THE INFORMATION #89​1​ JUNE 3​, 2016

THE INFORMATION #891

JUNE 3, 2016

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

The Hand That Rocks the Cradle Is the Hand That Rules the World.–William Ross Wallace

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

“Well Sir,” said Count Victor Justin the grifter, “Old Jake Leaming was a sick man, but funny sometimes. Pipe his take on dames: ‘Half the time they want to give you your marching orders, and the other half of the time they want you to mollycoddle ’em. What good are they, except for that one thing–and you can buy yourself a furry little bunny rabbit if you want the feel of a cunny between your fingers.’

“Ixnay on that talk” said ‘Tipsy’ Smith the Barkeep. ‘There’s a kid in the room.’ Referring to Cadger Tandy.

“Aww, he’s old enough to know the facts of life,” said The Count. “It’s never too soon to learn. Anyway, for a fella who didn’t care much to be seen in the company of the fair sex, Jake Leaming seemed to know a lot about them. Of course, he doted on his Mom. ‘Any man who doesn’t respect his mother,’ he would say, getting on his high horse, ‘is either a scoundrel, or far worse.” But how he could tear into the womenfolk, when he had a half a mind–which, come to think of it, was mostly all he had, later in life, especially when he had the fumes of nitrous oxide, ether, and rotgut a-rattlin’ through his noggin. O, how he would talk! It was better than a vaudeville show, and almost as much fun as a five-hundred dollar vacation! How did he keep doing it? He didn’t know how not to do it. That’s my guess.”

“‘Womenfolk,’ Jake Leaming would say, ‘are a most peculiar breed

of hairless apes. A great many of them are cracked in the head. You know–a little bit nutty. Your average wifey is prone to hallucinations, and the making of self-inciminating confessions, most of them having to do with some other man. But that’s only if she’s truly got bats in her belfry. Mostly, women keep their own secrets to themselves. Or they only discuss them with other women. That’s what these hen parties you see are all about. That’s why women can’t be monks. They never could take a vow of silence. 

“‘And talk about temperamental! The jealous vixens! Half of them would slash your face with a razor for so much as looking at another twitchet, if it wasn’t for the fact that they’re civilized. But are they? I suspect women are like caged animals in the zoological gardens–half tamed and half wild. O, they settle down once they’ve had a bairn. Watching them feed a Babby is a sight to set any man’s heart at rest. They’re just like lady bears–bearesses?– whose are said to lick their cubs into shape. Mothers are the true hope of humanity. Fathers are less than useless. Who needs a man around, if you got servants? And if you don’t, then grandmaw and the other sprouts can do the necessary. Men are truly a third wheel, in the grand scheme of things. All they’re good for is to gather nuts in May, by my reckoning. 

“‘Ah, sure and look at her–and isn’t she a contented creature! Look at her big eyes as she tenderly gives suck to her wee bundle! To those who prefer the peace of the domestic hearth to the storm and strife of the big city and its mendacious ways, this happy domestic scene must induce feelings of the uttermost tranquility.  Such a ruminative picture of life! 

“‘One yet far removed from the startlements of quotidian grief. Contrast that scene with one to be found on any city street. Picture, if you will,a starving and toothless hobo begging of passerby for a small coin to buy a stale doughnut–a groaning piece of human flotsam so depraved he needs must fish through dustbins for his provender–he will drink any rotgut swill offered to him in the fond, but unmet hope that it will quell his inside meemies. One might well shudder to consider that, in the absence of a mother’s loving kindness, that innocent suckling might well grow to manhood to become that depraved bummer, too weak even to steal, reduced to living in a wooden crate in a filthy ally, and destined to end his days either in the penitentiary or the poorhouse, and from there to the Potter’s Field is a short journey indeed.

“Tell me, Yobs–‘Isn’t it so much better to live a life of homely peacefulness amidst the mixed triumphs and tragedies of the family circle? Should not one shun evil ideals in favor of virtuous examples? Is not the life of a simple country swain–soon enough to become an unassuming laird of his own little freehold–an expectation to be fondly dreamt of, wholesomely met, and deeply felt? Wouldn’t yuh be able to die happy in your old oaken rocking chair, knowing that you done raised up your family right, and were yourself a righteous patriarch in the eyes of The Lordy? Man’s love for woman–woman’s love for man–was there ever a more charming story? You may say that the story of simple country denizens holds no allure–that an account of the ways of the demonic city are infinitely more attractive–that wine, women and song are your meat–that you will drink life to the lees at the very fountain whenceforth it bubbleth?

