims light up like a hophead when he spies the needle.”  

1*SALUTATION

LOVE

NO..FOURTEEN

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ThuB7aiSaGk

2*REFERENCE

BERNIE SANDERS ISN’T GOING TO BE PRESIDENT

http://thedailybanter.com/2016/01/bernie-sanders-isnt-going-to-be-president/

3*HUMOR

ALL THE TERRIBLE THINGS HILLARY CLINTON HAS DONE

http://www.marketwatch.com/story/all-the-terrible-things-hillary-clinton-has-done-in-one-big-list-2016-02-04?mod=mw_share_facebook

4*NOVELTY

New documents reveal how Donald Trump’s racist dad inspired Woody Guthrie’s most bitter writings

http://www.rawstory.com/2016/01/new-documents-reveal-how-donald-trumps-racist-dad-inspired-woody-guthries-most-bitter-writings/

ALSO SEE:

Jerry Lewis Praises Trump and Says Refugees Should ‘Stay Where the Hell They Are’
http://www.mediaite.com/online/jerry-lewis-praises-trump-and-says-refugees-should-stay-where-the-hell-they-are/

ALSO SEE:

Jerry Lewis briefly had his own themed restaurant, in competition with Dino’s. 

http://knowledgenuts.com/2015/08/23/the-dueling-restaurants-of-dean-martin-jerry-lewis/

http://mentalfloss.com/article/12882/time-dean-martin-and-jerry-lewis-opened-competing-restaurants-sunset-strip

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

AMERICA’S WORST GOVERNOR

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

6* DAILY UTILITY

The demographic trends shaping American politics in 2016 and beyond

http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/01/27/the-demographic-trends-shaping-american-politics-in-2016-and-beyond/ 

7*CARTOON

DONALD DUCK: HIGH PRIEST OF THE ILLUMINATI

http://disinfo.com/2013/08/donald-duck-high-priest-of-the-illuminati/

8*PRESCRIPTION

THE TRIUMPH OF THE HARD RIGHT

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/2016/02/11/ej-dionne-triumph-of-the-hard-right/

9*RUMOR PATROL

FOUR FACEBOOK PAGES LIBERALS SHOULD NEVER SHARE FROM

http://modernliberals.com/four-facebook-pages-liberals-should-never-share-from/

ALSO SEE:

SNOPES’ FIELD GUIDE TO FAKE NEWS SITES

http://www.snopes.com/2016/01/14/fake-news-sites/

10* LAGNIAPPE

THE BRAINWASHING OF MY DAD

http://www.alternet.org/media/brainwashing-effect-right-wing-media-my-dad-and-nation#.Vt7RdJygzaQ.facebook

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

UNDERWHELMING NEWS

http://www.thepoke.co.uk/2016/03/08/449-brilliantly-underwhelming-local-news-headlines-from-across-the-uk/

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
839. As you probably know…I get all all my news from these reliable sources.

http://www.memeorandum.com
http://pjmedia.com/instapundit
http://www.breitbart.com
http://www.newsbusters.org
http://www.realclearscience.com

THE INFORMATION #879 MARCH 11, 2016

THE INFORMATION #879
MARCH 11, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com
I come from the deep countryside. My family was in farming. I was not really exposed to business. Coming from that environment, I just wanted in my life to go overseas – that was a childhood dream because I wanted diversity, contacts, cultural meetings with others. –Jean-Pascal Tricoire

