THE INFORMATION #947 JUNE 30, 2017

THE INFORMATION #947
JUNE 30, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 


Women are made to be loved, not understood.–Oscar Wilde

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

It was the first day of summer, and the sun was still up well after most people had gotten home from work, and the streets where Count Justin Victor and Cadger Tandy walked were relatively uncrowded. The setting sun was beating slantwise on the streets which were steaming from a sudden but brief thundershower.

“I ask you, Yob,” said Count Justin Victor, “Was there ever a race of men so deprived more simple good horse-sense when it comes to women, as the men of the United States? I think not. When you’re an Empire, of course, the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. The men here are under every incentive to treat their Zooks right. Must have babies, plenty of itty bitty babies–pitiful little slobs who are loud and helpless. Do they ever stop crying? Not really. Seems as though the loochers always want something from you, if not some actual piece of you. And they demand your attention and your help for the rest of your foreshortened life. Until the day you die. This is something the Church never tells you. Be fruitful and multiply, they say. They never tell you why. The answer is simple. Any good Christian who spawns a child is too damn busy and wracked with guilt to ever get up to any monkey business. Sure, there are obvious exceptions. But let this sink in once and for all: the family is the health of the state, and any man who doesn’t have as many children as he possibly can is either an anarchist or an enemy of all that is good and decent. Of course, you know that I am being ironical. But…am I? Now, I can’t prove to you a damn thing that I’m saying, but I will tell you this much–the game is rigged. It is particularly rigged in favor of the man who just don’t give a damn, and has plenty of ooftish to back him up. I’m not saying that every chump with a mortgage hanging over his brain is bound to die in the poorhouse. What I am saying is that unless you can come up with some legalized way of theft or extortion, some legalized way to force a chump to give you his money, then playing it on the straight and narrow is a sucker bet that pays 10 to one against.  I know that people say that life is a game, a race, or even a bowl of cherries. Well, let me tell you what life really is–life is a deadly serious business. You got your profit and loss statements, your shrinkage, your accounts payable, and your break-even points. Time was, a long time ago, plenty of sons meant cheap labor so you could run the farm. But now that we live in big cities, have most of our own teeth, and wear shoes most of the time, that kind of thinking is old hat.

“Time was when you used to feed whiskey toddies to the young’uns, morning, noon and night–and I’m not saying it done ’em much good, but I don’t see how it done ’em much harm, either. Time was when if any boy of eight who didn’t know how to chew tobacco ever showed his face around our back yard, he wouldn’t never hear the end of it. Time was that every family of means had a Nigra maid and a Nigra Mammy, too. That is why, to this very day, there are plenty of Southern Gentlemen who have a decided taste for brown sugar. They will slap a Nigra wench around in the afternoon, and rest in the arms of an Octoroon in the steamy evening-time. A queer lot, those Southerners. I guess I’ve gained some perspective on ’em, having been away from ’em for thirty-odd years. When I was but a wee tad, we used to live on cornbread and fat-back, and a mess of greasy greens, and very little else. Poor folk went without shoes, and suffered something awful from hookworm, and dysentery, and malaria. Of course, it’s hard to do a job of work when you’re so afflicted, which is why Southerners just naturally count on the Nigra and on convict labor to take up the pick and shovel.”

As Count Justin Victor continued his talk, he had a sad expression on his face, as though he still hadn’t forgotten the faces of those degraded specimens of humanity. His face turned slightly red as he bent over in their perambulation to tie his shoelace, and when he stood again he was slightly winded, and paused for a moment to catch his breath, but then resumed.

“Quite frankly, Old Boy, the womenfolk have got us over a barrel. They are good to look at, good to touch, and they also smell mighty good. We know it, they know we know it, and they act accordingly. Enticing us with their wiles. They manage to suppress nearly all their faults during that courtship phase. The Zooks will take infinite pains to please a man. They will keep their mouths shut. They will not complain about his drinking and gambling. They will provide him with the best home-cooked meals, even if they have to have their mothers help them. They will terrorize their families into being on their best behavior when Froggy comes a-courtin’. And they will go to restaurants and pick at their food like little sparrows. They will take one sip of sherry and proclaim that it makes them ‘tiddly’.

“And then you say ‘I Do,’ and all the bets are off. You discover that beneath the corset and the bustles you’ve married a coarse beast with a prominent slob-belly, an insatiable appetite, and a decided thirst for strong waters. A perpetually hectoring harridan who will talk your ear off should you make the mistake of giving her the slightest back-sass, or even a cross look. Her prim and proper family will suddenly become a murderous, back-stabbing, mouth-breathing congregation of lazy slobs and loochers.

“Sic transit gloria mundi! I tell you, it’s enough to bring a tear to the eye of a stone gargoyle!”  

1*SALUTATION
MADE FOR TV 
SO AFRAID OF THE RUSSIANS
2*REFERENCE

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

PITBULL DEFENDERS

cum fuk with my pack bruh, ull get fukin slobered on into eternity, fukin swer to god they will fuking end ur life
forum.bodybuilding.com/showthread.php?t=161176373

8*PRESCRIPTION
 
ALSO SEE:
WILLIMANTIC: HEROIN TOWN

Social workers come to Jillson Square to pass out mint- and berry-flavored condoms from a wicker basket to heroin-addicted prostitutes.
www.courant.com/news/special-reports/hc-1heroin.artoct20-story.html

SEE ALSO:
JUNKIES CLOSE CUMBERLAND FARMS
THE TRUTH ABOUT WORKING AT CUMBERLAND FARMS

9*RUMOR PATROL 
PARANOIA MAGAZINE

www.paranoiamagazine.com/

10* LAGNIAPPE
BOOK! MOVIE!

There is the category of chuckleheaded Hollywood extravaganzas
which exist solely in a hermetic world known as Hollywoodland.
Shallow, hateful, solipsistic. There is reality–and there is Hollywood
reality. You could write a book if you were so inclined, in which every
aspect of false Hollywood reality is placed under the griddle. MAD
Magazine was at one time quite waspish about this very topic.
Vide “Book! Movie!” in Mad #13.
comicrazys.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/mad-013-121.jpg

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

I had a 1981 Deisel Rabbit, and every time I started it, it said “Warum,” which is German for “Why?”

WHY? Because it’s virtually impossible to get a job with a decent salary if you don’t own a car.

WHY? Because the Iron Law of Wages demands that employers only pay the minimum wage necessary to sustain the life of the worker.

WHY? Because I live in a first world country where every stable adult is virtually required to own a car.

WHY? Because evil despoilers ruined the public transportation grid.

WHY? Because they want everybody to be on the grid and tied down with the expense of maintaining a personal vehicle.

WHY? Because the powers that be want an acquiescent population who only imagines that they are truly free.

WHY? Because the movers and shakers of the world truly fear only one thing: That they will be overthrown by people with nothing to lose.

WHY? That’s enough questions for today, you Nazi death buggy!! Start, damn you–START!

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
HOW TO BEHAVE IN BRITAIN (1943) 
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MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 225 JULY 2017

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
​​NUMBER 22
JULY 2017
Copyright 2017 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

1. PRESIDENTIAL GRAVITAS
“What? Jackson up for president? Jackson? Andrew Jackson? The Jackson who used to live in Salisbury? Why, when he was here, he was such a rake that my husband would not bring him into the house! It is true,
he might have taken him out to the stable to weigh horses for a race,
and might drink a glass of whiskey with him there. Well, if Andrew
Jackson can be president, anybody can!”
–c. in Robert Vincent Remini, The Life of Andrew Jackson
 
2. ON STEREOTYPES

Q:Do monkeys bite?
A: Yes, monkeys will bite.

http://wiki.answers.com/Q/Do_monkeys_bite

Stereotypes are generalizations and, as such, are valid, but
ultimately have limited universal applicability.

Maybe stereotypes, rumors, folklore, et al., are just a form of the
party game “Chinese Whispers” or “telephone” on a mass scale.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_whispers

Stereotypes seem to be promulgated and kept into circulation by people
with blinders fashioned inextricably upon a crucial portion of their
sensory apparatus. Setting purely cultural preferences aside, there
seems to be no scientific basis for stereotypes based upon any
race-based differences. But trying to say in our current
image-obsessed culture is like trying to shout down Cotton Mather
while he hangs people accused of being witches.

http://www.localhistories.org/salem.html

And remember:
“Anti-Semitism is the socialism of fools.” –August Bebel

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/August_Bebel

See:
The Science of Stereotyping
Ewen: Defining people according to simplified categories dates back to
antiquity, and is probably an intrinsic part of human cultures.
Traditional myths, rituals and dramas routinely employed identifiable
types, but they usually symbolized different aspects of humanity
overall….

With the rise of democratic ideas, traditional ideas about the
God-given differences that justified social hierarchy fell into
disfavor. By the late 18th century, the “Divine Right of Kings” or the
idea of “Papal Infallibility” were being challenged by the ideas of
“natural rights,” “popular sovereignty” and human “inequality.” While
traditional hierarchies fought back, new caste systems arose in the
shadow of democracy. These used “scientific” tools as an argument for
social difference, as a line of defense designed to maintain social
and economic inequities. A scientific stamp of approval now certified
dividing humanity into simple, unequal categories according to race,
gender and economic status. In the 19th and 20th centuries, this
tendency accelerated and many of these simple categories became the
basic vocabulary of popular culture.
http://www.aiga.org/content.cfm/the-science-of-stereotyping-an-interview-with-elizabeth-and-stua

ALSO SEE:
ARE ASIANS BAD DRIVERS?
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=1006020700510

 

CHING CHONG ROSIE O’DONNELL
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qINiw6ub5U

3. The ten most ridiculous DC Universe characters

1) Mopee

2) The Glop
3) Zook
4) Cyrll
5) Moko
6) 
Brother Power, The Geek
7) Ultra the Multi-Alien
8) The Black Racer
9) The Space Canine Patrol Agents
10) The Legion of Super Pets
 
 
4. THIS HERE BOWL THAT I THINK MIGHT BE MADE OF SOLID GOLD ONLY I’M NOT SURE

By Hank Jim

Well, you see, there was this here Dago, Prince Something-or-Other,
and he was stone cold broke. I mean, the greaseball was just plain
flat out busted. His wallet was flat as a pancake.He didn’t have two
shillings to rub together. Well, he’s landed in London, and he’s
gotten himself fixed up to marry this here pretty little American gal
named Maggie, whose Pop is some kind of big shot in pork bellies and
fancy paintings. But then the filthy little Wop meets some dame he
used to feed the old baloney sausage to, named Charlotte, and they
decide to buy a wedding present for poor little Maggie. This old Jew
wants to sell them this this here solid gold bowl, though if it was
me, I’d rather buy her a a Tuba or some other kind of stuff. Something
useful, you know? Well the stuffy Dago Prince, he thinks the Jew is
trying to pull a fast one, and that there’s something phony about the
so-called antique, so he won’t buy the gew-gaw.

Well, anyhoo, Prince Whatshisface marries the gal, and she figures, as
newlyweds sometimes do, that her old Paw is gotten lonesome without
her, so what does she do? She fixes him up with the Charlotte gal,
only what she don’t know is, her own hubby used to bump ankles with
the little minx. Well, ole Paw marries the Charlotte gal, only
wouldn’t you know it, the sneaky Eye-tie manages to go agin all that
is decent and white and hop into bed with the sweetheart instead of
payin’ due attention to his own wife, who seems awfully wrapped up in
ole Paw anyhow.

Well, Wifey didn’t egg-zactly fall off the turnip truck, and it ain’t
long before she suspects there’s something fishy goin’ on. Wouldn’y ya
know it–she meets the old Jewish shopkeeper and buys the golden
whatzit. Well then, like no Jewish fella I ever knew, old Solomon the
antique dealer has an attack of the inside meemies and shows up at the
gal’s door to tell her he done stiffed her on the price of the
whatchamacallit. Then he just happens to see some pictures of the Dago
Prince and his little floozy, Charlotte. He tells Wifey about how
those two were in his shop previous, all lovey-dovey and yakkin’ in
Dago talk, which he just happens to understand.

Well, all hell breaks loose. It’s one swell donnybrook, and if I’m
lyin’ I’m flyin’. There’s a whole lot of jibber-jabber back and forth.
Their pals Bob and Fanny show up and get into a lot of yakkin’. That
overpriced golden whatsit falls to the floor and breaks. You see, it’s
not really a Freudian symbol, I guess–nothing sexy–it’s more like
the Wife finally gets wise to herself. So then wifey tells the snooty
Dago she’s on to him, and she sets out to bust up the affair between
her Hubby and old Charlotte. She talks old Pappy into going back to
the good old US of A with his wife, and he says he will. Well, the
Dago is so impressed with how sneaky his wife is that he decides that
he does love her, after all, and it’s a happy ending all around,
because Charlotte’s wise old paw gets sloppy seconds on a good-lookin
but kinda stupid whore and the snobby Dago Prince gets away with
running around on his wife. The Moral of the story is, ladies, if’n
you find your husband is been cheatin’ on you, drop the little girl
act and get right down to brass tacks. You can hold it over his
miserable head for the rest of his natural born days. Especially if
it’s 1904, and he’s a Dago Prince who’s squandered all his loot, and his only pal besides a whore is a fella named Bob Assingham.

 
5. UNFORTUNATE BUT REAL NAMES

These are three that I’m personally aware of:
Carmen Calabrese (a hot-tempered Italian).
Danny Boss (a bully, now deceased).
Rex Mounts (a pedophile).

