THE INFORMATION #957 SEPTEMBER 8, 2017

THE INFORMATION #957
SEPTEMBER 8, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 


That’s bad luck: three on a midget.–Groucho Marx

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN 
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART FORTY-ONE: DAYS OF WRATH

“You must indeed be careful, Yob,” said Count Justin Victor to Cadger Tandy, “very, VERY careful, when navigating through this life. Especially if you seek to make a career of mingling among the demimonde, which you evidently do, or else you wouldn’t be seeking me out every night.

“Life is brief. Life is fragile. Life, even and despite the great advances of medicine, can end in a single moment. Take me, for instance. I was very nearly slashed to death with a razor by a bughouse Nigra during an alleyway dice game. Sure, the dice were gaffed, only there was no way he could of knowed that them bones was shaved. I was slicker’n snot. No, he just had a bellyful of bad hooch and a nose for of talkum powder. Lucky thing I had my sword cane–and it was also lucky that the other Nigras took off and ran when they seed we was getting in to it. It was down by the levee in Old New Orleans, back in ought-six. Pickins on the coast were kinda slim that year, on account of the great earthquake. So I headed east. Joined a circus. And that was when I was very nearly shot by a jealous midget right there under the big top. Though what I am saying? All midgets are jealous. It’s a matter of course.It goes with the territory of being short. They all wish they was normal, and, if not normal, then they’d much rather be too tall than too small. Sure, their small size has its advantages. They can ride a Saint Bernard dog like a horse. They can be squeezed into narrow transoms so they can burglarize an office. They get drunk a lot quicker on a lot less. They don’t have to eat as much. Prostitutes don’t mind fucking ’em, because they think they’re cute, unless they behave like nasty little midgets, which, of course, most of them are. Also, they can impersonate children and insinuate themselves that way into the good graces of homeowners, while they case the joint. Then later, they can come back to the domicile and ransack it.

“To me, a stupid midge is just like a lizard or a bug. I want to smash it. And I made no attempt to hide my contempt for the little vermin. Every time I saw the Lilliputian–I think his name was Major Mite–I was given to saying things like ‘Little Man, you’ve had a big big day,’ and ‘Out of the way, Pygmy, and let a real man through,’ or ‘Move over, Mr. Midget Man–you’re playing in the BIG leagues now!’ Big haw haw from all the assembled. Or maybe I’d say something along the lines of ‘Lead, or follow, it’s all the same to me–but if you’re not going to lead, then get out of the way.’ All the carnies thought I was some kind of sport. They knowed I was a card sharp, but they also knowed I never cheated them when we’d get together to play a friendly game of euchre. There’s a lot of card playing and idle chit chat going on in the circus and the carny, because when you’re not working your ass off, there’s long stretches of nothing to do at all, especially if you’re rained out. Small wonder, then, that certain people start to get on your nerves.

“Like midgets. They always walk around with their heads held high–as though they were normal people, like the rest of us. And I hate ’em. With their squeaky voices and their big cigars and their tailored clothes and all their continental airs–and yet, in the final summation, they’re barely even human. ‘Go chase yourself’–that’s why I want to say, every time I see one. ‘Go take a long walk off a short pier. Go take a slow boat to China.’

“Sometimes I even want to say to them, ‘Get out! Get out! You’re everything that’s wrong with America!’

“They’d be much better off, I think, if they lived in their own little village of freaks, away from normal people, and we would all be much happier too, if we didn’t have to look at ’em. Actually, I hear tell of a place in Florida like that, but I never really believed it. All they grow in Florida are watermelons, coons, alligators, anacondas, and possums. I hope the rumors are true, and there is actually a Tinytown or a Gnome Village down in them parts. Because here’s what every pocket-sized dwarf, half-baked homunculus, sawed-off runt, minikin, halfling and bantling needs to have repeated again and again until it penetrates their thick and tiny skulls: normal people want them out of their way! They want them OUT OF THEIR WAY!!

“What gets me about these filthy little midget men is that they all want to hang about with all the normal-sized men and women. Especially our women. Ah so. They likee. But it just ain’t gonna happen, Yob. Not if I have anything to say about it! What could possibly be more repulsive than watching a tuxedo-wearing top-hatted midget hobbling about in elevator shoes or boots with Cuban Heels, escorting a normal woman to a night out on the town with the expectation that afterward the gnawed off little freak is going to take off his ridiculous clothes and make sweaty love to her?  You know what I say, Midget Boy? I say, get down, little dog—GET DOWN! Get your filthy hands off that girl, you pint-sized Casanova!  She’s not for you, even if you do want her. Listen, little shrimper: The cocksuckers in hell want ice water–but they sure ain’t a-gwine to get it!”

“One day I had the effrontery to say as much to Major Mite. We were both in our cups under the big top. The peewee had a bag on and commences to pull out a .38 revolver almost as big as himself. I thought to myself, ‘It couldn’t possibly be loaded,’ so I ups and swats it right out of his hands. Well, Sir, it hits the sawdust floor and goes off, and the bullet comes within inches of crippling one of the circus elephants. Me and the Midge both got our asses chewed for that cute little stunt. After that incident, me and the Major suspended hostilities for the nonce. I never got to like the little punk, but grew so I could tolerate his presence without cracking wise. As for what he thought of me, I know full well that the stunted little dwarf had a grudge against me, because I have a keen sense of hearing and can also read lips, and I heard him blabbing to the dog-faced boy about what a loocher I was.

“Well, later on I got back at him but good. I trained Sheba the circus dog–a clever little poodle–to growl at him every time she saw him. Seeing as how the Midge sometimes had to put on white face and work with the clowns, that made things a mite uncomfortable. ‘Specially when Sheba took a bite out of the seat of his pantaloons. The clowns thought it was so funny they wanted to make it a part of the act, but the Midge threatened to quit, so the Ringmaster said that Sheba had to wear a muzzle whenever Major Mite was around, which she didn’t appreciate one bit. I’m sure the Midge suspected that something was still up between me and him, because whenever I wasn’t looking he would give me the rudest looks.

“Yob, I tell you–If the evil eye alone could turn sawdust to quicksand, I would of been in it up to my neck.”  


1*SALUTATION
IGGY POP
FIVE FOOT ONE
ALSO SEE:
RICHARD AND THE YOUNG LIONS
YOU CAN MAKE IT
 
SEE ALSO:
THE PRETTY THINGS
YOU MIGHT EVEN SAY

3*HUMOR
JOHN LENNON TALKS TO A HIPPIE WHO HAS BEEN CAMPING ON HIS ESTATE

Note that Lennon speaks fluent Hippie-ese. And the Hippie speaks Beatle lingo.

