THE INFORMATION #983 MARCH 9, 2018

THE INFORMATION #983
MARCH 9, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO

dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Mean while in utmost longitude, where Heaven/ With earth and ocean meets,the setting Sun/ Slowly descended, and with right aspéct/ Against the eastern gate of Paradise/ Levell’d his evening rays.–Milton

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER TWELVE: PART ONE: THE EASTERN GATE OF PARADISE

It was an unusually sunny day in early March, which was normally rainy and dreary. Floods and tornadoes were afflicting the Midwest, but in Noxtown the February snows had completely melted, and the frozen ground was gradually beginning to thaw. Small green shoots were even seen to push themselves up through the damp ground.

Cadger Tandy had taken to skipping school for whole weeks, and so Count Victor Justin began the habit of inviting him up to his modest but well-appointed rooms in the Imperial Hotel. “I used to live quite cheaply at the boarding house of an old widder woman. But she got on my last nerve. Always wanting to know my whereabouts. Always smelling me whenever I came in late at night to see if she could detect any booze on my breath. And it wasn’t even a temperance hotel! It was worse than being married! She was quite a devout old woman. She called her place ‘The Cloisters’. Even though it was just a run-down three-story frame house in a run-down part of town. As you might have guessed, she was a mackerel-snapper, as a matter of fact. Tell,me, Yob—what gives with the mackerel snappers? Honestly! Their shining clean houses always smell like cheap hotel soap—the kind that comes in a white wrapper with purple lettering–and they’ve even got a garish chipped plaster replica of the crucified Jesus hanging on the wall of the garret that’s been converted into a bedroom. And the bedroom in question always has some kind of raggedly blanket ineptly knitted from cut-rate yarn by a blind old lady. It’s a disgrace to call the thing a blanket, or a duvet, or whatever the hell the womenfolk call these things. And the proprietress simply can’t bear to throw the thing away! It would be a sin! So she keeps this musty relic on the daybed, where the piece of shit gathers gypsy moths and cabbage-scented dust. It itches in the summer, and if you lie beneath it in the winter your prairie oysters shrivel to the size of Jerusalem almonds because you’re freezing half to death. Y’see, your landlady don’t believe in turning the furnace high, neither. ‘O! But heat rises!’ she says. The hell it does! I felt as though I might as well be living in a fucking igloo!

“And the food—bah! And such small portions! The old landlady would count every fucking pea on the plate, lest she somehow be responsible for her boarders committing the mortal sin of gluttony. The soup was vile, utterly vile, and made from rotten vegetable peelings and pigeon meat, for all I knew.

“The old landlady—her name was Mittie J. Hogg; her husband was the late Sir Moochly Hogg, Esquire–Mrs. Hogg used to use the word “goodness” a lot. She thought that Buffalo Bill was an invention of the devil. And that Booker T. Washington was the Antichrist. Just like the ancient Romans had their household gods, she always had clutched in her sweaty talons a laminated card with a blurry picture of her personal saint, Joan of Agony, to whom she incessantly mumbled through chipped dentures an odious shopping list of her insipid desires. Even in her sleep, she’s mutter things like ‘Jesu Christu,’ and ‘Lord have mercy Christ have mercy.’ She just about drove me nuts with her magical thinking and irrational superstitions. Plus, when it comes time to unclutch some of her dough-re-me, all of a sudden she’d conveniently forget all about the ‘Render unto Caesar’ clause. She’d give away the food budget of The Cloisters to the bloated coffers of her precious Holy Roman and Apostolic church, and meanwhile, Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes, if you know what I’m saying! She seriously needed to examine her priorities! The ooftish she spent on useless rubbish like sacred candles and mass cards could of been invested at 6 per cent, and in her old age she could of retired to Nantucket Island and gobbled pickled lutefisk all the live-long day! But no—she’d of rather of been sitting around a scarred pine table with her grizzled cronies, villainous old hags the lot of ‘em, gumming potato candy and mumbling novenas. You wanted to shout at them, ‘Why don’t you get wise to yourself! Wake up and live a little! Don’t be a fool! That cute young parish priest is just another chubby, slick-haired racketeer, only with a stiff starched collar and holy water! Spend the moolah on yourself!’

“But no. The one thing a person who has made the same mistake their whole life long simply will not do is buck a losing trend.

“And the lapsed ones? Oh, they’re the worst. Mainly because they’re always pointing out and trying to enforce nonexistent rules of imagined decorum. Watch out for them. Watch out!

“So–no more boarding houses. No—hotel living is the life for me. I deserve a little pampering, after my high school years. Speaking of which–as a matter of fact, everywhere I have gone, Yob,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “from the bordellos of New Orleans to the silver mines of Montana, to the saloons of Frisco where sailors were shanghai’d and shipped to China on a slow boat. Everywhere I have gone, to the Yukon territory during the gold rush to the Oklahoma territory during the great land grab—in all of those places, as remote from mere human concerns as they might seem, they all spoke of one place with awe and fear. That place was Stropmuth Manor. And when I told strong men that I spent four years in that place, they shy away and an expression of fear and almost physical pain entered their eyes. For they well knew what kind of a place Stropmuth Manor was. Oh, I suppose it has improved over the years—no more starvation diets for recalcitrant recidivists; they also say that the formation of secret societies on campus has been greatly curtailed by the new overseers. But—O!– it is still a name to be reckoned with!”

1*SALUTATION
LOUIS PRIMA
BODY AND SOUL

FIVE MONTHS, TWO WEEKS, TWO DAYS

ALSO SEE:
COUNT BASIE
DOUBLE-O

SEE ALSO:
NINA SIMONE
MOOD INDIGO

2*REFERENCE
RUSSIAN PROVERBS
[You] cannot hide an awl in a sack.
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Russian_proverbs#%D0%90

3*HUMOR
ENGLISH AS SHE IS SPOKE
Trades

Starch-maker
Barber
Coffeeman
Porkshop-keeper
Cartwright
Tinker
a brasier
Nailer
Porter
Chinaman
Founder
Grave-digger
Tradesman
Stockingmender
Lochsmith
https://www.exclassics.com/espoke/espkpdf.pdf

4*NOVELTY
CURSED OBJECTS THROUGH HISTORY
http://mentalfloss.com/article/59504/10-allegedly-cursed-objects-throughout-history

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
DOROTHY PARKER ON WILLIAM RANDOLPH HEART AND MARION DAVIES
Upon my honor
I saw a Madonna
Standing in a niche
Over the door
Of the
prominent whore
Of a prominent son of a bitch.

–Said to have been written in the guest-book of Hearst Castle, referring to the room occupied by Hearst’s mistress, Marion Davies. Parker always denied it, pointing out that she would never have rhymed “honor” with “Madonna”.
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Dorothy_Parker
https://books.google.com/books?id=paTqyHoLNGoC&pg=PT266&lpg=PT266&dq= Upon+my+honor+I+saw+a+Madonna+Standing+in+a+niche+Over+the+door+Of+the+prominent+whore+Of+a+prominent+son+of+a+bitch.&source=bl&ots=lSQCvjiHNO&sig=uTB0rJt0m1ER9E3Bs188JShkdPY&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwify__Z2bfZAhWlg-AKHbzjCawQ6AEIOTAC#v=onepage&q=%E2%80%8BUpon%20my%20honor%20I%20saw%20a%20Madonna%20Standing%20in%20a%20niche%20Over%20the%20door%20Of%20the%20prominent%20whore%20Of%20a%20prominent%20son%20of%20a%20bitch.&f=false

6* DAILY UTILITY
AVOIDANT ATTACHMENT STYLE
https://blogs.psychcentral.com/imperfect/2017/03/avoidant-attachment-style-change/

7*CARTOON
CUBA TORNADO (1933)

8*PRESCRIPTION
LOST HONEYMOONERS PILOT WITH PERT KELTON
Actually, the first few minutes are kind of terrifying.

