MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 229 NOVEMBER 2017

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE 
NUMBER 229 
NOVEMBER 2017
 
Copyright 2017 Francis DiMenno
1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES
SECOND SERIES
 
101. Your money’s no good here. It’s counterfeit.
102. You have played the fool too long to stop now.
103. None of your “friends” can help you–they are all ex-cons.
104. Even the Rolling Stones think you are a degenerate.
105. You are not “an Irish storyteller.” You are a ranting drunk.
106. That preacher’s daughter you married is a high-priced whore.
107. In your mouth, the word Virtue stinks like a rotten egg.
108. It hurts to be you. Soon it will hurt far more.
109. You poor sleepwalker. Never once have you opened your eyes.
110. Your storied ancestors did glorious things. What have you ever done?
111. They won’t even love you when you’re safely dead.
112. You are a little man. He has a big gang.
113, You ain’t pretty no more. Soon you will be less so.
114. Your nickname among your associates is “The yellow rat”.
115. Your wife who told you to drop dead is researching odorless poisons.
116. Open your eyes for once, for soon they will be closed forever.
117. Your private dick has gotten a far better offer from your enemy.
118. You are a pig–and you know what they do to pigs.
119. Liar, very soon will come your moment of deadly truth.
120. They will murder you in broad daylight–and walk free.
121. Your ticking alarm clock tolls your final hours, doomed one.
122. Fat man, you have shoved your fat snout into too many pies.
123. Walk the Walk for now. For soon you will be made to crawl.
124. Coward! The dark stench of your fear fills every room.
125. You will be shot dead trying to break into your own fleabag apartment.
126. Clumsy oaf! She is only stringing you along for your fat bankroll.
127. The shy librarian you’re courting is a clever murderess.
128. The man you cut off on the freeway drives a Murder Van.
129. You can count the days you have left on the fingers of your only hand.
130. Your mother-in-law is quite literally an evil witch.
131. You have made yourself odious to members of “The Syndicate.”
132. You seek fame and fortune but will only find famine.
133. Your sunset years will be spent gumming beans and rice in a Mexican slum.
134. A cop will pull you over. But he won’t really be a policeman.
135. You are not human. You are barely even an animal.
136. Your kinfolk avoid you, lest your rotten attitude infests their children.
137. They call you a fruit. But soon you will be a vegetable.
138. The girl you once called “Kitten” is now a crazy cat lady.
139. The only music in your life will be found in Sing Sing.
140. A black cat will cross yur path again and again and again.
141. The only grocer who will give you credit is going bankrupt.
142. You will come in second in a stupidity contest–because you’re stupid.
143. That tempting “free offer” will drain your bank account,gullible one.
144, Even old junkies have girlfriends–why not you,gullible one?
145. Your apartment smells like cat piss–and you don’t even own a cat.
146. You are not a lion–you are Dorothy the small and meek.
147. You were born in Bedford Falls but will die in Potterstown.
148. Even an unmarked grave is too good for the likes of you.
149. You will end your days sleeping in a Goodwill deposit box.
150. Your days will be darker than any moonless night.
 
2. OTHER PEOPLE’S WRITING AND WHY MINE IS SO MUCH BETTER


“O wad some Power the giftie give us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion”
–“To a Louse” By Robert Burns

Other people’s writing is incompetent and zany and bordering on the absurd.

All of my writing is lucid and informative.

In fact, my writing is so analytical and yet, reflective, it is
obvious that I value ideas, principles and abstract thinking above all
else.

But also, fun.

Truly, as I amass knowledge over the entire course of my life, I seek
to understand and explain the entire universe.

Bun in a fun way, of course.

Just name the discipline, and you’ll find me perched on the loftiest
rungs of theory and analysis.

Of course, I also like to tell a joke or too, or, in the vulgar
parlance, to “crack wise” upon occasion.

Because–let’s face it–I am a true visionary.

In truth, I see everything in terms of how it could be improved, or
what it could be turned into. I seek clarity in
everything–everything!–and am driven to build knowledge, and help
society move towards a higher understanding.

Listen, haters: I ignore existing rules and opinions and define my own
approach to a resolution–so sue me! I seek patterns and logical
explanations for anything that interests me. So there! As for routine
matters–bureaucracy, haircuts, showers–those are for the hoi polloi.

I do not like to lead or control people. I’d rather simply have them
vanish. Vanish from my sight! Does that make me bad?

OK–I am not without flaws. I may sometimes become overly critical and
sarcastic with others. Well, boo hoo hoo. It’s not my fault you write
so shitty. Maybe you should go back to school SO YOU CAN STUDY ENGLISH
AS A FIRST LANGUAGE, IMBECILE!

Anyway, I am very independent, unconventional, and original, and I
hope you think so too.

All I really need is an environment which supports my creative genius
and alleged “eccentricity”. Like a penthouse on Fifth Avenue, rent-free, for as
long as I live.

After all, consider this–I am the pioneer of new thoughts in our society.

So…is a lousy little penthouse really too much to ask for?

Well–IS IT?

 

3. ADD OR SUBTRACT ONE LETTER AND CHANGE THE BAND

A Certain Radio
U1 2?
The Betels
The Ramens
The Inedible Strong Bund
The Whom
Iran Maiden
Dire Strats
The Cured
Motley Crud
Methallica
The Salivation Army
Mothrahead
The Butthole Suffers
The Flaming Lisps
Guidoed By Voices
Masters of Realty
Minor Treat
The Modern Plovers
Johnny Clash
Bomb Dylan
Small Feces
The Zombees

 
4. PARANOID POLITICS


In the 1980s, in Cambridge, on the occasion of being congratulated for
winning his reelection by a margin of 90 to 10, Tip O’Neill grumbled,
“But my only opponent was a damn Communist!”

On the suggestion that Nixon might have a role to play in a Reagan
administration, one unnamed source said, “Whoever thinks that must be
smoking crack.”

Bob Hope, confronted by protesters at the 1971 Miss World Pageant,
remarked, “Anyone who wants to disrupt something as beautiful as this
must be on some kind of dope. The perpetrators will pay for this.
Upstairs will see to that.”–Gerard J. DeGroot, “The Sixties
Unplugged,” p. 288.

Confronting a protestor at a 1968 rally, Nixon said, “Once we’re
elected, we’ll take care of guys like you.” Turning to his security
detail, Nixon then bellowed, “OK boys–throw him out!”

“I don’t do cowering.”

–Barack Obama
 
5.