4*NOVELTY
CHOOSE A KEY: WHAT YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS REVEALS ABOUT YOU


5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

Lulu Belle & Scotty
I’m No Communist (1952)

6* DAILY UTILITY

27 INTROS TO BAD 70S TV SHOWS
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSQKVr3Dats

 
7*CARTOON
UNCLE JEMIMAH’S PURE MASH LIQUOR
8*PRESCRIPTION
EVERY SUMMER SONG SINCE 1958

http://digg.com/2017/every-summer-song-since-1958

 

They didn’t include 1957 because they couldn’t get the rights to Elvis singing “All Shook Up”.

A very dirty song, as Justin Green once pointed out.
A well’a bless my soul
What’sa wrong with me?
I’m itchin’ like a man in a fuzzy tree

P.S. John Denver sure was ugly.

9*RUMOR PATROL
DICK GREGORY IS A COUNTER-INTELLIGENCE AGENT
 
MALCOLM X: DICK GREGORY IS A PUPPET
10* LAGNIAPPE
THE SOFT BOYS
I WANT TO, ER
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
VICTOR LUNDBERG
Cranky reactionary…or neglected prophet? You decide!
 
TO THE FLOWER POWER
 
IN THE SLIME OF VIETNAM
 
MY BUDDY CARL
 
AN OPEN LETTER TO MY TEENAGE SON
ALSO SEE:
AUTRY INMAN
THE BALLAD OF TWO BROTHERS
 
11A BOOKS & MOVIES REVIEWED
 
7 MILES A SECOND. WOJNAROWICZ & ROMBERGER. ***1/2
THE ADVENTURES OF SUPERHERO GIRL. HICKS. ***
AMAZING SPIDER-MAN: THE CLONE CONSPIRACY. ***1/2
THE BEST TIMES. DOS PASSOS. ****
BLOOD DONE SIGN MY NAME. TYSON. ****
THE BOOK OF INSULTS. MCPHEE. ****
BURLESQUE PARAPHERNALIA… SCHNEIDER. ****
CAVE CARSON HAS A CYBERNETIC EYE 1. GOING UNDERGROUND. ***
THE CIRCLE OF GUILT. WERTHAM. ***
THE CIRCUS. CHAPLIN. [FILM] ****
CONFESSIONS ILLUSTRATED. ***1/2
CRIME ILLUSTRATED. ****
DADDY COOL. GOINES & ALCALA. **1/2
DOOM FOX. BECK. ***
DOPEFIEND. GOINES. ***1/2
DRUGSTORE COWBOY. FOGLE. ***1/2
FLASH BOYS. LEWIS. ****
FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD SPIDER-MAN: THE COMPLETE COLLECTION. DAVID. ***
THE GOOD EARTH. BUCK & BERTOZZI. ****
THE GREAT LAKES AVENGERS 1. SAME OLD SAME OLD. ***1/2
GREEN LANTERNS 1. RAGE PLANET. 
I FEEL BAD. AUSLANDER. ***1/2
JAPANESE NOTEBOOKS. IGORT. ****1/2
JESSICA JONES 1. UNCAGED. ***1/2
JOHN O’HARA: STORIES. ****1/2
JOSEPHINE BAKER. CATEL & BOCQUET. ****1/2
JUSTICE LEAGUE 3. TIMELESS. ***1/2
JUSTICE LEAGUE VS. SUICIDE SQUAD. ***1/2
THE MAN WHO TOUCHED HIS OWN HEART. DUNN. ****
MOTHER PANIC 1. A WORK IN PROGRESS. ****
MS. MARVEL 7. DAMAGE PER SECOND. ***
MY BROTHER’S HUSBAND 1. TAGAME. ***1/2
THE NAKED SOUL OF ICEBERG SLIM. BECK. ***
NETWORK. CHAYEVSKY & HEDRON. ***
NEW SUPER-MAN 1. MADE IN CHINA. ***1/2
NIGHTWING 2. BACK TO BLUDHAVEN. ***
NOTHING LASTS FOREVER. GRACE. **1/2
THE OUTLAW BIBLE OF AMERICAN ART. KAUFMAN, ED. ****
POE: POEMS & STORIES. ****
RAGNAROK 2. THE LAND OF THE DEAD. SIMONSON. ***1/2
RAVINA THE WITCH? MIZUNO. ***1/2
REBORN 1. MILLAR. ****
SHOCK ILLUSTRATED. ****1/2
THE SHOW OF VIOLENCE. WERTHAM. ***1/2
SIMPSONS COMICS COLOSSAL COMPENDIUM. ***
SPIDER-GWEN 3. LONG DISTANCE. **1/2
SPIDER-MAN. AMAZING ORIGINS. ***
STARLIGHT. MILLAR. ****
SWEET & SOUR. O’HARA. ***
TERROR ILLUSTRATED. ****
THREE RING CIRCUS. MARTIN & LEWIS. [FILM]. **
THE UNWORTHY THOR. AARON. ***
VALERIAN: THE COMPLETE COLLECTION. 1. ****
WHAT IF? EVENT HORIZON. **
WINTER KILLS. CONDON. ***1/2
WOLVERINE: FIRST CLASS 5. CLASS ACTION. ***
WOLVERINE: OLD MAN LOGAN. MILLAR & MCNIVEN. ****
WOLVERINE: OLD MAN LOGAN 1. BERZERKER. ***1/2
WOLVERINE: OLD MAN LOGAN 2. BORDERTOWN. ***1/2
A YEAR OF MARVELS. ***


12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
PICKLES

About 100 years ago slum children used to live on pickles.
www.goodreads.com/book/show/795898.The_Good_Old_Days_They_Were_Terrible_

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MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 227 SEPTEMBER 2017