9* RUMOR PATROL
Google earth reveals strange Antarctic entrances – evidence of secret UFO bases?
http://exonews.org/google-earth-reveals-strange-antarctic-entrances-evidence-of-secret-ufo-bases/

10* LAGNIAPPE
THE COMPLETE COLTRANE
http://www.openculture.com/2018/02/stream-the-complete-john-coltrane-playlist-a-94-hour-journey-through-700-transformative-tracks.html

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS 6: TIME VS. ELVIS
Spinout. Elvis Presley at 31 is really changing his scene. Eleven years of living high on the hawg (his income from films and royalties averages about $6,000,000 a year) has emphatically porked up his appearance. His cheeks are now so plump that he looks like a kid blowing bubble gum-and his mouth is still so squiggly that it looks as if the bubble had burst. What’s more, he now sports a glossy something on his summit that adds at least five inches to his altitude and looks like a swatch of hot buttered yak wool… –Time Magazine: Cinema: “Creaky Pelvis.” 11/11/1966
http://www.wordola.com/wusage/hawg/p2.html

ALSO SEE:
Time Magazine on “Love Me Tender”
https://books.google.com/books?id=kWX4CwAAQBAJ&pg=PT124&lpg=PT124&dq=elvis+”time+magazine”++”is+it+a”&source=bl&ots=-z2gDGdEcd&sig=QYFq9JOYy-yMxmU-FYRfvOBkZZk&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjWzcWVrsTZAhUmTt8KHXmHBcQQ6AEILDAB#v=onepage&q=elvis%20%22time%20magazine%22%20%20%22is%20it%20a%22&f=false

*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
30 DAYS A BLACK MAN. STEIGERWALD. ***1/2
ADVICE TO WRITERS. WINOKUR, ED. ****1/2
AFRIKA. HERRMANN. ****
ALFRED HITCHCOCK: A BRIEF LIFE. ACKROYD. ****
THE AMAZING SCREW-ON HEAD. MIGNOLA. ****
ANIMOSITY 1. THE WAKE. BENNETT. ****
BAD HOUSES. RYAN & MCNEIL. ****
THE BEST MINDS OF MY GENERATION. GINSBERG; MORGAN, ED. ****
BETTY & VERONICA. HUGHES. ***
BLACK HAMMER 2. THE EVENT. ***1/2
BOBBY KENNEDY. MATTHEWS. ***1/2
THE DARK HORSE BOOK OF HAUNTINGS. ***1/2
THE DARK HORSE BOOK OF WITCHCRAFT. ***1/2
DC SUPERHERO GIRLS: DATE WITH DISASTER. ***
DC UNIVERSE/WILDSTORM. DREAMWAR. ***
DEPT. H. 3. KINDT. ****
DESCENDER 5. LEMIRE. ****
DEVIL’S BARGAIN. GREEN. ***1/2
THE DEVIL’S FOOTPRINTS. ALLIE. ***1/2
DOMOVOI. BERGTING. ***1/2
DOROTHY PARKER IN HER OWN WORDS. DAY, ED. ****
EVERYBODY LIES. STEPHENS-DAVIDOWITZ. ****
GENERATION X 1. NATURAL SELECTION. ***
GOTHAM ACADEMY SECOND SEMESTER 2. ***
THE GREAT DIVIDE 1. FISHER. ****
HACKS. BRAZILE. ***1/2
HAPPY ENDINGS. ***
HELLBOY: THE MIDNIGHT CIRCUS. ***1/2
HELLBOY: WEIRD TALES 1. ***
HELLBOY: WEIRD TALES 2. ***
HITMAN: A RAGE IN ARKHAM. ENNIS. ***1/2
HOLLYWOOD STORIES. SCHOCKET. ***
HOUSE OF WOMEN. GOLDSTEIN. ****
HYPERCAPITALISM. GONICK & KASSER. ****1/2
IKE & DICK. FRANK. ****
THE INHUMANS. BEWARE THE INHUMANS. ***
JOSIE & THE PUSSYCATS 1. ***
JUGHEAD 3. ***
THE LAST CAMPAIGN. CLARK. ****1/2
LAST TRAIN TO DEADSVILLE. NILES & JONES. ***1/2
LITTLE LULU 4,12,14,15,17,20,22. ***1/2
LOCAL. WOOD & KELLY. ****
LOSING THE GIRL. MARINAOMI. ***1/2
LOUISE BROOKS: DETECTIVE. GEARY. ****1/2
MADISON QUARE TRAGEDY. GREARY. ****1/2
MARA. WOOD. ***1/2
MESSY. HARFORD. ****
MS. MARVEL 8. MECCA. ***1/2
MUHAMMAD ALI. TITEUX DE LA CROIX. ****1/2
PETE VON SHOLLY’S MORBID. ***
PORTUGAL. PEDROSA. ****
RAGEMOOR. STRNAD & CORBEN. ****
RED SNOW. KATSUMATA. ****1/2
RENEGADE. CIPONTE & PALMERINO. ****
THE SECOND COMING OF THE KKK. GORDON. ****
SHREK. EVANIER. ***1/2
THE SLANTED LIFE OF EMILY DICKINSON. **
SPREAK. ANDERSON & CARROLL. ****
TEEN TITANS. THE SILVER AGE 1. ***
WINTER JOURNAL. AUSTER. ****
WIRES & NERVE. MYERS & GILPIN. ***1/2
YOUR BAND SUCKS. FINE. ****
ZOMBIE WORLD: CHAMPION OF THE WORMS. MIGNOLA & MCEOWN. ****
ZOMBIES ASSEMBLE 1. **1/2
ZOMBILLENNIUM 1,2,3. DE PINS. ****

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
THE NEW YORK TIMES
It says in today’s New York Times that President Trump is going wild over his new bacon-flavored treats.