I WOULD BE PERFECTLY HAPPY IF I NEVER AGAIN SAW ANOTHER MOVIE WITH A…


Man causing a disruption in the lobby of a corporate skyscraper, and
the victim yelling, “Security! Security!”  (Also seen in a hospital
setting.)
Man causing a disruption in the main room of a castle, and the lackey
yelling, “Guards! Guards!” (Also seen in Arabian souk setting.)
Venal small-town sheriff with a sloppy pot-belly and a hick accent
thick enough to cut with a bandsaw.
Obviously postcoital couple lolling nakedly in bed.
Group of five friends, one of whom dies.
Protagonist pausing after extended butchery to make witty remark, then
rushing away because he’s in a hurry.
Singing chain gang.
Guy working at the morgue and eating a sandwich.
Guy who gets the girl in the end
Guy who gets the guy in the end
Hooker with a heart of gold.
Group of people learning life lessons.
Magical black person.
Bitchy mother in-law.
Ugly smart girl who is actually hot.
Sassy black woman.
Cop drinking cold coffee from a takeout cup.
Wise old asian guy.
Vicious midget.
Gay best friend.
Countdown timer.
Crew of zombified children.
Computer password found on the first or second try.
Fist fights that take place on top of trains
Pregnant woman in stalled elevator.
Destruction of the statue of liberty.
Person of color who can’t get a bank loan.
Stuffy businessmen infinitely willing to degrade themselves for money.
Loaf of french bread sticking out of a bag of groceries.
Man going into a bar and saying “gimme a beer” and the bartender hands
him one, apparently feeling no need to ask him what kind.
Old white person rapping/breakdancing/talking jive.
Really drunk character suddenly becoming sober.
Pages falling or being torn off a calendar to denote the passage of time.
Running to the airport to get the girl at the gate before she leaves
the country forever.
Protagonist is attacked by one or more people wielding machine guns.
He never gets hit but manages to pick off his foes one by one with
well aimed pistol shots.
Teacher keeping a hot student late after school
Tenant who can’t pay his or her rent.
Doctor who says he needs to give an attractive patient a “physical.”
Massage parlor.
Single tear running down a cheek.
Guy catching an attractive female burglar.
Girl waiting for a ride and a limo pulling up.
Car driving through a fruit stand really fast.
Man turning his back to another man, and then turning around and decking him.
Hero with a gun that never runs out of bullets.
Person always finding parking space right in front of where they’re going.
Post-apocalyptic scenario where only several people survive, set in
some unspecified desert.
Wise child, hobo, Negro, or wise child accompanied by a wise Negro hobo.
A super-hot white, or black, or Asian or Hispanic babe, who is not
only a law enforcement official with an expertise in forensic science,
but she also has a sassy “don’t take no shit” attitude.
Go-go-go success-obsessed businessman/woman who by chance meets
and eventually falls for the laid back daydreamer type, thus learning
that there’s
more to life than making money.
Naked whore dies.
A non-fatal gunshot wound to the shoulder.
A maverick cop teamed with a by-the-rules partner.
Significant message left on an answering machine.
Woman crouched in the shower crying and trying to scrub away the memory.
Man who ducks down into the NYC subway, boarding the train just as
doors are closing, at that same moment the pursuer spots him, but is
too late to stop him.

AND CAN WE PLEASE HAVE A MORITORIUM ON THE FOLLOWING SCENES:
Scene in which a spreading fireball fills a tunnel, a boy whistling
his dog to him, and the animal then leaping into a convenient doorway
with nanoseconds to spare.
Scene in which money is flung into another character’s face.
Scene in which the protagonist miraculously manages to knock out the
seemingly invulnerable psycho axe murderer out, Then, invariably, he
walks up to him to make sure that he’s knocked out, oinly he isn’t.
Scene in which a person’s leg is injured when being able to walk is of
the essence.
A hero’s death scene accompanied by eerie music.
A courtyard or public square filled with flying doves or pigeons.

AND CAN WE ALSO PLEASE RETIRE THE FOLLOWING DIALOGUE:
“There’s no time for that now! We’ve got to get you out of here!”
“Never mind that….”
“I might as well tell you everything, since you’ve got me dead to rights….”
“I might as well tell you everything, since there’s no way you’ll be
able to stop me….”

AND WHY IS IT THAT:
If there’s only one person who smokes, ninety-nine times out of 100,
they’re the villain. Eaters of red meat are also suspect.
When a disturbing dream forces a protagonist to gasp, he always sits
bolt upright in bed, and is instantly 100% awake.
Some creepy old local guy always issues a cryptic warning to the
doomed teenagers.
The busy dad never eats breakfast.
The kids always go right off to bed.
The shots of ‘the big city’ always include a rap or rock music soundtrack.
Everybody always says hello to the hero as he arrives at work.
Nobody says hello or goodbye during a phone call.

Previously operational automobiles fail to start at the worst possible moment.


 
6. THE ANGRY COCKEYED POPE OF CONTRARIWISE, AND THE FLIBBER-DE-GIBBET OF UNREASON


What are we to make of this man? He calls himself a Radical, but we
might better deem him Bitteroso. For he ever ready to offer up a
mordacious wisecrack–indeed, he fancies himself to be one of the Big
Daddy Death Candy Hipsters, who makes his palatial home on Drughead
Street, just off of Bughouse Square.

In fact, he is only the king of the big elbow and past master of the
bully machine.

And yet, like clockwork, when pressed, he will always surrender to his
covert, reactionary, ban-the-bum sentiments as he reliably lines up
with the women of Bergen-Belsen County, the xenophobic
cryptolibertarian gummers, and the big-stick-country squires of his
own prejudice-infested bailiwick, a place where the Jukes talk only to
the Kallikaks and the Kallikaks talk only to God–or, say rather, what
they believe to be their God, though in reality it is only a dud
firecracker tied to a stick by a filth-encrusted string.

Ah, Radical, mon frere! And yet, sad to say, you resemble nothing so
much as a scrupulous opportunist who purveys his robot invective with
all the avidity of a chirping, champing simpleton, bathing in a Niagra
of cat shit. Watching you attempt ponderously to struggle to a far-off
summit of reasonable discourse is like watching a dole blodger who has
been set to work constructing a snowman made of his own frozen flop
sweat. You strut and preen like a crow in the gutter regarding your
own cyber-cred while essentially employing mere water-wit of a grade
deemed old and tired in the long-ago days of Samuel Johnson, for you
are a veritable white trash encyclopedia of meaningless chaff.

Yet if we answer you harshly back, “I am a jelly-filled doughnut” will
be your reply.

You think yourself a supreme avant-guardian of the cybersphere but
scratch the surface beneath the surface–and alas, we will find that
you are all surface–and we will see that you are actually past master
of meretricious blinksmanship only.

 
7. WORDS THAT DON’T GET USED NEARLY ENOUGH TO SUIT ME

Sarge
trout
liquor
ichor
misshapen
supercilious
coffin
codfish
psychotomimetic
reputed
Chicago
swag
booty
simple
whinge
blubber
snotnose
jagoff
laughter
slaughter
agitprop
genre
spatula
dingbat
malicious
venom
detriment
peppermint
benign
doozie
sphincter
crabapple
hootch
dingus
dingleberry
bloodbath
tweezers
lozenge
analingus
beef
pork
twerp
pounce
plump
booboo
ocelot
humdinger
indubitubly
nipples
golly
shish-kabob
knob
uppity
fussbudget
fink
shudup
panties
shitbird
gadzooks
brouhaha
oscelot
blunderbuss
epistle
aplom
b
lemony
pantaloons
galoot
hewn
truculent
spasmodic
succulent
zinnias
collusion
conjugal
orangutan
proboscis
fatwa
pretzel
dollop
chicken
ointment
porcupine
sniffles
hideous
stench
platypus
bastion
hoary
disputatious
antiquated
giblet
trichotillomania
meatus
phlebotomist
fuck
insipid
muskrat
yummy
spellbound
witch
butter
onamotopoeia
minutia
lounge
floozy
wombat
flounder
bacon
ubiquitous
spraints
phyllo
radish
keen
homunculus
papaya
jambalaya
cous cous
maggot
behemoth
monstrosity
lummox
doom
squawk
moisture
brass
diabolical

 
8.