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE 

NUMBER 227 

SEPTEMBER 2017

Copyright 2017 Francis DiMenno

dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

  1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES

SECOND SERIES

  1. Your newlywed bride is pure–pure poison.
  2. It’s not the end of the world. But it’s the end of your world.
  3. You’ve just quit smoking–the firing squad won’t care.
  4. Hot enough for you? It will be–when you meet the Hot Seat.
  5. Bad news, Card Sharp–you’re Faded, Fucked and Forgotten.
  6. They don’t call you ‘Country Squire’–they call you ‘Cunty Square.’
  7. Your dog eats out of your hand. Soon he’ll eat out of your foot.
  8. Your fellow cops have robbed you. No shirt, no shoes, no service revolver.
  9. Too bad it hurts to laugh, because your life is a joke. 
  10. God does have a sense of humor–and he’s laughing very hard at you.
  11. Not only are you broke, but you are completely broken.
  12. Even crack whores repel your loathsome advances.
  13. Take my advice: Don’t listen to nobody about how to talk.
  14. Just when you think you’ve seen everything, you’ll develop cataracts.
  15. Good news! Your face is too ugly for the “Most Wanted” posters.
  16. Drug pushers agree that even Drano is too good for you.
  17. Your pregnant wife turns tricks for fentanyl patches.
  18. Even homosexuals deride your ball-throwing skills.
  19. The circus clown will break YOUR heart–with a pickaxe.
  20. Even Will Rogers hated you and wanted you dead.
  21. The Lord is our shepherd–but you are a wolf.
  22. Heads turn when you enter a room–because you reek of failure.
  23. The police found a coal miner in your Christmas stocking.
  24. Rich and lonely widows are your bread and butter–literally.
  25. You’re cool as a cucumber–but you’re in an awful pickle.
  26. You may not be a chemist but you hang out with bad elements.
  27. Your pretty new wife is somehow never “In the Mood”.
  28. That red-haired baby? Not yours, chump.
  29. Houdini wouldn’t even TRY to escape from your predicament.
  30. “Well-known Anarchist” sounds cool–but not to the D.A.
  31. “You’re a good boy. I love you.” Your mother was talking to her poodle.
  32. You accidentally shot and killed your boyhood friend and never got over it–killer.
  33. You are grist for the mill–and the mill grinds exceeding fine.
  34. Jesus died for our sins. He specifically exempted you.
  35. Deathbed confession? Who cares? They always knew your terrible secret.
  36. You climbed off the hobbyhorse and directly onto the white Horse.
  37. The card sharps can also read your marked deck.
  38. Hell is just one thing damned after another.
  39. Other people merit trophies–you only merit catastrophes. 
  40. Do not look for hell. Hell is anywhere you are.
  41. Your cynicism has curdled into mere nihilism.
  42. That fat man you insulted is all muscle. 
  43. Bad news, convict: Your estranged wife has married the Head Prison Guard.
  44. Even God would not help you–Even if He could.
  45. You have defiled the tomb of Kali, and the believers are heavily armed.
  46. You believe your life is meaningless, and for the first time you’re right.
  47. Maybe the CIA did implant a microchip, crazy one.
  48. The one thing on her mind is getting rid of you.
  49. Bad luck for you, Junkie: Heroin is cheaper than good beer.
  50. She said she’d never forgive you–for once she didn’t lie.
  1. THE BEST QUALITIES OF MY WORST ENEMY


Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare; Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.–Martial

Your father taught you how to be a man,

And sister took the matter well in hand. 

Mother fed you with a golden shovel;

Crafted you to sting, as well as grovel.

In bed you make your wife both sweat and groan

She’s overpowered by your stale cologne.

I’ll not maintain your spouse is out of luck;

She gets two dollars after every fuck. 

Heroes are boring and jokes aren’t funny;

You follow the siren lure of money.

A snivelling manikin, a human louse, 

With all the courage of a bloated mouse,

You’d never purloin from a guarded shelf

Nor harm a creature larger than yourself.

I’d hardly say you’ve had a wasted life;

You’ve learned concealment as you twist the knife,

Expressing with anonymous candor,

Grammatical mistakes and slander.

Your thoughts are hardly of the vasty deep;

Pseudonymously you must roughly creep;

Like any slug or sliming snail,

Across the universe you leave a trail.

Scurrilous demon, fiendish little snot;

Private sneak and public juggernaut,

Upon the page you burble and you brood

A fly, regurgitating filthy food.

Your intellect is of the common sort;

A mental midget–good at being short.

Pretense of learning you have not a whit;

Your mind is full of rubbish, clay, and shit.

You will not cast your pearls before the swine;

You are a hog, and master of your kind, 

One of the legions of faceless flunkies 

Vending broken toys to sickly monkeys.

Your aim is false; your soul’s a callous

Sinkhole of unmitigated malice.

You dream of splendor on the fabled shore,

Yet wake, in terror, on the ocean floor.

Full of bile, your temperature is rising;

Trapped in a hell of your own devising.

The world is too much with you; soon and late,

You’ll sink into your incandescent hate.

And when your life has run its wicked course,

Love of gold will animate your bloated corpse. 

What pandaemonium have I unloosed?

The sound of chickens, coming home to roost.

I swear I held myself in good reserve;

It’s scarcely more or less than you deserve.

  1. TYPICAL BOSTON IRISH-AMERICAN PASTIMES
    Screaming abuse at their spouses
    Teaching their children how to throw bricks at Negroes
    Crossing themselves upon hearing bad news
    Drinking Coca Cola and Captain Morgan Rum
    Watching “Lord of the Dance” and similar pagan spectacles
    Watching Lord of the Rings and commenting throughout how much the hobbits look “Just like Uncle O’Sullivan”
    Eating corned beef packed in a square can.
    Eating canned potatoes.
    Coke-fueled weekend getaways at The Thunderbird.
    Lace curtains.
  1. THINGS IT TOOK ME YEARS TO REALIZE


“Mild-mannered” means “homosexual”.

Fidelity is sometimes merely a euphemism for cowardice.

George Clooney is the bizarro version of Mel Gibson.

Resentment is the grammar of the oppressed.

When people say “This is outrageous” what they really mean is, “It’s
business as usual, only I just now found out about it.”

Cavemen are always looking for a new variety of fire to both fear and worship.

Super heroes are the success story of our age: they start out as
shmoes, then they put on a fetish outfit and beat the shit out of
mentally ill felons, and people worship them.

Treason is relative.

Nothing dangerous is cute.

Dr. Smith on Lost in Space was supposed to be light in the loafers.

Jay Leno would make even a chimp cringe.

If the dead really lived on, everybody would want to die.

When you bottom line everything you miss everything that floats to the top.

Science fiction is a businessman’s idea of classical myth.

Why do you laugh? The joker is serious.

We are all walking a dog everyday. A dog named Death.

  1. ADS FOR OPIOIDS

Heroin: It’s what’s for dinner…and breakfast…and lunch….and dessert…
Duji: So good you’ll want to cook it in a spoon. Go ahead–you don’t want
to miss one drop of…the goodness….
Oxy. Hey Good Lookin’–whatcha got cookin’? Howsabout cookin’ up somethin’
good for ME?
Skag: When you lie around the house, you really lie around the house!
Smack, crack and pot make the world go ’round….
Fentanyl: The Other Deadly White Powder

  1. CASEY KASEM’S AMERICAN TOP FATTY

FEATURING:
“I found my thrill/ Eating Blueberry Hill.”

“We ate the world/We ate the children….”

“I’m in the mood for food/Simply because it feeds me….”

“After Midnight/They’re gonna let us all chow down….”

“Stop, stop, stop all the dancing/Give me time to eat….”

“Philadelphia cheese steak put me knee-high to a man….”

“Come to the Cabaret old chunk….”

“You…you have your own special weight….”

“I am (I am) I am Supperman/And I can eat anything….”

“Sorry that you feel that way/The only thing there is to say:/Every
silver lining’s got a touch of gravy
I will get by/I will survive….”

“Ain’t no mountain high enough/Ain’t no valley low enough/To keep me
away from food….”

“I’m as free as a burp, Babe/And this burp you cannot change…”

“There must be 50 ways to love your liver. Just slap on the grill, Will;
Fry it in the pan, Stan;Slap it on some bread, Fred;
Add a little schmaltz, Walt–Don’t need it fat-free….”