“I done told you,” Count Victor Justin said in an aside, “that Jake Leaming certainly had a way with words. Had he not been an invert, he might even have run for some of the highest offices of the land–the Legislature, Congress, and–who knows?”

“So, after saying all of that, and working whole squads of sentimental drunks into fits of tearfulness and outright weeping, then, and only then, Jake Leaming would turn around and, in a gruff voice, snarl out ‘What’ll it be, then boys–a life of quiet virtue–or the lures and snares of the great big city?

“‘I say the latter.Me for the high life. None of that homebody stuff for me. 
“‘Women? Pssh. Pains in the ass. The whole lot of them.

Have you ever met a one of them who could run a grifter’s game, without eventually tripping herself up and getting caught? If there has ever been a successful Lady con, I have yet to see one. Oh, sure–women are fit to wipe the vomit off’n a crumb-crusher’s screamin’ mouth–but for all the higher order palaver that comes with running a smooth game, it’s going to be a man you turn to–a man, every time.'”
1*SALUTATION
THE MINUTEMEN
BOB DYLAN WROTE PROPAGANDA SONGS
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9EFGb5sgGo
2*REFERENCE
STEVE ALLEN ON CAROL BURNETT

4*NOVELTY
THE WILD STARES
LOOK ME IN THE EYES
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkS5wmEhBKk

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

HOW AMERICA BOUGHT AND SOLD RACISM
News Flash: “Coming Thro’ the Rye” is actually the tale of a depraved stalker and his hapless victim. 

7*CARTOON

SCRUB ME MAMA WITH A BOOGIE BEAT:
 

8*PRESCRIPTION

PSYCHEDELIC CHUBBY CHECKER
LOVE TUNNEL

https://youtu.be/NbdrjVXqmqE

9*RUMOR PATROL

THE GREEN GLOB

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

ALL POLITICS IS LOCO
Bernie Taupin, “Your Song”. “If I were a sculptor–but, then again, no….”

 “She’s too busy sucking on my ding dong….Whip it on me, Jim.”–Lou Reed, “Sister Ray”

Good morning starshine
You lead us along
My love and me as we sing
Our early morning singing song
Gliddy glup gloopy
Nibby nabby noopy la la la lo lo
Sabba sibby sabba
Nooby abba nabba le le lo lo
Tooby ooby walla nooby abba nabba
Early morning singing song
Singing a song, humming a song
Singing a song, loving a song
Laughing a song–“Hair”

We’re all encased in sonic armor
Beltin’ it out through chrome grenades
Miles and miles of medusan chord
The electronic sonic boom

It’s what’s happening baby
it’s where it’s at daddy

They chain ya and brainwash ya
When you least suspect it
They feed ya mass media
The age is electric

I got the electric blues
I got the electric blues

Thwump… rackety… whomp
Rock… folk rock… rhythm and blues
Electronics explodin’… rackety-clack
Thwump… rackety… whomp
Plugged in… turned on–“Hair”

As I turn up the collar on my favorite winter coat
This wind is blowin’ my mind
I see the kids in the street, with not enough to eat
Who am I, to be blind? Pretending not to see their needs
A summer’s disregard, a broken bottle top
And a one man’s soul
They follow each other on the wind ya’ know
’Cause they got nowhere to go
That’s why I want you to know–Michael Jackson

Brian got busted on a narco rap
He beat the rap by rattin’ on some bikers
He said, “Hey, I know it’s dangerous, but it sure beats Riker’s”
But the next day he got offed by the very same bikers–Jim Carroll

Change we must as surely time does
Changes call the course
Held inside we enter daybreaks
Asking for asking for
The source
The source
The source
Sent as we sing our music’s total retain–Yes

“They just found your father in the swimming pool/And you guess you won’t be going back to school anymore.”–Billy Joel

“Well, I heard Mister Young sing about her/Well, I heard ol’ Neil put her down/Well, I hope Neil Young will remember/A Southern man don’t need him around anyhow.”–Lynyrd Skynyrd

Sail on silver girl, sail on by….–Simon & Garfunkel

 “In the desert you can remember your name, for there ain’t no-one for to give you no pain.”–America

MacArthur’s Park is melting in the dark,
all the sweet, green icing flowing down …
Someone left the cake out in the rain.
I don’t think that I can take it
’cause it took so long to bake it
and I’ll never have that recipe again …
Oh, no!–Jimmy Webb

You are my candy girl, and you got me wantin’ you!–The Archies

Remember bad bad Leroy Brown, hey Jimmy
Touched us with that song
Time won’t change a friend we came to know and Bobby
Gave us Mack the Knife
Well look out, he’s back in town
They’ll all be there together
When they meet in one big show–The Righteous Brothers