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MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 233 MARCH 2018

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 233
MARCH 2018

Copyright 2018 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES
SECOND SERIES
301. Blow, Crumb.The Big Man doesn’t want a yellow-belly.
302. Amscray, Shithead. You’re hotter than a five-cent firecracker.
303. Grifter, they all know your “dueling scar from Heidelberg” is bogus.
304. Your twitchy demeanor screams “junk hunger” even to stupid harness Bulls.
305. Your racking cough will end your career as a second-story man.
306. You have descended from scoundrel to murderer in one easy lesson.
307. You are the new, inferior version of an old-time badman.
308. Your partner in crime is actually an undercover G-Man
309. Suffer. You are too fat to run and too big to hide.
310. The boss is furious. Your bleeding face has ruined his suede shoes.
311. Pills keep the voices away. But…some of the voices are real.
312.The mask you are wearing is devouring your soul.
313. I see you have been nibbling on your crazy bread, insane one.
314. Don’t even try to explain. Everyone knows you’re a nut.
315. Your associates: Nana Wax, Nil Payne, Dreary Scorch…and “‘Fraidy.”
316. Remember, punk: The smartest punk in the world is still only a punk.
317. Your granny was the original flat-foot floogie with the floy-floy.
318. Underworls celebrity? Soon you will be six feet underground.
319. The world is not entirely to blame. But you are.
320. Crime is your drug. Soon you will O.D.
321. You are merely a clown. Only nobody is even laughing.
322. God has no sense of humor. But He is laughing very hard at you.
323. Pointy-headed bureaucrats will make your life a living hell.
324. Like lambs to the slaughter, so the days of your life.
325. It doesn’t take a real detective to catch a minor felon like you.
326. The Big Man has a “three strikes you’re dead” policy. Better vanish!
327. You’re not king of the animals. You’re not even king of the insects.
328. You’re not even good at being a failure. You thoroughly stink.
329. Even your faithful dog is addicted to the fumes of crack.
330. You’re washed up, grifter. Savages spot your phony patter in a heartbeat.
331. The cops know you’re innocent–but they need a fall guy.
332. Your alibi is paper-thin–and so is your wallet.
333. Look, up in the sky! Is it…? No–it’s a police helicopter.
334. Your new prostitute friend is an old flame eager for revenge.
335. You are young. Young and in the way.
336. You threatened your plastic surgeon. He made you a freak.
337. You only discovered the murdered girl, but the cops think you did it.
338. They’ll lock you away for so long that you’ll love your cage.
339. Think back and ask yourself: How blind can an animal be?
340. You think you’re a Toughy, but you’re only a soft-boiled Yegg.
341. Pug, they call you Eggie: Cracked shell, fried mind, and scrambled brains.
342. Your last meal will be stale onion rolls and Hormel canned chili.
343. Your wife has taken a lover who doesn’t say Dese, Dem, and Dose.
344. Your wife is called “The Bank” because men leave their deposits there.
345. Look in the mirror, squealer. You’re looking at a dead man.
346. They call you ‘Yugo’ because you’re always breaking down.
347. The power of love is nothing compared to the power of stupidity.
348. Pothead, your diploma should be printed on rolling papers.
349. Shaving your mustache will not fool that dogged private eye.
350. Crackhead, the cops know you are Cuckoo for Cocaine Puffs.

2. RED & BLUE

Both left and right have a small problem with what, in a more literate era, was once known as logical debate.

Lefties fancy themselves freethinkers yet spew distorted statistics from biased sources and have the unmitigated gall to regard their sources as sacrosanct and beyond question. When you call them on where they get their facts from, they stalk off in a huff once you challenge them on their bullshit. No doubt they’re thinking, “Everything is everything, maan, and what I’M laying down ALL TRUE–SOMEWHERE.”

Righties generally eliminate the middleman and directly parrot bigoted opinions absorbed from high-priced agitprop clowns. When you remind them of the fact that they’re merely sedulously aping highly suspect source material, they simply smile and shake their heads with a rueful, omniscient smile. “Poor fools,” they seem to be thinking, “Do they not know that, verily, my side is the flail of God, and if people suffer it’s their own damn fault and they’re only getting what’s coming to them?”

In a broader sense, the two major American political parties are like the Scots and the Irish.

The Republicans are like the Scots. The party of whiskey, golf, and selfishness. Flinty, ponderous old Calvinists who will cheat the wooden leg off a blind cripple, and then claim the fellow was merely a filthy no-good dole blodger. Like semi-clandestine cult groups the world round, they have their own special handshakes and insignia and can recognize one another in a heartbeat. Though chummy when among their own kind, they are prone to stoning heretics. Accordingly, no mercy is to be shown to any of their clan who fail to march in lockstep to the tune of their monotonously droning doodlesacks.

The Democrats are like the Irish. Scheming lager louts permanently addled by blubbering sentimentality, and incorrigibly addicted to pointless internecine conflicts, nevertheless, from time to time they manage to pick themselves off the floor just long enough to clamorously pitch blarney to unenterprising yokels, after which they then resume their interminable howling, jabbering and squabbling about infinitesimal doctrinal differences.

Both sides agree on one thing only: That all Libertarians are insane.

3. THE NEW AMERICAN ANTHEM
This land is my land,
This land ain’t your land.
I got a shotgun
And you ain’t got none.
And if you trespass
I’ll blow off your ass.
This land is private property.
–Tim Moynihan

4. PLEASE RETURN OUR TRAYS
Back when we worked at the Harvard Law School, there was a motivational poster hanging in the cafeteria which me and my musician friend Dave McMahon used to laugh at.

It was a mini-poster about 16 x 22, of a giant, fat, retarded-looking cartoon duck, wearing a white apron, arms (?) outstretched, with
cow-like eyes and a fellatio-ready mouth, standing over the legend PLEASE RETURN OUR TRAYS.

Dave joked that there should have been a jug of wine on the floor next to it.

Dave composed a song about this poster. Actually, both he and I composed it as a studio recording for our experimental avant-garde band THE VOMIT WHEEL. We videotaped or at least audiotaped virtually every recording of this band, which had a rotating line-up. But I still remember the song. It went like this:

Chorus:
Please return our trays
Please return our trays
Please return our trays
Please return our trays

Please return our trays
Please return our trays
Please return our trays
Please return our trays

Dave: Please
Francis: Return our trays

Chorus:
Please return our trays
Please return our trays

REPEAT

5. WE’RE HAVING A PARTY

And you’re all invited!

We truly hope to have something for everybody.

P.J. O’ROURKE will give a lecture on “Why my reactionary humor sells.”

PA KETTLE will discuss his amazing insight regarding headless chickens.

THE AMAZING KRESKIN will bend all the spoons. But he’ll bring them from home.

JOHN WALSH will keep on eye out for suspicious characters.

CHEVY CHASE will fall down. A lot.

BOOTH TARKINGTON will do his comic impression of a greedy boy with his
hand caught in a pickle jar.

MR. MXYZPTLK will hook up with Circe.

KUKLA will look for Klux and Klan.

AUDIE MURPHY will demonstrate his famous “rope trick”.

BENSON and FAMOUS AMOS will give a talk on affirmative action.

MADAME FATAL will vanish.

SAMMY SPEAR…AND HIS ORCHESTRA will not be able to make it.

TOPO GIGIO will charm the World War One veterans with his droll pronunciatoes.

BAT-MITE will cast unfavorable aspersions regarding the masculinity of
Adam West.

GARY LEWIS & THE PLAYBOYS will mostly be toking up in the bathroom.

CANTINFLAS will mostly be off moping in a corner.

THE RED KRAYOLA will consume a whole stuffed and roasted suckling pig.

SALVADOR DALI will not be present, as he is dead.

THE JUNE TAYLOR DANCERS will mow the lawn.

FRANK FONTAINE will spit poison on the vocal abilities of Jim Nabors.

THE BEAST OF THE APOCALYPSE will be unable to attend.

SAMMY DAVIS, SR. will be hogging the phone, pestering his bookie for
basketball action.

CHITA will make a mess of the bathroom.

UNDERDOG will be exposed as a rat bastard.

BLUTO–your chef!

MARK TRAIL will spread pesticide on that pesky quackgrass.

SNORK will steal all the Sudafed.

ZOOK will finally hook up with CYRLL.

THE GLOP will sing the rock and roll hits of 1965.