I also went to school with boys named:
Johnny Shoemaker
Jackie Aphid
Eugene Dong

I have always been fascinated by these actresses:
Tawny Kitaen
Shannon Tweed

There are many MANY more odd names out there:
Ima Hogg
Holiday Beverage
Mike McGillicutty
Pat McGloin
Jeff Hung
Mr. Fagg
Preston Cox
Ray Guy
Herbie Derby
Harry Johnson
Jason Gay
Sally Sunshine
Autumn Spell
Gremlin Wayne
Dottie Pickup (the school slut)
Timmy Piss
Dick Wong
Wendy Dirkman
Scott Baron
Adam (Hugh) Jass
Eugene Farnsworth
Jerry Derryberry
Lovely Flowers
Innocent Egbhutu
Frank Gross
Gay Warman
Russell Russell
Peter Tinkle
Donald Duck
Emma Nutt
Kieran McKiernan
Mimi LeBrie
Hong Wang
Lancelot Watson
Harvey Noseworthy
David DeCunto
Bob Glasscock
Dick Brisky
Caroline Kerouac
Ethelyn Foy
Shorty Long
April May June
S. J. Pancake
Miss Hickey
Misty Frost
Michelle Fling
Phuk Yu
Harry Aas
Nippin Dipshit
Jack Goff
Clyde Foote
Joan Thing
Gary Gygax
Jenna Teelia
The Gross triplets
Eugene DeVine
Brother Wayne Slomany
Sandy Chin
Buck Burke
Richard Bonner
Charlie Boston
Cathy Cunniff
Forest Kocker
Ricky Longbottom
Grant Cogswell
Kim Pease
Erica Fries
Dennis Biers
Heather Hamburger
Harley Bubba Johnson
Harry Horner
Robin Hood
Billy Fuckwit
Garth Vaida
Harry Wang
Kevin Seaman
Tom Dung
Margarette Mary Jacqueline Manoogian
Willie Williams
LaSallette Charrette
Dawn Dumschat
Odd Hjetland
Sandy Beaver
Hans Swett
Maylene Rydhard
Libby Pease
Georgia Peach
Katy Hoar
Felicity Sparks
Nelson Sprelson
Eulich Crotch
Alana Dick
Goupton Nahboodripud
Mike Hunt
Justin Case
Dr. Sackenoff (a vasectomist)
Allison Dick
Rocco Capone
Brock Romano
Harry Dick
Tom Morrow
Joseph Hamburger
Mona Carbona
Tim Mc(M)anus
Mr. Gross
Miss Fish
Penister Schlumpfer
Peter Woodcock
Anita Ho
Sal Salvatory
Brock Schmuck
Harry Kooch
Richard Sprinkle
Dr. Bum Suck Lee
Dr. Laura Frankenstein
Swordy Loverich
Isaac Abagodicks
Suk-Hee Lee, Ph.D.
Hyman Doodlesack
Charity Wang
Patsy Bumgardener
Mr. Death
Nicky Butt
Dean Windass
Mary Christmas
Crystal Brooks
Misty Brooks.
Dr. Slaughter
Nurse Blood.
Dr. Dong

AND, LEST WE FORGET:

Dick Bagg
Dick Leak
Dick Bender
Dick Harding
Dick Power
Dick Ring
Dick Long
Dick Cutting
Dick Little
Dick Friend
Dick Brain
Dick Aiken
Dick Cummings
Dick Trickle
Dick Paradise
Dick Longing
Dick Weed
Dick Swett

Also See:
“Yes, I am Dick Armey. And if there is a dick army, Barney Frank would
want to join up.”
http://www.nndb.com/people/211/000024139/

 

6. NEW NICKNAMES FOR BOSTON

“Beantown” and “The Hub” have gotten old. My good friend and long-time native Joe Coughlin has proposed BIG SURLY and WICKEDPISSAVILLE, and I humbly propose the following:

HOBOTOWN
OLDEFARTE
POORMOUTH JUNCTION
MAGIC LAND OF SPIKED GINGER ALE
GINBURGH
DAFFYTOWN
SHELLELAGHLAND
IRATOWN
LAGOMORPH SQUARE
PLANET GOODFELLOW
TURKEYHASH CITY
TOO MUCH DEMOCRACY LAND
ISLAND OF THE SKY GHETTOES
ARROGANTOWN
THIRSTY MONKEYBURGH
MONKEYPOX ISLAND
THE DRUG AND DEATH CORRIDOR
LAND OF THE WEIRDLY SPINELESS
THE SUBARCTIC TECH CORRIDOR
HOME OF THE TURTLEHEADS
MASTERBATOWN
FUCKWIT ISLAND
THE GRAND DOUCHEY OF CLOUDCUCKOOLAND
PINKO CORNERS
SOYBERG
NUTOWN
HARPBURG
LICETER
NORTHEAST SECONDARY SEWAGE PROCESSING DEPOT #5
STERCORE HUMANO
BUCKETTOWN
SIMBA CITY
EXISTENTIALTOWN
CORRUPTIONBURG
POPETOWN
NOTOWN
NETOWN
MI COSA NOSTRA ES SU COSA NOSTRA


7. All-time best comic strips


1) Dick Tracy by Chester Gould
2) Little Orphan Annie by Harold Gray
3) Pogo by Walt Kelly
4) Thimble Theatre by Elzie Segar
5) Krazy Kat by George Herriman
6) Polly and Her Pals by Cliff Sterrett
7) Our Boarding House/Room and Board/The Squirrel Cage by Gene Ahern
8) Abbie ‘n’ Slats by Raeburn Van Buren
9) Peanuts by Charles Schultz
10) Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson
11) Li’l Abner by Al Capp
12) Toonerville Trolley by Fontaine Fox
13) Skippy by Percy Crosby
14) Barnaby by Crockett Johnson
15) Count Screwloose of Toulouse (or anything by Milt Gross)
16) Smokey Stover by Bill Holman
17) Out Our Way by J.R. Williams
18) Bringing Up Father by George McManus
19) Little Nemo In Slumberland by Winsor McKay
20) Wash Tubbs and Captain Easy by Roy Crane
21) Parlor, Bedroom & Sink by Billy DeBeck
22) Sam’s Strip by Jerry Dumas and Mort Walker
23 Mutt and Jeff by Bud Fisher
24) Gasoline Alley by Frank King
25) The Far Side by Gary Larson
26) The Outbursts of Everett True by A. D. Condo and J.W. Raper
27) White Boy by Garrett Price
28) Moon Mullins by Frank Willard
29 Jackys Diary by Jack Mendelsohn
30) Sparky Watts by Boody Rogers

 
8. BENEFITS OF DRINKING VS. NOT DRINKING

DRINKING
Enables you to be an agreeable companion to those who share your inclinations and outlooks.
Makes hopeless drunks not think of you as a stuck up snob.
Gives your sweat an interesting aroma.
The liquor store owner will be sad when you die.
Keeps you on the reservation and out the white man’s hair.

NOT DRINKING
Save tons of money.
No DUIs, ever, no matter how fast and recklessly you were driving.
Less likely to do stupid things, or fuck the wrong people.

Or fuck with the wrong people.


Easier to lose weight.
Brain cells and liver stay healthy.
Less chance of cancer.
No coyote uglies in your bed.
No puke.
Possibility of pleasant breath.
Less gum disease.
No waking up in jail.
Your ex doesn’t have an email…or an answering machine message….from 2 am… that you will live to regret.
You don’t have to blame whiskey for my own idiocy. As in, “It was the whiskey talking.” No,
 YOUR own idiocy. As in, “It was the whiskey talking.” No, drunky, it was the stupified brain cells in your central cerebral cortex which put your limbic system in charge, and that’s what did the talkin’! 


You don’t get drunk.


 
9. JFK GOES TO NUT COUNTRY
Initially, Dallas seemed intent on playing into the White House’s
hands. The Morning News of November 22 carried a full-page
advertisement on page 14, rimmed in black, underwritten by a group
calling itself the “American Fact-Finding Committee.” Under a
sarcastic headline, “welcome mr. kennedy to dallas,” the committee
listed twelve deliberately provocative questions, all couched to
insinuate that the president (and his brother, the attorney general)
were unbearably soft on Communism. The advertisement complemented a
handbill that had appeared mysteriously overnight under doors and on
the windshields of countless Dallas cars. Featuring the president’s
image from the front and the left side, as if taken from a police mug
shot, the broadside accused him of turning the United States over to
the “communist controlled United Nations.” In case the imagery or text
was lost on anyone, the headline read, “wanted for treason.”
After reading the paid advertisement, the president sought to prepare
Jacqueline Kennedy for any unpleasantness that might occur in the
afternoon. “Oh, you know,” John Kennedy remarked to his wife, “we’re
heading into nut country today.”ALSO SEE:The information I present in these pages on the Kennedy assassination
is well-known to certain news agencies who have chosen to suppress it,
just as the motivation for the assassination has been plunged into
cryonic secrecy. Masonic betrayal of the “common man” involves
archetypes of fertility and death symbolism seemingly motivated to
bring about syncretism in opposing principles in order to green
Israel, rebuild the Temple of Solomon and establish a One World
government.It is by way of Masonic sorcery that the union of opposing principles
is supposed to be brought about. The criminals who stage-managed
Dallas in the killing of Kennedy have controlled the American people’s
will in exchange for a sleep without nightmares. I publish this in the
wake of the situation Charles Seymour alluded to: “The moralist
unquestionably secures wide support; but he also wearies his
audience.” Most Americans are beyond being tired; the revelations have
benumbed them.

http://www.revisionisthistory.org/kingkill33.html

10. SCATOLOGY

Gershon Legman (No Laughing Matter, 1975) classifies this form of
humor as “Food Dirtying”, a sub-category of “Scatology”.

SEE:
Captain Bourke’s Scatalogic Rites of All Nations
[Scatalogic Rites of All Nations: A Dissertation upon the Employment
of Excrementitious Remedial Agents in Religion, Therapeutics,
Divination, Witchcraft, Love-Philters, etc., in all Parts of the
Globe. Based Upon Original Notes and Personal Observations, and upon
Compilation from over One Thousand Authorities. Not for General
Perusal. ]
http://www.poopreport.com/Academic/Content/Gerling/gerling.html

AMAZON REVIEW:
http://www.amazon.com/Scatalogic-Rites-Nations-John-Bourke/dp/0766161927
Key Phrases – Statistically Improbable Phrases (SIPs): (learn more)
catamenial fluid, urine dance, human ordure, stercore humano, cockle
bread, poultry dung, urine drunk, dung gods, excrement gods, white
dung, own ordure, grand lama, hard tumors, uterine troubles, yellow
jaundice, mortuary ceremonies, human urine, war customs, abnormal
appetite, animal excreta, own urine, sonal letter, warm urine

 
11. MY ABYSMAL IGNORANCE OF POPULAR CULTURE


I’ve never seen an episode of the Sopranos. But I liked

“The Shield” on FX and “Mad Men” on AMC.

Star Trek always bored me silly. But I loved “Land of the Giants” and
“Lost in Space”. (Hey–I was ten.)

Never saw Gone with the Wind, or Casablanca;  nor Ghostbusters nor Caddyshack.

Saw most of “Back to School” but I missed the best part (Rodney’s commercial).

And I haven’t followed rap in many many years. Not since I was about,
ohhh, 26….

In my drinking days I’ve had a martini a time or two. I wasn’t any too
impressed. My grandfather, however,  swore by the benefits of a shot
of sweet vermouth every morning. When he went to the hospital, he told
this to the doctors and nurses. When they began referring to him as
“The Vermouth Man”  my Aunt Lucille slapped them down–hard (God bless her).

DITTO:
The TV show M*A*S*H (which I actually hate, though the movie was pretty good).
The Office (though the 1 or 2 partial episodes I’ve seen I’ve kinda
not disliked).
Amy Winehouse
The Da Vinci Code. I didn’t even make it through the first chapter.
Tom Clancy and John Grisham books. I read one apiece. These are
productions for which the word “meh” was invented.
Survivor and all reality-based television
Law and Order, ER, and all repetitive dramas
30 Rock and the Office
Pro hockey, baseball, football, and basketball don’t move me. But I’ll
watch a boxing match.
Golf I associate with new money.
NASCAR with no money.
The Olympics or OK, but I feel no compelling need to watch them.
Star Wars (Though I have seen episodes I, IV, and V. Which were plenty.)
Video Games.

As a student of pop culture and mythology I do take an unhealthy
interest in Superheroes (comics only–TV and movies are generally
poorly done, though–of those I’ve seen recently, Hellboy was
acceptable, Constantine was OK, and From Hell was adequate).

And I’m always willing to read sordid tales of true crime and serial killers.

There’s very little I’m not at least superficially interested in. BUT:
I refuse to waste my time on the sorts of trivia with which other
people seem to be obsessed, simply because the media machine requires
us to be informed regarding it.

 
12. AN OLD-TIME CLASSIC ORATION

CHANGE THE NAME OF ARKANSAW? HELL, NO!

Gentlemen, you may tear down the honored pictures from the halls of
the United States Senate, desecrate the grave of George Washington,
haul down the Stars and Stripes, curse the Goddess of Liberty, and
knock down the tomb of U.S. Grant, but your crime would in no wise
compare in enormity with what you propose to do when you would change
the name of Arkansas! Change the name of Arkansas? Hell-fire, NO!
Compare the lily of the valley to the gorgeous sunrise; the discordant
croak of the bullfrog to the melodious tones of a nightingale; the
classic strains of Mozart to the bray of a Mexican mule; the puny arm
of a Peruvian prince to the muscles of a Roman gladiator – but never
will you change the name of Arkansas! Hell, NO!