DEAR MR. TOWNIE

When you refuse to let me cross at the crosswalk, I could just
casually mention that you’re an ostentatious vulgarian who flaunts the
“I’m more genuine than everyone else because I’m an ethnocentric
jarhead with a high school diploma and flashy car,” usually upon any
occasion someone discourses at a level of intelligence you feel
vaguely threatened by. Like a fiendishly ingenious dwarf, you cackle
high atop a self-constructed perch of your own not inconsiderable ego
and shower your droppings on the hapless groundlings below, all the
time bellowing about how transgressive you’re being.

I could say that, but I won’t, because that would be an ad hominem attack.


 
9.

MORE WORDS THAT DON’T GET USED NEARLY ENOUGH TO SUIT ME


Joy
Ana
Facsimile
Kepi
Snook
Casbah
Billingsgate
Phosphorescent
Manhandle
Kip
Doss
Tuck
Hoagie
Schmear
Comedo
Rosacea
Cumdrum
Anarchosyndicalism
Estuary
Portage
Pottage
Careering
Strength
Fragile
Fungible
Tungsten
Tangible
Frangible
Irrefragible
Unrepentent
Formidable
Imponderable
Indomitable
Forboding
Situationist
Chuckleberry
vindictive
flibbertigibbet
ribald
ornery
sanctimonious
strop
intermittent
gazebo
Zimbabwe
molten
cantankerous
juicy
serpentine
waffle
insidious
copasetic
svelte
squash
noggin
pluck
anguish
noodle
scurvy
griddle
pinochle
lick
zesty
tang
fraught
bulbous
insipid
bacchanalia
swine
fink
borscht
smash
imbecile
robust
disgruntled
cretin
sinister
nefarious
odious
heinous
obsequious
pusillanimous
obsolescence
idiotic
poop
exacerbate
proselytize
ecclesiastical
juxtapose
flagellate
mendacious
scrumptious
crud
scram
Mojito
cooch
floozy
brassiere
nincompoop
pus
asinine
squeegee
pimple
pumpkin
wherewithal
heinous
hirsute
luscious
fizzy
pickle
rotten
scabrous
wool
twinkle
splatter
vegetable
luminescent
spackle
fortuitous
galoshes
vacuous
vapid
insipid
insidious
hideous
treacherous
ort
falafel
yippee
bazooka
hello
phlegm
anus
chopsuey
liverwurst
instigate
atrocious
squeeze
quaff
lager
wienerschnitzel
pussy
yummy
gorgeous
elaphantine
rhinoceros
blue
black
purple
wasp
crispy
crunchy
lacksadaisical
music
woof
propaganda
meatbucket
photosynthesis
either
Mortadella
favas
scup
tranny
poptart
Cuba
blimey
humidor
palsy
fandango
infidel
porpoise
flugelhorn
roar
bellow
chipmunk
chimpanzee
diddle
doodle
flatulence
queef
excrement
cheese
love
stupor
mongoloid
yes
of
help
oui
luthier
lutanist
pianist
pianism
spongiform
puerile
excrescence
undies
tenderloin
circumlocution

ennui



10. The Conspiracy Theorist

Your skin glows like the hatemonger’s,
Arteries pop sweaty as the neck of the farmhand
In the purest hope of a lynching bee.
I follow your contrabassoon voice and leap like a satyr
As you whisper your infamous blasphemies.
The afternoon floats by on a great flying carpet made of moonbats.
I am comforted by the copy of the protocols of the elders of Zion
That you carry into the twilight of the west and hold next to your heart .
I am filled with hope that you may someday dry your tears of nihilism.
As these words emerge from my fingers,
It reminds me of your picture on the NSOR.
In the quiet, I listen for your last honk of petulance.
I wait in the moonlight for your frightened rejoinders,
Hollow, querulous, impotent.

But they come not.
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THE INFORMATION #965 NOVEMBER 3, 2017

THE INFORMATION #965

NOVEMBER 3, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 

Knavery and flattery are blood relations.–Abraham Lincoln

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 

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

“Listen up, Hombre,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy. It was a rainy dusk during the waning days of Indian Summer, and they were huddled beneath the awning of fruit store in Blowtown. The rain was warm, but constant, and sent grey streams of filth whirling toward to rapidly overflowing gutters.  

“If you ever hope to amount to anything in this wicked world, you’ll do it in the following way. By playing it smart–and acting dumb. In other words, it pays to know the score–but always keep your mouth shut about it. It will never do to let people know that you are a dyed-in-the-wool cynic, and that you question every pat assumption they hold dear, and that you find their pathetic enthusiasms childish at best, and, at worst, downright horrifying.

 “Do ye nae ken that those fine-haired sons o’ bitches could feed every hungry Yellof in the country, and employ them at a decent wage, and save them from a life of impoverishment and misery? But they choose not to. Even a savage Indian will offer a starving prospector his last thimble full of acorn flour, but a rich man will part with one thin dime with only the greatest reluctance, and, at that, only if other people are watching. Don’t you know what the rich teach their children? It’s the same lesson every grifter teaches to his apprentice: namely, never give the sucker an even break. Oh, sure–they teach their children to go to church, mainly because that makes other people think you’re a regular sort of calmly complacent Christian and not a moneygrubbing heathen. They may even teach the kiddies the habit of  Noblesse Oblige, which is always to be resorted to on when there’s an appreciative audience, to ensure some good Press, as well as some publicity that money can’t buy. And they will certainly fill the air with ten thousand cubic yards of dirigible gas about how the highest duty of mankind is service.

“But swell folk are addicted to cant. They don’t mean a single word of it. For, if they did, they would pay their maid and their nurse and their butler and the butler and their cook and their groom and their gardener and everybody else who depends upon their questionable largess a decent salary–only they don’t. They shell out as little as they can get away with. Sure–after twenty years you get a small raise because you are a loyal family retainer, but once you get too old to do a job of work, why, it’s ‘Over the Hill to the Poor-house’ for you, me foine Bucko, and make no mistake about it, Sir. 

“Do I sound bitter? No, Yob, let me tell you right now–I’m not a cynic. I take no joy in questioning every false assumption. I am addicted to my small comforts. I would much rather get along to go along. No–you can call me a realist. No Holy Joe is ever going to hypnotize me into repenting of my myriad sins and crawling down the aisle and being born again in The Lordie–not unless there’s a very pretty penny in it.

