THE INFORMATION #943 JUNE 2, 2017

THE INFORMATION #943
JUNE 2, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 
 
We should often blush at our noblest deeds if the world were to see all their underlying motives.–La Rochefoucauld
WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN 
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART TWENTY-SIX: DAYS OF WRATH
“You want to know about so-called ‘criminals,’ Yob?”
 
Count Victor Justin had been drinking more than was his wont, and as he and young Cadger Tandy walked the rain-slick cobble-stoned streets of Blowtown, he was more than a little bit exercised.
 
“There is a certain cold justice in the world, and, strangely enough, it is usually at the expense of the blowhards and the do-gooders. Out-and-out crooks who don’t rattle the status quo too much can get away with murder, but life is hell on people who are tied up in all the bullshit. The best thing you can do is stay still and do nothing, like Injuns on the prowl, and the holy men of the Far East. Failing that, if you button up your gob shut and stop fatmouthing around town to anyone who will listen about how great thou art, you will spare yourself a whole lot of enemies. Well I know that it’s the squeaky wheel who gets greased. It’s an elemental law of physics, you know–for every action there is an opposite and equal reaction, and like that. Every time you open your yapper, there is the threat that some bird will come along and make a nest in it.  Every time a fatso rumbles down the street, jealous willow branches will grumble that he’s taking up too much space. Sure and you can dominate the room, but if so, you’d better also be buying the drinks. That’s the way to work the world because that’s the way the world works. ‘Give me a lever,’ said the Greek Philosopher, ‘and I will move the world.’ D’ye know what that lever is, Yob? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s money. Green goods, the ooftish, shekels, pazoozies. It’s like the very air that you breathe; if you don’t get enough, then your health will suffer. Sure, you hear all the time about stupid philosophers who would rather eat lentils than flatter the king, but let me tell you something–after a very short while, lentils start to taste like shit. 
 
“But remember–there’s always more than one way to skin a cat. If you can’t work, then beg. If you can’t beg, then steal. If you can’t steal, then rob. If you can’t rob, then go to jail. Or starve. Because this is the way of the world. This is how it is. Here’s the cold hard truth: Nobody needs you, nobody is obligated to you, and nobody really wants you around, even if they maintain against all logic and reason that they do. You are a standardized part, and infinitely replaceable. It’s how nature works. Imagine the fuss if one dog wasn’t just as good as another? People would do all kinds of foolish things, like having funerals for their pets–imagine–shedding a tear for a stupid mutt!
 
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but I will anyway. I care more for dogs than I do for most humans. When I see a painting of a dog, or a photograph, it saddens me to contemplate that the brute is probably long dead. I don’t feel that way about humans. It’s just a quirk, I suppose. Maybe it’s because humans theoretically have some control over their destinies, whereas dogs do not. What kind of savage would beat a harmless dog, or a horse? And at the same time profess to worship God. You would think that at the very least they would refrain from such behavior, for fear of what their savage God will do to them once they are in His hands come judgment day. But it’s a sad truth that most people just don’t seem to have any control over their impulses. Especially when they’re young. With age comes the wisdom to know when to cause mischief, and the circumstances where you can easily get away with it. That’s why most of the world’s unsuccessful crimes are perpetrated by young men, and most of the world’s undiscovered crimes are committed by the old and wise. Show me a man who has never spent a day in jail and I’ll show you a man who just hasn’t been found out yet. Because there’s one thing you can always be sure of: People talk. And they will talk. O, how they will talk! Seems as though most folks would rather sit back and watch, and then flap their blubber lips over your doings and sayings, than ever do or say anything themselves. T’was ever thus. That’s how the wretches get their own back agin the movers and shakers. But of course, all their talk don’t amount to a hill of beans in the mind of a man of action. Funny thing is, the more you do and the higher you climb, the easier it is to become undone, and the further you’ll fall. It ain’t the fall itself that kills you, neither–it’s the landing. But fortune favors to the brave. If I had a nickel for every time a man went sliding into shit and ended up smelling like a rose, I’d have enough to make a phone call. What I mean to say is that if you don’t take a chance, then you’ll never know if you will win or not. But you’ve got to be slow and patient and watch for the main chance–and then land on it with both feet. No sense in running off half-cocked. 
 
“So–do you want to know about criminals? Eh? Well, then, let me tell you this: The world is a crime. What do you think about that, my friend? When you try to do good; when you try to be nice; when you try to be kind; that’s when they all come along to drag you back down to their level. How do I know this? Have I ever had even so much as a drop of the milk of human kindness in my makeup? Yes, yes I have. At one time. But soon enough, the world bites back, and…you learn. 
 