PLUS:
Addicted to Lard
The Gates of Eatin’
A Simple Twist of Fat
I Want Candy (and Cake and Pie and Cookies)
Waddle This Way
Nothing Compares 2 Food
Rolling to New Orleans
Icebox Icebox Baby
I Don’t Like Mondays (I’d Rather Have Sundaes)
I Love Hot Dog Rolls (Put Another Dog on the Broiler, Baby)
I Want to Know What Lard Is
57 Pizzas (and all are gone)
All Those Beers Ago
Massive Pockets (I’m Special)
Can’t Fight This Eating
Do They Know It’s Chowtime?
This Food is So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades
(Just Like) Starting Oven
Keep Your Hams to Yourself
Making Lunch Out of Nothing at All
I’m So Lonesome I Could Diet
Please Please Please Let Me Eat What I Want (Lord knows it would be
the first time)
Some Guys Have All the Lunch
We Didn’t Start The Fries
When We Was Fat
Working My Weight Back to You/Forgive Me, Grill
You Owe Me Some Kind of Lunch
Fatty Don’t You Walk So Fast
Chocophile Rock
If I Was Your Grill, Friend
Beers in Heaven
Hot Stuffin’ (Can’t Get Enough)

THIS WEEK’S VIDEO:
Fatty’s Song (featuring Boney Basil)

  1. THE MENCKEN CONTROVERSY


H.L. Mencken was leagues better than just about anybody who writes 

about politics in the American idiom.

His reputation was tarnished about 30 years ago, upon publication of
his hitherto embargoed diaries, when he was found to have indulged in
anti-Semitic remarks.

However, judging historic figures by present-day standards is a slippery slope.

Another aspect of the anti-Semite accusations:

Mencken hired Charles Angoff to run The American Mercury. Angoff
turned around and ungratefully wrote a biography of Mencken tarring
him as an anti-Semite. Angoff, by the way, was Jewish, which leads one
to wonder why such a purported anti-Semite would hire him in the first
place.

Some have gone so far as to point out that he lived with his mother
all his life.

As for living with his mom, filial piety was not démodé in those

primitive times. Also, he married following her death.

Mencken’s influence on the culture of his day was vast and
far-reaching. He was perhaps somewhat over-regarded in his own day; he
is correspondingly neglected in an era devoted to the blow-dried sound
bite.

  1. TWO FAMOUS BLACKFACE MINSTRELS

Jack Benny and George Burns both performed blackface sketches in their

vaudeville days. Burns tells the story of one of the many times he
made Jack laugh. Seems they were having a competition to see who could
make the biggest pair of blackface lips. The lips kept getting bigger
and bigger until George made himself up with a set of lips that were
so big they took up his entire face. Jack Benny laughed himself sick.

  1. FICTITIOUS RAP STARS

Young Methuselah
AA
MC Sawed Off Shotgun
God (The Original)
Bigg Lipp
Bo Dacious
Cheeba
Cosby Killa
Dead Yankeez
Fruckus
Hurricane X
Jeri Kurl
Noble Pitbull
Ras the Destroyer
Sweaty
Uncle Pimp
Missy Malarky Ying Yang
MC Shithouse Mouse
Hungry Johnson
Master J.J. Jesus
Little Baby Black Tar Heroin
Beefy Oxo
Number One Jail Punk
O. Shoot Me Now
Master Jenkem
Onan the Vulgarian
Freaky Deaky Slim Daddy
Hungry Fattso Iz Where Itz Att
Haff Ass Grandmaster McGillicuddy
Sir Douchey McDouchebag, Esq.
M.C. Corkscrew Penis Dog
Grandmaster Mutt
Gold Tooth Fatty
Master Chief Assholio
Doctor Shithead
33 Degree Mason Retardo
Most High Handkerchief-Head
Big Chief Shinebox
President-Killer McFuck You
M.C. Chump Change
Big Chief Hug-Em-And-Kiss-Em
Coffee-Coolin’ Coke
M.C. O No You Din’t
Grandmaster Baby Made a Boom Boom
D.J. Vermin Control
Grandmaster I Screwed Up
M.C. Regent Pop
Kwame McFuckYou
Grandmaster Attica Motherfucker
M.C. Yen Baby
MC Fascist
Doctor Primitive Ritual
Missy Gumsnapping Fuck-Me Ho
King Doctor
LL Black Seminole Slave Rebellion
Grandmaster Sexual Harasser Emmitt Till
Biz Moloch
DJ Expando Groin
Daddy Misogynist
Queen Bozo Clown
Mac Dylan
Nerveless Freak Daddy
Big Chief No Wipe ‘Em of the Nasty-Ass Tribe
Grandmaster Race War
M.C. Plunder
Joey Heroin
Grandmaster Armageddon Clampett
MC Money Coming Out of the Sky
Grandmaster I Deserve Small Treats
Biz Enterprise
Queen Pizzazz
Grandmaster Google
MC Five
Grandmaster Weimar
MC Viagra
Tylenol PM
MC Burly Fun
MC Canned Cream Corn Studded Little Friend
Superstar Beefy and Chewy
Doctor Haywire, the Race Riot Man
DJ Mood Organ Setting 888
Stabbity McStab Stab Stab
MC Brighton Spotts
MC Chicken Heart As Big As the World
MCI

  1. THE AGE OF UNREASON                                                                                “The trouble with Americans is they believe so many things that just
    ain’t so.”–Artemus Wardhttp://books.google.com/books?id=ukogMqcRCXQC&pg=PA126&lpg=PA126&dq=%22believe+so+many+things%22+that+
    ain’t+so&source=web&ots=Y7DXQi8JRY&sig=4EHdf2CSkhbwCM_rh9SAtxbANIc&hl=en

    Our politicians need to set an example for the public by developing a
    dispassionate ability to debate issues in a rational and
    non-ideological way.

    Because many citizens seem simply incapable of doing so.

    Though what kind of role models, what shining examplars do they have?

    The shouting head news pundits.

    Odious talk radio demagogues.

    Fashionably lefty authors writing so-called “socially significant”
    propaganda disguised as fiction, drama, screenplays, and, God help us,
    even “poetry”.

    Skewed recastings of history put forward as bravely “revisionist” when
    in fact they are almost criminally recidivist in their perpetuation of
    gross errors and superstitions.

    I am reading Susan Jacoby’s latest book, “The Age of American
    Unreason” and I was struck by her pointing out that nowadays many
    people seem to be not only unashamed of their parochial ignorence but
    in fact, they positively revel in it.

    Let me quote a particularly striking passage in which she quotes Neil Postman:

    “…we do not measure a culture by its output of undisguised
    trivialities but by what it claims as significant.”

    What the media machine deems significant is a far cry from what the
    founders, or even the solons of the Cival War era deemed vital.

    We have been steadily defining both deviancy, and dumbness, down. We
    have been doing this for so very long that the cynic and the skeptic
    must surely dwell in a well of gloom that digs itself deeper by the
    hour.

    What can thoughtful people who love their country and its freedoms can do?