SMASH WILLIAMS will not, after all, be attending “The U.”

JHWH will protect us all.

CHRIS ROCK will tell tasteful jokes about the current race situation.

WILL SMITH will excavate the contents of his humidor.

BULL CONNOR will give demonstrations–on fire safety!

CORKY will be the parking valet.

PANAMA RED will be schmoozing with the band.

MARLON BRANDO has sent his regrets.

J. ROARINGHAM FATBACK will supply the sucking pig.

FLATTOP JR. will probably steal somebody’s car.

AND…

ROBERT KLEIN will reprise his best material from 1973.

ALSO!

POOPDECK PAPPY is gonna brang his girlfren’, and she’s a mermaid, but tha’s OK.

Security courtesy of “MR. A”.

Kids: Meet “SMOOCHIE” in the Fun Zone.

Seniors: YOUNG GOODMAN BROWN will entertain you in the lounge.

And of course…FRANK GORSHIN, TV’s “Riddler,” will do his famous
Hollywood impressions.

Special guests:
DUKE MITCHELL and SAMMY PETRILLO

SPECIAL ADDED ATTRACTIONS! (Suggested by R.M.S. Moley.)
SIMON LEGREE and ELIZA will perform their pas-à-deux on ice.

ALAN KING will showcase his best material from 1958.

MICHAEL RICHARDS will do a pantomime version of “The Aristocrats” with SARAH SILVERMAN

JOSEPH GOEBBELS will give PR pointers to the Republican National Committee

THE MARQUIS DE PUYSÉGUR shall hypnotize members of the studio audience

…with WHAT’S IN YOUR STARS? by Claudius Ptolemy!

6. CHRISTIAN BAND NAMES
STRAW GODS
MOTH AND RUST
THE GOD STANDARD
INVISIBLE FURY
THIS MAJESTICAL ROOF
YESTERDAY’S HERETICS
BROSEPHUS
GODFINGER
THE GHOSTLY TRIO
HUCKLEBERRY HELLHOUND
THE WALLS OF EVERLASTING ROME
LADY OF PAIN I ADORE YOU
THE MOTHERS OF DIVINE INTERVENTION
AX OF THE APOSTLES
101 DAMNATIONS
I CAN SEE HIS HOUSE FROM HERE
MESSIAH’S SCRATCHY FACE
JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL

7. THE MOST TERRIFYING SONG EVER
I nominate “My Uncle Used to Love Me (But She Died)” by Roger Miller.

It’s terrifying in the antique way that “I Wish I Was a Mole in the
Ground” and others of that stripe are.

Miller is truly great, the more so since very few people still write
songs like this (and this one is over 40 years old).

One thing that occured to me is that his delivery is so headlong and
almost heedless that it adds slightly more than a tinge of “the old,
weird America” to the performance.

Another thing that occurred to me: it’s not his Uncle that died.

It’s his Mother.

My Uncle Used to Love Me (But She Died)

My uncle used to love but she died
Chicken aint chicken ‘less it’s licken good fried
Keep on the sunny side
My uncle used to love me but she died

8. BAD USERNAMES

ObamaLamaDingDong
asschaps
fudd from fudgepacker’s hall
coffinsuitforafool
juniortrout
king con
mr. toilet
comedo comedo
nazi at play
king of illusions
international hobo
my younger self
no immediate survivors
brought to you by god
king jesus II
god damned fly
fuker you lie
bob violence
i could be like jesus
hurry please it’s time
wonderful agitprop
deja voodoo
uncle alkie
magical penis thief
liquor town today
will b. dunne
alpha 66
yenshee baby

And from Joe Coughlin:

all talk no cock
Louie’s Brassiere
Janitor In A Drum Solo
Twink Floyd
ShortsFullaPuddin’
NatKingColeSlaw
Dilly Pot Puddles
rascal flatulence
Cantank “R” us
linebacker in a prom gown
Golden Bozo
firin’ blanks
felchworthy
Nerf Dildo
space patootie
LickMeForLunch
gristle boy
mystery piddler
mouth-breathing moron
sharky’s latrine
velvety crumb-bum
Stinky Platypus
burt reynolds wrap
pelican breath
winkin’ sphincter
happy go fucky
genital schwartz

9. THE WRONG HERO SPEAKS

I look at you and I laugh, because I don’t believe in all your silly
rules and regulations. Unless, of course, they directly benefit me.

Young Clark Kent was very glad to win the four years, all expenses
paid Luthor Family College Scholarship…until he learned it was at
the University of Kryptonite!

If I owned a miniature pig I think I would name him “Billy Bacon”
because when I had guests over for breakfast, I could just stick him
in the microwave and when they asked me what’s for breakfast I’d say
“Bacon.” Then, after they ate it, I would tell them that actually it
was Billy Bacon and we’d all have a laugh, except for my wife, who
would probably cry.

I think I would like a zombie as my bodyguard, because not only would
he stop a bullet, he would also eat the assassin’s brains. And I’ll
bet that would teach him a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget!

I ended up killing the suicidal fellow I was supposed to be helping.
Ironically, I felt so bad about this that I, too committed suicide, so
who’s laughing now?

10. OF COURSE, NO PARTY WOULD REALLY BE A PARTY AT ALL WITHOUT….

GATE SPRINGTAIL
HENDRICKSON MAYFLY
RAINBOW BLUET
TROPICAL ROCKMASTER
CALICO PENNANT
SKIMMER DRAGONFLY
DARNER GREEN
APACHE SPIKETAIL
CAROLINA MANTIS
PEPPER ROACH
HANDSOME TRIG BUSH
JERUSALEM CRICKET
DIFFERENTIAL HOPPER
CATTAIL TOOTHPICK
OBSCURE BIRDWING
HORSE LUBBER
ROBUST TOAD
PYGMY MOLE
SYCAMORE LACE
TRYPANO SOMIASIS
BUFFALO TREEHOPPER
OLEANDER APHID
COTTONY E. CUSHIONSCALE
SATURNINE BUTTERFLY
MARCELLA DAGGERWING
PROMINENT MOTH

AND LEAVE US NOT FORGET:

CONFUSED HAPLOA
WOOLY BEAR
CROWNE SLUGG
DOUGLAS FIR TUSSOCK
DOROTHY GEOMETER
GLORIOUS DARKLING BEETLE
TEX SOLDIER
RED YUCCA
CONVERGENT LADY
HANDSOME FUNGUS
BURRITO WEEVIL
MIDGE NETWING
PHANTOM CRANE
SAPPHIRE SKEETER
MICRO BEEFLY
KLEPTO PARASITIC
TITICACA DUNG
ENSIGN WASP
CICADA KILLER
CRICKET HUNTER
TARANTULA HAWKE
BIGHEAD ANNT
GOLDEN CARPENTER
BITING MIDGE

11. ANTI-COUNTRY SONGS
“Jesus, Viagra, and Me”
“Hot Rod Volvo”
“My Mama Used to Love Me (‘Til We Got DivorceD)”
“Proud to be a Meth-head (From Montana)”
“My Letter to Heaven Was Returned (With Postage Due)”

12. KNBC VIDEO OF MAN PUNCHING WOMAN IN MCDONALD’S LINE

Another beat down ho, my fifth in a row
I can’t help but feel obligated, yo
Don’t care bout the po po cause fuck tha police
There’s a McDonald’s five minutes up dis peace!
Ba ba ba ba ba
I’m Lovin’ it
McDonald’s–the #1 dining choice of brain-damaged loony crims!

