THE INFORMATION #904 SEPTEMBER 2, 2016

THE INFORMATION #904

SEPTEMBER 2, 2016

 

Never slap a man who’s chewing tobacco. Never kick a cow chip on a hot day. Never miss a good chance to shut up.–Will Rogers

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

“People down south,” said Count Victor Justin, “will always prattle on and on about God and country, and nobility and glory, and they will always set such great stock on doing the honorable thing–and yet they’ll whip a poor Negro every chance they get. Now, you might say the darkey had it coming, but ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the sin committed by the negro is wholly incommensurate to the punishment. For instance, he has failed to turn away in time from the sight of a pretty white gal…or even a picture of one.

“Considering the slow pace of life down there, folks down south are surprisingly easy to irritate. You can always tell when they’re irritated because they talk to you as though they’re taking a shit. ‘Whut yew doin’ round here anyways? Y’all ain’t got no bidness ’round heah!’ 
“They always place great stock in gentility and manners, perhaps all the more so since those are the qualities which are conspicuously lacking amongst the folks who aren’t considered members of the gentry–in other words, the triflin’, low-down, no-good poor white trash. That’s why people down south are always asking after your parents, your children, your brothers and sisters, your aunts and uncles, your cousins, your doctor, your lawyer, and all your close friends and acquaintances. It’s not that they really care. They’re just want to know what your connections are. And also, they just don’t have an awful lot in the way of diversions to otherwise occupy their minds. They don’t have a single idea in their heads which don’t relate to Jesus or the weather, and so they spend all their spare time thinking and talking about the doings of other folks in the neighboring four counties.  A fellow who, anywhere else, would be accounted a windbag is considered some kind of highly entertaining raconteur down south. That’s because people from the Southron also place a great deal of stock in folks who can bloviate. That’s why all their politicians are such gifted bullshitters. The weak fish who can’t orate worth shucks never get elected to anything. 
“Southerners like to have everything arranged just so, and if they see you doing something which doesn’t comport with their notion of what’s proper, fitting, and just, why, then they dismiss you as a fool–not realizing, of course, that they’re the foolish ones. They are like every single frightened rube all the world over–their mouths actually gape open in stupefaction when they encounter something with which they are wholly unfamiliar–like a mannish-looking lady doctor, or a big he-man who acts a little swish, or a negro driving his own automobile.
“As I may have mentioned, I spent a good deal of time getting to know the people of the south. I’ve compiled a virtual lexicon of their doings and sayings.  There are a whole bunch of phrases for you to know which would probably prove very useful down south. ‘Yes Sir.’ ‘Yes Ma’m.’ ‘No Sir.’ ‘No Ma’m’. ‘By your leave, Sir.’ ‘If you would do me the honor, Ma’m.’  ‘Good to see you, Mr. Man–tell me how be you?’ ‘Why not set a spell–what’s your hurry?’ 
“Those are the basic ones. After you’ve been there about three days, you will also find these phrases useful. ‘The widow woman has started taking in laundry.’ Or ‘Them damn Yankees are always up no good.’ Or ‘If it ain’t found in the Bible, the dictionary, or the almanac, then I ain’t got no use for it.’ 
“Or ‘the mule still won’t leave his stall–shove some more red pepper up his ass.’ Or ‘The negroes stole all our eggs.’ Or ‘Watch out–the Sheriff’s drunk again.’ Or ‘Hogs ate the baby.’ Or The preacher-man just beat his cook to death.’ Or ‘Burn down all the shacks in Dinkeytown.’ Or ‘My lazy servants are robbing me blind.’ 
“Or ‘Grandpa just killed our chauffeur’ Or ‘You just can’t find a good jockey boy these days.’ Or ‘For Christmas I gave my sharecropper some colorful rags.’ Or ‘Box the ears of that lazy negro scamp.’ 
“Or  ‘The boy was shooting at rats and he killed an old negro by mistake.’  Or ‘I do not enjoy beating my servants.’  Or ‘Someone stole my midget butler’s stepladder.’ Or ‘Fry those greens in plenty of that good bacon grease.’ Or ‘Be careful: that swamp is full of cottonmouths.’  Or ‘Chiggers ate all the skin clean off’n his arm.’  