    Point out the deplorable state of our discourse–its degradation of
    language, its refusal to define its terms in a consistent fashion, its
    almost willful disinclination to assess and synthesize.

    They will all but certainly be drowned out by a claque who insists on
    merely parroting political tracts instead of weighing opposing
    viewpoints and coming to their own independently formed conclusions.

    But the effort is worth making all the same.

    SEE:
    The Age of Unreason by Susan Jacoby.
    http://www.susanjacoby.com/

THE INFORMATION #956 SEPTEMBER 1, 2017

THE INFORMATION #956
SEPTEMBER 1, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 


I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.–Alexander the Great

 

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

Yob,” said Count Justin Victor to Cadger Tandy, “I have often asked myself this rather simple question: Why are so many yellofs addicted to mere cant? Why can’t yobs learn to think for themselves, instead of following the herd? The yellof who dares to go against the received wisdom is nearly always roundly condemned–no matter what the era.

“And why should this be so? Because people are gullible. Like a dog, they’ll do anything you command–as long as you do so in a sufficiently authoritative voice. And they are addicted to scandals–even though the true scandals in American life never quite seem to come out in the open. Like the dirt on George Washington, who was impotent, and prone to mental breakdowns. Or Thomas Jefferson, who fucked his own slaves and sold his resulting bastards down the river. Or Andy Jackson, who was not only a murderer, but an adulterer. Or James Buchanan, who was as queer as a three dollar bill and maintained a residence for his very good friend Vice President King. Or Lincoln, who had a Morphoditic attachment to his own Nigra servant. And did you hear about how, right after he had lunch with President Roosevelt, Booker T. Washington was so full of himself that he started peepin’ in at a window at a woman who was undressing, and was caught by her angry white husband, and it took all the king’s horses and all the king’s men to sweep it under the rug, lest there be a race riot? They also say that President Fatso’s weenie is so tiny that his battleaxe wife has to use a magnifying glass and tweezers.

Yob, there are more things on heaven and earth that are dreamed of in your philosophy. Fellatio. Construpation. Mastrupation. And other grim perversions too sordid to discuss. Besides, seeing as how you live with Red Mary in a whorehouse, surely you know the facts of life. If not, then here’s an idea–maybe you should study Latin so you can read the more interesting parts of that good old book by my good friend Dr. Krafft-Ebing. He only had it translated into English about ten years ago. They say that it’s the dirtiest book ever written, and I’m willing to take them at their word. Can’t make head nor tails of a lot of it, but it does make for excellent night-stand reading. Only the hell of it is that just when you’re working yourself into paraesthesiac frenzy, out comes the deadly dull Latin passages, and Boom! Crash! the mood is broken.

“Now, some say that the best way to learn the secret history of the world is to looch around with Mes’cans and Nigras, because most white folk treat them as though they are invisible and so they get to hear a lot of secrets that way. Other people claim that, unlike we deracinated white Christians and our neurasthenic messiah, their Gods are an altogether heartier breed–Tezcatilipoca and Shango and Koox and Roog et hoc genus omne. While we looch around with the Yellofs in skirts, their priests are prone to doin’ such things as stomping around with grass skirts and shoving bones through their noses and yanking the still-beating hearts out of their sacrificial victims. No wonder they’re so robust! Fact is, Yob, you can howl about miscegenation all you want, but us washed-out Anglo-Saxons NEED a lick of the old tar brush every now and again. Now, I don’t want no Nigra making goo-goo eyes at MY sister, but I don’t give a hoot in hell if a white man wants to indulge in some dark meat of a Saturday night. I got no qualms about it. As to the results of all this chthonic activity? It’s good for the Nigra race, and they know it. A light-skinned Nigra will always find favor–with the white man, and even among his own dusky brethren. They can deny it all they want, but they all tend to favor their lighter skinned brothers and sisters. Ever hear Nigras in a slanging match among themselves? It’s always ‘Gorilla’ this and ‘Dusty’ that and ‘Crispy’ this, and ‘Kinky’ that. They’re ashamed of their own blackness!

“Here’s a little secret: Miscegenation has been a way of life in the South since well before the founding of the Republic. Since Jamestown, as a matter of fact. And there’s an indirect benefit to the white race, as the animal good spirits cof the colored race can add a great deal of vigor to an exhausted bloodline. However, if I was you, Yob, I would only trust a mulatto as far as you kin throw him. Never get too close to a high yaller. He’s got the spunk of the colored races, and some of the intelligence of the Nordic races, but they lie in uneasy equilibrium, and for that reason a Mulatto is always tragic for one reason or another. Stick with the Quadroon and Octoroons. That’s where the future is at!”

 
1*SALUTATION
SWINGLE SINGERS
SEVILLA
3*HUMOR
On August 20th at 3:10pm I received a text that Jerry Lewis had died.


I met Jerry Lewis. Well…not really. A friend of mine and I spent some time in a room with him. At the Harvard Coop. Circa 1982. He was flogging copies of his stupid memoirs or something. (Jerry Lewis: In Person) He snarled at some hapless old man who wanted to have a picture taken with him. “Where did you get your clothes? At the Salvation Army?”

My friend and I went there with the firm intention of asking him about The Day the Clown Cried, but Jerry had a couple of goons nearby as security, and so we didn’t.

I had just finished reading the Dean and Jerry joint biography–until recently the only one. The depths of Jerry’s depravity were barely scratched, but it was a revealing portrait all the same.

By the mid-70s, Jerry had an oil burner of a Percodan habit. “Those were the percs,” I said to my friend, “that went along with his job.” Apparently, his dependence on painkillers began as a result of a nasty spill he took in 1965. Jerry’s son reports that Jerry kept his goodies in a locked chest in his “study,” along with reefer, guns, and God only knows what else.

I recall reading an article in Parade magazine circa 1980 in which Jerry rather grandiosely stated that a “Texas Millionaire” had once offered him “half a million dollars” to reveal why he was so interested in Muscular Dystrophy. Jerry turned him down flat–which somehow doesn’t jibe. Wouldn’t the money have benefited the cause he was being so tight-lipped about?
www.rollingstone.com/movies/features/whats-so-funny-about-jerry-lewis

Lenny Bruce, as usual, had the answer. “Jerry Lewis, who has done so much for Muscular Dystrophy–‘Don’t give to the other diseases, just give to mine’–which he causes–‘DEEEEAN!””
www.laphamsquarterly.org/comedy/lenny-bruce-loses-crowd

It may or may not have been the same article in which Jerry said he would never release “The Day the Clown Cried”–until such day as “world pornography is eliminated.”

I was doing some research into student radicalism for a history paper and reading the local papers on microform, and ran across a charming interview with Jerry stating that he was against the war in Vietnam and would urge his son to run off to Canada if he were drafted.

You know, there’s a very strong case to be made that Jerry suffered from one of the autism spectrum disorders, but was never diagnosed.