Spotlight on Lou Rawls y’all
Ah don’t he look tall y’all
Singin’ loves a hurtin’ thing now
Oh yeah, oh yeah–Arthur Conley

Last night I heard my mama singing a song
Ooh we, chirpy, chirpy, cheep, cheep
Woke up this morning and my mama was gone
Ooh we, chirpy, chirpy, cheep, cheep
Chirpy, chirpy, cheep, cheep, chirp–Lally Stott

 I looked under chairs 
I looked under tables
I’m tryin to find the key
To fifty million fables….–Peter Townshend

Everyday a little sadder, madder, someone get me a ladder….–ELP

They gave him ten for two/They got all the others, too.–John Lennon

There may not be much difference
Between Chairman Mao and Richard Nixon
If we strip them naked
There may not be much difference
Between Marilyn Monroe and Lenny Bruce
If we check their coffins
….
We’re all water from different rivers
That’s why it’s so easy to meet
We’re all water in this vast, vast ocean
Someday we’ll evaporate together–Yoko Ono

Oh, they say she died one winter
When there came a killing frost
And the pony she named Wildfire
Busted down it’s stall
In a blizzard he was lost–Michael Martin Murphey

Oh ma cameo molesting
Kee pa a poorer for tea
Solar prestige a gammon
Lantern or turbert paw kwee–Elton John

It’s easy to be good, it’s hard to be bad 
Stay out of trouble, and you be glad 
Take this tip from me, and you will see 
How happy you will be 
Oh-oh, boys and girls, this is my story 
And I add all of my glory 
I know, because I’m not a juvenile delinquent–Frankie Lymon

See the tree, how big it’s grown / But friend it hasn’t been too long, it wasn’t big / I laughed at her and she got mad / The first day that she planted it, was just a twig–Bobby Russell

“My love don’t give me presents. I know that she’s no peasant”–Paul McCartney

 I wrote a number down but I lost it
So I searched through my pocket book, I couldn’t find it
So I sat and concentrated on the number and
Slowly it came to me so I dialed it
And I let it ring a few times, there was no answer

So I let it ring a little more, still no answer
So I hung up the telephone, got some paper and
Sharpened up a pencil and
Wrote a letter to my friend–Brian Wilson

And I said, What about breakfast at Tiffany’s?
She said, “I think I remember the film
And as I recall, I think, we both kinda liked it
And I said, “Well, that’s the one thing we’ve got”–Deep Blue Something

You Just slip out the back, Jack
Make a new plan, Stan
You don’t need to be coy, Roy
Just get yourself free
Hop on the bus, Gus
You don’t need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free–Paul Simon

And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we’ve lost.–Paul Simon

He rocks in the tree tops all day long
Hoppin’ and a-boppin’ and singing his song
All the little birdies on Jaybird Street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet–Bobby Day

On the day that you were born, the angels got together
And decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair
Of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue
And that is why all the kids in town
Follow you all around
And just like me, they long to be
Close to you–The Carpenters

My mother doesn’t spank me just
For going without a hat
She knows darn well I’d run away
‘Cause I’m too old for that
What does she think I’m three?
Not me
What does she think I’m four?
I’m more than four
I’m even more than four and a half…
I’m five!
On April 24!–Barbra Streisand

If I could put time in a bottle….–Jim Croce

When there are grey skies/ I don’t mind those grey skies/
You make them blue, Sonny Boy.–Al Jolson

So any time you’re gettin’ low
‘stead of lettin’ go
Just remember that ant
Oops there goes another rubber tree plant–Frank Sinatra

My name is Michael, I got a nickel
I got a nickel, shiny and new
I’m gonna buy me all kinds of candy
That’s what I’m gonna do”–Clint Holmes

ALSO SEE:
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THE INFORMATION #890 MAY 27, 2016

THE INFORMATION #890

MAY 27, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com
I know I will never be happy, but I know I can be gay! –Marilyn Monroe