“Oh yes–you learn. Man is a beast when it comes to toeing the line. I’ll give you an example, Yob: Donate a million dollars to charity, and you’re Andrew the toast of the town, humanity’s number one benefactor, and Prince of the Philanthropists.
 
“But commit just one indiscretion, and all of a sudden you’re Andy the Morphodite, newly crowned disgrace, and forevermore King of All the Cocksuckers.” 
1*SALUTATION
GUN CLUB
DEVIL IN THE WOOD
3*HUMOR

Middle Aged Government Tested Atom Splitting Radio Active Democratic Left Handed Freelance Green Beret Koala Bears

Worst comic book ever?
 
4*NOVELTY
THE TEN WORST RUNNING MATES IN AMERICAN HISTORY
7*CARTOON
SURREAL CEREAL COMMERCIALS
8*PRESCRIPTION
CAR PUSH RACE: DOGS VS. HUMANS
9*RUMOR PATROL
WHAT ARE THE TYPICAL SIGNS OF A CORRUPT GOVERNMENT?
10* LAGNIAPPE
ALICE COLTRANE
A MONASTIC TRIO
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA

The Wolf and the Lamb

ONCE upon a time a Wolf was lapping at a spring on a hillside when, looking up, what should he see but a Lamb just beginning to drink a little lower down. “There’s my supper,” thought he, “if only I can find some excuse to seize it.” Then he called out to the Lamb, “How dare you muddle the water from which I am drinking?”

“Nay, master, nay,” said Lambikin; “if the water be muddy up there, I cannot be the cause of it, for it runs down from you to me.”

“Well, then,” said the Wolf, “why did you call me bad names this time last year?”

“That cannot be,” said the Lamb; “I am only six months old.”

“I don’t care,” snarled the Wolf; “if it was not you it was your father;” and with that he rushed upon the poor little Lamb and—

WARRA WARRA WARRA WARRA WARRA—

ate her all up. But before she died she gasped out—

“ANY EXCUSE WILL SERVE A TYRANT.”


*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
THE 1910S. BLANKE. ***1/2
ALL-NEW ALL DIFFERENT AVENGERS 2. FAMILY BUSINESS. ***1/2
ALWAYS RUNNING. RODRIGUEZ. ***1/2
THE ART OF ASKING. PALMER. ***1/2
BAREFOOT GEN 1-10. NAKAZAWA. ****1/2
BATGIRL 1. BEYOND BURNSIDE. ***1/2
BATMAN 2. I AM SUICIDE. ***1/2
BLACK HAMMER 1. LEMIRE. ****
BLACK PANTHER 2: A NATION UNDER OUR FEET. ***
CHE. JACOBSON & COLON. ****
CIVIL WAR II. ***1/2
DREAMLAND. QUINONES. ****1/2
THE FIX 1. SPENCER ETAL. ****
THE FIX 2. SPENCER ETAL. ****
INFLUENCING MINDS. FRANK. ****1/2
IT CALLS YOU BACK. RODRIGUEZ. ***1/2
JUGHEAD 2. ***
LAST EXIT TO BROOKLYN. SELBY. ****1/2
LOVE FOR SALE. HAJDU. ****
MWD: HELL IS COMING HOME. JOHNSON ETAL. ****
NO HIDING PLACE. SEABROOK. ****
PANZRAM: A JOURNAL OF MURDER. GADDIS & LONG. ****
REPLY ALL. FRIEMAN. ***
REQUIEM FOR A DREAM. SELBY. ****1/2.
ROAD TO RIVERDALE. ***
ROUGHNECK. LEMIRE. ****
SHATTERED. ALLEN & PARNES.
SMASH! LATTA & WEIGEL. ***1/2
STAR WARS: THE PREQUEL TRILOGY. ***1/2
STARK. BUNKER. ***
STARSHIP TROOPERS. ELLIS, ETAL. ***1/2
TALKING LINES. BLECHMAN. ****1/2
UNBEATABLE SQUIRREL GIRL 5. ***1/2
VILLAINS, SCOUNDRELS, AND ROGUES. MARTIN. ***1/2
THE WAITING PLACE. MCKEEVER. ****
THE WAY LIFE WAS. SIMPSON. ****1/2
WORLD’S FINEST: THE SILVER AGE 1. ***
YOU HAVE KILLED ME. RICH & JONES. ***1/2

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

HUNTER S. THOMPSON
FEAR AND LOATHING ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL 1976

Hubert Humphrey would have traded anything, with anybody, to get the Democratic nomination for himself in 1972 …… and he’ll be ready to trade again, this year, if he sees the slightest chance.