Hear me, gentlemen – The man who would CHANGE THE NAME OF ARKANSAS is the original iron-jawed, brass-mounted, copper-bellied corpse-maker from the wilds of the Ozarks! Sired by a hurricane, dammed by an earthquake, half-brother to the cholera, nearly related to the
small-pox on his mother’s side, he is the man they call Sudden Death
and General Desolation! He takes nineteen alligators and a barrel of
whiskey for breakfast, when he is in robust health; and a bushel of
rattlesnakes and a dead body when he is ailing. He splits the
everlasting rocks with his glance, and quenches the thunder when he
speaks!

Change the name of Arkansas? Hell, NO! Stand back and give him room
according to his strength. Blood’s his natural drink! And the wails of
the dying music to his ears! Cast your eyes on the gentleman, and lay
low and hold your breath, for he’s ’bout to turn himself loose! He’s
the bloodiest son of a wild-cat that lives, who would change the name
of Arkansas! Hold him down to earth, for he is a child of sin! Don’t
attempt to look at him with your naked eye, gentlemen; use smoked
glass. The man who would change the name of Arkansas, by gosh, would
use the meridians of longitude and the parallels of latitude for a
seine, and drag the Atlantic Ocean for whales! He would scratch
himself awake with the lightning, and purr himself to sleep with the
thunder! When he’s cold, he would “bile” the Gulf of Mexico and bathe
in it! When he’s hot, he would fan himself with an equinoctial storm!
When he’s thirsty, he would reach up and suck a cloud dry like a
sponge! When he’s hungry, famine follows in his wake! You may put your
hand on the sun’s face, and make it night on earth; bite a piece out
of the moon, and hurry the seasons; shake yourself and rumble the
mountains; but, sir, you will never change the name of Arkansas! Hell,
NO!

The man who would change the name of Arkansas, would massacre isolated
communities as a pastime. He would destroy nationalities as a serious
business! He would use the boundless vastness of the Great American
Desert for his private grave-yard! He would attempt to extract
sunshine from cucumbers! Hide the stars in a nail-keg, put the sky to
soak in a gourd, hang the Arkansas River from a clothesline; unbuckle
the belly-band of Time, and turn the sun and moon out to pasture; but
you will never change the name of Arkansas! The world will again pause
and wonder at the audacity of the lop-eared, lantern-jawed,
half-breed, half-born, whiskey-soaked hyena who has proposed to change
the name of Arkansas!

He’s just starting to climb the political banister, and wants to knock
the hay-seed out of his hair, pull the splinters out of his feet, and
push on and up to the governorship. But change the name of Arkansas?
HELL, NO!

UNEXPURGATED VERSION

Mr. Speaker, god-damn your soul, for more than thirty minutes I’ve
been trying to get your attention but every time I caught your eye you
squirmed like a damn dog with a flea in his ass.

I guess you know who I am Sir. My name is Cassius M. Johnson from
Jackson County, Arkansas where a man can’t stick his ass out the
window and shit without it getting riddled with bullets. Why Sir, I
was fourteen years old before I had my first pair of pants and they
was of buckskin. But at the age of seventeen Mr. Speaker, I had a jock
on me the size of a roasting ear and it was the pride of Jackson
County. And you propose to change the name of Arkansas. Never, by God
Sir, never!

I’m out of order? How can I be out of order when I can piss clear
across the Mississippi River?

Where was Andrew Jackson when the battle of New Orleans was fit? He
was right thar Sir, up to his ass in blood. And you change the name of
Arkansas? Never, when I can defend her.

You may shit on the grave of George Washington. Piss on the monument
of Thomas Jefferson. You may desecrate the sacred remains of the
immortal General Robert E. Lee. You may rape the Goddess of Liberty
and wipe your ass on the Stars and Stripes. And your crime, your crime
Sir will no more compare to this hellish design than the glow of a
lightning-bug’s ass to the glare of the noon days sun. And you propose
to change the name of Arkansas. Never, by God Sir, never!

You may compare the lily of the valley to the glorious sunflower. Or
the sun-kissed peaks of the highest mountains to the smokin’ turd of a
dunghill. Or the classic strains of Mozart to the fart of a Mexican
burrow. You may compare the puny penis of a Peruvian prince to the
ponderous buttocks of the Roman gladiator. But change the name of
Arkansas? Never, by God Sir, never!

THE INFORMATION #948 JULY 7,2017

THE INFORMATION #948
JULY 7, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 


To become a singer requires work, work, and again, work! It need not be in any special corner of the earth; there is no one spot that will do more for you than other places. It doesn’t matter so much where you are if you have intelligence and a good ear.–Caruso

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

The early summer rains were finally gone, and, with the mercilessly pounding sun throughout the long afternoons there also came new excuses for the menfolk of Blowtown to gather in their favorite low dive. But Count Victor Justin and Cadger Tandy continued their perambulations, venturing farther afield out of Blowtown and into Noxtown proper and straying down to the boardwalk, and the docks beside the Salt River. The Count brought along a flask of what he called tanglefoot whiskey, but Cadger Tandy did not indulge beyond a solitary sip, for he as yet had developed very little tolerance for either the taste or the effects of rotgut.
 
“Did I ever tell you, Yob,” said Count Victor Justin, “About the time I rescued the great Caruso from the toils of extortionists?”
 
“Crusoe? Crusoe who? Robinson Crusoe?”
 
“No no no! Enrico Caruso!”
 
“Who’s that?” 
 
“Is it possible that you do not recognize the name of the greatest tenor in the world?”
 
“What’s a ‘tenner’?”
 
As it turns out, Tandy was pulling the Count’s leg, and the Count, in acknowledging that he recognized his attempt at con artistry, smacked him fondly on the side of the head and called him a Mamaluke.
 
“Caruso, the great Opera singer, was on an engagement to sing Pagliacci, I believe, and was receiving threatening notes from an organization that called itself ‘The Black Hand Company of Death.’ Well, it just so happens that at that time I was a great admirer of his, and we had gotten acquainted on an ocean cruise years earlier. He had a curious way of expressing himself. His English was not so good–it was rather stagy, as a matter of fact. He was given to saying things like “I laugh, Ho Ho, at seasickness.’ Then the boat would rock, and he would promptly puke over the side. 
 
“So anyway,  Caruso somehow got ahold of me–Lord knows how–and invited me to lunch. Said he had a proposition to discuss with me. Well, that was a bluff. What he wanted to talk about was ‘la mano nero compagnia della morte’. For all his worries, however, he still had a good appetite–prodigious, as a matter of fact. Lately, he had taken to always carrying around a sword cane, as though he was convinced that a mere gew-gaw of that sort would protect him against assassins. ‘Think you I fear at these threats?’ And his eyes would open wide. ‘Ho ho! I will cut them all down like flies!’ he would proclaim, as he poked his cane around at his nonexistent antagonists like some sort of pudgy swashbuckler. Maybe he thought he was auditioning for the role of the Prisoner of Zenda, who knows?
 
“Anyway, I told him, in so many words, that he was a fool if he thought that he could tackle that bunch of cut-throats without help. And I told him that I was such a great admirer of his that I would attempt to catch the culprits, and turn them over to the law. Of course, I had no intention of doing any such thing. What I mean to say is that though friendship may be eternal, the chance to make a good score trumps even the eternal, by the neddy jingo.
 
“So I agreed to act as Caruso’s go-between as, per the extortion letter,  he stuffed an envelope with two thousand dollars, consisting of twenty  crisp hundred dollar bills. But instead of meeting the black hand thugs, I simply went to the local padrone and told him the situation, and he straightened it out with the guys from the so-called Black Hand, who weren’t from the Company of Death at all. They were just two young guys who had gotten in over their heads at faro and owed a debt to an impatient loan shark. The Padrone suggested to the men that they go after a victim other than the great Caruso.  He suggested to the loan shark that he give the two men a little more time. Andh suggested to me that I give him a thousand bucks, as his ‘fee,’ which I did, and gladly, even though I usually hate having to divvy up a score. So I pocketed a thousand ducats, unbeknownest to all and sundry except the Padrone, and Caruso was happy,  because at that time he could earn two thousand dollars for one or two nights of work. And also because he figured that since he had made the pay-off, all his problems were a thing of the past. 
 
“Unfortunately the boys in the press got wind of the fact that Caruso had paid off some blackmailers. They got the story all wrong, of course, just like they always do, but unfortunately for Caruso, once word got out to the public about the caper, Caruso soon had a stack of ‘black hand’ letters that was growing up to his chin. I didn’t have anything against Caruso–like I said, I was a great admirer of his, so I urged him to go to the police, even though the threatening letters told him not to. ‘That I cannot do,’ said he, ‘for I would look like a coward.’ I told him he was a fool if he paid any more ransom to those birds, because they wouldn’t stop but would continue on ’til they had sucked him dry. He wouldn’t believe me, so finally I went to the police myself. There was this Italian copper who seemed pretty square, and so I had one of my sarcastic Dago friends go up to him and put a bug in his ear about how La Mano Nero was putting the squeeze on Caruso.  
 
As for the matter of Caruso’s pride, all I had to do was tell him that if he DIDn’t tell the police, it would look as though he were afraid of the blackmailers. Thank God, that story somehow made sense to him, and that was the line he took. ‘I tell the police,’ says he, ‘to show the world I am not afraid.’
 
“But from that time forward, Caruso hardly ever went anywhere without a couple of huskies who walked behind him to watch his back. 
 
“It took me a lot of pulling of strings, but I finally settled Caruso’s problems. And made me a thousand smackers in the bargain. And that ain’t hay! That moolah done kept me in coffee and cake for well over a year!”
1*SALUTATION
The Dukes of Stratosphear 
BIKE RIDE TO THE MOON
Demo:
ALSO SEE:
TREMELOES
HERE COMES MY BABY
2*REFERENCE
LEARNING FROM LYRICS 
4*NOVELTY 
SONNY SHARROCK 
BLACK WOMAN 
 
ALSO SEE: 
ZOOT HORN ROLLO 
WE SAW A BOZO UNDER THE SEA 
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

THE WORST SONG IN THE WORLD
JUGHEAD AND SON
“SUGAR SUGAR”

6* DAILY UTILITY
WEIRD RETRO
7*CARTOON
THE WILD, WILD WEST (TELEVISION SHOW): ANIMATED INTRO

Clowning and travesty are very often the signs of a genre crumbling into baroque decay. The Wild Wild West took the Western angle and spoofed it up with spy gadgets in a lackluster and mostly insipidly risque fashion for the putative amusement of tots and morons. (Though as a child I used to love it when the lady’s skirt was exposed in the animated intro.)

8*PRESCRIPTION
NONPAREILS

Why do they call them ‘nonpareils’?
They’re actually pretty mediocre.
As for me, I don’t eat Jimmies.
They’re too lowbrow.
I only eat ‘Jameses’.

https://www.oldtimecandy.com/walk-the-candy-aisle/nonpareils

THE BLOODY LEGACY OF PRE-CODE CRIME
www.crimeboss.com/history02-1.html

TWISTED COMIC BOOKS                                                                                                                                                        www.printmag.com/interviews/twisted-comic-books/
10* LAGNIAPPE
MARTY ROBBINS

AIN’T I RIGHT(1966)

You came down to this southern town last summer
To show the folks a brand new way of life
But all you’ve shown the folks around here is trouble
And you’ve only added misery to their strife
Your concern is not to help the people
And I’ll say again, though it’s been often said
Your concern is just to bring discomfort, my friend
And your policy is just a little red

Now, ain’t I right (ain’t he right)
(ain’t he right)

It matters not to you how people suffer
And should they, you’d consider that a gain
You bring a lot of trouble to the town and then you leave
That’s part of your Communistic game
I detect a little Communisim
I can see it in the things ya do
Communisim, socialism call it what you like
There’s very little difference in the two

Now, ain’t I right (ain’t he right)
(ain’t he right)

Your followers sometimes have been a bearded, hatless bunch
There’s even been a minister or two
A priest, a nun, a rabbi and an educated man
Have listened and been taken in by you
Aw, the country’s full of two-faced politicians
Who encourage you with words that go like this
Burn your draft card if you like, it’s good to disagree
That’s a get acquainted Communistic kiss

Now, ain’t I right (ain’t he right)
(ain’t he right)

One politician said it would be nice to send some blood
And help the enemy in Vietnam
That’s what he says, here’s what I say
Let’s just keep the blood
Instead let’s send that politician man
Let’s rid the country of the politicians,
Who call us tramps, that march out in our streets
Protesting those who wanna fight for freedom, my friend
This kind of leader makes our country weak

Now, ain’t I right (ain’t he right)
(ain’t he right)

Let’s look and find the strong and able leaders
It’s time we found just how our neighbors stand
If we’re to win this war with Communism
Let’s fight it here as well as Vietnam
Let’s rise as one and meet our obligations
So Communistic boots will never trod
Across the fields of freedom that were given to us
With the blessing of our great almighty God
Across the fields of freedom that were given to us
With the blessing of our great almighty God

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

Obama wasn’t perfect, but he was Mr. Personality incarnate when compared to that Dud Vader the Republicans coughed up like an Aqua Velva scented hairball. Mitt certainly doesn’t pass the President You Would Most Like to Have a Beer With. Maybe a cup of hot steaming Postum, but even then I doubt it.

Because let’s face it–Romney was a real stiff. His pappy was a tongue-tied oaf, and he was a real lame-o himself; a take-my-picture prop cut-out of his Paw with all the charisma of a cardboard box. His rap about running the government like a business is a real boodle of bad jive–a certified groaner–strictly from hunger–the Republican version of a slick package, and by “slick” I mean that he was basically whistling the same tune as good old Bob Taft back in 1952– Taft, bopping and jiving to the Melachrino strings and calling for giving America back to its real owners, string-tied, beaver-hatted fat-cats from the Southland who play penny poker with oil wells and spend their lazy summer nights rocking on the old plantation porch, smoking cheroots, sipping mint juleps, and damning deficit spending as a Communist plot.