“Don’t call me a heathen. Don’t say I’m against God. Now, if such a critter exists, I suppose He is everywhere, and watching me, although I fail to see how my doin’s would hold much interest to such an omniscient customer as Him. No–I suppose that God is just like the care-worn doctor who has seen it all, and seen too much of it at that. The kind of Doc who can take one look at you and tell whether you like to beat your dog, or if your kiddies have scurvy, or whether you know what a whole lot of nines are. No, there’s no impressing a Doc with some exotic disease like rickets–he’s seen everything under the sun. 

“Now, I’m talking a good Sawbones; not a quack. A quack will just dope you up with candy-coated pills and send you on your way. A real Doctor–and God knows there are very few of those–a real Doctor will examine you from head to toe, and poke around you on the inside and outside, and most of all, he will level with you whether the news is good or bad. That’s what people tend to worship in a real doctor, without particularly liking him. There’s a certain aloofness you’ll find among the men who know the answers–I mean, really know them. They’ll accept no excuses and brook no contradiction, and, as you probably know, most people are immature and are mostly all about excuses. Excuses as to why they don’t take better care of their kids; why they don’t educate themselves; why they eat too much and never get any exercise. If the world could run on excuses and good intentions, why, we’d be living in Utopia right this very minute. 

“No, no, it simply will not do to be too smart. People will treat you with sarcasm. They’ll call you a walking encyclopedia. A know it all. An educated fool. They’ll think you’re trying to give them the high hat. That you’re putting on airs. That you’re trying to pitch some fastballs past their little home plate.

“Better that they should think you’re a stupe, than tell you that you’re a little too smart for your own good. Listen to me; I’m the voice of experience. Never let em see where you bleed, or how strong you are. They’ll sap you where you’re vulnerable, and they’ll use your strength against you. Every…fucking…time. 

“Of course, none of this applies if you happen to grow up to be irredeemably stupid. In that case, when people want to make you into their puppet, all they have to do is flatter you in the one area where you’re most deficient. Most men are as vain as women in this way. Tell the world’s ugliest zook—a woman who resembles Old Dog Trey– that her beauty rivals that of Cleopatra and Helen of Troy, and you’ll have her eating out of your hand in no time. The same goes for men of affairs, who, if anything, are even vainer than prostitutes and actors–and even lawyers and politicians. This works on intelligent people as well. The man who stutters can be buttered up and given to suppose that he is actually a great wit. The tired businessman, without so much as one original thought rattling about in his fat skull, can be flattered as a man of great sagacity and perspicacity–a veritable modern-day prophet of Mammon. And if you tell some big fatso that he’s the devil of a rake with the ladies, before too long he’ll think that you’re the Yellof that put the salt in the ocean.

“I’ll tell you this much, Yob—and hear me well–I HAVE NEVER KNOWN IT TO FAIL.”

1*SALUTATION

BABY RAY
LOW RISES
KING KONG
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYd4FimcbDw&list=PLnrRxi_3Z2KbmWvuTLs0F29ShPzCuVYla

BABY RAY
MONKEYPUZZLE
THE BALLAD OF BABY RAY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuBp4n6mcNs

NEVER KNOW MY NAME
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCapfnrqP7M

BIG SUN’S A COMING
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHyrpg-3v48

SUPERBUTCH

https://youtu.be/xFZgBTnc28I

The last song is actually about me, or so the band has assured me.

2*REFERENCE

LIST OF PLACEHOLDER NAMES BY LANGUAGE

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_placeholder_names_by_language

3*HUMOR

HOWDY DOOIT!

http://jeffoverturf.blogspot.com/2012/09/howdy-dooit-will-elder-mad-mondays.html

The opening panel is one of my favorites. The part about the sunray cracks me up.
https://i.pinimg.com/236x/39/d5/02/39d5026aa3e08995c91354a57c989a25–howdy-doody-captain-kangaroo.jpg

Years later I realized that it was probably also a reference to that fact that Disney designed the original Howdy Doody puppet. Which looked ghastly.
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a7/Ugly_Howdy_Doody_1948.jpg

TRIVIA: Clarabell (at one time played by Captain Kangaroo) only spoke once, during the final show. He said “Goodbye, Kids.”

4*NOVELTY

MASSACHUSETTS MAY SWITCH TO ATLANTIC TIME

http://www.sacbee.com/news/nation-world/national/article181021281.html

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

FIFTY ALBUMS YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF:
www.theguardian.com/music/ng-interactive/2017/oct/24/from-arsedestroyer-to-zoogz-rift-50-underground-albums-youve-never-even-heard-of

6* DAILY UTILITY

100 ARGUMENTATIVE ESSAY TOPICS

https://essaybasics.com/100-argumentative-essay-topics/

7*CARTOON

SKIP WILLIAMSON AND JAY LYNCH

“Honey is Bee Shit.”

http://www.printmag.com/comics-and-animation/skip-williamson-jay-lynch-underground-comix/

8*PRESCRIPTION

JESUS AND VIRTUE SIGNALLING

https://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2016/2/4/1454582309233/StephenCollinscartoon21June.jpeg

9*RUMOR PATROL

D.H. LAWRENCE

STUDIES IN CLASSIC AMERICAN LITERATURE

http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/LAWRENCE/lawrence.html

10* LAGNIAPPE

THE SHAGGS

IT’S HALLOWEEN

https://youtu.be/11_nsW151tg

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

JOHN IRVING
Kurt Vonnegut meets a third-rate John O’Hara, who was himself second-rate.

I recall one critic asseverating that had Tolstoy been alive to have read Breakfast of Champions, he would have wept at the state the novel had fallen into.

John Irving is essentially a louse in the locks of Dickens.

Remember what Oscar Wilde said about Dickens?

‘One must have a heart of stone to read the death of little Nell without laughing.’

It applies equally to many of Mr. Irving’s more recently celebrated novels.

John Irving is literature for people who like to hang inspirational posters in their bedrooms.

There is always an element of the narcissism of small differences in our aesthetic responses to art. For aesthetic purposes, all artistic forms, from high to low, can be subsumed under the catchall term ‘art’.

Even if you don’t accept this premise, Irving certainly aspires to transcend the category of mere ‘popular fiction.’

Therein lies his downfall.

Irving’s whole artistic approach seems to consist of sedulously shoving sententious implausibilities down our throat and expecting us to lick our chops
as the gassy treacle burbles past our tumescent lips.

One imagines his next magnum opus will be called Inanity Fair, and will feature bears, wrestling, and about twenty pages of sexy burlesque slapstick flapdoodle.

One does have to admire him for riding his blood-stained hobby horses all the way to the finish line, like the execrable pro-abortion antics of Cider House and the Christ-manque tomfoolery of Owen Meany.

However, one does so in the same way one admires Hitler for annexing the Sudetenland without firing a shot. There is always something meretricious in the way Irving achieves his effects. He reminds me of a pimply gung-ho honors student who unfailingly turns in a three-hundred page paper on a topic
which is always tangential to the original assignment.

One can admire Irving on a superficial level, but on the whole–like his preceptor, Vonnegut–he emits a great deal of smoke and very little light.