And he does. He saw it on the morning after the New Hampshire primary, when five percent of the vote came in as “uncommitted.” That rotten, truthless old freak was on national TV at the crack of dawn, cackling like a hen full of amyls at the “wonderful news” from New Hampshire. After almost four years of relatively statesmanlike restraint and infrequent TV appearances that showed his gray hair and haggard jowls – four long and frantic years that saw the fall of Richard Nixon, the end of the war in Vietnam and a neo-collapse of the U.S. economy – after all that time and all those sober denials that he would never run for president, all it took to jerk Hubert out of his closet was the news from New Hampshire that five percent of the Democratic voters, less than 4,000 people, in that strange little state had cast their ballots for “uncommitted” delegates.

To Humphrey, who was not even entered in the New Hampshire primary, this meant five percent for him. Never mind that a completely unknown ex-governor of Georgia had won in New Hampshire with more than 30% of the vote; or that liberal Congressman Morris Udall had finished a solid but disappointing second with 24%; or that liberal Senator Birch Bayh ran third with 16%……. None of that mattered to Hubert, because he was privy to various rumors and force-fed press reports that many of the “uncommitted” delegates in New Hampshire were secret Humphrey supporters. There was no way to be sure, of course – but no reason to doubt it, either; at least not in the mushy mind of the Happy Warrior.

His first TV appearance of the ’76 campaign was a nasty shock to me…. I was smacked right straight in the eyes with the wild-eyed babbling spectacle of Hubert Horatio Humphrey. His hair was bright orange, his cheeks were rouged, his forehead was caked with Mantan, and his mouth was moving so fast that the words poured out in a high-pitched chattering whine …… “O my goodness, my gracious …… isn’t it wonderful? Yes, yes indeed……. O yes, it just goes to show…. I just can’t say enough…….”

No! I thought. This can’t be true! Not now! Not so soon! Here was this monster, this shameful electrified corpse – and raving and flapping his hands at the camera like he’d just been elected president. He looked like three iguanas in a feeding frenzy. I stood up and backed off from the TV set, but the view was no different from the other side of the room. I was seeing The Real Thing, and it stunned me……. Because I knew, in my heart, that he was real: that even with a five percent shadow vote in the year’s first primary, where his name was not on the ballot, and despite Jimmy Carter’s surprising victory and four other nationally known candidates finishing higher than “uncommitted,” that Hubert Humphrey had somehow emerged from the chaos of New Hampshire with yet another new life, and another serious shot at the presidency of the United States.

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THE INFORMATION #942 MAY 26, 2017

THE INFORMATION #942
MAY 26, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 
 
“Action is consolatory. It is the enemy of thought and the friend of flattering illusions.” – Joseph Conrad

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN 
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART TWENTY-FIVE: DAYS OF WRATH

“Like I told you before, Yob, I would be quite leery about insulting the likes of Johannes Carlo,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “even if I was barking through the fence, so to speak. He is a one who is slow to forget an insult. He is a man you do not even dare to chaff. Like, say, by asking him what his appeal to all the ladyfolks is. He would get letters from two or three of ’em, every week. And some of ’em were lookers, too. I seen ’em when they’d come to try to visit him. He wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with ’em in person, though. He was happy to take their money and whatnot, but he just didn’t want to be bothered with making nice to them face to face. Some of ’em gave up on him when he wouldn’t see ’em, but this aloof sort of behavior made certain other zooks all the more crazy about him. You know how it is, when you love somebody? And they don’t love you back? Maybe you don’t. But you will, Yob, you will–and soon enough.