Had Mr. Romney been elected we might well have been saddled with our worst President since Harding–only perhaps this is unfair to Harding, since Mitt is way too uptight and rigid to be even one per cent as likeable in a slob sort of way as the unfortunate and overwhelmed Martyr President (who, allegedly, perished from eating spoiled Alaskan King Crab Salad). The 2012 Republican nominee (and has there ever been a potential President since the long-dead days of Schulyer Colfax and Horace Greeley with a stranger name than Mitt Romney?) seemed, not only insulated from normal American concerns, but also strangely ill-at-ease with arguably human concerns, and he even seemed utterly incapable of paying so much as lip-service to such generally-accepted conventions as Compassion for the Poor, Kindness to Dumb Animals, Equality in the Workplace, and any of a number of other modern-era homo sapien-like attributes. His playbook seemed strictly from the 90’s–the 1790s. To make matters worse, his affect seemed deeply deeply off. He made Nixon come across like the lusty and profane stogie-chomping sailor he longed to be; made H. Ross Perot look like a hip, finger-popping Mack Daddy, and Al Gore come off as sophisticated a bon vivant as Noel Coward in his prime. But let’s at least say this much for Mitt–he was endlessly entertaining, like a holographic diorama of a perpetual trainwreck; his jeer-worthy campaign made him the priceless fodder of political jokemongers thoughout this great land of ours. Thankfully, for the future of the Republic, he was as gaffe-prone as his hapless Paw, Michigan Governor George W. “Brainwashed” Romney. As a matter of fact, he was a walking gaffe. Mitt will remain for a long time to come the gold standard for every other hopelessly isolated and insolent plutocrat with an unjustifiably inflated ego cojoined with an irrational, nearly messianic hankering for the highest office. To paraphrase Jack Warner: “No, no–MCCAIN for President; ROMNEY for POPE!”

 
*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
1001 SMARTEST THINGS EVER SAID. PRICE, ED. ****
2 SISTERS. KINDT. ****
3 STORY. KINDT. ***1/2
AFAR. DEL DUCA & SEATON. ***1/2
ALEC. CAMPBELL. ****
ALL & SUNDRY. HORNSCHEMEIR. ***1/2
ALL-STAR BATMAN 1. MY OWN WORST ENEMY. ***1/2
ARCHIE 3. ***1/2
THE A-Z ENCYCLOPEDIA OF SERIAL KILLERS. SCHECHTER. ***
BAD PRESS. WARD. ***1/2
BARBED QUOTES. ***1/2
BATMAN: LEGACY 1. ***1/2 
BATMAN ARKHAM: MR. FREEZE. ***1/2
BATMAN/SUPERMAN 6. UNIVERSE’S FINEST. ****
BATMAN/TWO FACE: FACE THE FACE. ***1/2
BITCH PLANET 2. ****
BLOODSHOT 4. ***1/2
CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’. BAGIEU. ****
CITIZEN HOBO. DEPASTINO. ****1/2
CITY OF DREAMS. ANBINDER. ****1/2
CONSPIRACY THEORY IN AMERICA. DE HAVEN-SMITH. ****1/2
DEADPOOL: TOO SOON? **1/2
DEATHSTROKE 1. THE PROFESSIONAL. ***1/2
DEPT. H 1: PRESSURE. KINDT. ***1/2
DERANGED. SCHECHTER. ****
DIVINITY 1. KINDT. ****
DRINKING IN AMERICA. CHEEVER. ****
EVERYTHING IS FLAMMABLE. BELL. ****
FLINTSTONES 1. ****
THE GRAPHIC CANON 3. KICK, ED. ****1/2
GREEN ARROW 2. ISLAND OF SCARS. ***1/2
HARLEY QUINN 1. DIE LAUGHING. ***1/2
HELLBOY. INTO THE SILENT SEA. ****
IMAGINE WANTING ONLY THIS. RADTKE. ****
INJUSTICE: GODS AMONG US YEAR FIVE VOL. 2. ****
JSA: THE GOLDEN AGE. ***1/2
JUSTICE LEAGUE OF AMERICA THE SILVER AGE VOL. 3. ***
THE LAST GOOD HEIST. WHITE, ET. AL. ****
LAST THINGS. MOSS. ****1/2
LUNARBABOON: THE DAILY LIFE OF PARENTHOOD. GRADY. ***
MIND MGMT 1-6. KINDT. ****1/2
MY LIFE IN A JUGULAR VEIN. SNAKEPIT. ***1/2
NIXON’S DARKEST SECRETS. FULSOM. ***1/2
PROVIDENCE ACT 1. MOORE. ****1/2
PSYCHO U.S.A. SCHECHTER. ****
RED HANDED. KINDT. ***1/2
REVOLVER. KINDT. ****
RISE OF THE DUNGEON MASTER. KUSHNER & SHADINI. ***1/2
SAVAGE PASTIMES. SCHECHTER. ***1/2
THE SNAKEPIT BOOK. ***1/2
SNAKEPIT 2008. ***1/2
SNOW BLIND. WESTERFIELD. ***1/2
SOUPY LEAVES HOME. CASTELLUCCI & PIMIENTA. ***1/2
SPIDER-MAN: MILES MORALES 2. ***1/2
SPILL ZONE 1. WESTERFIELD. ***1/2
STEVE ROGERS CAPTAIN AMERICA 2. THE TRIAL OF MARIA HILL. **** 
STICKS ANGELICA, FOLK HERO. DEFORGE. ***1/2
THE STEAL. SHTEIR. ****
SUPER SPY. KINDT. ****
SUPERGIRL 1. REIGN OF THE CYBORG SUPERMEN. ***1/2
SUPERMAN 2: TRIALS OF THE SUPER-SON. ***1/2
TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE. HILL & RODRIGUEZ. ***
TEEN TITANS 4. WHEN TITANS FALL. ***1/2
THE UNBELIEVABLE GWENPOOL 2. **1/2
WAITING PERIOD. SELBY. ****
WE STAND ON GUARD. VAUGHN. ****
THE WILLOW TREE. SELBY. ***1/2
ZONZO. CORNELLA. ****
12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
Artist: Notorious B.I.G.
Album: Ready to Die
Song: One more chance (remix)
TRANSLATION
As a general rule, I perform deviant sexual acts with women of all kinds, including but not limited to those with limited intellect, nude magazine models, and prostitutes. I particularly enjoy sexual encounters with the latter group as they are generally disappointed in the fact that they only receive penile intercourse and nothing more, unless of course, they douche on a consistent basis. Although I am extremely unattractive, I am able to engage in these types of sexual acts with some regularity. Perhaps my sexuality is somehow related to my fancy and expensive jewelry.I enjoy playing my music loudly on my car stereo. Apparently, women enjoy this also because they become sexually aroused when they see me driving. Oddly enough, when I visit the Native American reservations, some of the more sexually promiscuous Indian women attempt to seduce me in their homes. Their intent is to divest me of my earnings. Such actions are unacceptable.Understand this fact: you can have neither my money, nor my weapons. I suggest that you inform your peers that we engaged in violent sexual acts. Currently, I am rapping with my associates, the Junior Mafia. I’m having some difficulty understanding why you refuse to approach me. I am attempting to make eye contact with you through my expensive glasses, and as soon as you respond with a smile, I will approach you.

I prefer to open the conversation with light banter about my wardrobe and jewelry, then I like to discuss my collection of expensive cars. This is more than enough to convince you to have sexual intercourse with me. I am able to insert my penis further into you when I enter you from behind. Furthermore, you will be able to reach orgasm. I understand this to be a problem with your current sexual partner. He needn’t be concerned about your whereabouts. Please phone him and inform him that you won’t be home for a while. By the way, please sing the chorus of the song for me also.

Your current love interest no longer wishes to hear your fabrications about the length of your member. After I had sexual intercourse with your woman, she became enlightened as to the proper way it is supposed to be performed; violently and immorally. It would be in your best interest to keep your woman away from me as my sexual prowess is very strong. If you are unconvinced, ask Puff Daddy.

Despite the fact that you attempted to win her at her doorstep with bags full of expensive clothes and a car (the lower end model Mercedes Benz which you financed by signing over your current vehicle) containing an expensive stereo and a cellular phone, your woman has contacted me through my pager indicating that we should rendezvous at midnight.

You, on the other hand, jump from job to job, barely able to maintain payments on the Mercedes Benz you purchased for your woman. Meanwhile, I continue to engage in sexual intercourse and commit lewd osculatory acts with your women. My only remaining option is to request that she leave my home and return to you because I have reached orgasm and no longer have a need for her presence.

The ultimate decision rests with you. Whom do you choose as your sexual partner? I can take you on cruises around the world. I will dress you in the finest jewelry and footwear. You will be envied by women worldwide in your fine clothes and jewelry. There is a special place in my heart for beautiful women. I will defeat your man in an altercation because he is effeminate.

You will be dressed in finest clothes on the runways of Paris. I will fly you to every state to shop for fine clothes and jewelry. You will enjoy sexual intercourse with me and your man will be forced to pleasure himself through manual stimulation. What a life! I’ll return you to LaGuardia in time to catch your 8 o’clock flight. The timing is perfect because I have scheduled a date with a second woman who arrives at the same gate at 9 o’clock. I’ll seduce her in the same way that I seduced you. I rap well and I am a positive reflection of my home town. Not only am I a sexually deviant, misogynistic, immoral, wealthy, male prostitute, but I also sit on the board of directors of the organization that governs others of my kind.

THE INFORMATION #946 JUNE 23, 2017 

THE INFORMATION #946
JUNE 23, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 


She…can talk brilliantly upon any subject provided she knows nothing about it. ― Oscar Wilde

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

It was an oppressively hot early evening in late spring, and Count Victor Justin was more than mildly intoxicated, although, to his credit, he didn’t show it much. But Cadger Tandy could tell he had been drinking, because he walked extra slowly and extra carefully along the steamy cobblestoned streets.

“Yob, did I ever tell you? I had a friend who was a college professor,” said the Count to young Cadger Tandy, “He came over from Italy, years ago. Something to do with escaping conscription. His name was Dottore Otremo. And Otremo maintained that, far from being the best country in the world, the United States is actually the worst country in the world. I think he was just being contrary to make a point, and for the sake of argument, but this is what he said. 

“‘That the Italians have fallen far, I admit. The Greeks, even further. But you Americans cannot, it seems, fall much lower. For you have never reached a great height from which to fall. What passes for genius among your tribe is a scandal. Any grim trick or, how you say, filthy stunt which is calculated to make a bundle is greeted with universal acclaim, no matter how meretricious.This is the nature, I think, of all Republics which have become empires. A certain deadening of culture, and a decided flattening out of the prevailing, how you say, aesthetic is the preordained result. The purely beautiful is reduced to its mercantilist essence: What’s in it for me? Everything, in short, becomes a matter of money. And you can tell that the men in the United States are degraded by the fact that they have become so adept at obeying the whims of their women.’

“I violently disagreed, Yob, with most of what he had to say, but I do think that Otremo had a point when it came to women. Especially those God-damned Suffragetists, always agitating for the vote. Why do they want to vote, anyway? In this country, they already have the men in a state of near imbecile dependency.

“I’ll give you an example. I had a client, Tony McHackinn. I call him a client because he used to pay me to give him advice. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t bother wising up a sucker, even for money, but he had some pull with certain politicians, and so…well, one hand scratches the other.

“He came one evening to the Seven Stars, where I was holding court, as it were, and he told me a tale of ignominious woe. His wife is an evil witch, says he, and he could see no way of escaping her, short of suicide. Divorce was out of the question, as it would disgrace the family, though why he should give a rat’s ass about that is a mystery for the ages–though I think it had something to do with a trust fund. Which is how he was able to afford my services in the first place. 

“Apparently, it was a marriage made in heaven and lived in hell. Actually, his family put him up to marrying her, because they thought her folks had money, which they did, though not much. Mostly, all they had was a good name. And, as we both know, that and a nickel will buy you a nickel cigar. 

“He met her at a funeral parlor. She had a job putting powder and paint on newly embalmed corpses. I’m guessing that she worked there so her clients couldn’t run away from her. Even then, she had flabby jowls that made her resemble a hound-dog made of wax which got caught out in the sun. She had a body like a gorilla made of peach ice cream. She was a hideously saggy gasping homunculus who resembled a sixty-year-old fetus that lived exclusively on a diet of suet and lard dumplings. In virtually every respect she was the sort of fat hag who, 300 years ago, would have been subjected to the ducking stool on a daily basis, as an incorrigible scold. To make matters even worse, she fancied herself some sort of prodigy. She had an uninformed opinion about any topic imaginable. And she also had a bad habit of loudly braying, in a coarse voice, about the shortcomings of men and women infinitely more accomplished than herself. She had never met a social inferior whom she wouldn’t subject to interminable hectoring and bullying, nor had she ever encountered a social superior over whom she wouldn’t fawn in the most repulsive and reprehensible manner. She did have one good quality, however–she always warmed the water in a bucket before she drowned a sackful of kittens in it. 

“Tony McHackinn was frantic with sleeplessness and anxiety. He told me that he had to get away from her before she sent him to an early grave–but he just couldn’t see how. 

“I told him he must kill her. He demurred. I then told him that he should adopt the most fiendish strategy of all–one taught to me by a Hindoo adept named Swami Iyham. I declared that he must kill her with kindness. 