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

“Yobs like Jake Leaming’s kind,” said Count Victor Justin to young Cadger Tandy, aged fourteen, “have a tendency to avoid family men and other normal individuals. It’s a funny thing, but certain people seem to have a sixth sense when it comes to Morphodites and their boy chums. O, don’t tell me there wasn’t a whole lot of it going on, all through history. In the Roman legions. On board pirate ships. In the boarding schools of the British elites. In the many prisons and jails in this fair land–designed, in large part, to keep the deviant population behind bars. You’d be surprised at how many cops and Pinkerton spies have a secret yen for male flesh. But you mustn’t mention this, or you’ll become the sworn enemy of all ‘good’ men. And when you go hoboing in particular, you have to be especially careful of wolfs and their punks or prushans. These wolves have many ways of luring young boys into their loathsome orbit. If you see a big bearded lout stroking his beard and casting an appraising look on your manhood, beware! He is likely ready, willing, and able to make you his slave in all matters, and I do mean all. After he has twisted your mind with drugs or rotgut, he will enlist you to join the ranks of those who troll the deep dark depths of sexual perversion. I myself was a young Hobo for a spell; I had to fight off the Wolfs and Jockers at all times; I hate the Sodomite with a passion.”
“And that is why creatures such as Jake Leaming are so dangerous. They do not initially present as anything other than a member of the grifting tribe who is with it and for it. But after you’ve made a few scores with him, he takes you into his confidence and tells you dirty little tales of all sorts of dark deeds which you’d rather not know. I don’t know why, but a great many of these Nances and odd ducks have got the gift of terminal gab. they’ll talk and talk, right up top the crack of doom. I don’t understand how such people function, in an age when to be a man is to be cautious with your speech and only talk when it’s bound to improve the silence.
“I suppose that such creatures are so much like women in one thing, that they will be like women in all things. I have never known one who was not a physical coward when it came to confronting men of his own age and condition; otherwise, he will only pick on someone who is not his own size. He will certainly never protect someone who is weak and vulnerable, because he himself feels weak and vulnerable at all times. He has never been known to insult anybody bigger than he. Nor will he fight for his honor when it is offended. When he walks into a tavern and some young smart alecks laugh at him and attempt to harass his, he merely ignores them, or perhaps he will gain their good will by standing a round for the house.”
“Count on it: a Catamite is jealous of all real he-men. He longs to be like them–unfettered by loathsome vices–but knows that he never shall be, until the day he dies. A Nance is resentful of women–they enjoy privileges and prerogatives which he can never aspire to, except among creatures of his own debased kind. A Nance will always exploit an opportunity to practice his vice, no matter what the place or time or circumstance, because he has no shame. A Nance will shy away from work, and any strenuous physical activity–he would rather eat, or sleep, or get drunk. Other than expressing a wish to exchange seminal fluids in sexual congress, a Nance will almost never tell to truth about anything–not even to himself. Scratch a liar, and half the time, you got a fellow who is uncomfortable around women. Conversely, a Nance will almost never argue with you. He doesn’t want to get into a fight, with the possibility of loosening a few teeth or getting a black eye. A Nance, you see, is very meticulous in his personal habits–never spontaneous. For him it’s always the hair grease and the stinkum, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he also used powder and rouge. He will not fight; he will not risk his life; all things considered, he would rather stay home with his pipe and slippers, and read the newspaper, than go on crazy adventures. A Nance is never looking to better himself, much. He would rather stay in a comfortable rut; for he is really only half a man. A Nance is always looking for someone else to cozy up to him, and tell him what a fine Yellof he is. He dotes on your flattery. Butter him up, and he will do your bidding–right up to the point where it’s no longer convenient for him. Because he lives only for himself. Not for a woman; not even for another man. He looks in the mirror, and there is his ideal. He will happily engage in that particular practice all the live-long day. Beware the man of vanity! He is probably a powder-puff; a creampuff inhaler…an queer duck.”
“Sounds as if you know a great deal about this particular topic,” said the usually quiet suds-puller Tipsy Smith.
“I ought to,” said Count Victor Justin, “for Jake Leaming was my pard, and we ran together for a goodly while, until we were parted by circumstance and I heard from other dark tales of his true nature.”   

1*SALUTATION

RAMONES
DO YOU REMEMBER ROCK AND ROLL RADIO
THE GLOSSARY OF HAPPINESS

3*HUMOR
WHEN SUPERGIRL REPLACED JIMMY OLSEN

still no word on whether or not any members of the Jimmy Olsen Fan Club have ever known the touch of a woman.

4*NOVELTY

ALFALFA SINGS OPERA
 
ALSO SEE:
MYSTERIES AND SCANDALS: ALFALFA AND THE LITTLE RASCALS

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

POLICE CALLS, WALMART, AND TAXPAYER MONEY
NAVY SEAL IMPOSTORS
DEPTH STUDY (1957)
ROBERT FRANK, PHOTOGRAPHER
ALSO SEE:

My Response to Responses to My Critique of “Skepticism”

THE ELECTRIC PRUNES
I HAD TOO MUCH TO DREAM LAST NIGHT
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-kVFfKezVo