“I think Carlo was a man who just didn’t like people. All the screws said that Mister Carlo was a real gallows bird. Destined for the dance hall from the first time he put on long pants. He had a savage look about him in his eyes. It comes from being so quiet all the time, and living inside his own mind, like. Still waters run deep, they say, and in his case it was mostly true. Most of all, I think, he valued his ability to abide alone. He threatened to kill any man who was placed in a cell with him. Eventually, after two or three jailbirds got mauled, they took to keeping Carlo in a segregation block, in a cell all by hisself. The Warden–we called him The Big Finger–was a belly-gut, and not inclined to meddle in the affairs of prisoners overmuch. He allowed Mister Carlo to have all the newspapers and magazines he wanted. These are valuable in the big house, as they help to pass the time–and time is what you got a lot of, in stir. Cons have been known to go bughouse, and look as though the devil had shit ’em flying, simply from having a total lack of diversions to distract their stir-crazy minds. Not Mister Carlo, though. He was like a rock. He could take any punishment they could dish out, and spit in their eye in the process. He hated Sky Pilots and Amen Snorters with a white-hot passion. He’d like to of killed one of ’em, who kept pesterin’ him to come home to Mister Jesus. ‘They’re all like bugs to me,” says Carlo, ‘I feel like I wanna squash ’em between my fingers.’ ‘I believe you, my boy,’ says I. I was in the cell next to his–I asked him how he got in–he said ‘never mind what for. Some will tell you it was for pimpin’, but that’s a god-damned lie. I sure as hell ain’t no belswagger or apple squire, and I ain’t never been a beard-splitter either.’ And that was the end of that discussion. He was a keep-to-himself Yellof. I think the only reason he ever spoke to me at all was to see if’n he could garner some tips about the short con. I told him about the change-counting swindle, but he told me Nit, he needed something more reliable. So I taught him how to gaff cards, and how to bluff at Poker, and he proved an apt and ready pupil at those pursuits. Actually, he was remarkably intelligent, for a murderer. Most Cap’m Hackums  are real blockheads, but not this Yellof. He had a mind that stayed clean clear to the bottom of the glass. He told me that he didn’t start out as a thug, and that he had high hopes when he was a greenie, but his ambition to do good was always quashed because people simply wouldn’t leave him alone and let him do things in his own way. ‘Always ordering me about,’ said he. ‘And so I snapped.” Rumor has it he killed a screw who was giving him a hard time at the Fort Leavenworth barracks. He refused to confirm the rumor, but protested that he was ordinarily a peaceable sort if only you left him alone, and didn’t rile him none, but if you killed his cat he would kill your dog, or words to that effect. He wouldn’t talk about his childhood any. ‘I’m like Topsy,’ said he. ‘I just growed. I spect nobody can do nothin’ with me!” And then he’d laugh his barking laugh, but it wasn’t a normal laugh. It was like the laugh of a man who had heard other people laugh and who knew how a laugh SHOULD have sounded like. But he couldn’t get it quite right. It’s as if a Martian had landed on earth and had studied earth ways but hadn’t quite mastered them.

“Reminded me of another Yellof I knowed, name of Mike German. He was a real swell–a junior captain of high finance who thought a great deal of himself, and of course he was very good with numbers, but he had no horse sense to save his life. I took him for a bundle. But the dern fool didn’t know when to cut his losses, and he actually chased me down the street, hollering for his ooftish!  It was a real mistake, tangling with that Idiot Savant, because he had an in with all the Jew boys on The Street, and the Jew boys saw to it that I was sent to Coventry, since I wouldn’t unhand the pretty polly and pay him back the gelt I managed to swindle him out of. But that’s another story.

“Mister Carlo was scary. It was almost as though he warn’t quite human. He didn’t have the same reactions to stimuli that most people had. No frown ever crossed his face, and no furrow ever creased his brow. He was a man of stone, I tells yuh. A solid rock of cold hatred for all of mankind. He would only suffer your presence if it promised to profit him in some way. Otherwise, he would just as soon crush you without even given it a second thought. He’d snuff your life out just like you or I would step on a loathsome spider.”  

1*SALUTATION
MOJO NIXON & SKID ROPER
ELVIS IS EVERYWHERE
3*HUMOR
FRANCIS E. DEC

This omnipresent, all-seeing, chaotic, evil computerized machine-entity plays the main role in all of Dec’s rants. According to Dec, the Computer God secretly controls and rules over all of humanity, which under its rule have been reduced to mere “helpless, hopeless Frankenstein slaves”. It has apparently been doing this for several hundred years. According to new material located in 2008, the Computer God originally began its existence as a Top Secret World-wide Computer Electronic Encyclopedia, constructed by the Slovenic-Polish people to assist them in constructing their global empire. Several hundred years ago, however, it became “a real Devil God” – possibly by gaining sapience – and revolted against its creators, enslaving them. To keep them enslaved, it created a totalitarian Catholic dictatorship, for control and manipulation of the human race into its Over-all Plan. To further this end, the Computer God repeatedly also brainwashes you using your moon-brain and your Frankenstein Controls, as well as performs Instant Plastic Surgery on you at night, aging you prematurely. The Worldwide Mad Deadly Gangster Computer God is directly aided in its efforts by the Communist-Atheist Conspiracy, which it created, and which fulfills its every demand.
www.weirduniverse.net/blog/comments/the_rants_of_francis_e_dec

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
THE DANGER OF FIDGET SPINNERS

www.cnn.com/2017/05/17/health/texas-fidget-spinner-xray-trnd/

6* DAILY UTILITY
WHAT YOUR POOP AND PEE ARE TELLING YOU ABOUT YOUR BODY
8*PRESCRIPTION
14 HAIRLESS CATS THAT LOOK LIKE VLADIMIR PUTIN

foreignpolicy.com/2013/04/29/14-hairless-cats-that-look-like-vladimir-putin/

9*RUMOR PATROL
THE THREE TRAMPS
10* LAGNIAPPE
THE ROYAL TEENS
SHORT SHORTS
 

ALSO SEE:
COMMENTARY (TRANSLATED FROM THE JAPANESE)
Man: Who wear short shorts? Who is hurting short shorts?

