THE INFORMATION #920 DECEMBER 23, 2016

THE INFORMATION #920
DECEMBER 23, 2016
Copyright 2016 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
 
Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life. –George Bernard Shaw
WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART THREE: DAYS OF WRATH
 

“Anyway,” said Count Victor Justin, “while we’re on the topic of the black bottle of death that they give you in the charity hospital–you’ll find an awful lot of old fools who turn forty or fifty or sixty and immediately commence to snappin’ at the bottle of Soda Pop Moon in order to drink themselves to death, because it’s their one pleasure in life, or so they say, and they think and maybe even wish for their life to be over. So they slurp down the white lightnin’ like it’s going out of style. Let me tell you something, Yob: Corn likker will never go out of style–not so long as there’s a whole passel of yahoos born and growed up every year as likes to be befoozled morning noon and night. I’ll tell you who really likes the 

sweet spirits of cats a-fighting, though–it’s people who are compelled to spiel for a living. Carnival talkers, confidence men, collich perfessers, politicians, and especially theater folk. 
 
“You haven’t really lived, Yob, until you’ve seen a prima donna on her uppers and reduced to working as a ‘hostess’ in a filthy saloon a-guzzling down the popskull like it’s nobody’s bidness and a-cursin’ the Negro clientele in Shakespearian English. 
 
“Or a lost and lonely former ticket-broker reduced to playing penny poker as a broken-down cardsharp haunting a bagnio, and drinking down the panther’s breath they serve up in the lowest of the low dumps–they call it “whiskey”, but it is a conglomeration of every liquor except whiskey. 
 
“Or the road-show manager who gets stranded in Blowtown and is reduced to taking fortifying nips of paragoric and Lemon Extract in-between sessions as a fry cook at a loathsome so-called “coffee shop” or “lunch room” which is actually a dreadful Greek Diner. The flies are so thick and everything there is so greasy that they actually start in to attacking the pictures of the food on the menu. The Chili is made from yesterday’s meat as was left on the plates; the dishwasher there is easily the fattest man in town; the gamblers and sporting men all refer to him as ‘Lucky 13′ because that’s about how long he has to live. The waiter gals there are all as pretty as any Hot Corn Girl, with smooth complexions because none of them ever eat that slop. The fat and greasy owner, with one strand of greasy black hair barely covering his bald pate, why he makes sure to give them waiter girls the old Chicago cross-jostle at regular intervals to keep them as gentled up and docile as a mooing cow. The owner’s wife–a hatchet-faced old mummy who is addicted to chloral, with her hair in an iron-colored bun, and wearin’ a filthy apron, why, she don’t care a rap what the old man is up to, just so long he keeps his pawing at her to a bare minimum. The hash is on special every day–and everything goes into the hash–kitchen leftovers–stray dogs–unfinished dinners–even yesterday’s hash. The result is garbage that even a hog would turn up his nose at–but such big portions!
 
“Or bear witness, Yob, to your average limber-limbed theatrical “leading man” who gets stranded in Noxtown, why, chances are, he goes in for a sneak thief, and guzzles alley bourbon to get up some Dutch courage. Or worse, he is reduced to matching pennies with some crack-brained pensioner or ruined sport in some villainous gin mill or filthy beer dive.
 
“Meanwhile, your average garden-variety deracinated stagehand from some busted touring show will swill down that scat whiskey and maybe go into business for himself, performing a little strong arm work in league with all the other “guns” and yeggs and disorderlies. You do know, of course, that the coppers could clean up every one of these police characters in about three days–only they choose not to, for, after all, what’s in it for them? 
 
“And then there are always the “gay cats” who ramble from town to town. If they have the ill fortune to venture too far into Dixie’s land, you can be sure that the butchers will cut ’em down–if not the railroad dicks, then the small-town sheriffs who are a law unto themselves in them parts. Your wandering itinerant workingman will always drink “smoke” or even “Jake”–Jamaica Ginger, truly terrible stuff– and if he can’t get them, he’ll turn to sterno. The coppers hereabouts have trouble corralling these shitbirds because if things grow too hot in Blowtown, why, they can always cross the river at one of a number of points and take sanctuary in some poolroom located in Belle Avon, or Mayfair in the Grove, or King’s Crossing–with all the other parasites, cheap poltroons, and hare-brained youngsters who have embezzled money from their firms in order to gamble on the horses.   
 
“And then, of course, there are the just plain bums. But at least they’re honest in their preference–they’ll drink anything you offer them, and thank you profoundly, even if it be the very worst poison Scat Whiskey to ever trickle from a busted still.
 