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

THE LEGENDARY RICH GILBERT Holy Wreckords
Stereo Action Music   13 tracks

We all know who Rich Gilbert is and if we don’t we can look him up, so what do you need me for? Anyway, on this release, he does it all, or virtually all, all by himself, and the results are impressive. “#1 Hit Record” sounds to my jaded ears like the soundtrack to a Quentin Tarantino Western on speed, and not like a #1 hit record at all! It’s a spectacular piece of mind-melting, careering instrumental goodness all the same. “Castellena’s Last Ride” is another wild and winsome instrumental romp with tons o’ steel guitars and a through-line as inevitable as a mobster’s dirt nap. “Mystic Valley Parkway” is a mysterioso mood piece with shimmery guitars and a jazzy slow-dance vibe. Other highlights include the aggressively rocking rave-up “The Fatal Wedding,” which sounds for all the world as though it should be adorning the soundtrack of an unusually hip monster movie. Plus, there’s “The Parade of Forgotten Beauty,” which, to my ever-more-senescent ears, sounds vaguely like Genesis, what with the grandiose guitar pomp on full display (and dig the backwards percussion!); and the lonesome country-and-western-meets-new age melodic wave of “Black Saturday”; the downright trippy C&W tinged “Sayonara” with its clip-cloppy rhythm; “That’ll Work” with Billy Contreras on fiddle, which reminds me of western swing; more notably, of Dan Hicks & His Hot Licks grown somehow too big for their britches (sorry, but I call ’em as I see ’em). There’s some nice steel guitar there, Mr. Gilbert. (And where in hell did you get that clangorous guitar solo in the middle eight?) As for the rest, well, there’s “Run Swinger Run”: prog-rock meets monster movie music? “Trouble Makers”: steel guitars vs. industrial synth? “The Holy City”: Shimmery circus music meets brazen showboating rock in a disorienting Alice-In-Wonderland odyssey of sound? I mean, wow. Overall, Stereo Action Music is a tricky album full of kooky variations on a theme–and very easy to love. Bravissimo. 

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
849. RID THE CITY OF SOILED DOVES
Bartlesville, Aug. 20.–Women, common street walkers, are being driven from this city today. Every train is carrying them away and by night the city will be cleaned of soiled doves. The women of abandon became so brazen they offended the entire citizenship and public sentiment forced the officers of the city to drive out the prostitutes.

The flight of the “soiled doves” began recently, when the fallen women became too bold. They flaunted their shame in the public places and sought to permeate the whole social life. It was not an infrequent thing to see women driving about the streets in cabs and reckless abandon calling, “howdy, son,” “hello, hubby,” “Now, Chawley, don’t you know your tootsy wootsy,” and similar phrases, many times mixed with curses and vile language unfit for publication. The women addressed all men alike, regardless of whether they had ever seen them before.

Editor Latta of the Daily Enterprise declared war. He stated that while not trying to make the city Puritan, the conditions had become so bad that they must be remedied. Latta won a clean victory this morning when the citizens held a mass meeting and ordered the police to order every questionable woman out of the city.

A large crowd of them left hurriedly this morning and a car load is billed to be shipped tonight. Bartlesville is cleaner than any time during its history.

Tulsa Daily World [OK], August 21, 1906

THE INFORMATION #889 MAY 20, 2016

THE INFORMATION #889
MAY 20, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com
17TH ANNIVERSARY ISSUE
Work is the curse of the drinking classes.–Oscar Wilde

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

“Jake Leaming,” said Count Victor Justin, ” was a hell of a grifter. A legend in his own mind. Like many of that breed, he had very little use for womenfolk; but, unlike them, he made no bones about it. So it got so that he would bend the ears of any Yob who was in need of free liquor and warn’t too particular about the company he kept. And man alive, could that Yellof ever spiel a line of easy patter. Get him to talking about politics, and you’d never hear the end of it. About how the Republicans are little more than a party of rich plutocrats, except when they ain’t. About how appropriate that the Democrats are the party of disunion and can’t even put their own house into order. About how democrats are all a bunch of emotional drunks who are easy to roll, while Republicans tend to be more stingy with their ooftish and kind of offish. About how we ought to declare war on Canada, as all the land the frost heads say is theirs rightfully belongs to the U.S. of A., including all the gold–Hah Hah Hah, the gold! 
 
“Then he’ll go on a tear about gold versus silver, though nobody cares any more, as that issue was essentially settled about ten or fifteen years ago. The processes involved in the mining of ores which bear precious metals. A foolproof way of sussing out Fool’s Gold, also known as Iron Pyrites, which are sometimes valuable because apparently small bits of gold have been known to be found in conjunction with it. But he’d go on for hours about geology and chemistry and all the rest, just as if he were lecturing a roomful of attentive college students, instead of some of the most dissolute rabble to come down the pike since Coxey’s Army. And then he’ll blab about the tariff. On and on. Just about the most boring topic devised by man, and, of course, he happens to be the world’s expert. 
 