“‘And how do I do that?’ says he.

“So I said, ‘Buy a sword…Name it kindness…And kill her with kindness….’

“And then I explained to him that he should present her with all the things her grasping little heart desired–and that, sooner or later, she would hoist herself on her own petard, so to speak. I told him to fire the Cook. Eat out at fancy restaurants every night. Agree with everything she says. Let her buy all the shoes and clothing she wants. Give her roses, chocolates, a cute puppy. Before long she’ll wonder what your game is. It will drive her crazy.  Soon, she will be surfeited with what you give her. She will look for excuses to argue, and she will find none. And that will drive her utterly and irrevocably insane.

“‘But what if it doesn’t work?’ says Tony.

“Well, I told him, then here’s what you do. You go to the pharmacy and you get some capsules with quinine and morphine, and the next time she develops a stomachache from all those rich sauces and dressings, you dose her with one of those pills. And then you give her another. Only, this time, you’ve replaced the quinine with five grains of pure morphine. That’ll kill her, sure. And then, when she is dying, you get an eyedropper and squirt belladonna in her eyes. That will keep the physician from noticing that her pupils are constricted.

“I can’t say for certain whether or not Tony actually took my advice. In my experience, a lot of men think of killing their wives, but very few actually go ahead and do it.

“But…for many years afterward, he would always send me a fruit basket for Christmas.”

1*SALUTATION

THE KINKS

UNCLE SON 

(ALTERNATE VERSION)

Liberals dream of equal rights,
Conservatives live in a world gone by,
Socialists preach of a promised land,
But old Uncle Son, was an ordinary man.

Unionists tell you when to strike,
Generals tell you when to fight,
Preachers tell you wrong from right,
They’ll feed you when you’re born,
And use you all your life.
Bless you Uncle Son,
They won’t forget you when the revolution comes.

https://youtu.be/7YD5xQNRVgc

ALSO SEE: 

SCRAPHEAP CITY (SINGLE VERSION)

https://youtu.be/nQyEuDZ0zQc

ALSO SEE: 

20TH CENTURY MAN (REMIX)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jCwyVmCtyk

SEE ALSO: 

THE KINKS IN CONCERT (1973)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=smIF5374bTw

2*REFERENCE

THE FICTION SUIT

http://sequart.org/magazine/10642/fiction-suit/

3*HUMOR

STEVEN WRIGHT

https://youtu.be/eJCMjJwIGxY

4*NOVELTY 

EMBARASSING SEX

www.romper.com/p/13-embarrassing-but-normal-things-that-happen-during-sex-807

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

METH LOLLIPOPS

http://www.cnn.com/2017/06/13/health/texas-meth-candy-lollipops-bust-trnd/index.html

6* DAILY UTILITY

SWITCH TO SPRINT: GET ONE YEAR FREE

https://www.sprint.com/en/shop/offers/free-unlimited.html?ECID=vanity:1yearfree

7*CARTOON

HEROIN ABUSE IN VIETNAM

Here’s one of the rarest anti-heroin comics of the 60s or 70s. A govt-issued “COMIC BOOK” on heroin abuse in Vietnam, distributed in a literature pack at a small dispensary in Can Tho. Part of the “Army Airfield Dispensary with Project Rebuild” …. Due to the real rarity of this thing, below might be the only existing copy.
www.ep.tc/problems/57

ALSO SEE: 

JOHN PRINE 

SAM STONE

https://youtu.be/Sl9ZkYViEIs

8*PRESCRIPTION

ESSENTIAL ROCK B-SIDES

ultimateclassicrock.com/b-sides/
www.vh1.com/news/35050/best-rock-rarities-albums/
wxrt.cbslocal.com/2015/06/29/10-of-the-best-b-sides-in-rock-roll-history/
rockmyworld.com/top-10-greatest-b-sides-time/
www.smoothradio.com/best-music/most-amazing-songs-released-as-b-sides/
www.nme.com/photos/35-essential-b-sides-as-selected-by-nme-com-users-1430841
whatculture.com/music/12-best-b-sides-of-all-time
plusheartstar.com/2013/08/hit-songs-that-were-b-sides/
www.classicpopicons.com/top-10-b-side-hits/
www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/features/the-surprise-b-side-the-flipside-was-often-top-of-the-pops-6282711.html

9*RUMOR PATROL 

FBI Director Hoover’s Dirty Files: Excerpt From Ronald Kessler’s ‘The Secrets of the FBI’

http://www.thedailybeast.com/fbi-director-hoovers-dirty-files-excerpt-from-ronald-kesslers-the-secrets-of-the-fbi

10* LAGNIAPPE

MOUSE AND THE TRAPS 

A PUBLIC EXECUTION

https://youtu.be/LqmzLgoWl3w

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

Quora: Q: What is a fun psychological trick to try on someone?


A:Kevin D. Aslan, Entrepreneur, Author, Podcaster
The Five Questions Game.

When I was a broke student in London, I used to go up to strangers in the pub and bet a beer on this one – and I never paid for a drink once. It plays both on a person’s niceness and their ego, so one way or another, you know they’re going down!

Not 4, nor 6. If you reach 7, you have gone 2 too far.

The premise is simple. Let’s say I met this guy John. I offer to play the five questions game: I’ll ask five simple questions, and he has to lie to all five. If he manages to lie to all of them, he wins a beer. If he gets one right, I win a beer.

Me: So what’s your name?

John: Bruno.

Me: Ha! I can tell you’re a Bruno Mars fan. Interesting. How tall are you?

John: 12 feet.

Me: (Looking up) Yeah, that’s definitely a lie Bruno. Ok, what beautiful country are you from?

John: Germany.

Me: Haha, Bruno, I said a beautiful country, but sure… (hesitates)… wait, how many questions was that?

John: Three.

Me: Go get me a beer.

Now this assumes John is a nice guy, who loses because he helpfully provides an answer to me. Sometimes though, John is a douche.

Me: Haha, Bruno, I said a beautiful country, but sure… (hesitates)… wait, how many questions was that?

John: Seven (grins wickedly).

Me: Nooooooo! Ah fuck. Damn, you got me. Ah. You’re good. Damn. I mean… come on, did you ever play this game before?

John: (still incredibly proud) No man, never.

Me: Go get me a beer.

Works EVERY time.

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

ON WRITING
Don’t write: Console yourself with soothing guff,
As if the lies you’ve lived by weren’t enough.
Misfortunes come from too much reading
When you’ve got no fortune and you’ve got no breeding.
The word is too much with us, soon and late
We come to be the person people love to hate.
This sad truth is confess’d and it isn’t funny;
Not even fools take up the pen expecting money.
Anyone can publish; this is what it breeds;
A world where everybody writes and no one reads.
With faint praise critics come to your defense;
His writing’s like an angel’s but he has no sense.
But fail to please the public with insipid yarns
And your work will be remaindered to be sold in barns.
The greatest insight that I’ve ever had
Is this: That writing makes you truly mad.
Atlas holding up the world is quite absurd;
It’s difficult enough to hold up the word.
I hate to sound a cynic or resort to labels:
Uncertain the career misspent in crafting fables.

THE INFORMATION #945 JUNE 16, 2017 

THE INFORMATION #945
JUNE 16, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 


Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship. –Oscar Wilde

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

It was late spring, and Cadger Tandy and Count Victor Justin were standing under an awning in Blowtown to escape a sudden downpour.

“What’s that hateful song that’s been going around,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “What’s it called?”

“Which one, Count?”

“It sorta goes like this: “Humm-de Humm-de-de-dumm, Dum-de-dummdummdumm….”

“‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart’?”

“That’s the one. It’s downright maddening, damn it. Insipid noise like that is worse than the toothache. And to make matters worse, it’s all the rage. Great God! You can’t even go to a restaurant without some joker asking the band the strike up ‘Let Me Call Your Sweet Tart.’ Or that other one. What’s it called? “Dumm-de-dumm, dumm-de-dumbletydumm….

“‘By the Light of the Silvery Moon.'”

“Kee-rect. I can see Yob, that you’re up on all the lousy musical novelties. Tell me this–why can’t we go to a public place and hear some of the good old songs, like ‘Old Black Joe’?  Or ‘Carry Me Back to Old Virginny’?

“I tell you, my boy, I do try to keep up with what’s new because my line of work demands that I be conversant regarding a great many topics. But once you get to be a certain age, all the preoccupations of women and children come across as kid’s stuff. And who needs it? Time to earn a living, and put away your toys. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll start to come into real money.

“Unfortunately, most people make the mistake of having children when they’re little more than children themselves, and then they spend the rest of their troubled lives expiating for this massive blunder.  To atone for their big mistake they work like slaves. No–I take that back–even slaves were never worked that hard by their shrewd and kindly master, who usually paid a great deal of money for ’em. Parenting is a 24-hour job, and no slave I know of was ever compelled to work more than 18 hours in a day, and they were always given the Sabbath off.

“But a man who has spawned a passel of ungrateful bairns is bound to a wheel of fire. I know whereof I speak. I’ve spoken to square Johns the world over, and they all say the same thing–that the way things work out, the little Yobs and Zooks think that Mammy can do no wrong, and that Dad’s a fink. Never mind that he’s sweating like a maniac to provide for his brood–he’s never home enough of the time because he’s always out working, and when he is home, he doesn’t have the time ner the inclination to play with the kiddies–he just wants some peace and quiet. It ain’t too long before his snippy wife and screaming bairns cause him to leave his happy home and go to a saloon, where he can share the company of men such as himself and contentedly snap at a bottle of the good old stuff until the throbbing pain in his brainpan starts to ease off and go away.

“A yellof is particularly out of luck if his wife is a sweet and innocent young thing, instead of a shrewd old veteran whore. Because a young Gal who becomes a mother is like an unbroken colt–she’s just naturally bound to want to be wild. And you know what that means–the brawny Ice Man, the filthy Coal Man, and the reeking Fish Man all pay her frequent visits, and all your kiddies seem to look an awful lot like the red-headed Milk Man–or is it just your imagination? Probably not, sucker.

“It’s adding insult to injury. There you are–Joe Chump–working to provide for a brood of squalling brats that ain’t even yourn. I tell you Yob, the womenfolk who pull that stunt have put all the con men who ever lived strictly in the shade. There’s nothing like a woman’s wiles to make a man go batty. It’s best to leave ’em alone, or consort only with Zooks if you feel as though you’ve simply got to climb the fuzzy tree or else go batty. Diseased whores and their rough-house pimps may rob you blind, but there’s a limit to how much they can get from out’n your pockets. They can’t rob you of what you don’t have! But once you marry up and take yourself a wife, she’ll take everything you make and more, and ask you why you never seem to make enough. It’s enough to make a cat laugh!

“I do believe that without women, this country would half collapse into a utopia of bearded mountain men who only require some ‘baccy and some corn squeezin’s for to ease their solitude. It’s the womenfolk and their incessant demands that have made the men of this country a band of the most miserable henpecked specimens you’re ever likely to see. Especially the City Dubs. Out in the big stick country, the wife is little more than a brood sow, who spits out the bairns and spends the rest of her miserable life in back-breaking labor. But them city tomatoes is got it pretty soft. And they also have plenty of opportunities to stray. If you don’t give her minks and diamonds, then some other smart Yob will. I tell you, the world is one long bunco game, and everybody is always trying to put one over on everybody else. That’s because Americans are born scoundrels. They all came over here because, for one reason or another, Europe didn’t want them or need them. All except the Injuns, of course, and I’m not so sure about them, either.

“You see, for the most part, the womenfolk in Europe don’t get away with half the guff they manage to pull here in the Land of the Free. Their husbands have got them trained. The women know that they’re not likely to do better than the man she’s cotched, and so she behaves herself. But here in America, life is a paradise for the slattern and the divorcee–and nothing but pure hell for the honorable man who tries to do what’s right, only to balls put in a vise grip. I’m telling you right now, Yob, that in a land full of crooks and grifters, nobody has it worse than the honest Joe, who’s mostly as scarce as hen’s teeth– at least hereabouts in good old Blowtown.”

1*SALUTATION
PREFAB SPROUT
STEVE MCQUEEN
2*REFERENCE
THE GREATEST LOVE STORY OF OUR AGE

When Nixon became President, Rebozo got his own office and bedroom at the White House, and a security clearance that allowed him to go in and out without being logged by the secret service. Using a false name, says Fulsom, Rebozo even got into Nixon’s hotel suite during a trip to Europe.
The President’s closest colleagues complained at the way Rebozo monopolised Nixon’s time. General Alexander Haig, his last chief of staff, is said to have imitated Rebozo’s ‘limp wrist’ manner and joked that Rebozo and Nixon were lovers.

 
SEE ALSO:
 
3*HUMOR
DUMBASSES GET KICKED OUT OF HARVARD FOR POSTING OFFENSIVE MEMES

thetab.com/us/2017/06/05/harvard-memes-rescinded-69413

4*NOVELTY 
I AM JOE’S MAN GLAND
I am Joe’s left testis. Compared to other glands, I am not bad- looking at all: a glistening, pink-white oval. I weigh four grams and am four centimeters long, two centimeters at my greatest diameter. My function is dual: to manufacture those creators of life, the sperm cells; and to produce the hormone of maleness, testosterone. This chemical assists in construction of muscle, bone and other tissues. It helps shape Joe’s mental attitudes as well as his body. But for it, Joe would be soft, flabby, beardless, apathetic.
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
STATE CRIMES AGAINST DEMOCRACY

dehaven-smith.com/faq/default.html

 
ALSO SEE:

SEE ALSO:
 
6* DAILY UTILITY
BUYING A NEW OR USED CAR
 
ALSO SEE:

There is an obnoxious Poor People’s Car dealership called J.D. Byrider whose odious commercials, geared to morons, state, “Bad credit? No credit? At J.D. Byrider, you’re good to go!”