Or ‘All the good negroes know that I’m their friend.’ Or ‘Some of the poor white people hereabouts are lower than the snake.’ Or ‘Send your colored man over to me; I will see that he is treated right.’ Or ‘Ever since Uncle Rector was kicked in the head by a Quarter Horse, he just hasn’t been the same man.’

“Or ‘Lookie over yonder at that hollow stump–there’s an owl, a bat, and a bumblebee!’ Or ‘He’s just the kind of polecat who would cuss around the womenfolk.’ Or ‘What’s this–you’re eight years old and you don’t know how to chew tobacco?’ Or ‘What would you like to drink–dope, coffee, or sweet tea?’ 

 
“Or ‘Senator so-and-so is slicker than snot on a doorknob.’ Or ‘You’ll never get there without a horse, so you’d better borrow mine.’ Or ‘Have you gotten right with the Lordie?’ 

“I don’t expect that any of you city dubs will ever understand the ways of the south as well as a man who was born and raised in it. But I will say this much about the people of the Southron–if you’re a white man, they WANT you to fit in, and they’ll help you all they can, and forgive you if you make a boner, and they’ll only tease you about it later–for the rest of your life. 

“And I’ll also say this–unless you’re about four years old, or a hundred and four, you’d better think twice before you turn down an offer of a friendly drink, because the man who offers it will either think you’re giving him the high hat, or, worse, he’ll think your head ain’t screwed on straight. I can’t think of a single conceivable circumstance in which you would be justified in turning down a drink, unless you’re a preacher man and your church is a particular stickler in regards to old John Barleycorn. It’s kind of frightening to contemplate that the doctor, the lawyer, the policeman, the druggist, the innkeeper and the ostler are all very likely either drunk, or dead drunk. They do like their bourbon and rye down in those parts. I blame the hot weather. And the non-potability of much of the water. Plus the fact that most folks down south are descended from a long line of hard drinkers who like to get boozed up in a great big hurry and don’t make no bones about it, neither. So there you are–something else to remember. 
“And a southerner can likely hold his likker far far better than you, so don’t be getting into any card games with ’em–especially not with any man who walks bowlegged, because that means he’s a riverboat gambler and he plays cards for a living and you will never, ever be able to beat him, either fairly or otherwise. Never, ever, ever. For no matter how drunk he may be, or seem, he will clean your pockets and turn them inside out for you. Guaranteed.”
SEE ALSO:
TGI FRIDAY’S GOES MINIMALIST
2*REFERENCE
FIVE REASONS NOT TO USE GOOGLE FOR SEARCH
ONE-PAGE GRAPHIC NOVELS

8*PRESCRIPTION 

JACK SHAINDLIN

SILENT COMEDY MUSIC
https://youtu.be/b6TYyy9tyD8

9*RUMOR PATROL
WHAT WILL REPLACE THE HIPSTER?
10* LAGNIAPPE

THE DAMBUILDERS
SMOOTH CONTROL
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrYl1e9YvK8

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
SPRINGSTEEN FROM WORST TO “BEST”
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.

863. ELVIS COSTELLO ON SNL

RADIO RADIO
 
THE STUNT THAT GOT ELVIS COSTELLO BANNED FROM SNL

http://www.openculture.com/2013/09/the-stunt-that-got-elvis-costello-banned-from-saturday-night-live.html

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THE INFORMATION #903 AUGUST 26, 2016

THE INFORMATION #903
AUGUST 26, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com
The educated folk of the Old South took theology lightly, and religion to them was hardly more than a charming ritual, useful on solemn occasions.–H.L. Mencken