“How much of his palaver was genuine knowledge and how much of it was inspired by the fumes of alcohol, ether, and nitrous oxide, for which he had a sneaking fondness, no man shall ever know. You’d mistake him for a learned man, all other things being equal. And that’s the way he liked it. He had what you might call ulterior motives for his always wanting to be in the right. He was a veritable walking encyclopedia, and his memory was impeccable, but his morals certainly weren’t. You laugh to hear me talk about morals in the same breath as I talk about confidence men, but, as I mentioned before, the grifters of my acquaintance had a certain code of honor. They would never take a sucker for more than he could afford. Certainly, they would never knowingly rob a mark of his most precious possession of all–his health and sanity.
 
“You’d pick him out as one of the sunflower brigade just from his dandified appearance and high-pitched whining voice alone. O, he tried his merry tricks of seduction on me once! I guess he must have forgotten who I was. I rebuffed him in no uncertain terms, and the very next day he behaved as though nothing had happened, which means he was either a very good actor or he had been so debauched that he had completely forgotten what he had been about the night previous.   
 
“He was known to go basket shopping–outside of schools, along the docks, in low taverns and bar-rooms, and the like. With his plausible line of patter and his fat and open pocketbook he was therefore able to lure many a young yellof to his rooms, and get him good and likkered up, and then he’d have his way with the youngster. This sort of behavior did not make him a popular man with many of the other grifters, who tend to be a quite forgiving bunch, on the whole. You could have a chloral habit that would fell an ox, and they would simply shrug. You could kick the gong around the whole night long and they wouldn’t care–many of them used hop themselves, as a kind of diversion while off the job. You could have a string of wives and a fair number of corresponding bastards arrayed like stars in the night sky across the whole span of this great continent, and they wouldn’t put up a yip. But these same grifters could be very puritanical in other circumstances. Particularly when it came to ‘the love that dare not speak its name’. If they indulged in this vice outside of prison walls, they kept very quiet about it, and were usually circumspect. Not Jake Leaming, though. He would talk about his ‘conquests’ as though he were a sort of full-fledged philanthropist, instead of merely the roughest and lowest sort of beast consumed by unnatural lusts and helpless in the gripes of his longings.  
 
From whence would he recruit these wretches? You’ll be surprised when I tell you that, when he couldn’t get boys, his “recruits” come from all walks of life. Twisted alienists, strutting fops, babbling hunkies, Italian barbers with thick mustachios, drunken sailors, bent merchant seamen, dissolute family men, hungry counting clerks, lonely jobbers, desperate horse-thieves, threadbare scriveners, government factotums, murderous hoboes, down-at-the-heels gamblers, whoremasters, spymasters, former slavemasters,  shivering cripples, shuddering slaves of demon rum, congenital morons, syphilitic pimps, lubberly Bedlamites, and, to top it all off, the usual gang of shirtless moochers and cadaverous spongers who are to be found haunting and hovering near every Free Lunch, every wedding, and every Irish wake. All the scoundrels, in other words, which normal men flee the sight of, Jake Leaming would welcome with open arms–not out of the goodness of his heart, no, but as possible future subjects of his heartless exploitation! Take heed, Yobs! Beware the friendly stranger–especially you, young Cadger Tandy! Especially you!  I say–beware! Be wary of the man who speaks poorly of womenfolk–or not at all! For he very likely has…a terrible, terrible secret!

1*SALUTATION

GREEN MAGNET SCHOOL
WINDSHIELD
Here is another real blast from the past. Just listen to that intro!
GREEN MAGNET SCHOOL 
THROB
Members of the band has assured me that the tape recording is of an actual person.
2*REFERENCE
WHO IS OLDER AND YOUNGER THAN YOU
26 RESTAURANTS WITH HILARIOUSLY TERRIBLE NAMES
HOW MANY NUKES WOULD IT TAKE TO BLOW UP THE ENTIRE PLANET?
TEN RIDICULOUS FAKE PUNK SONGS
THE CRYSTALS
(Let’s Dance) The Screw Part 2

7*CARTOON

SAMMY DAVIS JR.
MY MOTHER THE CAR

Arsenio Hall Sues Sinead O’Connor Over Accusation of Giving Drugs to Prince

10* LAGNIAPPE

TEN OF THE MOST DISTURBING FOLK SONGS IN HISTORY
http://www.bbc.co.uk/music/articles/8beeaac5-064c-4406-9e85-d42cebf9a53b

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

25 TRULY TERRIBLE CARS
http://cars.about.com/od/detoursanddiversions/ss/Twenty-truly-terrible-cars.htm

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
848. THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION: A MONOLOGUE

Are there any Trump supporters here? You–in back of the crowd–with your hair slicked over half your forehead, and the toothbrush mustache–you’re looking tanned and rested after your trip to Argentina–so glad you were able to escape the Fuhrerbunker.