 

DEAN MARTIN & JERRY LEWIS – 1951 – Standup Comedy – “Jerry Goes Crazy!”

4*NOVELTY

LOU CHRISTIE
BEYOND THE BLUE HORIZON
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSrYIfMMoRw

ALSO SEE:
THE HIT PARADERS
BEYOND THE BLUE HORIZON
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h74sDv18Lsc

 

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
JULIAN CLARY
THE JOKE THAT DESTROYED A CAREER

 

6* DAILY UTILITY
THE FALL OF THE SIMPSONS
7*CARTOON
IN MY MERRY OLDSMOBILE
8*PRESCRIPTION
THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL AS PRESENTED BY “THE GENERAL”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_R-5YAwPdA

9*RUMOR PATROL
ON MOVING TO MEXICO AND LIVING LIKE A FUCKING KING

www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/5h3ari/people_who_moved_to_a_third_world_country_to_live/

10* LAGNIAPPE
PITCHFORK

Top 200 best 1960s records.

CONSPICUOUS BY THEIR ABSENCE:

THE PRETTY THINGS
PRIVATE SORROW (FRENCH TV)
 
ALSO SEE:
THE PRETTY THINGS
S.F. SORROW (MONO)
 
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE SADDEST STORY EVER TOLD

Clive James, whose fascinating book Cultural Amnesia I am reading in bits and pieces, tells the anecdote of Sejanus’s Daughter, who, on being led to her death, said (according to Tacitus):

“What have I done? Where are you taking me? I won’t do it again.”
books.google.com/books?id=aRxnrlLdcogC&pg=PA101&lpg=PA101&dq=sejanus%27s+daughter+before+she+was+murdered+said+%22I+won%27t+do+it+again%22&source=bl&ots=LcKPIvCPk2&sig=rT6jp7E3gq7Fl1N6tKRob39nsDo&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjX69bQxO3VAhXD5iYKHVRTAKUQ6AEIKDAA#v=onepage&q=sejanus’s%20daughter%20before%20she%20was%20murdered%20said%20%22I%20won’t%20do%20it%20again%22&f=false

Which is remarkably similar to an anecdote about Alex the Gray African Parrot, who, on being left by his owner at the Veterinarian, famously said,

“I love you. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alex_(parrot)

But then again, he always said “I love you”, so maybe it’s not all that impressive.

Not as impressive as The Legend of Brave Gelert aka The Saddest Story Ever Told (Fraud Madox Freud notwithstanding):

One of the best known, and loved, folk-tales in Wales is the story of a faithful hound.

The story goes that in the thirteenth-century, Prince Llywelyn the Great had a palace at Beddgelert in Caernarvonshire, and as the Prince was a keen hunter, he spent much of his time in the surrounding countryside. He had many hunting dogs, but one day when he summoned them as usual with his horn, his favourite dog Gelert didn’t appear, so regretfully Llywelyn had to go hunting without him.

When Llywelyn returned from the hunt, he was greeted by Gelert who came bounding towards him …his jaws dripping with blood.

The Prince was appalled, and a horrible thought came into his mind …was the blood on the dog’s muzzle that of his one-year old son. His worst fears were realised when he saw in the child’s nursery, an upturned cradle, and walls spattered with blood! He searched for the child but there was no sign of him. Llywelyn was convinced that his favourite hound had killed his son.

Mad with grief he took his sword and plunged it into Gelert’s heart.

As the dog howled in his death agony, Llywelyn heard a child’s cry coming from underneath the upturned cradle. It was his son, unharmed!

Beside the child was an enormous wolf, dead, killed by the brave Gelert.

Llywelyn was struck with remorse and carried the body of his faithful dog outside the castle walls, and buried him where everyone could see the grave of this brave animal, and hear the story of his valiant fight with the wolf.

www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofWales/The-legend-of-brave-Gelert/


12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
DICK GREGORY
On the morning of August 21st at 8:00am I was told me that Dick Gregory had died.
 

I read Dick Gregory’s delightful book “Nigger” when I was in a child welfare shelter. One of the black counselors, an obese woman who I otherwise barely remember, objected to this reading matter. I said, “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

But it wasn’t the book’s rather louche title, but its militant contents which no doubt provoked her ire.

Dick Gregory was kind of like Bill Cosby with a brain, and without the rape, and a head over-brimming with conspiracy theories.

A lot of his stuff seems to have been inspired by Lenny Bruce. As well as Mort Sahl, et al. (Incidentally, Mort Sahl also got kind of lost in the whole conspiracy theory schtick.)

“If Jesus had lived and died in modern times, we’d all be walking around with little electric chairs around our necks.”
www.patheos.com/blogs/danpeterson/2017/04/what-would-he-have-said-today.html

Did you know that Dick Gregory ran for President in 1968? He even issued a book with the title “Write Me In”. It was rumored that he got enough write-in votes in Illinois to tip the election to Nixon.

 

Dick Gregory wasn’t just standin’ around sellin’ woof tickets, bra. He spent a billion dollars in research. His son had two PhD’s and was addicted to crack. O.J., Bill Cosby, and Tiger Woods got too big for their britches and had to be taken down. Coffee causes stomach cancer. These are just a few of the things you’ll learn from listening to the following program.

THE INFORMATION #955 AUGUST 25, 2017

THE INFORMATION #955
AUGUST 25, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 

Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish.–Euripides

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

It was late summer in Noxtown. The weather that year seemed slightly off; wetter than usual and colder in the evening than was often the case.
And the wildlife was acting queer. Count Justin Victor had begun evenings to take his wonted constitutionals very late in the evening, in some of the less citified parts of the neighborhood. As he roamed through back yards and unpaved alleys, he saw sleepy fat robins roosting in low-hanging bushes and whey-faced possums lurking behind dustbins. If he happened to be walking very early in the day, he would spy bees frantically gathering pollen to bring back to their hives, and common rock doves patrolling the grassy vacant lots where once stood decrepit hovels and ancient shanties.

“The trouble with this country,” said Count Justin Victor to Cadger Tandy, as together they prowled this semi-urban hinterland late on a Thursday evening, “is that so many growed men continue to think and act as though they was children. And that’s because they went to a little red one-room schoolhouse and they never paid attention to nothing the teacher ever said, and so they never learned the proper rules of argumentation. They got no logic in ’em–none. They think they can win you over with the simple argument Becuase I Said So. the same one their own parents likely used on them.

“But the joke’s on them. I’m going to let you in on a big secret, Yob. Don’t tell nobody I said this, because I might be tarred and feathered and run out of town for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. But here it is. The fact is, most goddamned people don’t know shit. They don’t know what they’re talking about, unless they have direct experience in the matter, and very few do. And furthermore, they don’t even know how to think or even what to think until somebody far smarter than they are comes along and tells them.