*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED

AFRODISIAC. RUGG & MARUCA. ***
ALEXANDER HAMILTON. HENNESSEY & GREENWOOD. ****1/2
ALONE. CHABODE. *****

AND YET… HITCHENS. ****
ARCHIE 4. WAID. ***1/2
BELLEVUE. OSHINSKY. ****
BLACK PANTHER. DOOMWAR. ***1/2
THE CREEPS. KRAUSE. ****

THE DAM KEEPER 1. KONDO & TSUTSAMI. ***1/2
DEADPOOL. BAD BLOOD. ***
THE DEATH OF STALIN. NURY & ROBIN. *****
EVICTED. DESMOND. ****1/2
FAITH 4. THE FAITHLESS. ***1/2
THE GATEKEEPERS. WHIPPLE. ****
GEORGE S. KAUFMAN. TEICHMANN. ***1/2

GODS & THUNDER. ***1/2
GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY: NEW GUARD 4. GROUNDED. ***1/2
HARVEY PEKAR’S CLEVELAND. PEKAR & REMNANT. ****
IN THEIR LIVES. BLAUNER, ED. ***

KASPAR. OBOMSAWIN. ****1/2
KILLER ON THE ROAD. ELLROY. ***1/2

THE LIFE-CHANGING MANGA OF TIDYING UP. KONDO. ****
LUNA PARK. BAKER & ZEZELJ. ****
MUZZLERS, GUZZLERS, AND GOOD YEGGS. COLEMAN. ****1/2
THE NEW ANALOG. KRUKOWSKI. ****1/2

OUR CATS ARE MORE FAMOUS THAN US. HIRSH & OTA. ***1/2
RICHARD NIXON: THE LIFE. FARRELL. ****1/2
SHOPLIFTER. CHO. ***1/2
SHUTTER ISLAND. LEHANE & DEMETTER. ****
SMART ALECK. TEICHMANN. ***1/2

STREET ANGEL. RUGG & MARUCA. ***
PELL ON WHEELS. LETH. ***1/2
SPINNING. WALDEN. ****
STITCHES. SMALL. ****1/2
STUDS TERKEL’S WORKING. PEKAR. ****1/2
SUPERMAN BRANIAC. ***1/2
SUPERMARKET. WOOD. ***1/2
THE WORLD OF RAYMOND CHANDLER. DAY. ****
THREADS FROM THE REFUGEE CRISIS. EVANS. ***1/2
TROTSKY. GEARY. ****1/2
ULTIMATE MARVEL. ***
VALARIAN: THE COMPLETE COLLECTION. VOLUME 2. ****
WEIRD LOVE 4. YOE, ED. ***
WEIRD LOVE 5. YOE, ED.
WHAT JANE AUSTEN ATE & CHARLES DICKENS KNEW. POOL. ****

WHY THE RIGHT WENT WRONG. DIONNE. ****
WOLVERINE VS. DEADPOOL. ***1/2

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

THE GREATEST LIVING WRITER
I don’t know enough about the up-and-coming figures of 21st century literature to give an informed opinion.

As regards 19th and 20th century literature, there has been a precipitate falling off in certain qualities, such as character development. Maybe because outstanding people back then were somewhat more individualistic, prior to the formation and development of present-day mass media? But, to compensate, there has been a corresponding strengthening, I think, in form and style among the greatest practitioners. Nobody in the 1800s could write like Joyce, or Proust, or (especially) Kafka. The conditions were not yet in place for such works to be written.

I like to think of the novel as an ever-developing form. Not dead at all; though nowhere near as prominent as it once was. Good writing will always shine.

I think James Ellroy is one of our greatest living writers; the Underworld U.S.A. trilogy is a great, if somewhat flawed masterpiece. Certainly Philip Roth, if only by default. Milan Kundera as well. Salman Rushdie is notably good, and so is Thomas Pynchon. There’s something unbecomingly frivolous about Tom Wolfe; something somewhat arid about Don DeLillo, although the first chapter of Underworld is absolutely sensational. Irvine Welch and Martin Amis are pretenders to the throne, though they write very entertainingly. Toni Morrison has largely squandered her promise on deliberate obscurantism.

Nowadays I still find great wisdom in the words of Vivienne Westwood: “There is only one criterion: Does it threaten the status quo?”

THE INFORMATION #964 OCTOBER 27, 2017

THE INFORMATION #964
OCTOBER 27, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 


He that cannot reason is a fool. He that will not is a bigot. He that dare not is a slave. –Andrew Carnegie

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

“Yob, I’ll tell you something right now,” said Count Victor Justin to the young and impressionable Cadger Tandy. “There are a lot of tough old birds out there, roaming the landscape.”

It was an unseasonably warm day in mid-October. As they walked the streets, Cadger Tandy caught a whiff of horse manure, and, curiously, apples.

“And you ought to know that one of them tough old birds might be your boss someday, and in a position to decide whether you prosper or starve. You can count on it. He will probably be a narrow-minded coot who thinks he’s always right. And that his way is the only way. And that his taste and preferences are the best, and those of everyone else are the evidence of an inferior intellect. All you can do with these sorts of bull-headed Yellofs is to yes ’em to death. Adopt for yourself their bizarre tastes and habits. And then, when you make a mistake, as you inevitably will, and the boss notices, and inevitably he will, because among all his other vices he scrutinizes his employees with a fine-toothed comb–then he will call you a fool. But he won’t kick you out onto the sidewalk. Because, if you’ve played your cards right, you’ll be his fair-haired boy.No man has ever been flattered to death.

Flattery is a delicious sop to all such men. So you have to feed it to ’em at least three times a day. And treat the inane drivel that drips from their swollen lips like Ye Olde Wisdom of the Ages. Even though it’s the most selfish, the most mean-spirited, small-minded, crossroad-clown buffoonery you’ve ever heard. Like ‘Close down the pool hall and crime will vanish overnight.’ Like ‘I would never let a greasy Dago marry my sister.’ And like ‘All Socialists ought to be gathered up and horsewhipped in the town square.’ 

“I’m a devil, ain’t I? Call me Mephistopheles himself, if you must–but never say I am stupid and I don’t know what’s what.

“Basically, what all these complacent so-called movers and shakers are saying is as follows: “I know what I like – and don’t like – and you’ve got to agree with me.’ 

“Now, the way to get one over on such men is easy. Once you’ve made their acquaintance–and that’s the hard part—you only have to say what THEY are going to say right before they say it. It is simplicity itself, because you know that men of that type will always think and say the exact same thing. Or, at least, you will come to know this–once you spend any amount of time in their company.   They will always mock at and become angry at things they simply fail to understand. Always!

That Armory Show that’s got them all worked up is a good example. Every yahoo and simpleton on the block is howling their rage at the fact that the avant-garde were no longer peddling pictures of kitties and puppy dogs and old grampas contentedly puffing their pipes on the front porch. Oh, how they all howl like savages at the sight and sound of strange new worlds! The mass of men are a great deal like monkeys in that way. Every week they go to church, both to see and be seen. Why? Because they adopt a passive and superstitious stance toward everything their monkey minds fail to comprehend. And so every week they sit, stand and kneel with groups of other monkeys and hoot and gibber at the invisible bars of their self-made stained-glass cage. Because the big apes have told them to do so. ‘Jesus, help this little child/Make him gentle meek and mild.’ Haww…! 