“But, anyway, the way I see it, there’s no real need to fear old age–unless you’ve never done anything or had any fun when you was a young’un. The fact is, age sixty is the best year of your life. You no longer get the inside meemies when you see a pretty girl, and, unless you’re in constant pain from years of cultivating bad habits, nothing much really bothers you, not even a ward-heeler, because you’ve lived long enough to have seen it all.  You got no need to befog your mind with stumphole whiskey or Blue John or block-and-tackle. Leastways, if you happen to be a happy bachelor. Because I will tell you the God’s honest truth–you can be a teetotaller, and you can be married, but chances are you can’t be both. Chronic drunkenness is grounds for divorce, sure, but marriage is grounds for chronic drunkenness. When you love women folk and decide that you’re better off livin’ with ’em than livin’ withouten them, you will find that they will say and will do things that set your inside voices to squeakin’ and a-squawkin’; and that the only way to drown those inside meemies is by way of a stiff jolt of Old Horsey. You don’t have to believe me–just ask any long-time married man. Y’see, when they’re newly minted, your average married feller will be too busy rejoycin’ about the fact that dinner is actually waitin’ on the table every evening, and his socks are darned, and he’s getting reg’lar lashings of “sugar”, and other types of affection. But all that begins to pall right quick when you’ve spent ten or twenty or even thirty years puttin’ up with a women’s incessant demands. Now, I’m not one of those bitter coots who is down on all the womenfolk. I’m just sharing with you a word to a wise, if green little Yellof. Which is as follows. Don’t be in a great big hurry to get yourself hitched. Because you know what they say–Why buy–if you can rent?”
 
1*SALUTATION
 
ALSO SEE:
MABEL SCOTT
BOOGIE WOOGIE SANTA CLAUS
2*REFERENCE
THE MONG SLUR
3*HUMOR
24 FUNNIEST ROMANIAN EXPRESSIONS
“A Romanian didn’t just “do so much with so little”. He “made a whip out of shit”.
http://matadornetwork.com/life/24-funniest-romanian-expressions/1/

ALSO SEE:
FEAR OF ARABIC COOKIES
 
4*NOVELTY
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
CHRISTMAS SONGS FOR THE 21ST CENTURY
 
FROSTY THE CHRISTMAS HOBO

A HILLBILLY CHRISTMAS
THE TWELVE DRUGS OF CHRISTMAS
SOMEBODY’S BEEN SLEEPING IN SANTA’S BED
SOUL SANTA
SANTA THE LOUDMOUTH SHAMAN
A CHRISTMAS MADE IN HEAVEN (AND LIVED IN HELL)
DEAD DOG IN A SANTA SUIT
THE FAT MAN IS COMING TO TOWN
IF THAT’S SANTA KNOCKIN’ AT THE DOOR (THEN I AIN’T HOME)
SANTA’S MY NAME (DON’T WEAR IT OUT)
ROCK & ROLL, SANTA, AND FRANKENSTEIN (WILL NEVER DIE)
FROSTY THE WHITE MAN

ALSO SEE:
6* DAILY UTILITY
GOOD NEWS FOR MAGIC MUSHROOM AFICIONADOS
7*CARTOON
STUPID COMICS: THAT WILKINS BOY AND THE YELLOW PERIL (1972)

“Any time you want me to kick your ass, come on over! My door is always open and my judo hands are always ready to grasp the lapels of your ill-fitting suit and use that leverage to hurl you bodily into walls or pieces of furniture!”

8*PRESCRIPTION 
ALSO SEE:

You may be poor if:

  • You set the thermostat to 50°F in winter.
  • You set the thermostat to 80°F in summer, or you use a fan.
  • Your roof leaks, and you don’t think it’s weird.
  • Your plumbing keeps backing up, and your landlord keeps refusing to send a professional to fix it.
  • You have intractable vermin or infestations. Your landlord has been informed, and you’ve tried self-help methods.
  • You use computers for 7–15 years. You get a new one only when the last one stops working.
  • Your first impulse when something breaks is to fix it yourself.
  • You clean and reuse disposable plates or food storage bins.
  • You wear clothes from thrift shops without irony.
  • Your furniture and dinnerware also comes, at least in part, from thrift shops.
  • You go to libraries for your entertainment needs.
  • Your car is 10+ years old.
  • Your family has one phone line.
  • You have one television set. This may double as a computer monitor.
  • You don’t know how to work a smartphone.
  • You’re not sure what a dumbphone is.
  • Multiple family members sleep in the same room, and/or some people sleep in the family room. Doing this to save on heating or cooling costs counts.
  • You qualify for food stamps.
  • You have bills you can’t pay. These were acquired in pursuit of necessities.
  • You don’t go to the doctor. You can’t afford it.

Not all of these need to apply, but they’re pretty good markers in America. The litmus test to me has always been whether you’re able to pay your bills while saving at least 5% of your income. If you can do that, you’re not poor.

If you can’t, then you need to see if there are ways you can cut costs by not buying things that aren’t essential. If you can accomplish paying your bills and saving a bit of money by sacrificing things you don’t need—like television service, for example—then you’re still not poor in my personal opinion.

A more numerically relevant assessment is that if you’re in the 50th percentile of household income or higher in your local area, then you have no claim whatsoever of poverty. The proportion of the population that can be called poor in any segment of the country varies, but 50th percentile is never anything to complain about in America.