“Another thing you should know about people is that they want simple answers. They don’t want to debate the truth. Back in ought-four they was all marching in the street and hoo-roaring themselves hoarse for Grand Old Teddy without even listening what Judge Parker had to say. They don’t want to think for themselves because most of them don’t know how.  As a matter of fact, most people, if they can think at all, can only think about one thing at a time. Sometimes two at a time, but no more. Because most human beings just ain’t built to be all over the map with their attention. They got to have peace and quiet so they can think. Otherwise, they get easily distracted. And tell me something–where is there peace and quiet in today’s world–where we have such modern machinery and so many cave-dwelling minds? Out in the big stick country, I suppose–but farmers have always got the critters to think about. Man was not built for the speed of the modern world. It’s the pace that kills. Why is it you suppose that when a Yellof goes nutty, they always send him to some quiet sanitarium way out in the country in Chump Junction or East Saint Jesus? The answer is simple–once you get away from all the noisy pandemonium of the big city and all the irritating noisy snoops of your typical small town, your brain has a fighting chance of healing itself, and stretching itself back into its natural shape. Once you get away from all the hustle and the bustle, the hurly and the burly and the rumpus and the bumpus, why, then, you can get yourself a complete and restful night’s sleep. As the immortal bard of Stratford-on-Avon so eloquently stated:

Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care
The death of each day’s life, sore labour‘s bath
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.

“See what I mean? You may not of thought much of MY argument, but all I have to do is quote some Shakespeare, and all of a sudden what I said sounds…very, very wise.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, Yob. I’m not saying that I’m simply handing you a line of bunkum. Most good doctors will tell you that a few good nights of sleep will cure pretty much whatever ails you–far better than any powders or pills. That’s why I always stuff myself at lunch and hardly eat anything at all for dinner. A man needs to get his eight hours. Now, you see gamblers and stage performers and lawyers and such, and they always seem to be burning the midnight oil. And that is precisely the reason why that all too often, they ain’t quite right in the head. Night nurses, sleepy hoss doctors, goofy night watchmen–all of ’em are easy to put one over on–because they’re dull from lack of normal rest.

“And believe me when I say that if you’re not too bright in the first place, then you’ll be even duller if you don’t manage to get some shut-eye. It’s more debilitating than being roaring drunk, in my experience. Most yekkmen are stupid because they’re uneducated, and they have never learned to think, and they keep odd hours, and they never get a good night’s rest because they’re jittery all the time–they got the inside meemies that some copper is going to come busting into their lair at some ungodly hour like 4am. Also, a lot of them on on the dope. That’s why crooks look up to a yellof as can do all their thinking for them. I was spieling about Masons before, and I’ll be the first to admit that I only know as much as I’ve caught wind of–but I’ll tell you with the bark off that there’s one secret society that has the Masons licked all hollow–and that’s the confraternity of the demi monde, the shades below, and the unfathomed deep. You might call it the underworld. Leave us call it ‘the syndicate’ and leave it at that.

“Dumb people repeat. Smart people imitate. Let be explain what I mean. Some sucker will hear from somewhere or other that Teddy Roosevelt is a good man. So he’ll offer that up as his unabashed opinion. A slightly more clever man will say, ‘People say that Teddy is a good man.’ An even more clever man will say The New York Tribune endorses Teddy for re-election. And an even more sophisticated man will say that Collier’s Weekly has come out in a big way for Teddy. I suppose you can over-step yourself, and say that Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln all would of heartily endorsed Teddy, if they was still around. That’s something we’ll never know.

“Y’see, Yob, even if a man resents being ordered around, you can bend him to you will all the same–simply persuading him that somebody smarter than hisself has already got everything figured out, and has graciously consented to regale us all with the fruits of his knowledge. Didn’t Eve herself fall prey to this syndrome?’The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.’ Genesis 3:13. Look it up.

“Sure, and ain’t it just like a zook, too–to lay the blame for all her misfortunes on a second party!”

1*SALUTATION

RUN MOUNTAIN
J.E. MAINER’S MOUNTAINEERS
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRhXnF5oLFo

ALSO SEE:
LIVIN’ OFF THE LAND
HOLY MODAL ROUNDERS
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXxbuyfP05c&index=5&list=PLVqZMDLDR9SZ6DDN9-kOFoQMF-0rADpaz

 
SEE ALSO:
HACKBERRY RAMBLERS
VINTON HIGH SOCIETY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TfyxCzcSss&index=13&list=PLgbYjM47H9sQF6tK3EVCBUCD-v6-w1tq7

 
2*REFERENCE
THINGS THE ALT-RIGHT NEVER TALKS ABOUT

James Baldwin once remarked that segregationists weren’t truly driven by the cliché concern of preventing black men from marrying their daughters. Rather, he said, “You don’t want us to marry your wives’ daughters—we’ve been marrying your daughters since the days of slavery.”
www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/the-segregationists-daughter

ALSO SEE:

THE WILMINGTON INSURRECTION OF 1898


 
3*HUMOR
GILBERT SHELDON
LITTLE ORPHAN AMPHETAMINE
 


4*NOVELTY 
LEARNING FROM LYRICS

www.learningfromlyrics.org/songsatoi.html


ALSO SEE:

DON’T BE A SUCKER (1947)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=23X14HS4gLk&feature=youtu.be&t=134

 
PROPAGANDA TECHNIQUES (1950)
https://youtu.be/UtKnVo6j6-A
 

SEE ALSO:

THE 48 LAWS OF POWER (ANIMATED)
 
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

White Nationalist “Stachebro” From Virginia March Attack Is A Mass Local Named Matt Colligan And He Doesn’t Like Being A Newly-Famous Racist
turtleboysports.com/white-nationalist-stachebro-from-virginia-march-attack-is-a-mass-local-named-matt-colligan-and-he-doesnt-like-being-a-newly-famous-racist/

 
ALSO SEE:
CRYBABY NAZI
http://www.rawstory.com/2017/08/im-terrified-neo-nazi-blubbers-like-a-baby-in-video-reporting-hes-wanted-for-arrest-in-charlottesville/#.WZR0A7fuC0h.twitter

 
6* DAILY UTILITY
FIFTY THINGS THAT EVERY COMICS COLLECTION TRULY NEEDS
 
 
7*CARTOON

The Ren and Stimpy Show S2 E04 – Man’s Best Friend (The ‘Banned’ Episode)

 
ALSO SEE:
LOST MEDIA WIKI

http://lostmediawiki.com/Home

 
8*PRESCRIPTION
TWENTY-ONE TV SHOWS THAT SHOULD NOT HAVE EXISTED
 
TEN TV SHOWS THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN BANNED
 
FIVE WEIRD DOCUMENTARIES
 
ALSO SEE:
PINK LADY AND JEFF
GUEST-STARRING JERRY LEWIS
Just about the worst thirty minutes ever shown on television.
 

SEE ALSO:

HEIL HONEY, I’M HOME
ANIMATED OPENING
 
FIRST AND LAST SHOW
 
9*RUMOR PATROL
THINGS YOU REALLY SHOULDN’T SEARCH ON GOOGLE
 

 

10* LAGNIAPPE

Joe Williams’ Washboard Blues Singers

BABY, PLEASE DON’T GO

This is far and away the greatest version of this song I have ever heard.