“Now, if I am a devil for saying as much, then so be it.

“And all these politicians who prate of Democracy. Guh! If you truly believe in Democracy, then you have to let the people have their say. But I’ve noticed that mostly all of these wall-eyed loud-mouthed double-chinned limp-dicked self-styled super-patriots, why, the first thing they want to do is stifle dissent. And ain’t it funny how most of ’em are rich fellers, or they very much want to be.

“Yob, I’ll tell you a secret: The rich are different from you and me. They’re all assholes. Every last one of them. Listen, Yob, I know of whereof I speak. I’ve been the fly on the wall inside their exclusive clubs, inside their lodges, at their conclaves. Do you know what most of ’em like to talk about? I’ll tell you. Golf! Here they are, responsible for handling thousands and millions of dollars every day, and the only thing that truly excites them is a stupid little game! Golf! It’s the favorite game of all the plutocrats. It excites them to knock their little balls upon a field of ass, or is it grass? If they had any real balls, they’d be in a seraglio with a passel of naked zooks plunging into the willing fleshpots with a couple of hundred strokes. But no, not these boys! No! They knock a tiny fucking ball into a subterranean hole, and if they manage to do it in only one stroke, then they hoot and holler and set off firecrackers like they just found the Holy Grail, or won the Nobel Prize!

“The trouble with these Yobs most likely started out way back when they were still sucking on the sugar-tit.They were greedy babies who were always reaching for the cookie jar, and, instead of getting their hand slapped and their britches dusted, why, they were positively rewarded for their greed, and petted and made much of.

“I’m no Robin Hood, Yob. Nor am I any kind of philanthropist. What’s mine is mine, and the hell with you. I don’t pretend to be in any business other than Me & Me, Incorporated. But all the same, it gives me the greatest sort of pleasure to sucker those who sucker everybody else. Mark my words–in about 100 years or so, their greed will destroy the world. You and me won’t be here to see it–more’s the pity. Because it will be one long hellacious party once the brakes come off for good. And I truly wouldn’t mind seeing the fat-cats finally get theirs, along with everybody else.

“Call me…call me a believer in democracy!”  

 

1*SALUTATION
2*REFERENCE
HERE I SIT–A STUDY OF AMERICAN LATRINALIA
BY ALAN DUNDES

digitalassets.lib.berkeley.edu/anthpubs/ucb/text/kas034-010.pdf

3*HUMOR
HARVEY PEKAR
RIP OFF CHICK
4*NOVELTY
NIGHT OF THE LEPUS
TRAILER
 
ALSO SEE:
THE BIZARRE SIDE TO RABBITS


5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
SOCIAL JUSTICE WARRIOR MARVEL COMICS

Who are the Marvel heroes with whom the average person is most familiar? The famous ones, right? So you if you into a comic shop and ask for any of the following heroes, you’ll get:
Iron-Man; a black teenage girl whom we are informed is smarter than Tony Stark
Thor; an explicitly feminist woman
Captain America; a black man (the original blonde, blue-eyed Cap revealed himself to be a Nazi)
The Hulk; an Asian hipster
Wolverine; a young girl
Spider-Man; a half black-latino, possibly gay kid with more powers than the original. Surpisingly, Peter Parker still exists too.

The other new characters Marvel has pushed as their main franchises are
Captain Marvel; a former Supergirl rip-off who now looks and acts like a miserable, cliché pseudo-lesbian
Ms. Marvel; a Pakistani Muslim girl who fights Islamophobia, and sometime bad guys
America Chavez; a latina lesbian who might have some powers or something
Moon Girl; a little black girl who is smarter than any man
Squirrel Girl; a botched facelift survivor drawn and written to be as unappealing as humanly possible

http://www.reddit.com/r/KotakuInAction/comments/6qd9wp/can_someone_explain_the_whole_sjw_marvel_thing/

 

6* DAILY UTILITY
“A REPUBLIC–IF YOU CAN KEEP IT.”

 

7*CARTOON
THE CHICKEN-HEARTED KILLER

digitalcomicmuseum.com/preview/index.php?did=19530&page=48
digitalcomicmuseum.com/preview/index.php?did=19530&page=49
digitalcomicmuseum.com/preview/index.php?did=19530&page=50
digitalcomicmuseum.com/preview/index.php?did=19530&page=51

8*PRESCRIPTION
FRANK ZAPPA COMIC BOOK STORY

http://www.afka.net/Mags/National_Lampoon.htm

9*RUMOR PATROL

White restaurant manager in S.C. charged with enslaving black cook
http://www.ajc.com/news/local/white-restaurant-manager-charged-with-enslaving-black-cook/DXODC09DOsFsSajtbjfxJK/

 

10* LAGNIAPPE
LESLIE GORE

Sunshine Lollipops and Rainbows
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSnxYtFarNw

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

Mansplaining is bad.

People should remain ignorant.

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
OVERHEARD ON THE STREET

“Don’t cross against the light, young lady. That’s how God makes angels.”

THE INFORMATION #963 OCTOBER 20, 2017

THE INFORMATION #963
OCTOBER 20, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 
 
One’s real life is often the life that one does not lead.– Oscar Wilde
 
WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART FORTY-SEVEN: DAYS OF WRATH


“You is got to write your own story in life, Yob,” said Count Justin Victor to Cadger Tandy. “That’s what I been trying to tell you all along.

“Now, over in Europe, it’s another story. Over there, everything is predetermined. You can try to pretend that you ain’t a rascal, but you can be sure your sins will find you out. Their detectives are a whole lot smarter than ours. For the most part.

 

I once knowed a feller named Wojciech Novak. Polish feller. He moved to England and changed his name to Willy Newman. He played all sorts of cute stunts over there during the time I knew him. He’d direct a cabdriver to take him to a swanky abode, then say he had to go in to get the cash to pay the fare. Of course, he’d simply vanish around the corner, and of course the servants at the house knew nothing of any feller matching the discription of Willy Newman.

“He was pretty shrewd and resourceful, for a Polack. I suppose he got into grifting because it was what he was most suited for, and because he couldn’t do anything else. He had no trade; no influential relatives, and no hope of posterity save grifting and card sharping. He always had some scheme percolating whereby he could make small sums of money in a great big hurry. My favorite was when he would go to a bookstall, pick up a great big pile of books from the display rack outside, bring them into the shop, and sell the owner’s own books right back to the owner. You’d of think he’s of gotten caught at this little gambit at least once, but I seen him do it some twenty or thirty times. Of course, there ain’t much money in books. So he graduated to Jewelry.