I liked Trump’s policy statements, but I’m sure they sounded much better in 1933, in Germany. You hear about his latest foreign policy statement? He’s going to build a wall around Mexico–and conquer the Sudetenland.

Actually, it’s unfair to compare Trump to Hitler. Hitler was an actual decorated war hero. And we all know how Trump feels about P.O.W.s. I don’t suppose John McCain will be on the ticket with him any time soon….

 
Actually, Trump has had extensive foreign policy experience, especially with people from Sicily. I would say more, but I don’t want two gorillas wearing purple suits named Tony Cigars and Two-Fingered Moe to come over to my house and offer to break my thumbs.”


Who should Trump pick as his running mate? Paul von Hindenburg  would never accept the number two slot, and besides, he’s not an American. John Wayne is dead, and even Clint Eastwood isn’t crazy enough to accept. Maybe Mel Gibson, seeing as how they have so much in common.

Speaking of ancient history, do any of you remember the last time a politician tried to run his wife for higher office due to term limits? It was George Wallace, when he was Governor of Alabama. Quite a distinctive heritage.

Bill Clinton had the prize-winning hog at the Arkansas State Fair. But they made him put it back in his pants.

No wonder Hillary’s having a hard time. She’s so frigid that midgets perform the Ice Capades on her face.

Who is she going to pick as her Vice President? I think she should enlist Monica Lewinsky. That would be one way of getting her off her back.

Bernie Sanders is still in the race. Which reminds me–when I was about three years old I had a toy car that I would smash against the living room wall again and again. Puts me in mind of

the Bernie Sanders candidacy.


I agree with much of what Bernie says–it’s his supporters I can’t stand. I look at them and I think, “Aww…isn’t that cute? They’ve discovered partisan politics!” They remind me of what happened when I took my first drink. I felt all warm and glowy inside. Then I had another, and another. And I began shouting at people who disagreed with my opinions. Then I had a couple more drinks, and began throwing empty bottles into a crowd of people. Then I slipped and slid in a pool of my own vomit, and became weepy and snappish towards the people who were trying to help me get up.

Partisan politics–don’t even try it once.

They say Bernie has no foreign policy experience, but that’s obviously untrue–he was mayor of Burlington, which is only on hour from Montreal, where some of them speak French.

I think it would be a real election if Donald Trump decided to enlist Bernie Sanders as his Vice President.

They’d be talking about it in the media for–ohh,  the next few days.

THE INFORMATION #888 MAY 13, 2016

THE INFORMATION #888
MAY 13, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com
At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst. –Aristotle

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

“Listen good, Yobs, to the story of Jake Leaming,” said Count Victor Justin. “For it very well could be your story. He was all right, for a while. But when he went on one of his infrequent benders someone must have slipped him a deluxe mickey, or something. Because after several years of serious boozing, he began to espouse all manners of crackpot theories. He would go on and on about genetics, and half the time you thought him a genius and the other half he sounded off like the worst soapbox agitator for miles around.”
 
“We always say that people in the past were most cruel. But let’s face it. People are animals, and animals are cruel. It’s in their nature, he would say. It’s in their nature. Always that word, ‘nature’.  
 
“Don’t tell me that a dog licking tears off your face is adorable,. he only wants the salt from your tears and sweat. In other words, he’s a parasite. A dog only loves you for mutual protection. Feed him and he’s yours. Try to take his food away, and you get bitten. It’s as simple as that. And men aren’t so far removed. Just try it, Yellof. See where it gets you. Young animals will turn upon the old. I’ve seen it happen many a time. Not that we’re immune. We’re just more refined about it, that’s all.We just call them old fossils and stick them in a garret somewheres. 
 
“No, Yob, life is an eternal con game from start to finish. The only high points are when you make a score against a mark. That’s gravy. Everything else is just meat and potatoes. Call me a cynic if you like. I prefer the term ‘realist’. As far as I’m concerned, there’s two types of animals. The quiet sorts, and the loudmouths. The hunted and the hunters. Let’s face it–the loudmouths always win. Always. They’re too well loved by every force that regulates nature. And my the way, here’s something to remember: ‘Mother Nature Don’t Care.’ It is only in the most civilized precincts that the quiet ones can make any contribution at all. 
 