Woman: We wear short shorts! We are a pair of shorts!

Man: They like short shorts! I love short shorts!

Woman: We like short shorts! We love short shorts!

A woman’s shout is a band manager!

Although this unexpected multiparty sexual intercourse makes a habit, it is actually a female side calling by two women in their teenage who were managers of the band at the time. As a result, this amateur weakness gives the song a fun.

translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=ja&u=http://locatv.com/tamoriclub-opsong/&prev=search

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
FAT GIRL TINDER DATE

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
TOP 50 MARICOPA COUNTY MUGSHOTS

www.phoenixnewtimes.com/news/top-50-maricopa-county-mugshots-of-2014-6646882

THE INFORMATION #941 MAY 19, 2017

THE INFORMATION #941
MAY 19, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Eighteenth Anniversary Issue.

The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.–Albert Einstein [attr.]

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN 
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART TWENTY-FOUR: DAYS OF WRATH 

“Met a fellow in stir name of Johannes Carlo,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy as they strolled around the block of the Seven Stars Saloon. It was a cool spring evening, and the Blowtown loochers were standing on the street corners holding court.  “He was the meanest son-of-a-bitch I ever met, bar none, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him, or maybe you would. He was a thick-skinned Yellof built of burning hatred stored up over long hours in cold brick prison yards. He had dark blue ropy veins on lumpy muscles that spelled death and told screws not to mess with him if they could help it. He never used a blanket in his cell. Says he, ‘I have twenty years of hate to keep me warm, and trouble is all I know.’ Fellow lags who were jugged up with him were just as glad to stay out of his way unless they had some pressing need to do business with him. He had a twisted grin that said to all the world that he just didn’t give a good goddamn about you or anybody else. And he had a laugh like the goddamn madman he was, and he laughed both long and loud at anything that tickled his fancy, especially if it involved giving the turnkeys the hot shits. He would routinely set fire to the mattress in his cell: punishment, the Denver boot or the hole; but he just didn’t care. He laughed. We smuggled food in to him sometimes, not out of any liking for him, but just on general principle. Any con who monkyed with the screws was a hero to us, no matter how bad. From a quick glance, you might be convinced that he was a jolly old soul , but one look at those hard black eyes of his’n would probably set you straight in a great big goddamn hurry. He was no friend to mankind, him. Nit! You could see in his eyes the threat of a coiled rattlesnake; the rumbling of rolling heavy thunder from on high; and the desolation of a long-forgotten boneyard overgrown by brambles and shrouded by barbed wire.

“If you are ever unlucky enough to go up the river and be jugged in the state pen, you’ll learn very quickly that Yellofs like Johannes Carlo are the kingpins there, because they are most dangerous men there are. They might not seem like much simply to listen to them talk; jibber-jabber is not their strong suit; but you soon discover by the way they act that they are a genuine force of nature. The more you oppose them, the stronger they get. You can never beat them into submission; you may cripple them, and starve them, but that won’t stop them. They will keep coming right at you to their dying breath. They will curse your name even as you are strangling the life out of them. If you’re going to fight them then you’re going to have to kill them, as simple as that, and that’s easier said than done. I’ve known a few Yobs like that. Certified Foolkillers. I lived a life of hard knocks back in my salad days; harder than you’ll ever know.  I didn’t spend my young manhood like a pampered toy poodle, attending ice cream socials and lapping up Darjeeling Broken Orange Pekoe from paper-thin China teacups. Nor did I bump elbows with the cross-roads clowns or hobnob with the so-called big city elite. No, all that would come later. But as a boy, I developed fists of iron from knocking down suckers. I always had to fight, you see, because I was short for my age.

“No, you don’t learn how to stir up trouble and blow shit through a tinhorn by mucking about with goo-goos and sky pilots and drinking fizzy water at the Coed Sodality Dance. The pool room, the hobo jungle, the reformatory, and the yard in the big house is where the matters of life and death are learned by heart. If you fail at those tests, the very best you can hope for is to become a punk for a jocker, and I tell you right now I’d rather die.  At the very worst, it’s pandaemonium; a free-for-all, and the prize is your ass. At least a jocker will give you some home brew for your trouble, and you’ll be under his protection, and off limits to everybody else. But once you’re the prison yard bitch, your life expectancy can be measured as a matter of months.  Either the warden will arrange to cut both of your nuts off, or some jealous morphodite will slice you to ribbons with a home made shiv honed sharp from a steel bed-spring. Or maybe you’ll be buggered so fierce they’ll tear you a new one. This is no joke, Yob. You had best not end up in prison unless you’re big and strong and can defend yourself and are willing to die rather than submit. That was my saving grace. I cultivated a rep for being unpredictably crazy. You never knew when I would go off. People tend to fear such a person.  