“Here’s how he would operate. First, he would borrow some zlotys off of one of his Maiden Aunts back in Poland. Then he would have a fine suit tailor- made and check into one of the best hotels; and start splashing money around, tipping everybody extravagantly, ordering room service, and generally acting the swell–all the while letting it be known that he was a fabulously wealthy match king from Sweden or Denmark or one of them countries, which accounted for his peculiar accent. Pretty soon, word would spread among all the merchants that this eccentric foreigner was practically throwing all his money away.

“Once he made the desired impression, he put his simple plan into action.

“He would go to the best jewelry store in town and flatter the owner that his joint was world-renowned. Then he would smooth-talk the owner and his clerk into allowing him to take a look at the sparklers in his hotel room on speculation, without paying for ’em. Then he would trot right over the second-best jewelry store, which was usually practically right next door, and he would sell the stones to that owner at a steep discount. He’d never even return to the hotel. He was already on a boat to France before anybody–the hotel owner, the merchants, or the police–had any idea of what had happened.

“Of course, nowadays the cops are wise to such stunts, and you probably couldn’t get away with such an elementary grift anymore. Too many districts have been burned-over to even try it. But in its day it was as sweet a short con as I ever heard of. Just goes to show what you can get away with if you got yourself a blustering front and some ready cash to spread around.

“How many times, Yob, do I have to tell you that, when it comes right down to it, nobody knows or cares about you. Folks, in general, why, they don’t give a hoot in hell or a hot damn about much of anything, other than themselves, and maybe–just maybe–their next of kin. But it’s funny how they manage to torment their nearest and dearest all the same. In all the time I have lived and breathed, I have never known a hermit with a nervous stomach. Or a monk who ground his teeth at night. No–it’s always the Yellofs who consider themselves ‘responsible’ who come down with them kind of ailments, and look like they’re sixty by the time they’re thirty-five.

 

“Dames always say that white hair looks ‘distinguished’. Haw! The little minxes have mastered the art of flattery practically from the moment they can walk! What do you expect them to say? ‘The very thought of your embrace makes me shudder with a quick revulsion.’ No, Yob–you got to be well married-up to them before they turn on the candor. And once they do, it flows from the spigot like a waterfall, let me tell you. Womenfolk of a certain class ain’t got much else rattling around in their pea-brains, so they can build a whole storehouse of resentments and inventory them, every single one of them, and produce them on demand. ‘On February first, 1899, you were ten minutes late to my mother’s garden party. I was SO HUMILIATED.’ Women seize hold of all sorts of little grudges and they squeeze ’em dry for every drop. That’s just what they’re like.

“Even if you do find a loving wife, you will still basically be all alone in a fickle world. Do you think that if you get jugged, your ever-loving sweetheart is going to cool her heels waiting for you to serve your time in the cooler? I have never once known such a thing to happen, Yob–and I’ve talked to hundreds of old lags. The faithful wife is so rare that she’s spoken of as the subject of fairy tales and legends. No, no, Yob–if it’s faithfulness you’re looking for, then buy a dog. Once you make him prosperous, he’ll never once bite you. Unlike some shemales I could mention.

“Do I have to come right out and say it, Yob? Never trust a woman. Never never never never never. Take this one piece of advice–and you’ll be sure to live happily ever after.”

 
1*SALUTATION
RAY DAVIES
A PLACE IN YOUR HEART
 
ALSO SEE:
THE KINKS
AUTUMN ALMANAC (TOP OF THE POPS)
 

SEE ALSO:
So Mystifying
Wait Till the Summer Comes Along
The World Keeps Going Round
I’ll Remember
End of the Season
All of My Friends Were There
Drivin’
The Moneygoround
Complicated Life
Look a Little on the Sunnyside
God’s Children
You Make it All Worthwhile
The First Time We Fall in Love
Sweet Lady Genevieve
Mirror of Love
On the Outside
Pressure
Better Things
Summer’s Gone
Heart of Gold
Out of the Wardrobe
How Do I Get Close
The Video Shop
The Road
Still Searching

 

2*REFERENCE

WORKING CLASS HEROES

Wearing baseball caps while driving.

Often, they are driving Jeeps.

Referring to profanity as “swears”.

Always wanting to eat at the bar or the counter.

Always hollering.

Always hollering to turn out the lights because electricity is expensive.

Summer: Shut the door! Do you want to let the flies in?

Winter: Shut the door! You’re letting all the heat out! Where were you born–in a BARN?

Will argue the merits of Bud vs. Miller. Still thinks Michelob is for “special occasions”.

Can’t fight General Electric so he fights his cronies in the bar.

If something is too highbrow for him or her, s/he’ll say “That’s not for me.”

If s/he thinks something actually sucks, and s/he wants to be diplomatic, s/he will say, “That’s innarestin‘.”

And the father will always say to the mother, “Stop mollycoddling the boy–you’re going to turn him into a sissy.”

 
3*HUMOR
GENESIS 1:3

ג וַיֹּאמֶר אֱלֹהִים, יְהִי אוֹר; וַיְהִי-אוֹר.

KJV:

And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

MODERN TRANSLATION:
And a Supreme Being (Who May or May Not Exist) said, “Postulate an at least three times differentiable four-vector field on a four-dimensional Lorentzian manifold. Take its exterior derivative, and call the resulting antisymmetric tensor the Maxwell tensor. Note that this tensor’s exterior derivative is identically zero, yielding a set of field equations for the tensor components. Next, define another vector as the coderivative of the Maxwell tensor and call it the four-current. This definition yields another set of field equations. Finally, note that the four-current is a conserved current. With these definitions at hand, solve the field equations in the absence of a four-current. We shall then call the resulting plane wave solutions ‘light’.”

 
4*NOVELTY

19-Year-Old Is Charged in Hamster’s Death
cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/09/19-year-old-is-charged-in-hamsters-death/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
 
7*CARTOON
YOUR STORY HAS TOUCHED MY HEART
http://cdn.ipernity.com/130/77/35/20567735.38231c22.640.jpg?r2

 
8*PRESCRIPTION
HOW TO RECTIFY THE LANGUAGE
Rectify the language.–Confucius
books.google.com/books?id=Bl2cxxZ55DQC&pg=PA10&dq=what+did+confucius+mean+by+%22rectify+the+language?%22&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwin6aj_pd_WAhUC2SYKHWQpCYMQ6AEIJjAA#v=onepage&q=what%20did%20confucius%20mean%20by%20%22rectify%20the%20language%3F%22&f=false
 
9*RUMOR PATROL
NIRVANA
ALL APOLOGIES (BACKWARDS)
10* LAGNIAPPE
CHARLES MANSON
LOOK AT YOUR GAME, GIRL
 
11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
REICH ON TRUMP

All the crazy things that we thought that Nixon, Reagan, and W. were going to do?

Trump is actually doing them, or preparing to.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/us-politics/donald-trump-impeachment-latest-robert-reich-former-republican-senator-unhinged-tax-bill-us-a7996341.html

 

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
THE LAST LIGHT BEFORE ETERNAL DARKNESS

Call me a racist if you must, but all I know is that someday a white dwarf is going to come around and that’s all she wrote.