http://www.knbc.com/news/17597527/detail.html

Comments:

Filet O Fist.–DanPM

Yo–Lemme get assault on dem fries.–Woody Goodbeat

Big Mac Attacked.–ImIdaho

She can haz cheeseburger now?–Flipper

You want fries with that shake???–FrankD

He thought she ordered a Big Smack.–DanPM

Nappy Meal.–Woody Goodbeat

In his defense, the man thought she was someone else. “We all look alike,” he reportedly said.–Arz

She really took a quarter-pounding….eh, eh?–Dan O

Big N Testy.–DanPM

Dude threw a McFlurry of punches.–Woody Goodbeat

I just got off the phone with Mayor McCheese where I expressed my outrage at this incident. We are all Ronalds today. –Charlemagne

That video makes me Grimace every time I see it–GG’s Ghost

Egg McFisticuffin.–DanPM

You just got serveda WHOPPER in McDonald’s, BEETCH!–WTF Jones

The fry kids hid safely out of site and were not harmed in the attack.–GGs Ghost

At least she didn’t get shivved in the McRibs.–Flipper

Double Cheeseburger? I’d Hit it. I’m a dollar menu guy.–DanPM

THE INFORMATION #982 MARCH 2, 2018

THE INFORMATION #982
MARCH 2, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO

dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

Little sister’s short and stout/She didn’t grow up, she grew out.–Randy Newman

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART SIXTY-SIX: DAYS OF WRATH
“I intended to ask you, Yob,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “ how is your schoolin’ goin’? Have ye been attendin’ to your homework?”

“No,” said Tandy. “It’s boring, and I don’t feel like I even belong there, so I never go. None of the other kids will even talk to me because they say I live in a whorehouse. And what’s the point, anyway? Them teachers ain’t telling me nothing that I don’t already know.”

“Well, you seem to have forgotten the sole purpose of schooling, Yob—to babysit you snot-nosed bairns for six hours of the day, and keep you out of the hair of us taxpaying adults. Kids, stay in school–because we don’t want you around here!

“Boring is the whole point. What school is for is to teach youngsters to sit still and be quiet, the better to someday work in an insurance office, or a tool and die factory, or a funeral home. To teach you to wake up early every weekday, and walk the same path every day to get there, and come in and take your desk at the same time every day, whether you feel like it or not. And to do this for forty years, or until you drop dead, whichever comes first.

“Yob, let me be the first to put you wise to something that everybody already knows, deep in their heart of hearts: school is a hospital where they amputate your imagination. Adults are in on the joke, even if the kiddies ain’t. ‘If ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise.’ The little red schoolhouse is where you learn your first lessons in hypocrisy and graft, and no better training ground for savages was ever devised than the cloakroom and the playground. It’s also where they teach you about civilization, which they use to dampen down your enthusiasm for the new and exotic—because that’s what civilization is FOR. No, if you want culture, Yob, you won’t find it in the classroom. If you want culture, I suggest you go to Gay Paree and order a fucking cheese platter—because you sure ain’t going to find it nowhere in any school in Noxtown.

“What really ruined book-larnin’ for me was my teacher—Miss Petunia. She had some unpronounceable Irish name—McCunny or O’Fuckingham, or something like that, so Miss Petunia is what we all called her—to her face. You’d be surprised what vile things we called her when her back was turned. Porky. Lard. Piggy. The usual schoolboy taunts. She taught us youngsters in a rather substantial building that was purpose-built for the small fry—a large wood and brick slab built on the former site of the town dump, so every now and again you would dig in the turf of the playground and come up with an Indian head penny, or a pig’s knuckle. More often than not, though, it was a clay pipe, or a brown piece of broken bottle glass worn smooth.

“From what I have been able to gather, Miss Petunia was born in a shabby, nearly deserted village, maybe in Ireland, which must surely have been a suburb of hell, for she was trouble itself, and discord walking. Like a horrendous snail arisen from the Stygian depths, she left a trail of malice and venom whenever she crept forth from her loathsome nest. She was a stupidly complacent, supremely incompetent, malevolently blabber-mouthed, bloated, foul-mouthed Teague…an oleaginous automaton…the world’s fattest fat pig…a five star freak, rated five stars out of five…with a terrifying visage straight out of Pyle’s Curiosities and Anomalies of Medicine. Hard to believe that she even had bones—that her entire body wasn’t made of some sort of durable and calcified blubber. Surly, brusque, and giving the stink-eye to anyone she perceived as her inferior, which included all the children in her care, she was mealy-mouthed and fawning to parents, and when she laughed at their jokes, or at her own, she cackled like a burly hag.

“As I recall—and mind you, this was about forty or fifty years ago–it is not beyond the realm of possibility that her clothing was fashioned from old feed-sacks, for they hung on her as loose and shapeless as worn burlap. She even had the temerity to affect a little lace fringe around the neck of her floppy blouse, which made her resemble a Komodo dragon—or, worse, she would wear two dingy taffeta frills, which made her look like an enormously fat and superannuated circus dog that should have been put out of its misery long ago. In winter she wore a sweater—it was pink, or at least, I think it was once meant to be pink, but it had deteriorated to the point where it looked like cotton candy spun out of dried filth. In the spring-time she wore a ridiculous black battered straw hat contraption, with ribbons and flowers and other gew-gaws—a sad looking thing, which wouldn’t have passed muster even on the head of a garbageman’s horse. She never wore no paint ner powder, because schoolmarms in those days never did, and this made her look ghastly, like a filthy clown you might envision in a fever dream after eating too many hot dogs. If she had worn make-up, I warrant she would have applied it with a trowel. It was always my opinion that she would have looked at her very best with her head on a platter and an apple in her mouth.

“Her shrill, quavery voice was worse than that of the most talentless soi-disant Opera Diva. Far worse. She taught all sorts of subjects, but the biggest ordeal was when she taught music. She very nearly put me off of music for good and all. You haven’t lived, Yob, until you’ve seen and heard an off-key fat hog yowling “Old Black Joe” with all the subtlety of a steam drill. Whenever she sang—if that’s what you call it– her slobbery jowls shook like a calf’s foot jelly.

“I’ll tell you what–she certainly put me off book-learnin’ forever, for when she stomped into the classroom the wooden floors shook and dust and plaster fell down from the rafters and she looked and sounded like the Four Horsemen of the Porklips. Now, y’know, Yob, you can’t always judge by appearances. Some fatties are the nicest folks you’ll ever meet, the very soul of charity, in spite of their taking up all that space and eating all that food–and, as a whole, they are, in fact, prone to be jolly, and certainly not inclined to be voracious and cruel. Y’know, like the Yellofs with the ‘lean and hungry look’ that the immortal Bard done told us about.

“But Miss Petunia surely was cruel. She looked, and behaved, like an angry hog, always indignantly squealing and snorting about something or other she found defective about her porcine lair. At lunch-time I would swear that she looked at us greedily whenever we put a scrap of food in our mouths, as though we were somehow depriving her of a prize. Eating lunch in front of her was like snacking in the straw hut of a starving ogre. Putting her in charge of students was a huge mistake, but she was so adept at flattering the principal and everyone else in any position to fire her that she was able to escape the ax on numerous occasions when better teachers were let go. And believe me—ALL the teachers were better than her. No wonder I quit school the first chance I got! You look under Miss Petunia’s house–and there’s probably the bones of all the neighborhood children what have gone missin’ since 1869!”