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

“You think there are some bad ‘uns hereabouts, in Blowtown and in Noxtown? Why, then, you haven’t traveled any in the South. People in the deepest part of the South,” said Count Victor Justin, continuing his latest peroration, “still have this convict and warden mentality, which ain’t any big surprise, seeing as how most of their ancestors were the dregs of society back in Merrie Olde England. They were mostly the bastard sons and daughters of indentured servants, at best. And, like convicts everywhere, they are all a secret bunch of morphodites too. They worship guns, because that’s what convicts do, and they are gracious and respectful to their elders and other authority figures, not out of any actual reverence, but simply because that’s how your typical convict gets one over when he’s in prison. It is a most curious thing–these filthy and lazy and thoroughly nondescript characters are outraged at the notion that they are descended from monkeys, and they refuse to accept Darwin’s theory, citing endless Biblical testimonies first set down by credulous nomads–but these lintheads, and all those other savages who live by lynch law?–they themselves are proveably descended from the lowest form of human brute–Blutos who would put the shriekings and shit-flinging antics of the most rotten caged ape to shame. They live on horseback, as a man without a horse is derided as a no-count. They live in the back woods, as a man without land is probably a man of the colored persuasion. They live in a peculiar wilderness of word-blindness, as they cannot read a book, not even their treasured Bible; and they cannot sign their own names, except with an X. I speak here of the vast majority. What need have they of education? It’s well known among the men of the South that too much book-learnin’ will ruin your shooting eye. These worthy men of the south do not have a library, or a book store, or a truly educated man within a two-hundred mile radius of them. Nor a telegraph, nor a printing-press. They are as independent as all get-out, except for their women folk, who always worry about what the neighbors will think if they’re caught out of doors wearing a dress made from last years’ feed-sack. They are destitute of intellect, of pelf, and of nearly everything else–except their damnable, overweening pride. And their ability to hang around in hillside caves and consume inordinate amounts of forty-rod and raw whiskey and get stupefyingly drunk. And their predilection to support various lascivious itinerant preachers and other oafish snake-handlers and bible-hustlers. Religious freedom, my ass! If you’re not gobstruck by the same childish superstitions as the majority, you are a pariah. Down South, they don’t put their crazy people in asylums–oh, no–they either kill ’em outright, or put ’em to work grooming horses, cleaning up pig shit, and performing other menial chores. Then, when they become too old, they lock ’em up in an attic or something. Or, if they ain’t got no family there and they don’t have any living relatives anywheres else, they might farm ’em out for public work, or to a traveling carnival as an itinerant geek. Or maybe even give ’em a shiny new silver star and call ’em a county constable.

 
“Everything about the south reminds me of a prison. The greasy, starchy food. The false grins on the faces of the inmates. The brackish water of the stinking mill ponds. The schools, such as they are, are administered by people who never went to school. The teachers are, at best, incompetent. They are glorified child-minders; nothing more. Learning is by rote. Many parents won’t even bother sending their child to a school; they’d rather have them working a worn-out farm and staring at a mule’s ass from behind a plough. Or chopping cotton, if they are too poor to even hire a wretched negro to perform this function. Oh, they pretend to have fine manners, oh yes. Why, they even say excuse me and pardon me even while they administer forty lashes to an old negro Mammy for stealing a potato from the company store and roasting the contraband Mickey over a clandestine campfire. How else would you expect the south to be, other than lethargic–intolerably hot for close to three-quarters of the year; hag-ridden with hookworm, and pellagra, and malaria; festering with copperheads and other deadly critters; run by the hot-blooded progeny of slavemasters, criminals, and slaves. Oh, yes–many a man and woman down south has got a lick of the old tar brush, though you dast not say so, lest you be pumped full of buckshot and come down with a bad case of lead poisoning. Nor down South is it safe to talk about religion, ner politics. Hunting; fishing; farming–all of these are their acceptable topics of discussion. Lynching bees and the horsewhipping of prosperous negroes is their principal sport. And taking the name of the Good Lord in vain is their foremost taboo. Though most of these southern morphodites are busy bawling praise to their creator one minute, while during the very next minute they are fornicating with their cousin, or with some dusky high yaller slut, or with their cattle, or man to man. 
 

“Listen–I am the very soul of tolerance. I don’t care what men do in private; just so long as they don’t do it out in the streets and discombobulate the horses. I’m not too interested in the fact that a man may do another man an injury behind his back. What gets me is how proud of their backwardness these southerners are, and how eager they are to conceal any evidence of their loathsome vices. They do so by the tried and true method of overcompensation. Your average southern bully is a pretty piss-poor specimen–he rides the fastest horse, breeds the meanest dogs, bets the biggest on all the cock-fights, and owns a rug made from a bear which he kilt with his own two hands. He bawls the loudest prayers in church on Sunday, while, during the rest of the week, he leads the pack in Ku Kluxery, brawling, and the systematic consumption of fried squirrel brains. But if you even suggest that he might be swishy underneath it all, why, he’ll pick up his shotgun and blow your head off without a second thought. So much for the famous ‘Southern Hospitality’. Beneath their thin veneer of gentility, there exists among the men of the South a nation of red-handed thugs and vagabonds. For a significant majority of them are the sons and daughters of all the off-scourings of the earth. And nothing they do or say will ever alter that fact one jot, tittle, nor iota.”