THE INFORMATION #962 OCTOBER 13, 2017

THE INFORMATION #962
OCTOBER 13, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 

We have a disturbing cultural appetite for novelty, and it seems to me wrong each new laureate should dislodge the ideas of his or her predecessor, especially when they’re still unfolding. –Louise Gluck

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

“Of course, Yob,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “whether you have any loved ones or not depends on a lot of factors. Mainly, whether your folks came over on the Susan Constant or the Mayflower or the Arabella or a slave ship, or whether they snuck in from Canada or Mexico, or whether they are greenies who just sailed in on a banana boat from Jesus knows what flea-haven. Of course, if you came in through Castle Garden or Ellis Island, they were supposed to poke and prod you to see if you’re sick, or an imbecile, or a pauper, but judging from the types of querulous bohunks we’ve been getting around these here parts lately, they ain’t been doing a very good job. Most immigrants I’ve come across in Blowtown are ignorant Hunkies who work like a dray-horse for twelve to fourteen hours a day and then drink themselves into a stupor, and if their long-suffering wives and kiddies are lucky, the brute is too tuckered out and too flummoxed from strong drink to take the strappado to the whole lot of ’em. There’s nothing lower than one of these sorts of eastern Europeans–they dress like steerage passengers even when they’re well off the boat; they never have any money because they spend it as fast as they get it; they cling to the ways of the old country even though it’s like to put them at a severe disadvantage or even kill ’em, and they stare in gape-mouthed stupefaction at even the simplest and most familiar everyday objects, like telephones and clean bath towels and toothbrushes and soap, none of which they know how to use. If they’re not greasy with machine oil, they reek of cabbage and onions and the other coarse foods of their backward country of origin. You feel like shaking them, every last one of them, and saying ‘Why don’t you get wise to yourself, Bub? You’re in America now! You don’t have to walk around with a bag of stinking asafoetida around your neck, you stupid superstitious peasant. It ain’t going to help you ward off pneumonia, and if it keeps the devil away it’s likely because he can’t abide the smell. You and your fat wife would be just as well advised to stay in the deep background at all times when it comes right down to it, and let your children go to school and learn American ways. When they become infinitely ashamed of your old-world customs, that’s when you’ll know that you’ve done your job right, and you can get on a boat and go back to fucking Ruritania and boast to all the villagers of your family’s new-found prosperity in the Land Where the Streets Are Paved With Gold, and you can lie down with the pigs and goats and die happy.’

“If there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s the notion of some purblind foreign alien coming into this country with nary a nickel in his pocket and preaching to his betters about how superior his broken-down old country is to the U. S. of A. If your damn country is so superior, then why in hell didn’t you stay there? I’ll tell you why–every moocher on five continents has got the earie about Uncle Sucker and his generous giveaways. Haww…! And to see the look on their faces when they realize that they’ve actually got to look out after themselves because ain’t nobody going to wipe their ass for ’em, or even give ’em the time of day. Haw! Priceless! Before too long, instead of milk ‘n’ honey, they’re reduced to pickin’ fish heads out of garbage cans and trawling the town dump for scraps of worn cloth to stuff in the chinks of their jerry-rigged lean-tos. I have to laugh myself silly at these chumps because I know full well that there but for the grace of God goes I. Why, if I were run out of these precincts, I suppose I could make a go of it in some other town, because I got colleagues all over the country–but if I were stranded on the Mosquito Coast and dependent on the charity of wild savages, I suppose I would be in an awful fix. At first.

But now I’ll tell you something that’s very important for a Yob like you to know–a good grifter can get one over on anyone, anywhere, and at any time. Even in a Monastery. Even on board the S.S. Revenge. Even in a Turkish prison in the middle of the Crimean War. Even on Death Row in old San Q. It’s just a matter of using the old noggin. And that’s an ability that your average beaner and bluegum and bog-trotter just don’t have. Cabbage-eaters, Chinks and Greasers just ain’t got the wherewithal to solve their problems using their noggins. They’re too hot-headed. They’d rather resort to the knout, or the axe, or the good old stiletto. The Cheeseheads ain’t much better–too stupefied by beer to make something of themselves, they just sit around and smoke their stinking pipes and jabber in their idiotic dialect. I wouldn’t let my daughter marry one of those lardasses if she was the last woman on earth.”

“Do you have a daughter?” said Cadger Tandy.

“No,” said the Count. “But it’s the principle of the thing. I wouldn’t let her marry a Pole, a Lithuanian, or a Ukranian, either–because they don’t know how to behave like gentlemen as they have no real tradition of mingling with members of the upper crust, except in their own miserable icebox countries.And what’s that worth? Have you ever heard of a Ukranian who was worth so much as a tinker’s damn? No, I thought not. They’re just about good enough to work in the steel mills, I suppose, even though they’re little better than cattle. And don’t even get me started on the Greeks and Albanians. ‘Bout the only thing they’re good for is cannon fodder, and let me tell you something–one German or Prussian is worth about twenty of them. I would trust the Greeks to make my pancakes and dish out ice cream on a hot summer’s day, but for a fighting man, give me a man of hearty Saxon blood. That’s all there is to it.”


1*SALUTATION
JERRY LEE LEWIS
OLD BLACK JOE
2*REFERENCE
THE HEAD WRITER AT THE END OF AN ERA

http://splitsider.com/2015/05/the-head-writer-at-the-end-of-an-era/

3*HUMOR
CONGRATULATIONS, PUERTO RICO

 President Trump on Tuesday told officials in Puerto Rico that they should be proud that only 16 people died in Hurricane Maria, compared with the “thousands” killed in “a real catastrophe like Hurricane Katrina.”

“Sixteen versus in the thousands,” Mr. Trump said during his first visit to the island after the storm, after asking one of the officials what the death count was. “You can be very proud of your people and all of our people working together.”

www.nytimes.com/2017/10/03/us/puerto-rico-trump-hurricane.html

4*NOVELTY
ELAINE STRITCH
LADIES WHO LUNCH
 
ALSO SEE:
ELAINE STRITCH
AT LIBERTY
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
PEOPLE WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH THE CLOWN FROM ‘IT’

www.vice.com/en_us/article/j5g5v3/people-want-to-fuck-the-clown-from-it

6* DAILY UTILITY
7*CARTOON
DUMBO
PINK ELEPHANTS ON PARADE
8*PRESCRIPTION
TOP 100 LIST OF WORST GUITAR SOLOS

Completely devoid of taste, structure or steady tempo, this should be required listening for budding guitarists everywhere. Surely they can’t do any worse.

 
9*RUMOR PATROL
TOP LAS VEGAS CONSPIRACY THEORIES
 
ALSO SEE:
THE MEDIA AND THE LAS VEGAS MASSACRE
10* LAGNIAPPE
22 TERRIBLE SONGS BY GREAT ARTISTS
11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
YELP REVIEWS PRISONS

San Quentin ’17: “It’s a GOOD Pruno…It’s not a GREAT Pruno….”

www.xojane.com/issues/yelp-prison-reviews

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
KAUFMAN VS. KING

Alan King: You read my book? Who did you have read it to you?
George Kaufman: The same person who wrote it for you.