1*SALUTATION
M.I.A
PAPER PLANES

ALSO SEE:
AMANDA PALMER
PAPER PLANES (LIVE)

SEE ALSO:
CAMPER VAN BEETHOVEN
WHITE RIOT (LIVE)

2*REFERENCE
ANOMALIES & CURIOSITIES OF MEDICINE
https://books.google.com/books?id=juwIAAAAIAAJ&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false

3*HUMOR
KAL KAN CONTROVERSY
Fortunately, there are many pet foods which are better than Kal-Kan.
These include:
Country Livin’ Cream of Sick Puppy Fixins ‘n’ Gravy
Country Livin’ Newspaper Trimmings for Your Adult Dog
Country Livin’ Paper Pulp ‘n Sawdust for Your Sluggish Fat Dog
Country Livin’ Crispy Puppy
Country Livin’ 99 Dead Dawg Soo-prise
Country Livin’ Tapewormz in Gravy for Feral Cats
Country Livin’ Pig Eyeballs in Gravy for Shiny Coat
Country Livin’ Tarantula Chow
Country Livin’ Scorpion Meat
Gemstone Ground Up Horsemeat
Gemstone Ground Up Horsemeat and Hooves
Gemstone Crispy Chicken Beaks ‘n’ Claws
Gemstone Crunchy Hog Maws ‘n’ Eyebrows
Gemstone Low Energy Dog Food
Gemstone All-Fat Dog Food
Gemstone Maintenance Service Floor Sweepins Dog Food
Gemstone Minimal Performance Dog Food
Gemstone Premium Adult Dog Meat
Gemstone Puppy Meat
Gemstone Chinese Restaurant Floor Sweepins Cat Food

4*NOVELTY
ISOLATED TRACKS
http://www.thatericalper.com/category/isolated-tracks/

PAPA WAS A ROLLIN’ STONE

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
THE BLACK PANTHER
The character was created by writer-editor Stan Lee and writer-artist Jack Kirby, first appearing in Fantastic Four #52 (July 1966).
The Black Panther’s name predates the October 1966 founding of the Black Panther Party, though not the black panther logo of the party’s predecessor, the Lowndes County Freedom Organization, nor the segregated World War II Black Panthers Tank Battalion.
http://www.blackpast.org/aah/lowndes-county-freedom-organization

6* DAILY UTILITY
BOB DYLAN WROTE PROPAGANDA SONGS

ALSO SEE:
THE VENTURES OF ZIMMERMAN
Here’s something that every Dylan fan and Dylan-hater should read.
http://www.punkhart.com/dylan/images/zimmerman.html

7*CARTOON
BAZOOKA JOE RAPS
“I find Ursula’s steamy rhymes about looking hot in tights, checking out the sights, compromising workout positions, and making many ‘friends’ at the gym to be the perfect compliment to Zena’s previous rap about her obsession with shopping and her envious high-end lifestyle.”

SEE:
victorsellsout.blogspot.com/2011/07/power-rankings-bazooka-joe-raps.html

ALSO SEE:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/billypeltzer/all-50-bazooka-joe-comic-strips-ecuv?utm_term=.ixaz6W627n#.wqjE8m8yxO

8*PRESCRIPTION
THE BEASTIE BOYS
SABOTAGE

9* RUMOR PATROL
Upon my honor
I saw a Madonna
Standing in a niche
Over the door
Of the prominent whore
Of a prominent son of a bitch.

–Said to have been written in the guest-book of Hearst Castle, referring to the room occupied by Hearst’s mistress, Marion Davies. Parker always denied it, pointing out that she would never have rhymed “honor” with “Madonna”.
https://books.google.com/books?id=paTqyHoLNGoC&pg=PT266&lpg#v=onepage&q&f=false

ALSO SEE:
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Dorothy_Parker

SEE ALSO:
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/98844.Dorothy_Parker

10* LAGNIAPPE
Duke Ellington
Diminuendo And Crescendo In Blue

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS 5: PAT ROBERTSON BLAMES SCHOOL SHOOTINGS ON OBAMA, LESBIANS, AND WITCHES
http://bizstandardnews.com/2018/02/18/robertson-blames-school-shootings-obama-lesbians-witches/

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
FRANK RIZZO
“Just wait after November, you’ll have a front row seat because I’m going to make Attila the Hun look like a faggot.”
http://www.vice.com/en_us/article/kwxp3m/remembering-frank-rizzo-the-most-notorious-cop-in-philadelphia-history-1022

THE INFORMATION #981 FEBRUARY 23, 2018

THE INFORMATION #981
FEBRUARY 23, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The present generation will probably behave just as badly if another Darwin should arise, and inflict upon them that which the generality of mankind most hate—the necessity of revising their convictions. –Thomas Henry Huxley

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

“The great Earthquake put paid to any aspirations that San Franciscans may have had to build and live in a great world-class city. By then, the place had already seen better days. Say, but you should have visited down in Old Frisco back in the days of the Gay Nineties. Haw! Every Yellof along the Embarcadero was full of piss and vinegar, and doted over the antics of the painted whores who graced the stages of ballrooms and low dives alike. It sure beat hell out the pink tea recitals given over t’ the Catholic Ladies’ Aid Society!

“I tell you, Yob, back in those says, Frisco was wild, wild, wild. I still have yet to visit another place like it. Sure, the city has what it likes to style its ‘elites,’ many of them originally from the east coast, and those Yobs would fall all over themselves whenever a British accent was heard. But many of the denizens of San Francisco are the merest brutes. I hadn’t been there more than two weeks when some Yob on a cable car offered me a whiff of cocaine. No doubt laced with knockout drops, so he could steal my coat as had all my ooftish sewn in the lining in case I got tangled up with the filth and needed some frog skins for the fall.

“Coarse practical jokes, you see, were the lingua franca of Frisco in the Gay Nineties. This sort of asinine frontier humor passed as great wit in those parts. And the Mexicanos had an even lower sense of humor. Laughing at a Yellof who’d just fallen down a manhole was the ne plus ultra of gaiety amongst them. Or laughing at a dockworker unloading bananas who got bit by a tarantula–that was always good for a belly-laugh. As I think I already mentioned, California in those days did not attract the best and brightest. No; mainly it was the cranks and misfits who streamed in. The sorts of people who would run out on a restaurant bill without a second thought. What the British like to call the cads, the sods, and the flaming rotters.