1*SALUTATION
THE DRIVING STUPID
THE REALITY OF AIR FRIED BORSK
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_KpFe9QQmk

HORROR ASPARAGUS STORIES
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IumIAl80CkU

2*REFERENCE
3*HUMOR
THE HAMBURGER BROTHERS

OMAR THE VAMPAR
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gc8nnKiDYkk

4*NOVELTY

12 SEXY ADS THAT WILL GIVE YOU NIGHTMARES

http://www.cracked.com/article/229_12-sexy-ads-that-will-give-you-nightmares/

6* DAILY UTILITY
ALSO SEE:
Cruisin’: A History of Rock and Roll Radio 1955-1970
https://archive.org/details/Cruisin-AHistoryOfRockNRollRadio
10* LAGNIAPPE

DOROTHY COLLINS
SHRIMP BOATS
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oczm7UxRuoM

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
1977 J.C. PENNEY CATALOG
http://www.popsugar.com/celebrity/1970-JC-Penney-Catalogue-771943
 
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.

862. WHEN JUGGALOS MEET DEADHEADS
https://www.dnainfo.com/chicago/20130815/irving-park/grateful-dead-cover-band-apologizes-fans-shocked-find-juggalos-at-bar

THE INFORMATION #902 AUGUST 19, 2016

THE INFORMATION #902

AUGUST 19, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

She might as well go to hell, cause she ain’t gonna be happy in heaven either!–Nancy B. Brewer

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TEN: PART EIGHTY-FOUR: KINGDOM COME 
 
“And, as long as we’re on the topic of all the loose prattle that goes around,” said Count Victor Justin, “especially in barrooms and suchlike places–among members of the general populace, not excluding high government officials and the like? It has been my experience that refined people converse,  ordinary folk talk, and all the riff-raff that we don’t especially like, especially foreigners such as Chinamen and the like, why, they merely jabber.  It’s the way of the world. Especially in the Deep South. Oh, I know the South. Ask me if I don’t. I’ll be lying to you if I say I didn’t. I spent twenty days there recently, and it seemed like twenty Donkey Ears. Probably not a good idea to go there in August. In any event, yeah bo, I know that region well. Folks are real nice and friendly there, not like in the big cities of the east. And you would do well to be nice and friendly right back, even if you don’t feel like it. Otherwise? Well Sir, and I swan you’ll find that they got some of the friendliest lynch mobs you ever did see. 
 
“Do you want to know the truth about the South? The real truth? Most of them there are the descendants of convicts. Pickpockets, sneak thieves, counter jumpers  and the like. And like most fools of that stripe, they’re all a bunch of marks. Just like most people, they’re very good at conning themselves into thinking their way of life is the best. It’s warm all the time in Dixie, see, except when it ain’t, and that’s seldom, so of course the lazy white man can hunker down in the woods and sit and do nothing all day. What passes for heavy industry in the south is mostly found in the cities. Other than sawmills and turpentine mills and the like. Or working on the chain gang. Here’s some advice that just might save your life: Don’t get arrested down South; the chain gang is a living hell–chopping cotton in the 90 degree sun is enough to kill a man, and the swill they feed you there ain’t fit for swine. At least in the county jail you have a chance to order something decent, provided you got the dosh. 
 