EDIT: This answer isn’t meant to be a self-diagnosis tool. The thing that characterizes poverty is that it involves most, if not all of these factors and the poor person has no alternative.

https://www.quora.com/How-can-I-tell-if-Im-poor-in-America

ALSO SEE:

BEING POOR

http://whatever.scalzi.com/2005/09/03/being-poor/

9*RUMOR PATROL
10* LAGNIAPPE
HYDROGEN VS. BOOST
HYDROGEN: Good evening. I would like to begin by introducing myself. My name is Hydrogen and I come from a low income neighborhood where life is not very comfortable. I’ve stolen many things, and have been involved in many altercations, most of which have ended in gunfire. In addition to this, I’ve had sexual intercourse with a great number of the opposite sex. In contrast, and despite the lack of legitimate evidence, I believe you to have been in a involved in a number of homosexual activities. Activities I, and my companions, look down upon. I am so much stronger than you and, my powers of rhetoric are so much greater than yours, that you can employ an army of some sort to aid in your fight with me; but I would of course prevail because I am stronger than you. I’m sure I needn’t remind you of my place of birth where and, as I explained before, the living conditions are much worse than in your aforementioned city of residence. I would like to stop here for a moment and remind you that I am in fact orating with little, or no, prior preparation, an act commonly referred to as “freestyling.” Once again, and I think this bears repeating, I would like to restate my claim that I am, in fact, much stronger and, have endured a larger number of hardships then you. Hardships which have left me with an aggressive behavior and imposing demeanor which I believe frightens you. I know of a woman with whom you have had sexual intercourse. I, too, have had sexual intercourse with said woman and she complained to me of your less than exemplary performance in bed. She went on to explain to me in graphic details the dimensions and particulars of your genitals; and I tell you what she said was not very generous, Sir. In conclusion, I would like to leave you with a brief summary of my argument: you sir are a weak, timid, and untrustworthy homosexual. The city in which you live is not nearly as difficult to live in, nor is it in such a high state of disrepair as mine. I am superior monologist in this debate, and any claim to the contrary will result in physical violence, and perhaps even death.
BOOST: And a good day to you too, Sir. I would like to rebut your previous claims in an improvisational and rhythmic manner. I was given the name “Boost” by my peers. The alleged facts you have uncovered in regards to me are unfounded and without merit. My birthplace is not only vastly inferior to yours, but my neighbors are also much more resilient. In terms to your claim of my sexuality: Sigmund Freud theorized that, in some cases, the Semi-conscious mind manifests repressed desires, therefore leading me to believe that you, Sir, are indeed the homosexual. In fact, I once had a romantic rendezvous with your biological mother; in which fellatio was performed forthwith, and without explanation. The encounter lasted several hours and many unspeakable acts were implemented. I paid her for her services and no subsequent contact, neither verbal nor physically, has been made. I brandish a 9 millimeter pistol in which I stole from a man involved in a gang related turf war. I fired the pistol several times and in some cases critically wounded those with whom I was in contest with. I would like to inform the audience that I engage in the sale and consumption of illegal narcotics on a regular basis. Speaking candidly; I am in no form Intimidated, or fearful, of your actions as I have been involved in countless altercations which have ended less than favorably. In summation, your argument denotes a lack of intellectual honesty on your part. It is my contention that this matter would best be solved with fisticuffs. I believe I will be victorious in this regard.
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
AL CAPP
This take-down of Al Capp is hilarious:
 
The only black person who ever appeared with any regularity in L’il Abner was Rastus, The Cream of Wheat Man. 
 
A more fair-minded, though not totally accurate article:
  
CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE.
879. 

THE FAR SIDE & DENNIS THE MENACE

AN OHIO NEWSPAPER SWITCHED THE CAPTIONS FROM “DENNIS THE MENACE” AND “THE FAR SIDE”—TWICE.

The Dayton Daily News committed an unforgettable funny page blunder in August, 1981. Back then, the paper would run “The Far Side” right next to the more traditional “Dennis the Menace.” On that fateful August day, their captions were switched. “The Far Side” strip now showed a young snake who kvetches at the family dinner table by saying “Lucky I learned to make peanut butter sandwiches or we woulda starved to death by now.” Elsewhere, Dennis Mitchell—who’s munching on a sandwich of his own—groans “Oh brother … Not hamsters again!”

“What’s most embarrassing about this is how immensely improved both cartoons turned out to be,” Larson opined in The Prehistory of The Far Side. Somebody at the Dayton Daily News

made the same mistake two years later. This time, readers were confronted with a psychic cavewoman asking “If I get as big as Dad, won’t my skin be too TIGHT?” Dennis Mitchell, meanwhile, casually looked his mother in the eye and said “I see your little, petrified skull … labeled and resting on a shelf somewhere.”

 

Glade Song — Insect Trust

Preview YouTube video 1948 Mabel Scott – Boogie Woogie Santa Claus

1948 Mabel Scott – Boogie Woogie Santa Claus

Preview YouTube video Freestyle Rap Battle: Translated

Freestyle Rap Battle: Translated
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