Yeah–if you want to pay 19.99% interest on a car loan.
https://jd-byrider.pissedconsumer.com/ex-employee-listen-closely-20080515121073.html
http://mythreecents.com/reviews/jd-byrider

 
 
ALSO SEE:

IF THE FAMILY CIRCUS DIDN’T SUCK
http://s3.crackedcdn.com/blogimages/2010/08/sb68-grandma1.jpg

SEE ALSO:

 
8*PRESCRIPTION
213 BEATLES SONGS RANKED
BUT WHAT ABOUT “THE CANDLE BURNS”?
 
ALSO SEE:

A recent analysis by the Economist…found that, “The data suggest that the ill may have been particularly susceptible to Mr. Trump’s message. According to our model, if diabetes were just 7% less prevalent in Michigan, Mr. Trump would have gained 0.3 fewer percentage points there, enough to swing the state back to the Democrats. Similarly, if an additional 8% of people in Pennsylvania engaged in regular physical activity, and heavy drinking in Wisconsin were 5% lower, Mrs. Clinton would be set to enter the White House.”
www.alternet.org/economy/history-repeats-itself-why-acute-financial-stress-all-american-story

 
SEE ALSO: 
AMUSING VIGNETTES ABOUT MCDONALDS:

https://www.consumeraffairs.com/food/mcd.html?page=2

10* LAGNIAPPE
CHRIS “CORKY” BURKE
EATING IS FUN, EATING IS SERIOUS
 
ALSO SEE:
MARGUERITE PERRIN
WHY CAN’T YOU BE SWEET?
 
SEE ALSO:
JAN TERRI 
LOSING YOU 
 
ALSO SEE: THE DILLINGER FOUR

A Floater Left with Pleasure in the Executive Washroom
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdc9qOHpj30

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

Hell Is Empty And All the Hedge Fund Managers Are At The Bellagio
https://theconcourse.deadspin.com/hell-is-empty-and-all-the-hedge-fund-managers-are-at-th-1795429824

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
THE CREEPIEST THINGS THAT SOCIETY ACCEPTS AS CULTURAL NORMS

MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 224 JUNE 2017

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE

​​NUMBER 224

JUNE  2017

Copyright 2017 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

1.Q: You’re trapped in a room with a tiger, a rattlesnake and a lawyer. You have a gun with two bullets. What should you do?

A: Shoot the lawyer twice.

2. “Pepsi Brings Your Ancestors back from the dead.”
http://www.snopes.com/business/misxlate/ancestor.asp

3. SIGNS YOU’VE MOVED TO A SHITTY TOWN

Boarded up tenements in the center of town, within spitting distance
of the library.

Preponderance of Dollar Stores, buffet houses, strip-mall churches,
and discount clothing stores… each of which occasionally gets
robbed. Total lack of turn lanes and appropriately placed stop lights,
and basic obedience of traffic laws. Young men loitering around the
streets during typical work hours. Walmart is the best
department/grocery store in town. Your coworker is planning to pull
their kids out of public schools because their 9 year old daughter is
getting sexually harassed in class, and that is in the “good” school
district.

A lot of the local businesses are named “Super___________”.

Signs saying: “Double Wide Sale” or “Cash While You Wait!”

More than one dollar store on the same block & a place that just sells
beepers & phone cards.

Pawn shops everywhere.

Signs designating “Drug and Gun Free Zone”.

You see groups of heavy-set, stroller-pushing moms wearing big Tweety
Bird t-shirts.

No microbrews in the local liquor store

Shaw’s is the best grocery store

You see lots of 50-something year old guys riding around on bicycles.
The disability-boozer-white -guy-riding-bikes-because-of-their-5th-DUI
set

Used car lot with more American flags than cars.

Abandoned Auto Tune-up places on streets lined with broken glass and
soiled diapers, that were abandoned for years and have recently been
taken over by douchebags looking for a place to squat, with a sign
hanging over the door saying “Bikes Not Bombs”.

The leather Patriots jacket (or jean jacket w/fleeced lining),
stonewashed jeans & mustache look. (Throw on one of those green Red
Sox caps for good measure. A lot of these guys are easily in their
late 40’s.)

1975 finally died out about 15 years ago. Now your town (such as
Attleboro) is firmly part of the “Juggalo Belt” which runs roughly
north to Holbrook through parts of the Blackstone Valley and into
Rhode Island (And extends as far east as Fall River, New Bedford, and
Taunton. What is it with shitty ex-industrial towns and
wiggers/juggalos?)

Hair & nail parlors with Nagel-esque drawings of glamorous proto-women
on the windows.

UPS Store-ish places with poorly drawn pictures of the world on the
awnings that specialize in mailing packages to & from Honduras and the
Dominican Republic.

LOTS of pre-paid calling card signs in store windows.
(Brazilian/Dominican flags and colors permeate the entire storefront.
As well as signs proclaiming “Hablamos Espanol” in the window.)

When the parents rally in support of the public school that just lost
its accreditation.

You thought you moved in next to conservation land, only to find out
it was actually an overgrown Superfund site.

Mom & pop video stores stocked with all the latest Cambodian titles.

Auto parts stores that only stock custom hubcaps, bolt-on spoilers,
and trinkets to hang off of your rear view mirror.

Town has a store called “Butts & Bets.”
Charlemagne reports: Yeah, I remember in Quincy there was a place like
that. Actually, there are a few of them. They are convenience stores
in name only. In reality, they have a guy behind the counter who
essentially chats all day with the four or five gamblers who sit there
glued to the Keno screen. The makeup of the group is the old WWII vet,
a couple of 50 to early 60 something disability boozer types and maybe
an old Chinese guy as well. The one I am thinking of is in Wollaston
right on Beale Street near the Greek Church. Also, there is another
place in Wollaston called Dot’s Smoke Shop. They are more of a
traditional cigar shop but there is a hell of a lot of Keno going on.
I think Keno and guys buying Natural Light sort represents a
threshold of a type of town.”

Mhaverty adds: “The best is the Tedeschi’s on Washington St. next to
Tom Obrien Hyundai. They have a fucking keno screen in the window so
the junkies can smoke outside and watch their games. The best is in
the winter people will sit in their cars and watch the games.”]

Here we goSouthie adds: “Actually I see your Tedeschi’s and raise you
a Joe’s Market – on Centre Street. The absolute stereotypical place.
Run by a family cheap gold wearing trinket wearing Indians (dots not
feathers) – the place has evolved over the 5 past years from a place
that was was clean and routinely getting busted selling booze to
minors – to a complete shithole that now caters to sober, chain
smoking, Lottery degenerates. Ravi and family were nice enough to
rescue 8-10 busted up mismatched kitchen chairs from the locals trash
and place them randomly. It really has to be seen to be believed. 6
cash registers – 4 constantly going strictly for lottery.

The shabby Christmas decorations on the light poles downtown are still
up in March.

  1. OLD MONEY, NEW MONEY, NO MONEY: A CHARMING GAME


SAILING
GOLF
BASSMASTERS

THE RITZ
THE FOUR SEASONS
MOTEL 6

CHANEL
MARC JABOBS
FOREVER 21

HOGARTH
KRAZY KAT
PLUGGERS

CATAMARAN
JIM CRAMER
RAMEN

DER STURMER
WALL STREET JOURNAL
NATIONAL ENQUIRER

AUJOURD’HUI AT THE FOUR SEASONS
SORELLINA
TACO BELL

NANTUCKET
MARTHA’S VINEYARD
REVERE

PAUL
GEORGE
RINGO

PRIVATE ISLAND
VACATION HOME
COUSIN JOEY’S HOUSE

AFTERNOON TEA
POWER LUNCH
ARBY’S

5. THE GREAT CONDIMENT DEBATE: A POLITICAL SYMPOSIUM


DEMOCRATIC PLATFORM
Condiments are a way of life.

Part of the American way of life.

They should be free.

Free.

Free for all.

And if I’m elected President, they will be.

REPUBLICAN PLATFORM
Ketchup. A fine vegetable. But not with hot dogs. Not if it’s
sissied-up, Frenchified Heinz Ketchup.

NO!

Only good old all-American Hunt’s Ketchup is good enough for this
fine, all-American dish.

Or on our freedom fries.

In fact, there has, of late, been seen a dangerous tendency towards
miscegenation–to actually mix condiments!

And although nobody frowns on adding relish to a hot dog, a line must
be drawn somewhere.

Arrant foreignisms have no place in fine old American cuisine. I tell
you this: The man who would put chutney on a Hamburger is a man who
would sell his country down the river without a second thought.

That is why, if I am elected President, a surtax shall be imposed on
salsas, curries, picante sauces, pico de gallos, teriyakis, garlic
pastes, shoyus, and yes, wasabis. And we will look with a decidedly
jaundiced eye on all so-called “Worcester Shire” Sauces not made in the
United States. These foreign abominations in the orange wrappers with
the fancy price tags bleed money out of this country, and therefore
they only help the terrorists in plotting their nefarious mischief.

American cuisine for Americans!

Why do so many otherwise good Americans insist on choking down
highfalutin so-called “dressings” like this:
2 tbsps rice wine vinegar
3 tbsps vegetable oil
1 tbsp sesame oil
1 tbsp soy sauce
1/2 tsp sugar
1 tsp sake
1 tsp grated ginger

The very list makes my stomach churn! Who outside of a rickshaw
village could swallow such slop?

Let me tell you what’s really good. Throw out the enemy ingredients!
Now you can crave my own very special barbecue sauce, with certified,
all-American ingredients like:

Red pepper
Black pepper

White pepper
Blue pepper
Snuff
Gunpowder
Apple Cider vinegar
Lemon Juice
Beer
Yellow Mustard
Cottonseed oil
Bourbon

In fact, do like I do–throw away all the rest of them ingredients and
just guzzle down that good corn liquor!

God bless you.

And God blesh the American people.

 

6. POPULAR FIGURES WHO USED TO BE INTERESTING BUT WHO ARE NOW BORING


P.J. O’ROURKE
PA KETTLE
THE AMAZING KRESKIN
JOHN WALSH
ROBIN WILLIAMS
CHEVY CHASE
BOOTH TARKINGTON
MR. MXYZPTLK
KUKLA
AUDIE MURPHY
BENSON
FAMOUS AMOS
MADAME FATAL
SAMMY SPEAR…AND HIS ORCHESTRA
TOPO GIGIO
BAT-MITE
GARY LEWIS & THE PLAYBOYS
CANTINFLAS
THE RED KRAYOLA
SALVADOR DALI
THE JUNE TAYLOR DANCERS
FRANK FONTAINE
THE BEAST OF THE APOCALYSE
SAMMY DAVIS, SR.
CHITA
UNDERDOG
BLUTO
MARK TRAIL
SNORK
ZOOK
THE GLOP
SMASH WILLIAMS
JHWH
CHRIS ROCK
WILL SMITH
BULL CONNOR
CORKY
PANAMA RED
MARLON BRANDO
J. ROARINGHAM FATBACK
FLATTOP JR.
ROBERT KLEIN

 

7. DREISER
Like other great American monomaniacs such as Melville, Dreiser’s
talent was uneven. But sometimes the imperfections that riddle works
we regard as great literature make them greater still, for they reveal
the human hand just as surely as home-made and hand-crafted artifacts
reveal the heart and soul of the fabricator so much more evincingly
than mass-produced articles ever can.

It almost seems as though classic American literature can be divided
up into two schools: the mannered, perfect craftsmen and the
slobbering brutes. We might count figures such as Hawthorne, Emerson
and Fitzgerald among the former school, and Melville, Dreiser,
Sinclair Lewis among in the latter. Which school you favor may say a
lot about your personality: but the impressionable young seem more
easily impressed by craft; an appreciation of content that slops over
the boundaries of the page (as much the same way as life) may well
come with age.

There are limitations to this theory: Nearly all such generalizations
are also gross oversimplifications. But the perennial favorites among
the young (by which I mean teenagers) tend to be brief and direct:
Catcher in the Rye, Great Gatsby, Animal Farm.

Of course, these are frequently assigned in schools, so maybe students
just like ’em because they’re short.

 

  1. EDGAR ALLEN POE“His aesthetic…anticipated and influenced both the symbolists and
    the surrealists.”–Sam Leith

    One thing in Poe’s favor is that East Coast elitists regarded him as
    an interloper, and yet he showed more refined talent in one of his
    now-forgotten book reviews than most of them could muster over a
    lifetime of producing their ponderous tomes.

    I’m no stranger to the Poe wars; I admire the man and am well aware
    that he was a brilliant (and underrated) essayist (as was Whitman).
    About 15 years ago I noted with delight a controversy in the American
    Spectator (of all places) between my friend, Erik Rieselbach, who
    wrote a piece on Poe for the March 1993 issue, versus a fellow who
    responded in the May 1993 issue, who seemed to have dogmatic, and
    rather rudely opinionated verdicts of his own regarding Poe.

    Somewhat injudiciously overblown claims that Poe “invented” certain
    genres are certainly open to argument. In some respects, however, it
    is a distinction without a difference.

    Poe was not the be-all and end-all of 19th century American
    literature. But he was a major figure; possibly even world class. I
    would rank him only below the following:

    Twain. Melville. Whitman. Hawthorne.

    More because they mastered the long form, and Poe wrote only one
    novel-length work of fiction (correct me if I’m wrong), “The Narrative
    of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket”.

    But then we have to start reaching….