“I neglected to mention that there’s also a lot of industry on the plantations. Leastways, among the colored folk. Oh, those plantations! They stretch as far as the eye can see! You can still find the arrowheads left there from vengeful Injuns as was hustled off that land by Andy Jackson. Jackson was, by far, the best President we ever had. Most Presidents have a veneer of gentility, but Old Hickory was a genuine animal, and he didn’t care one jot ner tittle who knowed it. By the bye, watch out when a politician says ‘I have to be honest with you’. It means he’s preparing to let loose with a certified whopper. Ah, bolitics in Dixie is different from politics in the Big Cities up north. Everything is on a smaller scale. The man who would be the town loafer up North is the one they elect as Sheriff down in Dixie. Southerners admire the ingenuity of a lazy man. Your typical Sheriff down in Dixie is a big lout as ain’t good for much else. He dances to the tune of the movers and shakers, just like a Police Captain in the Big City. He’s been chewin’ Mail Pouch since he was a small boy, and by the time he grows to manhood he probably has nary a tooth in his head, but that’s all roight because his diet consists principally of corn mush fried in salt pork drippins. Your typical sheriff is so low down he’d steal the cracklin’s from his mammy’s fat gourd. In Sydney they’d call him a blodger and in the East End they’d call him a gull but down in Dixie he is the King of all the low-down, low-grade, tenth rate, good for nothing no-count white folk–to say nothing of the negroes, to whom he is like unto a God. You can see the panic and desperation in their eyes–when the Sheriff comes a-knockin’. Nothing good ever comes of it. One time down near Orleans a colored man, let’s call him Dax, was suspected of abductin’ a five year old girl. This, of course, was an unspeakable crime, since the little girl was white. My Pappy vouched for poor old Dax–said he couldn’t of done it, since Dax was with him the whole time. Of course, the Sheriff was a mean old cuss, and he warn’t having none of it. They tortured Dax, though not too much, because he was widely known to be a good boy, and then they strung him up. Of course, it turns out that the little girl had fallen down a well, and wasn’t even badly hurt, just skeered out of her little head. It was too late for poor old Dax, though. Well–he was 103 years old, and I guess it was might nigh to bein’ his time anyway. 
 
“Down South, the hard-shell bible-pounders don’t hold with liquor or card-playin’ or fornication, so perforce them there are their secret vices. Those men’s clubs they have? Lodge meetings, and the like? No women allowed? Well, that’s a sign that they’re all fucking each other, and they don’t want their wives or girlfriends to know about it. Remarkable, the secrets a man will confide when he’s drunk. Which is why hard liquor never passes my own lips. In my line of business, there’s no future in wising up a mark, nor in playing the blabbermouth. 
 
“Down in Dixie, some harmless old lady who wouldn’t even touch so much as a drop of home-made Dandelion Wine will drink those soothing syrups and other patent medicines like they was sody pop. And feed ’em to the baby, too. Them soothing syrups are, of course, is something like forty per cent laudanum, so they really make your little Goo Goo go Ga-Ga. But I will admit that some of them old Biddies can also whomp up a real mean poppy-seed tea. They ain’t all after harboring only Holy Bibles and lace doilies and other brick-a-brac, I can tell you that much. Some of them old hags have really whooped it up, back in their day. Just because they ain’t all painted up and powdered up, doesn’t mean that they wasn’t plumb loco, once upon a time. Doesn’t mean that they still don’t know how to tie one on. Lots of them fusspots are feelin’ no pain, I’ll tell you what. That’s why you don’t want to cross none of them, if you can help it. Unless you also want to have every man jack in three counties a-howling for your scalp. Some of those crones have some powerful friends and relatives in back of ’em. And a good many of them are pretty formidable in their own right.
 
“Oh, and did I mention they all have shootin’ irons? And you can bet that they all know how to use ’em, too. Hm! ‘Pore ole weak woman’ my ass!”
1*SALUTATION

DARLENE LOVE
RUN RUN RUNAWAY
 
2*REFERENCE
BRITISH SLANG TRANSLATOR
3*HUMOR
ROBIN WILLIAMS: A HISTORY IN 15 JOKES
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

Salem State Girl Allegedly Brawls Outside A Bar, Bites A Cop’s Ear Off, And Threatens To Have All The Police Killed

