THE INFORMATION #89​1​ JUNE 3​, 2016


JUNE 3, 2016

Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO

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


“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.'”



News Flash: “Coming Thro’ the Rye” is actually the tale of a depraved stalker and his hapless victim. 








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


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