“But this has a downside. The weak culls are dragging us down. As a people, I mean. Look at horse racing. Horses are put out to stud to improve the breed. Why don’t we do as much for humans? Let a good man retire at 40. Send him to a Sanitorium where he can fuck himself silly with his pick of creamy, willing fillies with child-bearing hips. But no–that would be too logical. Instead, we allow youngsters to breed, will-e nill-e. The sad results are everywhere to be seen–particularly in the slums and poverty pest holes of our great metropolises. Listen, people, to what I say: There is no piece of turf so small that it can’t be fought over. Right down to a blade of grass. Sure, and been there, and I’ve seen it with my ane two glims. 
 
“As I grow older, I am more and more convinced that it is not the conservative who is the enemy of mankind. No, Yob–it is the meddling Goo-Goos, always willing to implement welcome reforms, but with no regard for the consequences. Take, for instance, the locomotive. If train travel were truly cheap, as the progressives would have it be, then there’d be no more breeding from local stock. Every thrifty swain would venture to a strange city to hunt and woo his lady fair. The results–socially–would be catastrophic. There would be no quality control. Which is paramount. Otherwise, we would quickly become a nation of weeds. Take Ragtime, for example–obviously a plot by the Illuminati to make colored people breed. For what purpose it is not yet evident. But it will be soon…with the coming need for a docile and compliant slave class. One with all the undesirable traits weeded out. Independent thought. Bad impulses. Love of dice and razor blades.To name just a few. 
 
“That’s why I say all patent medicines should remain legal. Howsoever lethal they might prove. Let the stupid ones kill themselves off. Slaves to a dose bottle or slaves to a corporation–what’s the ever-lovin’ difference? I’m sure that if God cared about us at all, He would agree with every word I say.
 
“Now, I am well aware that there will be a lot of soft-headed sentimentalists and spiritual bosh-peddlers on both sides of the racial divide who will decry such an approach. They will say ‘I don’t care about my own life. The most important thing is that I complete my mission, the work that the Lord Jesus gave me—to tell people the Good News about God’s grace.’ Haw! Go peddle that malarkey on Wall Street for a government dollar, and see how many suckers bite! Answer: Nil. Nit. Goose egg. Why? Because I said so. Therefore, shut up.
 
“Then there are those of a more scientific but no less sentimental bent who will say that we are not animals, and that we are not subject to the laws of nature red in tooth and claw. I say fiddle-dee-dee–of course we are. The only difference is, the human animal is remarkably good at making flip-flops to justify his animal behavior as somehow merely more fully human. But it’s all a load of rubbish.  The brain of most rubes is a remarkable mechanism designed to emit a cloud of welcome, vision-obstructing fog whenever a plain fact manages to venture its way down the pike. I am right and I know I will be proven right. People will generate any excuse at all, just so they can go on believing what they believe. Let’s say the Democratic party nominated an actual yellow dog for that high office. The Southerners, to a man, would be rhapsodizing about the sleekness of his fur, and the cleanliness of his teeth, and about what a fine occupant of the executive mansion he would make. 
 
“And just try to tell them that they’re nominating a dog–an actual dog–for the highest office in the land. And they won’t hear you. At best, they’ll tell you that you’re in league with the wreckers, and ask you why you want to make the devil fat.
 
“There’s just no accounting, Yob, for love…and politics.” 
1*SALUTATION
Tammy Wynette
Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nS1PBpWWyfc&feature=youtu.be

2*REFERENCE

TEN BEST BEATLES BOOKS
THE RAT REMEMBERED
MONKEES
YOU BRING THE SUMMER
99 ITEMS FOUND IN PRINCE’S SECRET VAULT
ERIC HOFFER: THE TRUE BELEIVER

The 19 Worst Movies Mystery Science Theater 3000Ever Riffed

Critics organize online campaign accusing Boston reporter of ‘drinking own pee’
Some unhappy with a recent story at Boston’s WCVB are taking an unusual approach this week in making their concerns known: by accusing one of its investigative journalists of secretly drinking his own urine.
http://www.metro.us/boston/critics-hound-wcvb-reporter-accuse-him-of-drinking-his-own-pee/zsJpee—yYGDxstRp8fR2/
10* LAGNIAPPE
“Oh, Diamond, Diamond, thou little knowest the mischief thou hast done!”
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
The 10 Most Awkward Moments Of Ted Cruz’s Presidential Campaign
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
847. KENT SATISFIES BEST
This vision of a Kent-centric world, in which time itself seems to stop, is quite bizarre.