6* DAILY UTILITY
A DIY Hat To Prevent Your Visibility On Cameras And Video
7*CARTOON
WERTHAM MISSED IT!
Outrageous comic book covers
8*PRESCRIPTION 
9*RUMOR PATROL
10* LAGNIAPPE
NEW LUCILLE BALL STATUE
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
AMERICAN FAT FORTY
Fried, Captain, Fried
My Sweet Lard
It’s a Famine Affair
Dude Looks Like a Ladyfinger
Doctor My Thighs
I Will Swallow
Rock and Roll Nibbler
Fatty’s Little Girl
Your Own Special Weight
Baby I’m a Want Food
Ain’t No Mountain High Enough (To Keep Me Away From Food)
(What’s So Funny) ‘Bout Meat Lard Inside a Sandwich
12XL
Hot Stuffin’ (Can’t Get Enough)
Raspberry Sorbet
Addicted to Lard
The Gates of Eatin’
A Simple Twist of Fat
I Want Candy (Cake and Pie)
Waddle This Way
Nothing Compares 2 Food
Rolling to New Orleans
Icebox Icebox Baby
I Love Hot Dog Rolls (Put Another Dog on the Broiler, Baby)
I Want to Know What Lard Is
57 Pizzas (And All Are Gone)
All Those Beers Ago
Massive Pockets (I’m Special)
Can’t Fight This Eating
Do They Know It’s Chowtime?
This Food is So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades
(Just Like) Starting Oven
Keep Your Hams to Yourself
Making Lunch Out of Nothing at All
I’m So Lonesome I Could Diet
Beers In Heaven
Foods Rush In
Drowning (In a Sea of Lard)
Dinner You Better Get Ready
We Ate the World
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.

861. TRAVEL TIPS

THE UNITED STATES
SAN FRANCISCO, CA. You would be ill-advised to opine that “all homeless people should be killed”.
MISSOULA, MT. Avoid patronizing references to “fornicating with sheep” or other livestock.
ST. LOUIS, MO. Resist the impulse to praise Kansas City and compare it unfavorably to St. Louis.
BIRMINGHAM, AL. Do not, by any means, ask your host if his negroid features mean that his ancestors had “a splash of the old tar brush”.
PITTSBURGH, PA. Refrain from pointing out that their PNC Park sounds like “Pansy Park”.
DOVER, DE. Do not ask, “Is Delaware even a state?” Not even in jest.
NEW YORK CITY. Do not say “Actually, I find that New Yorkers are surprisingly provincial.” 
PROVINCETOWN, MA. Do not ask your bartender about his wife and children.
PROVIDENCE, RI. In referring to the recently-deceased mayor, do not imply that he “sleeps with the fishes.”

THE INFORMATION #901 AUGUST 12, 2016

THE INFORMATION #901
AUGUST 12, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

“Consider every man colored till he is proved white.”–Mark Twain

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TEN: PART EIGHTY-THREE: KINGDOM COME
As Tipsy Smith stood behind the long wooden bar at The Seven Stars Saloon and “cleaned” the chipped and foggy glasses and beer steins with his filthy rag, Count Victor Justin continued to hold forth about his favorite topic, the unreliable and quite possibly thoroughly bent con man and fellow grifter Jake Leaming.
 
“Old Jake had quite a bit to say about a number of topics, but–holy hooch!– the most bizarre of his so-called theories had to do with racial matters. Now, I myself am a son of the South, and I understand the way the way a Southerner thinks about the Colored Man, but Jake, he tried to make a science of it, what with all his unrepeatable mumbo-jumbo about the Mud People and the Angels of the Light. I’m supposing, however, that in spite of all his hateful race theories, his Mama taught him well, because he said to me once, ‘I always call ’em “negroes” because using that other word is the sign of a vulgarian. No man,’ he said, ‘who uses that word will ever be President.’
 
“Well, I don’t know about that. Anyway, Colored people don’t bother me none. They’re human beings, just like everyone else. I mean, who isn’t? One of them even saved my life once. One time I got caught cheating at cards and I was being beaten in an filthy alley down in Dinkytown, and the local Kingpin there strode up and said, ‘OK Boys–he’s had enough.’
 