“Many of the people in that part of the country–especially in the central part of the state–come from the piney backwoods of the most rural areas of the deepest south, and they don’t seem to know an awful lot about the power of soap and water. They can’t read none; they sign their name with an X, and they believe everything the preacher-man tells ’em. It mostly ain’t worth swindlin’ them because they mostly ain’t got nothing, though occasionally you can pinch their pay packet with the old Georgia Skin Game. Some of those hicks and country Younkers would walk into one of those conveniently located taverns which were actually wolf traps, and before they knew it they had bet a whole year’s savings and lost it in as little as ninety seconds–Pow! Though many grifters pretended to give the sucker a ‘sporting chance’ to recoup his losses. It was actually a Chinaman’s Chance–which was no chance at all. It works like this. The dealer deals you and your opponent your cards face up. You bet against an opponent and the dealer. What you’re betting is that the next turn of the cards will match your opponent’s face card. Quite naturally, any gambler worth his salt can deal from the bottom of the deck. Some card mechanics could probably make an Ace pop out and squirt water in your eye, if they felt like it. Don’t ever–ever–ever get roped into ‘a friendly game of cards’ with anybody you haven’t known for at least a year or more. Sure, they’ll start out by suggesting you play for matchsticks, or crumbs of bread, or bits of paper. But before long they will say something like ‘Hows about it we make it a little bit more interesting.’ What that always means is that they want you to bet real money. You will never–never–never come out ahead in one of these so-called ‘friendly games'” You will always be going up against people who have made a lucrative vocation of swindling would-be sports just like as yourself. I don’t care how you do it, but when you encounter one of these gents, make any excuse you can to depart the premises, and in that way you may never fail to prosper. All you have to do to avoid being swindled is to remember this simple word: “No”. When they say “Bet and be a man,” all you have to do is to repeat this one lifesaving word in all of its various permutations. ‘Sorry.’ ‘Not tonight.’ ‘Dass alright.’ ‘Turning in, Boss.’ ‘I’m out.’ ‘Non.’ ‘Nyet.’ ‘Niente.’ ‘Nix.’ ‘Nay.’ ‘Ixnay’. ‘Nit.’ ‘Well, Sir…No, Sir–I don’t think so.’

“The common rabble of the Central Valley, and most of the Bay area, why, they go no breeding and they got no taste, and they ain’t never gonna have any. What can you do with such a bunch of goops, but to take their money and run for the border? Bah! A lot of them have never been more than ten miles from where they grew up. These uneducated bumpkins are filled with the asinine verities and rank superstitions of the cross-roads clown and small town idiot savant. They have money which they have accumulated through might and main, but no-one ever taught them about the finer things of life, and so they have no idea what to do with it, other than to squander it away on foolish card wagers, crooked games of chance, or ill-advised ‘investments’. If squirrels guarded their nuts with such carelessness, within a couple of years the entire species would be extinct. More than any other, their definig trait is gullibility. They will believe anything, regardless of the paramount absurdity of it, providing that some authority they respect happens to be prating it. Some goofy preacher tells them they by dint of their predestinarian faith they are better than four Nigras and ten Chinamen balled up together, and they’ll belive it. Tell them that there are heathens living on the moon as need your money so that missionaries can covert them to Christianity, and they’ll hand the ooftish over in a hot minute. Tell them on Sunday that if Jesus were alive today he would drive an automobile, smoke a fancy cigar, and speak flawless American, and, why, the very next morning they will be repeating this mess of banana oil to their shape-up buddies on Cannery Row!”

“It is vexing indeed to be raised among such people; small wonder the brighter sparks of the younger generation invariably reverse the pattern of their forefathers’ migration and head East, so at the very least they can soak up a little culture before heading back to California–the land of fruits and nuts; an elephant’s graveyard of the intellect–where reason, logic, and rational sense all go to die.”

1*SALUTATION
NICOLAE NEACȘU (Taraf de Haïdouks)
Balada Conducatorolui

2*REFERENCE
RACISM AGAINST ITALIANS
http://www.providencejournal.com/news/20180207/meme-racist-against-italians-prompts-call-for-providence-party-chairman-to-quit

3*HUMOR
My good friend Dennis Allen once speculated that you could get a really good band name or album title from the headlines in The Economist.

Let’s see. “Guerilla Drones”. Not bad….

4*NOVELTY
CHARLES MINGUS
LET MY CHILDREN HEAR MUSIC

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
T. TEXAS TYLER
My Dad Gave My Dog Away

That’s nothing. Clark’s father shot HIS dog into outer space.


ALSO SEE:
SUPERMAN’S DOG: A HISTORY
http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/books/2013/05/superman_s_dog_a_history.html

6* DAILY UTILITY
DEAD GIRLS AND LIVE BOYS
That was, I believe, Earl Long who made that famous statement about dead girls and live boys.As recounted in the amusing book The Earl of Louisiana.
https://www.amazon.com/Earl-Louisiana-J-Liebling/dp/0807102032

7*CARTOON
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/little-orphant-annie

8*PRESCRIPTION
PROBLEMATIC LYRICS ARTISTS DISAVOW
https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2018/feb/08/katy-perry-i-kissed-a-girl-problematic-lyrics-artists-disavow

9* RUMOR PATROL
pryor + brando = TRUE LOVE
https://www.theguardian.com/film/2018/feb/08/richard-pryor-and-marlon-brando-were-lovers-pryors-widow-confirms

10* LAGNIAPPE
BITCH MAGNET
NAVAHO ACE

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS 4: MICHAEL JACKSON RESPONDS TO HIS CRITICS
MICHAEL & JANET JACKSON
SCREAM
I suppose that if I were a pedophile, I wouldn’t want people questioning me either.

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
Q: Grandma, why is there black history month, but no white history month?
A: Why child, haven’t you heard? EVERY month is white history month!

THE INFORMATION #980 FEBRUARY 16, 2018

THE INFORMATION #980
FEBRUARY 16, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The repentance of a hypocrite is itself hypocrisy. –William Hazlitt

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

“In just a few minutes, The Queen City of the West was reduced to rubble,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy. “But never mind that. I do know that on the morning of the quake it was drizzly and the streets were hidden by a rolling fog and you could smell the salt and the ever-present fishy aroma of the Pacific especially well, and the shrieking of the seagulls was very nearly maddening, especially if you were working off a pounding hangover just like I was at that very moment. I looked up at the sky and saw that it resembled nothing so much as one enormous bruise that was slowly giving way to the light of a hazy blue dawn which illumined the clouds with intermittent flashes of light. A few hours earlier I saw a full moon through the haze; an ominous portent indeed; it was surrounded by a queerly vibrating nimbus that made it look just like an old-fashioned halo like you’d see in a renaissance painting.

“As the sun rose you could just barely hear the far off clanging of a cable car, but otherwise there were very few people on the street, and many of those were foreigners–Italian truck farm peddlers with their hand-drawn wooden carts, loaded with onions, turnips, potatoes and other such rubbish, getting ready to begin their day of crying out their wares. There were thick and ape-like Irish gorillas in thin shirts and heavy jackets, hustling their way down to the docks to unload the morning’s freight. There were bricklayers and hod-carriers, mostly Spanish and Italian, with thick mustachios and looking as though they already had a half a bag on. There were Japanese and Russian fishermen in their queer costumes and wearing slick rubber boots, hauling their heavy nets down to the boats docked at the marina to begin a day of wrestling with the sea. From what I hear—it was the talk of the day–Caruso was in town. I told you I met him once, didn’t I? On that occasion he told me he was holed up in his Hotel, and that he was still upset over the eruption of Mount Vesuvius; he had been scheduled to perform in Naples that very night but had canceled the engagement. Lucky for him. Or was it? He wasn’t doused head to foot with molten lava, true enough; but living through the quake wasn’t no picnic lunch either.
“Just before the quake hit, you could almost smell it in the air; a weird, metallic scent. Horses bucked and shied. Dogs barked off in the distance as though a legion of hoboes had invaded their sanctified back yards. Then a peculiar vibration could be felt in the feet. I looked down, and, to my utter amazement, the cobblestones were rippling like dominoes. I looked down the hill and saw that gaping trenches were beginning to open in the streets. I thought that maybe I was dreaming, but I knew I wasn’t. Not being native to those parts, I didn’t realize what I was experiencing–that I was in the middle of the biggest earthquake the city had ever seen.