    Charles Brockden Brown? Underrated, but not in Poe’s league.
    http://www.brockdenbrown.ucf.edu/

    William Dean Howells? An early realist; considered somewhat stodgy today.
    http://www.wsu.edu/~campbelld/howells/index.html

    George Washington Harris?? Interesting, but violently eccentric.
    http://xroads.virginia.edu/~HYPER/HNS/Swhumor/fool.htm

    If you’re like me, you’ve already got plenty of books you’re wanting
    to read, but if this subject interests you I suggest you go to the
    library and ask them to send you a copy of THE CUP OF FURY, by Upton
    Sinclair, via intralibrary loan (through which you can borrow any book
    in the state). US, himself a lifelong abstainer, dishes dirt on the
    caddish behavior of literary bohos like Sinclair Lewis (who once
    drunkenly stumbled into a church and dared God to strike him dead) and
    Jack London (who himself wrote a whole book on the subject called JOHN
    BARLEYCORN).

    Jim Tully, well-known in the 1920s but almost forgotten now, writes
    very well about life among the down and out, but perhaps nowhere
    better than in the long out of print SHANTY IRISH. You might also want
    to have a look at his BEGGARS OF LIFE.

    ALSO SEE:
    SPAIN ON POE:
    http://www.graphicclassics.com/pgs/spain.htm

 

9. IMMIGRANTS, NOT AMERICANS, MUST ADAPT. 

​​I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, we have experienced a surge in patriotism by the majority of Americans. However, the dust from the attacks had barely settled when the “politically correct” crowd began complaining about the possibility that our patriotism was offending others.

I am not against immigration, nor do I hold a grudge against anyone who is seeking a better life by coming to America. Our population is almost entirely made up of descendants of immigrants. However, there are a few things that those who have recently come to our country, and apparently some born here, need to understand. This idea of America being a

​ ​

multicultural community has served only to dilute our sovereignty and our national identity. As Americans we have our own culture, our own society, our own language and our own lifestyle. This culture has been developed over centuries of struggles, trials, and victories by millions of men and women who have sought freedom.

We speak ENGLISH, not Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society, learn the language!

“In God We Trust” is our national motto. This is not some Christian, right wing, political slogan. We adopted this motto because Christian men and women on Christian principles founded this nation and this is clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home because God is part of our culture. If Stars and Stripes offend you, or you don’t like Uncle Sam, then you should seriously consider a move to another part of this planet. We are happy with our culture and have no desire to change, and we really don’t care how you did things where you came from.

This is OUR COUNTRY, our land, and our lifestyle. Our First Amendment gives every citizen the right to express his opinion and we will allow you every opportunity to do so! But once you are done complaining, whining, and griping about our flag, our pledge, our national motto, or our way of life, I highly encourage you to take advantage of one other Great American Freedom:

THE RIGHT TO LEAVE.

It is Time for America to Speak up! If you agree — pass this along; if you don’t agree — delete it – You are in the WRONG Country! AMEN! I figure if we all keep passing this to our friends (and enemies) it will also, sooner or later get back to the complainers, lets all try, please!

PLEASE NOTE: As brilliant as is that impassioned plea to destroy all useless eaters, it was even better in 1938, in the original German:

JEWS, AND OTHER SUB-MEN, NOT ARYANS, MUST ADAPT.

I GROW WEARY of this Reich worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since Germany was stabbed in the back by Jews during the Great War, we have experienced a surge in patriotism by the majority of Germans. However, the blood money from the reparations had barely been paid when the “enemies of our Reich” crowd began complaining about the possibility that our slogan “Deutchland Uber Alles” was offending others.

I am not against allowing sub-men to perform our manual labor; nor do I hold a grudge against any Jew or Gypsy or Homosexual who is now productively doing the needed labor of the Reich in a reeducation camp. Our population is almost entirely made up of descendants of Nordic tribes. However, there are a few things that those who have recently come to our Reich, and apparently some born here, need to understand. This idea of Germany being a multicultural community has served only to dilute our sovereignty and our national identity. As Germans we have our own culture, our own society, our own language and our own lifestyle. This culture has been developed over centuries of struggles, trials, and victories by millions of men and women who have sought One Greater Reich.

We speak GERMAN, not Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society, learn the language! And the Nazi salute! And do not criticize the Fuhrer!

“Deutchland Uber Alles” is our national motto. This is not some Pagan slogan. We adopted this motto because Nationalistic men and women on Nordic principles founded this nation and this is clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to display the swastika on the walls of our schools. If Aryans offend you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home because Wotan is part of our culture. If Swastikas offend you, or you don’t like Frederick the Great, then you should seriously consider a move to another part of this planet. We are happy with our culture and have no desire to change, and we really don’t care how you did things where you came from.

This is OUR COUNTRY, our land, and our lifestyle. Our glorious Fuhrer gives every citizen the right to express the Fuhrer’s opinion and we will allow you every opportunity to do so! But once you are done complaining, whining, and griping about our Reich, our salute, our national motto, or our way of life, I highly encourage you to take advantage of one other Great German Freedom:

THE RIGHT TO LEAVE. IN A SEALED BOXCAR.

It is Time for GERMANY to Speak up! If you agree — pass this along; if you don’t agree — delete it – You are in the WRONG Country! AMEN! I figure if we all keep passing this to our friends (and enemies) it will also, sooner or later get back to the complainers, let’s all try, please!

And as for the Pope? Pah! As Stalin said–“How many divisions does he have?”

 10. MARTIN LUTHER KING: CANARDS AND AND THE LEGACY OF RACISM

The King haters are out there, and they’re writing up a storm.

It’s our old pal the internet that makes it possible for the
King-debunkers to spread the same old untruths about King that
circulated in the 1960s.

MLK was a flawed human being, but his achievements, his courage, and
his martyrdom more than make up for his flaws. I suppose the Nobel
Peace Prize was also a mistake. They ought to read Taylor Branch’s
three-volume work on King and the Civil Rights movement before they
repeat as gospel the sorts af canards that are to be found almost
exclusively on White Power websites.

The holiday and related honors were not granted because of King’s
character, but because of his accomplishments.

These people really need to start getting their information from
credentialed historians, not from Billy

​ ​

Bob Shipemback on the White
Power Website.

He didn’t steal “large parts” of his dissertation.

How do I know?

I read his papers when I was a grad student in the at URI history department.

He made a mistake which many people who were not raised in an academic
environment make.

He provided faulty attribution regarding his sources.

I reviewed the second volume of the Branch biography (it had just come
out), and I caught some heat when I pointed out to my Prof. that
Taylor Branch should have caught the imperfectly attributed passages
when writing his first volume about King.

I still think I’m right, but I also believe, as many professional
historians do, that it is a mistake, and unfair, to judge historical
figures of the past by the standards and practices and superstitions
of the present.

As for the charge of plagiarizing sermons, this was a commonplace
practice. Kind of like a blues singer quoting from other blues songs?
In other words, it’s a convention of the genre.

About King’s womanizing–well, there’s no denying that. But many
politicians such as Newt Gingrich, Bill Clinton, and Rudy Giuliani,
and many many men of the cloth as well, have been guilty of the same
sin.

As for the Communist funding–you need to know something about the
symbiotic relationship between the CP-USA in the 1930s and the nascent
civil right movement of that era. In the 30s, membership in the CP-USA
wasn’t regarded as a shocking deviation, and they were among the few
organizations making common cause with the civil rights movement.

Finally–King was not greedy in money matters. In fact, he seemed to
scarcely care about money at all. Hoover wanted to “destroy the
burrhead,” but even he would have conceded as much.

King should be recognized, not as a messiah, but as a flawed human being.

As for the charges of plagiarism:

When our research was published in June 1991 in the Journal of
American History, the article made clear that King’s plagiarism was a
general pattern evident in nearly all of his academic writings.
Although the plagiaries in the dissertation were less egregious than
the press reports had suggested, they were more extensive throughout
King’s papers than had been reported. We found that instances of
textual appropriation can be seen in his earliest extant writings as
well as his dissertation. The pattern is also noticeable in his
speeches and sermons throughout his career.

Even as we became more and more aware of the extent to which King
relied upon the words of others, we also came to the somewhat
paradoxical conclusion that King’s academic writings-and certainly his
later writings and speeches as a public figure-were reliable
expressions of his public persona. Writings that were flawed by
plagiaries were nevertheless revealing in that they expressed views
that were consistent internally and over time. This consistency helps
to explain why King’s professors and later readers of his papers did
not notice the extensive textual appropriations. We also suggested
that the compositional practices that raised ethical issues during
King’s graduate-school days were closely related to the positive
qualities that later made him an influential public figure. Rather
than youthful lapses in judgment, King’s appropriations reflected a
deeply ingrained attitude regarding the use of erudite language to
achieve personal and social ends. Our findings suggest that, once he
entered public life, Kinles theological training became an asset,
distinguishing him from other black leaders and providing him with
intellectual resources that enhanced his ability to influence white
middleclass public opinion. We concluded:

Even his ability to appropriate texts to express his opinions was a
benefit as he drafted public statements that would not require
citations. His characteristic compositional method contributed to the
rhetorical skills that became widely admired when King was called
unexpectedly to national leadership. His appropriations of major
scholarly texts satisfied his teachers and advanced his personal
ambitions; his use of political, philosophical, and literary
texts-particularly those expressing the nation’s democratic
ideas-inspired and mobilized many Americans, thereby advancing the
cause of social justice. His use, as a student and as a leader, of
hegemonic or canonized cultural materials enabled him to create a
transracial identity that served his own needs and those of African
Americans.

http://www.stanford.edu/group/King/additional_resources/articles/palimp.htm

People cry excusism, but I also know that people tend to apply it
selectively, which reminds me of the old joke:

Two old Irish ladies live across the street from a whorehouse and are
thus privvy to the comings and goings of its clientele. One day they
see a Baptist misister leaving the place. “Those Protestants,” says
one. “That’s all they think about.” The next day they see a Rabbi
leaving the establishment. “Isn’t it just like those people,” says the
other. The following day, they see a Catholic priest leaving the
whorehouse. One says, sheepishly to the other, “Somebody must be sick
in there.”

To which one might reasonably rely, “The Italians, Irish and Jews
managed to work their way out of poverty. Why not blacks?”

Ahh, but the Jews, Irish and Italians had social networks.

Blacks, not so much.

People like Marcus Garvey who tried to construct social networks were
thrown in prison.

This is a terribly complex problem–the destruction of the black
nuclear family during slavery and in the decades thereafter. It was
addressed during Brown v. Topeka. But policy makers didn’t pay heed,
opting instead for a gradualist approach to school integration. Pat
Moynihan nailed it in 1965, but nobody wanted to listen.

All I can say is that a rising tide lifts all boats. Our racism
problem is also a poverty problem, but it’s the nature of our
democracy to alternately embrace and shun redistribution schemes,
according to who holds the whip hand. This sort of inconsistency has
doomed systematic attempts to address the issue.

As for the canard that blacks in general have lower I.Q.s?

This point was succinctly addressed by Malcolm Gladwell in The New
Yorker of 12-17-2007: “I.Q. measures not just the quality of a
person’s mind, but the quality of the world that person lives in.”

I suspect it may be a cultural difference more than a straight IQ
differential. I mean, IQ measurements are flawed to begin with, as
demonstrated by Gould in THE MISMEASURE OF MAN.

Southern Italians, for instance, have a tradition of distrusting both
the Church and any centralized authority, such as the police. They
also do not have a strong literary tradition. Does this make them less
able? I think not. But they are a useful example about how cultural
differences can be seen in the light of differences in intrinsic
ability….

See: Aesop: The Man and the Lion
A MAN and a Lion traveled together through the forest. They soon began
to boast of their respective superiority to each other in strength and
prowess. As they were disputing, they passed a statue carved in stone,
which represented “a Lion strangled by a Man.” The traveler pointed to
it and said: “See there! How strong we are, and how we prevail over
even the king of beasts.” The Lion replied: “This statue was made by
one of you men. If we Lions knew how to erect statues, you would see
the Man placed under the paw of the Lion.”
One story is good, till another is told.

ALSO SEE:
http://www.snopes.com/inboxer/outrage/mlking.asp

 

 

THE INFORMATION #944 JUNE 9, 2017

THE INFORMATION #944 
JUNE 9, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 
 

So little pains do the vulgar take in the investigation of truth, accepting readily the first story that comes to hand.—Thucidides

 

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

 

“I probably don’t need to remind you, Yob,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “that in a City like Noxtown, and a neighborhood like Blowtown, you can never be too careful of the lures and snares which are bound to come your way. Because everything is a fake. And everybody lies.”

 

Cadger Tandy must have looked at him slightly skeptically because Victor Justin thenceforth launched upon a full-blown disquisition.  “Of course they lie. They all lie. An ordinary politician is a poltroon. A successful politician is likely a criminal lawyer who has proven to be an especially good teller of tall tales. I’ve seen many a poor Blackamoor go to the chain gang or get hisself lynched for a crime he couldn’t possibly have committed. I’ve met many a lag in the penitentiary who would readily confess to any number of mortal sins, but who maintained to his dying day that the crime he was imprisoned for was not the crime he committed. The prosecuting lawyer doesn’t care if the defendant is innocent or guilty. All he cares about is bolstering his reputation, with a view towards a judgeship, or higher office.