“But this Jake Leaming, remember, is the world’s expert on everything, and that’s not all he had to say on the matter. ‘The colored folk all like me,’ Jake would say, ‘because they know I am their friend. Nothing gladdens my heart more than to see a colored man faithfully engaged in productive work–these honest Sons of Ham–just like the Bible says, “They shall be drawers of water and hewers of wood”–and when I see one hard at work, I frequently give him a well-deserved pat on the back. And how it gladdens my heart, to see the blubbery lips of a chocolate-colored buck with a sweaty phiz as he grins up at me with devoted gratitude. Sometimes I even say “Here, Boy,” and I throw him a buffalo nickel–and I chuckle as he scrambles for it, because I know how much they like bright and shiny things, and the grateful negro is always quick to say ‘Yas’m, Boss.”
 
“‘Back in the golden olden days, when Cotton was truly King, the grateful slave was so bursting full of love for his master that he would sing his charming little spirituals and blues to please him as he fetched him his food and mixed him a mint julep with the mint crushed just right and muddled with cane syrup just so. Why any negro would wish to leave that little patch of heaven and live in the cold and hostile north, full of surly Yankees and querulous bohunks, is surely beyond me. 
 
“‘You know, way down south, way below the Mason-Dixon line,  the colored fellows have it pretty rough. Why, one time they whipped a man simply because he went to the general store and asked for a box of Quaker Oats. “That there is a white man on the box. So that’s MISTER Quaker Oats to you,” says the storekeeper. Still, the Southland isn’t all bad. In fact, it is a veritable paradise, where white is supreme. Where the kids grow tall and worries are small. Where the people are as hospitable as all get-out, and a man can laze about and live on the fat of the land  You see, up north, they put the colored folks in cages, and they call them ghettos. Down South, everything is easy-peasy. If the negro is a good boy, he will be well looked after, and will always have a prominent white man to see after his interests. That’s the way it used to be, and that’s the way it should be, and I know for a natural fact that all the good negroes will agree with me. For that’s the way God intended it to be. It says so in the Bible. There isn’t a man in America that has more regard for the Negro in his place than I have. But I am no hypocrite. I do not cater to him as a social or a personal equal. And I think that this is what the negro prefers. I tell you, it makes my blood boil to see those people who are in favor of intermarriage and the concomitant mongrelization of the races.  
 
“And then,” said Victor Justin, ‘he would go on some whacky tirade about ‘instauration,’ and the need to send the ‘inferior races’ right back where they came from. ‘Actually, I don’t mind the colored folk,’ he would say. ‘Actually, confidentially–it’s the Italians who I can’t stand the sight of. They are a sneaky and devious race. A bunch of Mackerel-snapping, pasta-twirling,  querulously gesticulating slobs. What with their always smelling of garlic, and their greasy complections, and their thick black mustaches, and their always chasing after fair-skinned women, and whatnot. You always see them haunting barber shops. What do they DO all day? Remember them Sicilians as got lynched down in the Big Easy? It was actually a rather good thing. It served them right, is what I say. Sicilians, in particular are lower than rats. Lower than the filth in the streets. They are all descended from banditti, and killers, and Mamalukes.They are treacherous and cowardly. They are filthy, lawless, and duplicitous, and I make it a habit to never play cards with them, because if you win and they lose they will stab you in the back soon as look at you. I am reliably informed that this is because they are part Greek, and part Mountain Goat, and part God Knows What.’
 
“It’s just a lucky thing for old Jake Leaming,” said Count Victor Justin, “that there weren’t any minorities in the room when he said all that. Because they ARE known to be hotheaded. And I should know,” he said with a smirk. “My grandmother married one.”
 
2*REFERENCE
THE REAL COLONEL SANDERS
https://www.entrepreneur.com/article/250300
ALSO SEE
There’s a hilarious interview with the Colonel, ” A Mac with Colonel Sanders,” in this book, which, alas, is long o.p., but well worth searching out.
http://www.abebooks.com/…/junk…/author/rubin-charles-j/
3*HUMOR
REMEMBERING LENNY BRUCE
http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/la-ca-lenny-bruce-remembrance-20160722-snap-story.htmlSEE ALSO:
LENNY BRUCE
HOW TO RELAX YOUR COLORED FRIENDS AT PARTIES
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ua0TT87KNwo

ALSO SEE:
DOROTHY PARKER
4*NOVELTY
JACK DAVIS COMMERCIALS
https://youtu.be/8Axl9lpeKKU
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
The Whole Dam Family and the Dam Dog (1905)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D6i2qZ-PTak&feature=youtu.be