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

THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF PULP HEROES
BY JEFF NEVINS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
http://jessnevins.com/tableofcontents.pdf

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

THE APOLOGY EPIDEMIC
GILBERT GOTTFRIED
http://www.playboy.com/articles/stop-saying-sorry-on-twitter

THE INFORMATION #954 AUGUST 18, 2017

THE INFORMATION #954
AUGUST 18, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 
 

Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.–Mark Twain

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

“I’m telling you, Yob,” said Count Victor Justin to young Cadger Tandy, “when them Masons conduct an initiation for a side degree, they don’t fiddlefuck around.”

As they walked, Tandy noticed that it was just after midsummer, but that it was already cool and there was a decided hint of autumn in the breeze. This made him ineffably sad, for a reason which he could not immediately fathom.

“Personally,” said the Count, “I think practical jokes are strictly for the all squares from Delaware. I do not cotton to that variety of humor, so-called. They are stupid and vulgar. I was brought up amid country bumpkins, you know, though of course I was never allowed to play with them once I passed the age of about seven. The first thing I noticed about them was that they talked with a drawling accent which I was forbidden to emulate. My father didn’t mind so much, but my Momma was hell on proper diction and all of that. She said that you could always tell if a person had class and manners by the way they talked, although she didn’t use those exact words.She said that if everybody took the trouble to learn their grammar and spelling, the world would be a better and more equal place. But it was her contention that very few people, relatively speaking, had the intellectual equipment to conform to those rules. Everyone else was either stupid or lazy–at least, in her view. Where she got these peculiar notions I don’t know, but I can well guess. Why, she got them from her own father, whom she adored. Now, there was a formidable gentleman. Six feet tall, 180 pounds, and ramrod straight. He had long white hair and wintry-white whiskers like icicles, and he always sported a great-coat and a pince-nez, which were the fashion of his day. And a cane with the gold head of a lion.

“Anyhow, practical jokes are about as far removed from actual wit as we are from the monkeys in the jungle. Speaking of which, attending one of the Masonic rituals is a good deal akin to watching the antics of the denizens of the monkey house at the Zoo. A great many people, it seems, never develop much beyond the age of nineteen. I’m not talking about soldiers or ministers, or such-like–their problem is that they have grown old too fast. No, I’m talking about the mass of ordinary mortals. This is a true fact about men, that they are, in essence, boys, and most women know it. That’s why the zooks all look at us with ill-concealed disrespect–once they’ve gotten their hooks in. Just like no man is a hero to his valet, no husband is a sensible adult to his wife–once they get past the honeymoon.

“It is well for the menfolk that the honeymoon only lasts around three or four weeks. If they had to take care of a squalling bairn while they were still in the throes of puppy-love, they would probably drop the kid on the stone pavement in a fit of swoony goofiness. Anyway, I think it is well that most men are not entrusted to the care of small babies. They’re little better than babes in arms their own selves is why. Witness the initiation rituals at the Masonic Hall if you happen to doubt the veracity of this asseveration.”

“Huh?” said Cadger Tandy.

“The truth of this claim.Yob, you had better learn yourself some vocabulary words, other than the thieves’ cant and argot that they spout over t’ The Seven Stars. In any event, let’s say you join a lodge and they ask you if, in the bargain, you also want to join the Mystic Order of the Veiled Prophets of the Enchanted Realm. You gotta say yes because you can’t say no. In for a penny, in for a pound. That’s how the lodges make their money, you know–with the side degrees. And the older guys always get a great big kick out of putting the younger Yellofs through unmitigated hell. That’s how the old folk manage to show their resentment of the fact that they don’t love their wives no more, while the young guys still do, mostly. There’s more than a little bit of agfay action going on with these idiotic initiation rituals and side degrees. I dunno why they don’t just fuck each other and get it over with and out in the open, instead of dancing around the question. But don’t ever suggest any such thing–no, no–or you’ll be banished from the sight of ‘decent’ men. 

 
“I’ll tell you something, Yob–these secret rituals get a bit kinky at times, what with the fake electric branding irons and the spanking machines, and the electrified carpets and the trick collapsing chairs. You know, it’s a typical square John mentality–you let people in authority shit all over you, then you pick yourself up from the muck and mire with a great big grin, like a cat eating shit out of a hairbrush, and you say please, Sir, more. That shows you’re a ‘good sport’ and a ‘hail-fellow-well met,’ which is the single most valuable attribute a man can have in that stuffy and musty old lodge world. It’s a peccadillo of the middle and the lower classes, these lodges. Rich Yellofs–old money, by and large–have their trig and exclusive wood-panelled clubs which they retire to, and they countenance absolutely no vulgar behavior from mere arrivistes. If you go to the Washington Club or the Hamilton Club or the Algonquin Club or any of those clubs which tend to be named after founding fathers or extinct Injun tribes, you will soon discover that they don’t go in for idiotic gadgets like electric benches or trick mirrors or a box of cigars rigged up to administer an electric shock. This last is a real cute stunt, because even if you don’t get shocked, once you light the cigar, about one-third of the way down is an exploding load. It should go without saying that any Yellof who tried a stunt like that at any of these swank members-only establishments would be tossed out on their ear, and likely blackballed all over town to boot. The rich are different from you and me, Yob–they have a more refined sense of humor. They’d rather be horsewhipped than to do something that might make them look like a buffoon in front of the members of their tribe. And here’s a dirty little secret–a great many of them will actually pay to be whipped. By zooks. In secret. But you didn’t hear about this from me–capisce?
 
1*SALUTATION
THE FREEZE
IT’S ONLY ALCOHOL
 
2*REFERENCE

Why Are Opioid Users Overdosing in Libraries, and How Should Librarians Respond?
By Samantha Sanders
Librarians across the country are witnessing opioid overdoses on the job. Here’s how some library systems are responding.
https://catapult.co/stories/at-work-opioid-overdoses-at-the-library-when-librarians-are-first-responders

3*HUMOR
GRATEFUL DEAD PARODY
COCAINE EXPRESS


4*NOVELTY 
 
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
RICHARD NIXON FAREWELL SPEECH

“Others may hate you, but those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them, . . . . and then you destroy yourself.”

 
8*PRESCRIPTION
PIMPLES

9*RUMOR PATROL
VOCAL FRY
 
ALSO SEE:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/12/15/vocal-fry-raspy-voice-speech-trend-pattern-young-women_n_1151293.html

10* LAGNIAPPE
SINEAD O’CONNOR
BLACK BOYS ON MOPEDS
 
 
11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE MINE SHAFT DRESS CODE

Some college friends and I were slumming in NYC and we tried to get into the Mine Shaft circa 1978.

We got as far as the top of the stairs and then we learned they wouldn’t let me in because I was too well-dressed.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mineshaft_(gay_club)#Dress_code