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

“Here’s a cute little riddle for ye,” said Count Victor Justin to the assembled barroom loafers. “Why are cows cannibals?”
“I dunno,” says Pappy O’Day, in a quavery, querulous voice.
“Because…they eat their Fodder. Haww….”
Count Victor Justin took a big slug of beer, emitted an audible burp, then resumed his sarcastic diatribe regarding rural life.
“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! It’s a life in the big stick country for me! Yowsah Yowsah Yowsah! Yes siree! Mucking around with a pen full of sleepy, baby-eating hogs…sitting on the porch with a lazy, tussive hound dog…staring at the ass of a rachitic mule…working your fingers right down to the bone…a Sisyphean task…and all to do a thankless job that’s never done. And when the neighbor needs to build a barn, you’re supposed to drop everything and be Johnny-on-the-Spot, because that’s what neighbors do for each other. Bah! And if tramps burn the barn down with their smelly pipes, that’s another night’s sleep sacrificed in trying to put it out.
“And then you have that whole hick mentality as hates anything and anyone as likes to get up to some hijinks. No liquor, card-playin’, dancin’, or any other decadent pursuits. Life is mostly hard work to these country bumpkins. They get their jolly times out of finding a red ear at the huskin’ bee, and castrating pigs, I reckon. Small wonder that any lad with any sense gets the hell off the farm just as soon as they humanly can.
“Farmers are some angry people. I know that I would be angry if it was my bounden fate to scratch in the dirt for my sustenance. Like a headless chicken. In the broiling sun. In the freezing rain. When the ice and snow make going outside to shit a misery. The futility of it all is staggering. Farmers are never happy, even when things are going well, which they never do. Because there’s always hard work to be done. Looking to the ground all the time. They surely must dream of pulling up weeds and chopping cotton. Using a seed drill is their idea of a good time. Fear is the operative word for the clodhoppers on the farm. Fear of wild women. Fear of electricity, and labor-saving machinery. Fear of anything new, or different. They are all Bible-pounders to a man–superstitious, nativistic, isolated, dumb. Frozen in place by implacable fate. Always moaning about their crops, their crops. Dependent on blind luck for the sun and rain. Faugh! Even the most snivelling grifter has more gumption than any dumb farmer. Because even your everyday grifter manages to make his own luck.  
“The only thing worse than being a farmer is being a farmhand. Considered fit only to follow orders and do all the filthy muck-work about the farm.  No hope of advancement. Trapped in the company of a slack-jawed imbecile for the 18 hours a day he works beside him, for bad rations and short pay, and a bed mattress made of corn husks.. Slave to a slave. Only difference being, a farmhand can run away eventually. Become a hobo, live in the jungles, maybe poison some wells.
“Worse than being a farmhand is being a farmer’s wife. Old before her time, forced to take care of a houseful of squalling brats, condemned to do all the cooking, cleaning, ironing, washing–all of it hard work, if the truth be known–never a moment to herself, married to a snaggletoothed oaf who will most of the time barely grunt three words at her…no wonder so many women on the farm die before their forty–they’re only considered fit to be baby-making machines, and once their usefulness in that field is expended, they’re allowed to simply wither on the vine.
“Worse than being a farmer’s wife is being a farmer’s son. Just as the old man is about to turn into a husk and blow away, there he has a younger version of himself to do all the hard chores. That’s why farmers are hell-bent on having as many children as possible–to provide workhorses for the farm, and security for his old age. And worse than being a farmer’s son–being the farmer’s daughter. Prey to every bumpkin swain for miles around–no Nickelodeons, no theaters, no ballroom dancing, no cotillions–just a life of mud and muck and endless misery vaster than the eye can measure. I suppose that even worse than that would be a rancher’s daughter, than which there can be no worse fate.
“What does a farmer know? He is only fit to be a farmer. Put him to work doing anything else, and he’ll make a royal botch of it. He’s not a mechanic or an engineer. His clumsy muscles aren’t particularly suited to the construction trades. Some of the worst roustabouts we’ve ever had at the Carny were farmer boys. Sure, they were willing to work–but they were as dumb as a fence post. Put them to work putting up a tent and you’ll find that about all they were good for was pounding stakes into the ground. And any monkey can be trained to do that. The farmer is not an educated man, or else he wouldn’t be siphoning his life away in a patch of mud. He has, at most, two books–the Bible, and the Monkey-Ward catalog, with which he wipes his ass.  He is emotionally paralyzed, intellectually stupefied, and physically exhausted every day of his life. All this talk of the complications of running a farm is a load of hooey. Running the mitt camp at a carnival is a lot more complicated. Farmers are just like the freaks in the ten-in-one–they expect you to fall all over them and worship them just because they provide a service that nobody else is willing to do. But you don’t see street-sweepers putting on such airs. You don’t see your average dishwasher say that the work he does is in accordance with God’s plan. Your average bartender is leagues smarter than your average farmer. He not only dispenses beverages to a man with a thirst, but he frequently offers a sympathetic ear in the bargain, something no farmer has ever been known to do. The fact is, these bewhiskered scoundrels have been getting away for too long with their song and dance about how necessary to human survival their sainted profession happens to be. Balderdash! Your 20th century farmer has a 16th century mind!
“No, I wouldn’t be a farmer for all the tea in China. I aim to take it easy–even if I have to starve. But I haven’t missed too many meals by using my wits–something which no farmer has ever done in the history of this great Republic–long may she wave.”