6* DAILY UTILITY

7*CARTOON
THE SAILOR AND THE SEAGULL
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4w7FI2pYWc
8*PRESCRIPTION
THE REPUBLICAN RACE: WHO THEY COULD HAVE PICKED
http://www.lrb.co.uk/v38/n15/eliot-weinberger/they-could-have-picked
ALSO SEE:
10* LAGNIAPPE
Eduardo Davidson
Le Chien El Perro
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
MEDIOCRE HORROR FILMS
The Cosby Killers
The Noble Pitbull
The Shithouse Mouse
Onan the Vulgarian
President Killer Diller
Big Chief Hug-Em-And-Kiss-Em
Big Chief No Wipe ‘Em of the Nasty-Ass Tribe
A Chicken Heart As Big As the World
The Book Group From Hell
The Legend of Stabbity McStab Stab Stab
The Thing That Just Stands There And Refuses To Go Away
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.

860. THE TRUMP GOODNESS JUST KEEPS RIGHT ON COMING
Though, to be fair, nearly all the viable Republican candidates this year have been Bizarros, who have swiftly perished when exposed to the Blue Kryptonite of hard cold logic.

UNDERSTANDING TRUMP
 
HISTORIANS ATTACK TRUMP ON FACEBOOK
 
TRUMP: WHY NOT USE NUKES?
 
MACY’S DROPS TRUMP
 
MY GOD: TRUMP KNOWS MORE ABOUT FOREIGN POLICY THAN OBAMA
 
THIS JUST IN: TRUMP KICKS BABY OUT; CROWD ROARS
 
AND:
WHAT IF TRUMP DROPS OUT?
 
WHO COULD REPLACE TRUMP?
 
There’s no keeping up with it.
 
Why were we blessed to be so lucky?  And condemned to live in such interesting times?
 
AUGUST 3, 2016 FORECAST
 
The election of  2016 will go down as the wildest yet. 
 
And I currently predict a Hillary blowout along the lines of 55 or better for her and 45 for the other candidates, with 300+ electoral votes for her.
 
Hard to be precise, because of the Libertarian candidate, Gary Johnson, and others, who may get as much as 5% of the vote.

NEWT EXPLAINS WHY WE MUST VOTE FOR TRUMP
www.washingtontimes.com/news/2016/jan/7/newt-gingrich-understanding-donald-trump/

CNBC BEGS TO DIFFER
DEPROGRAMMING THE TRUMP SUPPORTER
 
 
TRUMP CORRECTS COURSE
 

In a Washington Post interview, Trump declined to endorse House Speaker Paul Ryan against his primary challenger
He reiterated that he hasn’t endorsed Sen. John McCain and said the onetime prisoner of war “has not done a good job for the vets”
He slapped out at Republican Sen. Kelly Ayotte, saying “she has given me zero support”
He suggested that Americans should pull their 401(k) funds out of the stock market
He said he’s “always wanted” to receive a Purple Heart but that having one gifted to him by a supporter was “much easier”
He said that the handling of sexual harassment has “got to be up to the individual”
He accused Khizr Khan of being “bothered” by his plan to keep terrorists out of the country, and said that he had no regrets about his clash with the family
He appeared to feud with a crying baby during a rally
He reiterated that “if the election is rigged, I would not be surprised”
The sitting president of the United States publicly called Trump “unfit to serve” and urged Republicans to withdraw their support for him.
Trump spokesman Katrina Pierson suggested that Obama and Clinton are to blame for the death of Humayan Khan, who died in 2004, when neither were in the executive branch at the time
An ally of Paul Manafort told our colleague John Harwood at CNBC that the campaign chairman is “mailing it in,” leaving the rest of the staff “suicidal.”
Sitting GOP congressman Richard Hanna, HP head Meg Whitman and former Christie aide Maria Comella all said they plan to vote for Hillary Clinton
The Washington Post released a transcript of its full interview with Trump, indicating among other things that he paused five times to watch TV coverage in the middle of the sit-down
A GOP source told NBC’s Katy Tur that Reince Priebus is “apoplectic” over Trump’s refusal to endorse Ryan and is making calls to the campaign to express his “extreme displeasure”