 

“Don’t you get it, Yob? They all lie. Everybody lies. Every one of them. All the time. For any reason, or for none at all. Judges swear to be impartial, but can easily be swayed by mere verbiage, or, more likely, with a judiciously worked application of the old ooftish. Needless to say, the same goes for the boys in blue. No rich man ever gets the darbies clapped on him. If a man in a workman’s cap is drunk, he can go to the clink to sleep it off–but the swell in the topper who wears a Monte Carlo is escorted home. With apologies! In a Hansom Cab! And his butler meets the copper at the door, and invites him in for a drink of fine old scotch or bourbon, and there’s also a magical little envelope which passes later on from one hand to the other. I have found that the rich are well aware of their advantages and privileges–they take them for granted–and they even choose to believe that anyone might aspire to their high station, given the intelligence and aptitude and a few lucky breaks. Haww…! It’s all corruption and graft, from one end of the spectrum to the other. Sex is the poor man’s cinema. But the elite tend to favor more exotic vices, which you’re too young to hear about.    

 

“There are so many lies in the world that nobody can keep track of them all. Why, I’ll bet you could employ half the population to spy on the other half, and you still wouldn’t catch more than a fifth part of all the lying that goes on. The patent medicine boys lie when they tell you that their soothing syrups will calm a sick baby, and are utterly harmless. Haw! There’s a generous dollop of Laudanum in every bottle, and who knows what all else besides. I’ve seen three generations of dope fiends who depend on the stuff. Or just try to go to a doctor for your aches and pains. If he’s honest, he’ll tell you that you’re a neurasthenic and that your suffering is mostly in your mind and due to stressful circumstances, and he’ll prescribe a simple diet and a three-week vacation in the countryside. That’ll cure just about anyone, short of a vicious moron. But do they make that prescription? Chances are they will not, as there is no money in it, but instead they will collude with a druggist to sell you nasty little sugar pills at gold-rush prices. That’s if you’re lucky. Some quacks have been known to dose you with harmful nostrums that leave you impotent or worse. No, Yob, Dr. Rest and Dr. Relaxation will cure most colds and flus and other minor ailments, and the doctors are well aware of this, but they won’t tell you, because after all, they’re in their business for their own health–not yours.   

 

“Ask yourself–are the vast herds of people who run this town and contrive to keep the lid on–the policemen and doctors and school superintendents and the lawyers and the politicians–the so-called ‘elites’–are they really a damned sight better than the gamblers and the card-sharps, the swindlers and the safecrackers, the pitch artists and the pickpockets, the thugs and the counterjumpers? Aren’t they all in the same business of fakery and lies, when it comes right down to it? Aren’t their so-called crimes all merely a matter of degree? Socially sanctioned on the one end, and shunned by polite society on the other? But let me tell you something–in Blowtown, a saloonkeeper and a ward heeler can do you a whole lot more good than any sawbones or shyster could ever work. If the money’s right, they can even quash a murder beef; blame it instead on some Dago or Mick–or better yet–a Darky. I’ve seen it done. You need some dope? Don’t go to the croaker–try good old Tipsy Smith; he’s the man to count on.  You see, he’s got an ‘in’ with Silk Hat Harry and Princess Lotus Blossom. They’ll fix you up good. You need a new suit? Go to Cool Slopp the pawnbroker; if he don’t have what you want in your size, he’ll dispatch a prowler or a booster to get you what you need, and at a third of the cost. Nobody but a sucker ever buys retail, especially in Blowtown. Or you could go straight to the source. There’s dope fiends who hand around in Murder Alley and Suicide Park who will even make off with a hot stove for the price of a ‘jolt’. 

 

“Desperate times make for desperate men–truer words were never spoken. That is why whenever you come into some ooftish, you should bury about a quarter of it in some distant spot which nobody knows anything about. A chink in a neighbor’s rooftop chimney, say, or under a big rock near a hollow tree in the park. Because a man without money who has been put on the spot is likely to perform any low and degrading feat in order to wriggle out of his difficulty. 

 

“But I’ll tell you one thing–the most important thing of all–you should let it be known to all and sundry that you prefer death itself to being a snitch. Nothing will build you a rep faster in the demimonde. Even the laddies in Kindergarten have learned that lesson. Like they say, ‘Tattle tale, tattle tale, hanging on a pig’s tail.’ 

 

‘Tell tale tit,
Your tongue shall be slit,
And all the dogs in the town
Shall have a little bit….’

 

“Can’t ye see, Yob? Can’t ye see that what you learn in school about truth and justice and all that bullshit mostly ain’t no good, past a certain point. As long as you don’t want to be an office boy or other sort of inside flunkey or drudge, and walk on eggshells, and speak in a whisper when you speak at all. The factory will hire you whether you can read or write or not. In fact, they might prefer it if you weren’t any too smart. Only a dullard is bound to thrive in such an environment. A brute who can barely see beyond his next meal, his next drunk, his next fuck, and his next snooze– all of which will inexorably lead to his last dirt nap…and the boneyard.” 


1*SALUTATION

ANASTASIA SCREAMED

Brilliant proto-grunge.

ONE DEEP BREATH

https://youtu.be/nPRWtfsJWgU

 

SHE MUST

https://youtu.be/vUWDzGAJbDs

 

DEAD IN THE GRASS

https://youtu.be/tw8V6VljD8M

 

ALSO SEE:

ANASTASIA SCREAMED

LAUGHING DOWN THE LIMEHOUSE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4Lo4G3XDKI

 

SEE ALSO:

SCARCE 

ALL SIDEWAYS

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLgG6Ck99oY

 

2*REFERENCE

TOLKIEN VS. DISNEY

http://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/tolkien-cs-lewis-disney-snow-white-narnia-hobbit-dwarves

 

3*HUMOR

COPS VS. APPALACHIAN HILLBILLIES

https://youtu.be/FsRktXy2qGA

 

ALSO SEE: 

DINDU NUFFIN

https://youtu.be/cqI8qKFhLdk

 

4*NOVELTY

TAXONOMY OF ART
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10200692616611558&set=oa.247583042046302&type=3&theater

 

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

TIMOTHY LEARY VS. ART LINKLETTER

“Kids die the darndest deaths.”

https://youtu.be/3HrdNRvJ7-8

 

ALSO SEE:

MACHETE-WIELDING HITCHHIKING CLOWN

https://www.yahoo.com/news/machete-wielding-clown-tries-hitchhike-081455956.html


ALSO SEE
BABY WITH RAT BITES
https://www.yahoo.com/news/teen-parents-charged-15-day-231751406.html

6* DAILY UTILITY

TEN TOXIC PEOPLE YOU SHOULD AVOID AT ALL COSTS

http://www3.forbes.com/leadership/10-toxic-people-you-should-avoid-at-all-costs/

 

7*CARTOON

THE DARK SECRET BEHIND THE CREATION OF BATMAN

http://nypost.com/2017/05/04/the-dark-secret-behind-the-creation-of-batman/

 

8*PRESCRIPTION

TOP TEN WEIRDEST MUSIC GENRES

https://youtu.be/r2P0H5a797Y

 

ALSO SEE:

TOP TEN WEIRDEST BANDS

https://youtu.be/H7E_ZqWUgFA

 

TOP TEN RIP-OFF SONGS

https://youtu.be/1GWMvCXdsG4

 

9*RUMOR PATROL

THE BEATLES: MIND CONTROLLING THE MASSES

Batshit crazy, but very entertaining. “It’s one thing to have an open mind but don’t let your brain fall out.”

https://youtu.be/0XcT-q9BYno

 

ALSO SEE: 

STRANGE THINGS THE BEATLES SAY IN REVERSE

https://youtu.be/FN04yBO9oM0

https://youtu.be/gYTopzZzNLQ

https://youtu.be/mGEpzGIm078

 

SEE ALSO: 

CONTRA SGT. PEPPER 

www.salon.com/2017/05/29/against-sgt-pepper-the-beatles-classic-made-pop-seem-male-nerdy-and-important-and-that-wasnt-a-good-thing/

 

10* LAGNIAPPE
RANDY FULLER
IT’S LOVE, COME WHAT MAY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uo2AgoEpbUQ&feature=related

 

ALSO SEE: 

FRED MCDOWELL & THE HUNTER’S CHAPEL SINGERS 

I WISH I WAS IN HEAVEN SITTING DOWN

https://youtu.be/YDdT8AYjQc0

 

SISTER O.M. TERRILL 

I’M GOING TO THAT CITY

https://youtu.be/T2oXf9Vc_co

 

WILMA LEE & STONEY COOPER

THIS WORLD CAN’T STAND LONG

https://youtu.be/r0calNNfZsA

 

REV. ROBERT WILKINS 

HOLY GHOST TRAIN

https://youtu.be/8olIDGNb6AM

 

CORA FLUKER 

MOVE, DANIEL

https://youtu.be/QaQqQcAidKU

 

BROTHER CLAUDE ELY 

THERE AIN’T NO GRAVE GOING TO HOLD MY BODY DOWN

https://youtu.be/il2xXRSJLmc

 

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

The Art of Asking: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let People Help. By Amanda Palmer. Grand Central Publishing, 2014. 337 pages. Hardcover.

 

The world is just a little town/

Everybody putting everybody down–John Lennon

 

Is Amanda Palmer a pretentious, shrieking cyberspace mooch, or an exceptionally talented artist and consensus-builder who has also mastered the ins and outs of social media marketing? Some have suggested she is a shameless narcissist, while others maintain that she’s some modern-day combination of Patti Smith and Jesus H. Christ, but I wouldn’t go that far in either direction.  Rather, she reminds me very much of the protagonist of the song “Sally in the Alley,” by the Holy Modal Rounders:

 

Sally takes her pleasure where she pleases
Sally gets her lovin’ where she can
Sally is a natural born child of Jesus
Sally is a match for any man

 

Basically, Amanda Palmer is a force of nature. At least, that is the distinct impression I get from her surprisingly thoughtful and inspirational quasi-memoir.

 

She apparently identifies with the good old Dalai Lama, which would put her squarely in the left-libertarian political camp, along with the Occupy protestors (whom she also identifies with) and Henry David Thoreau, whom she name-checks more than once.

 

No wonder so many people profess to dislike her–she is, in essence, a practicing anarcho-syndicalist. Whether she knows it or not. 

 

They hate you if you’re clever/

And they despise a fool–John Lennon 

 

Amanda Palmer reminds me an awful lot of plucky heroes and heroines such as Barefoot Gen and Little Orphan Annie, though she is neither an atomic bomb victim nor a penniless orphan periodically abandoned by her war profiteer “Daddy”.

 

 

You always have two choices: your commitment versus your fear. ― Amanda Palmer

 

Actually, Amanda Palmer didn’t say that. She could have. But she didn’t, Sammy Davis Jr. said that. 

 

As a matter of fact, The Art of Asking is the most inspirational showbiz biography I have read since Yes I Can! by Sammy Davis, Jr. Like Amanda Palmer, Sammy is blisteringly honest, if sometimes sententious; prone to saying things like:

 

 

Being a star has made it possible for me to get insulted in places where the average Negro could never hope to get insulted.

 

Substitute “woman” for “Negro” and you have Amanda Palmer’s whole situation in a nutshell. Why is there so much dislike for Amanda Palmer? She never once uses the “j” word, much to her credit, but maybe the very people who criticize her so harshly are simply jealous of her. What with their jobs and kids and pets and mortgages and car payments and all the rest, they are encumbered. They are mostly waiting to retire for a few years, and then drop dead. 

 

And Amanda Palmer gives the impression that she’s doing just whatever she wants to at all times, though I suspect that is far from the case. Because she’s basically the CEO and CFO of Amanda Palmer, Inc., and that’s a 24-hour job. Other than her penchant for ceaseless self-promotion, she has a great many admirable traits, foremost among them empathy, and, as far as I can tell, she harms nobody. We don’t hear from disgruntled service workers or cab drivers who she stiffs on tips; we don’t read tell-all exposes in the National Enquirer from doormen and hoteliers who say she is a shitty human being. So–why all this hatred? Why? Why? One can scarcely imagine how she feels when she reads odious and hateful comments such as these:

 

 

Amanda Palmer’s poetry is so bad that, when exposed to it, death row convicts run screaming down the Last Mile in three minutes and fifty-nine seconds, then strap themselves into Old Sparky and holler for the juice.

It’s so bad that when tiger sharks hear it, they leap out of the water and lie gasping and twitching on the shore in order to escape it.

It’s so bad that when Saudi Arabian sheiks read it, they blow themselves to smithereens and murmur “Inshallah” as their brains and turbans splatter the palace walls.

 

I’m afraid I’m going to have to differ. It’s not really as bad as all that. Anyway, The Art of Asking is crammed chock-full of sage advice about how to exploit loopholes in the star-making machinery, albeit through dedicated hard work. For example:

 

There is no ‘correct path’ to becoming a real artist. (43)

 

The whole point of being an artist, I thought, was being connected to people. (122)

 

For most of human history, musicians and artists have been part of the village, accessing one another freely. (171)

 

Look at the media: we deify artists one second, demonize them the next. Artists internalize this and perpetuate the cycle; artists do this to each other, and they do it to themselves. (220) 

 

…even the perfect tools aren’t going to help us if we can’t face one another. If we can’t see one another. (303)

 

Amanda Palmer: a second-class intellect? Maybe. But a first-rate temperament. Her emotional intelligence is off the charts. You feel guilty about even trying to quantify it, because if you do, you’re missing the point. She. Is. A. Force. Of. Nature. 

 

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

THE MOST ANNOYING MOVIE CHARACTERS OF ALL TIME

http://www.retrocrush.com/archive2/annoymovies/

 

ALSO SEE:

THE FACE OF COUSIN ITT:

https://scontent.fzty2-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/18740117_283208978810818_1088953920370446001_n.jpg?oh=d8762e34915368caa487307cdc7a8c1e&oe=599D5A8A