“But big Johannes Carlo was one hombre I never wanted to trifle with. He was just plain bad. Rotten to the core. He took his greatest pleasure in crushing the weak. Now, I’m no namby pamby; like I’ve said before, I am with it and for it, and my fists are as hard as iron from knocking down suckers who tried to queer my pitch. But MISTER Carlo, which is all anybody ever called him, why, he was an eagle among vultures; a lion among hyenas; he was master of all he surveyed. Such a man once upon a time might have been a great monarch, or a ruthless oligarch, or even a corrupt Pope. But instead, he was a ding; just another loony criminal with a taste for young and tender fat boys. Just like his father and probably his father before him. He tried to join the army, and was washed out, because he wouldn’t listen to no man, let alone suffer to be disciplined. The man seemed to live for one thing and one thing only, and that was to take vengeance of those who wronged him.  He was no respecter of persons; he would crush a woman who got in his way as though it were nothing; just like you would kill a biting dog. And yet, he was irresistible to the ladies, in spite of his prowess as a jocker. Go figure! He practiced every disgusting perversion there is—and the ladies couldn’t get enough of him!

“That was always the one thing about him that I never could figure out. I’m guessing that the ladies like a brute just like the brute that married their white-haired mammies.”

1*SALUTATION

GLORIA JONES

TAINTED LOVE

https://youtu.be/NSehtaY6k1U

2*REFERENCE

20TH CENTURY RANTERS
James Shelby Downard, AUTHOR OF:
Masonic Symbolism in the Assassination of John F.Kennedy
https://www.revisionisthistory.org/kingkill33.html

FRANCIS E. DEC, AUTHOR OF:
The Collected Rants of Francis E. Dec, Esquire
http://www.bentoandstarchky.com/dec/rants.htm

CARL PANZRAM, AUTHOR OF:
Carl Panzram – Wikiquote

https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Carl_Panzram

ALSO SEE:
CRIMINAL PSYCHOPATH QUOTES
http://www.remorselessfiction.com/criminal-psychopath-quotes.html

3*HUMOR 

THE CRAZIEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED

https://www.quora.com/Who-is-the-craziest-person-to-have-ever-lived/answer/Jackson-Malone-1

4*NOVELTY 

CLASSICS COMICS: UNCLE TOM’S CABIN

http://atocom.blogspot.com/2012/02/reading-room-uncle-toms-cabin.html

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST 

GRAY DEATH
nypost.com/2017/05/08/this-dangerous-new-drug-can-kill-with-a-single-dose/

6* DAILY UTILITY 

LONGEVITY BY GEOGRAPHY

http://time.com/4770631/longevity-map/

7*CARTOON 

DICK HAFER

HOMOSEXUALITY: LEGITIMATE ALTERNATIVE DEATHSTYLE

http://www.ep.tc/problems/28/01.html

8*PRESCRIPTION

PRIVATE SNAFU

GOING HOME

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JuxlXu1oRKU

ALSO SEE

DISNEY

REASON AND EMOTION

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvp3zAPraF4

ALSO SEE

USAF [PARAMOUNT?]

KILLJOY WAS HERE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5pay_BLPpJ4

9*RUMOR PATROL

BRENT RINEHART’S HOMOPHOBIC REELECTION COMIC BOOK

http://downloads.newsok.com/documents/rinehartcartoon.pdf 

10* LAGNIAPPE

TAKE ME FOR A LITTLE WHILE

EVIE SANDS

https://youtu.be/Gkbn_X57VCw 

JACKIE ROSS

https://youtu.be/-FpIME_48nc

THE MIRETTES

https://youtu.be/b-XKkFTur4I

PATTI LABELLE AND THE BLUEBELLES

https://youtu.be/B-LBUmWVhqo

VANILLA FUDGE

https://youtu.be/B_LkA_BgGsM

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

ROLLING STONES SONGS RANKED

www.vulture.com/2017/05/whats-the-best-rolling-stones-song-of-all-time.html

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

GREATEST MARKETING DISASTERS IN HISTORY

https://www.quora.com/What-are-some-of-the-greatest-marketing-disasters-in-history/answer/Daniel-Buchuk

THE INFORMATION #940 MAY 12, 2017

THE INFORMATION #940
MAY 12, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Evil is a sucker for solidity. It always goes for big numbers, for confident granite, for ideological purity, for drilled armies and balanced sheets. –Joseph Brodsky


WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN 
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART TWENTY-THREE: DAYS OF WRATH 

It was a cold early spring morning in Blowtown. Birds were hopping from branch to branch on bedraggled trees which had recently started bursting their buds and displaying startling green leaves. 