1*SALUTATION

SUGAR CHILE ROBINSON
ALSO SEE:
CALEDONIA
https://youtu.be/VwP2QlBbfac

2*REFERENCE
THE CULT OF MEMORY: WHEN HISTORY DOES MORE HARM THAN GOOD

The 199 Most Donald Trump Things Donald Trump Has Ever Said
ALSO SEE:
EIGHT BOOKS BY DONALD TRUMP
4*NOVELTY
CRAPHOUND 7: CHURCH AND STATE
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
EPHEMERAL FILMS
6* DAILY UTILITY

Psychological tips for resisting the Internet’s grip

THE PUBLIC DOMAIN REVIEW

Duke Magazine: The First “Playboy” for Black Americans

SKEPTICAL MEME SOCIETY
ALSO SEE:
TRUTH OR FICTION?

10* LAGNIAPPE

TED CRUZ: GOD WANTS THE OTHER CANDIDATES TO DROP OUT

TED CRUZ

Cruz makes Richard Nixon look like Albert Schweitzer.

*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
AMAZING SPIDER-MAN VOL. 1. ***1/2
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MARK TWAIN. NIELDS, ED. ****
AVENGERS: TIME RUNS OUT 3. ***
AVENGERS: TIME RUNS OUT 4. ***
DEEP DARK FEARS. KRAUSE. ****
DESCENDER 1. TIN STARS. LEMIRE. ****
DICK BRIEFER’S FRANKENSTEIN. YOW. ***1/2
EDGE OF SPIDER-VERSE. ***
EMPIRE: UPRISING. WAID. ****
GRAYSON 2: WE ALL DIE AT DAWN. ***1/2
GREEN ARROW: QUIVER. SMITH. ***
GREEN ARROW 1. HUNTER’S MOON. ***
GREEN ARROW 2. HERE THERE BE DRAGONS. ***
GREEN ARROW 3. THE TRIAL OF OLIVER QUEEN. ***
GREEN ARROW 4. BLOOD OF THE DRAGON. ***
GREEN ARROW 6. BROKEN. ***1/2
GREEN ARROW 7. KINGDOM. ***
HARLEY QUINN 3. KISS KISS BANG STAB. ***1/23
INJUSTICE: YEAR THREE VOLUME 1. ***1/2
JUSTICE LEAGUE: A LEAGUE OF ONE. ***
JUSTICE LEAGUE DARK 6. LOST IN FOREVER. ***
MORNING GLORIES 9. ***1/2
THE OVEN. GOLDSTEIN. ***1/2
ROCKET RACCOON 2: STORYTAILER.
SECRET WARS: PRELUDE. ***1/2
SPIDER-GWEN: MOST WANTED? ***
SPIDER-VERSE: WARZONES. ***
UNCANNY AVENGERS 1: COUNTER-EVOLUTIONARY. ***1/2
UNCANNY AVENGERS 5. AXIS PRELUDE. ***1/2
WEIRD LOVE: THAT’S THE WAY I LIKE IT. GUSSONI & YOE. ***1/2

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
838. A Strange Hub: What Were UFOs, The Process Church, Roman Polanski, David Litvinoff, the Krays, Eric Clapton, Jimmy Savile, & Whitley Strieber Up To in 1968 London?