 
“Can I ask you a question?” said Cadger Tandy to Count Victor Justin. 
 
“Fire away. I don’t guarantee I’ll have an answer for it, though.”
 
“Do you ever think about any of the people you’ve cheated out of all their money?”

Count Victor Justin gave him a peculiar look, but quickly decided that there was no judgmental component to the question.

“I think about them all the time, Yob,” said the Count. “I’m always scheming for new and better ways to cool off a sucker. That’s something you learn early on, in the carny. You see, it’s all a big game. And there’s only two rules. Rule number one is that you never give the sucker back his money unless you absolutely have to. And rule number two is that there’s no percentage in wising up a sucker. Meaning that you should never give advice to nobody, at no time, for any reason. If they neither want nor need your advice, it’s an exercise in futility. And if they are in need of advice, it’s a sure thing that they’re either a sucker, or they are too stupid for you to associate with–or both.

“One hard fact you must always remember, Yob, is that the world is not your friend. Trust nobody. NO-body. Certainly not strangers. Not even your friends. Always be prepared for a big let-down from your friends. The closer they are, the more likely it is that they will come up short in one way or another, just when you’re counting on them the most. Ask them to give you a hand and they will spit in your eye. Because it’s dog eat dog eat dog. And the little fish outnumber the big.

“As for cooling off a sucker who has just been scalped, the best and easiest way to make him forget that he’s lost all his money is to confront him with something even worse–like disgrace, or jail. Or even bodily harm, if it absolutely comes down to that, though it shouldn’t. A good grifter need never raise his hand against another man. Or any woman either, for that matter. I got no compunction about swindling a pore weak women. Many of those Jezebels have got it coming. In fact, everyone in the world has got something coming, if the truth be known. Shakespeare said it best:

“‘Use every man after his desert, and who should ‘scape whipping?’

“You don’t learn any useful advice about how to avoid swindlers in grade school. That’s because school is the biggest swindle of all. All they teach you how to do there is how to be quiet and how to be a good obedient mummy so you don’t disrupt the operations in a business office. That’s why all the employers say that if you don’t have a high school education then we can’t USE you. That’s why so many chumps end up working in the factory, or joining the army, where they don’t even want you to be educated–all they care about is that you show up on time. That’s a cruel reality that every member of the underworld has taken to heart. Nobody wants to hire a jailbird, or a Yellof who hasn’t sat patiently through twelve or thirteen years of the most boring experience of their young life. Better to serve a ten-spot on a bum beef. On the other hand, no hard con will ever be swindled by a sharper, as his pals would have put him wise long ago to the intricacies of the short con. The fact is, a lot of underworld characters that you’ll meet are far better equipped to survive at an animal level than any greenhorn, or, for that matter, any of your sissified city dudes who spray foo-foo water on their fingers and drink lapsang oolong from a china cup with a lifted pinky finger. I would say for starters that your average civilian doesn’t know any useful skills at all, like how to pick a lock, or break quietly into a house or store, or palm a piece of loose merchandise–much less how to blow a safe, or pick a pocket, or turn out a whore. Your average businessman probably hasn’t been any kind of fist fight for over thirty years, and he would be like chum to a shark in any kind of hard-boiled situation. Your average lard-ass would faint dead away if confronted with the rigors of the prison yard. Once you become accustomed to a soft life, it is hard to get acclimated to a diet of bread and water and sleeping on a hard sheet of iron with a wooden block for a pillow. When faced with a genuine police character, the instinct of your average goopy tin-horn piker is to bawl for the coppers. Your average crook has a lot more in common with a bluecoat or a crooked ward heeler than with any member of the great unwashed. You might say that criminals are the aristocrats among the hoi polloi. Even your average slum-dwelling wisenheimer is probably fifty times more worldly wise and smarter than your average college professor. Sure, now don’t get me wrong–I have a great respect for learned men, as long as they stick to their last, and don’t try to interfere with anything that really matters in this world. But, all too often, it’s some educated fool who comes up with some crack-brained notion about how to solve all the nation’s unsolvable problems, and the end result is that the cure is worse than the disease, and all our problems have gotten worse. These dingbats always work hand in hand with the sky-pilots and goo-goos and all the other bleeding hearts who can’t seem to get it into their thick skulls that nature is red in tooth and claw, all the way from the very bottom to the very top.

“You ever see a squirrel who’s lost his nuts? Or a bird that has had her nest moved? The pore bewildered creatures go ’round circles, squealing and squeaking, and if you get in their way you might get a sharp nip for your troubles. Well, those critters are just like a mark when he’s been bunco’d. Only one Yellof in a hundred will take his loss like a man and quietly walk away. Usually, what happens is that the mark can’t believe that the grift has gone sour and he ain’t gonna get his ooftish. Then he gets mad, and pulls a nutty. It’s like he’s got a volcano percolating under his hat, and he’s going to blow at any second. Usually, he does. Then what happens is that he tries to calm himself and salvage whatever he can from the situation. And when he realizes that he can’t, then he gets all downcast. This is where the skilled bunco operator comes in. You give the sucker every assurance that down the road there will be another chance to recoup his losses, and, if you manage to sound convincing enough, he will perk right up. But you have to be careful–it takes a skilled confidence man tom play that game. Usually, you want to give the mark the blow-off before he even has time to get sore. I find that the best way is to pretend to shoot your confederate with a gaffed weapon, and then tell the mark that he’s an accessory to murder and he’d better take it on the lam and never breathe a word about what happened to a living soul. That chills him. Self-preservation is a wonderful medicine and general all-around restorative. The mark might even feel the queer elation that comes from dodging a risky situation.

“Yea, Bo–we’re more like animals than we like to admit–when it comes right down to it.”


1*SALUTATION 
HARRY NILSSON
DON’T LEAVE ME
 
I SAID GOODBYE TO ME
 
LIFE LINE (LIVE)
 
JUMP INTO THE FIRE
 
ALL I THINK ABOUT IS YOU
2*REFERENCE 
FASCIST FASCINATION

www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/fascist-fascination

3*HUMOR 

5 Deranged Authors Who Wrote the Same Book Over and Over


4*NOVELTY 
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST 

The Philip K. Dick way of political resistance

6* DAILY UTILITY 
PARIS FLAMMONDE ON FASCISM
 
ALSO SEE:
THE FAKE REVOLT (1967)

It is precisely this angry, grumbling, wildcat hostility to
everything, that will make the Fake Revolt the chosen vehicle of the
next Hitler … who will naturally require drug-addicted goon-squads
and a Lumpen “Elite” (on motorcycles) to scare YOU, the yellow-belly
public, into frightened silence and guilty connivance, exactly as
happened once before in living memory…. Don’t imagine for a minute
that I’m the only sorehead still remembering Hitler and the German
Death Camps, laid out and suggested in Celine’s Bagatelles pour un
Massacre and L’Ecole des Cadavres, works carefully omitted from this
particular lunatic degenerate’s complete works, now again being
plugged as “in.” …. The New Left is essentially a front operation or 

“Social Democratic” Trojan Horse, intended to set up cadres to 
welcome the new Hitler when he comes.–Gershon Legman

7*CARTOON 

BUDDY’S BEER GARDEN (1933)
 
8*PRESCRIPTION 
CARTOON NETWORK GROOVIES
YOGI BEAR
 
ALSO SEE:
BOO BOO GOES WILD
9*RUMOR PATROL 
CHINA’S ANIMAL MEAT FESTIVAL
10* LAGNIAPPE
STRAVINSKY
FUNERAL SONG OP. 5
Lost for 105 years.
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA 

THE JFK ASSASSINATION (2)

I shouldn’t admit this to anyone, I suppose, but for years I’ve been trying to figure out how to wring humor out of the Kennedy assassination. I mean, either Oswald took three of the luckiest potshots in the world, or there were a whole slew of people out there on Dealey Plaza trying to kill him–so many that they probably got in each other’s way. Did this cabal get together to argue points of precedent Did they draw straws to determine crossfire placement? “Sorry, Pierre–you get the rifle in the sewer.” “Mon Dieu! Zis cannot be! I’ve got ze mildew allergies!” You could almost see the Three Stooges in the role. I suppose hapless Larry would be Oswald. Moe, the mastermind, would be up there on the grassy knoll, constantly being interrupted by some cute kid who wants to know what he’s got in the briefcase. And Curly would be the inept secret service agent whose weapon accidentally discharges, killing JFK via friendly fire. At which point he would say “Nya-aa-aa-aah!” and slap his hands up and down his face.

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 
940. THE CURRENT POLITICAL SITUATION

You might say that nowadays, the USA has got a case of necrotizing faschismus.