“When the fires did hit, it was very nearly an unqualified disaster. None of the water mains were protected, and so there was no way to play a hose over the commercial buildings, or to protect the frame houses that began burning to a crisp all over the town. It was exceedingly difficult for the hose companies to navigate the steep hills; even the specially bred and trained horses were having a hard time doing their job; and there were large areas of unoccupied ground over which the furious flames would leap like a team of fiery chariots. From where I stood on the hill it seemed as though there were a hundred campfires of a besieging army burning all across the perimeter–only, by then, it was broad daylight.

“I’ll have to say that after the big fire and quake, the San Francisco of old was gone. Chinatown was more or less fallen, to rise no more. Some enterprising grifters tried to erect a whorehouse to beat all previous efforts–I think it was in the Tenderloin–but it only lasted less than a year. Which is surprising to me, because San Franciscans weren’t hardly ever chastened by anything, prior to the great catastrophe. It’s not surprising that they were such a hardy breed: most of the natives, the white ones, anyway, were the products of scrawny gold miners and fat prostitutes, most of them from Chile, Mexico, and Quebec.

“How do you explain the mentality of the typical San Franciscan? You can’t. Some say the fog that the area was so famous for got into people’s brains and made them act all fuzzy-minded. Others say that any man who would shuck his job, his wife, his children, and his family to venture west in the hopes of striking it rich in some half-baked enterprise or other wasn’t too steady in the head to begin with. Couple that with whole flocks of feeble-minded zooks who were so goofy you had to fuck ’em into sanity.

“Whatever explanation you want to give, San Franciscans were known all over the country for living in a veritable Eden of vice and iniquity that made wicked old New Orleans at its zenith look downright puny. Men with rough beards and rougher manners, and women who were good, perhaps, as all women are; but not too good. I suppose the problem with San Franciscans, the men-folk at least, if problem it was, is that they gave themselves airs because they refused to give themselves airs. They thought they were something special but they denied that they thought they were something special, or that anybody was any better or any worse than any one of them. They looked down on any man who didn’t drink or cuss or carouse or gamble, or, in general, play the fool; but they had very little respect for a man who lost all his money at cards, or who let a zook cheat him of his pay packet, or who couldn’t hold his liquor; or any man who used shocking language in polite company. These men were great ones for looking down their noses at a Yellof who had transgressed. In general, there are only two places where you weren’t allowed to show up weeping drunk or to cuss until the air turned blue; in a church…or at a funeral–and woe betide the intemperate sot who defied these protocols. Even the low-down wharf rats dancing a drunken sailor’s hornpipe all the night long would shun such a person.

“For all their cant, their all-out debaucheries, you see, had limits.”

1*SALUTATION
A MODERN JAZZ SYMPOSIUM OF MUSIC AND & POETRY WITH CHARLES MINGUS
[SCENES IN THE CITY]

2*REFERENCE
Anti-Semitism’s Rise Gives The Forward New Resolve

3*HUMOR
TOP TEN NICE THINGS TO SAY
https://www.christianfilipina.com/research/top-ten-nice-things-to-say/

4*NOVELTY
TRAFFIK (1989)
EPISODE 1

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
DEATH OF THE CD
http://www.msn.com/en-us/money/companies/best-buy-is-pulling-cds-from-stores-and-people-are-freaking-out/ar-BBIK9Ej?li=BBnb7Kz&OCID=HPDHP

6* DAILY UTILITY
WALMART IN CHINA
http://www.businessinsider.com/shopping-walmart-china-pictures-experience-2017-9?r=UK&IR=T

7*CARTOON
SALVADOR DALI & WALT DISNEY
DESTINO

8*PRESCRIPTION
THE ECONOMY: 1987 DEJA VU?
http://www.theguardian.com/business/2018/feb/04/is-this-the-1987-us-economy-or-just-deja-vu

ALSO SEE:
STOCKS GETTING SMASHED
finance.yahoo.com/news/stocks-getting-smashed-143950261.html

The decline in stock market caught the attention of the Trump administration, which in a statement to CNBC’s Eamon Javers on Monday morning said, “We’re always concerned when the market loses any value, but we’re also confident in the economy’s fundamentals.”–Feb 5, 2018

“Conditions are fundamentally sound.”–President Herbert Hoover, September 1929

9* RUMOR PATROL
“BUT THE MAN CAN’T BUST OUR MUSIC”
http://www.press.uchicago.edu/Misc/Chicago/259919.html
moreorlessbunk.net/category/music/

10* LAGNIAPPE
DIGITAL UNDERGROUND
THE HUMPTY DANCE

ALSO SEE:
SHOCK G. ARRESTED
http://www.tmz.com/2017/06/21/shock-g-digital-underground-arrested/

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS 3: QUINCY JONES TAKES ON THE WORLD
http://www.vulture.com/2018/02/quincy-jones-in-conversation.html

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
MALCOLM BUTLER
http://www.foxnews.com/sports/2018/02/06/patriots-benched-one-time-super-bowl-hero-malcolm-butler-over-perfect-storm-issues-report.html

FOX NEWS COMMENTS:
Would someone please translate this in to English for me? Thank you.

“‘I ain’t gonna say no names. Like every job, there’s always favorites, you feel me, and lil’ bro wasn’t a favorite,’ he said.”

People that sit all day and watch a bunch of n–s play with a little ball are simply stupid ..

Having trouble with the police?

Have you tried NOT breaking the law, ……… to see if that might help?

Holy 8#hit balls, did you read that drivel?

This guy clearly paid very little attention in English class.

I remember chuckling when he was crying on the sideline

When’s he going to say “Cuz me be black”? When in doubt, claim race.

Hillary…She needs to just go away, back to Arkansas where she belongs with her aunt mom and uncle dad.

Malcolm Butler didn’t catch one ball during Super Bowl XLII, His hands were tear slick !

He blamed it on the league putting in Astro turf, He loves real “Grass” !

If you eat a snickers bar, and let it melt in your mouth long enough, take the peanuts out of your mouth and wash them, put salt on them and put it in a bowl, you can serve these peanuts to your guests later on.

THE INFORMATION #979 FEBRUARY 9, 2018

THE INFORMATION #979
FEBRUARY 9, 2018
Copyright 2018 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

If your mindset is one that is scared of creativity, scared to go against prevailing customs and mores, it will only hold you back. If you fear creativity, even subconsciously, you will have more difficulty being creative.–Maria Konnikova

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

“Frisco in those days–only we never called it ‘Frisco’; the Emporer forbade it– San Francisco called itself the Queen City of the West. And the Barbary Coast was its own corner of West Hell. And, just like any well-lit but absolutely hellish place,” said Count Justin Victor to Cadger Tandy, “in San Francisco all the people ever accomplished was to make money and store up gossip about each other. Who was snapping at the bottle; who was fucking whose wife or husband, and who was going broke due to a nasty gambling habit or bad speculations, which pretty much amounted to the same thing, though the latter was considered a great deal more respectable, y’understand.

“There was no art worthy of the name; no literature; scarcely any architecture–in fact, none of the emoluments of a modern culture. It was a Four ‘F’ Club: all the time just drinking firewater, fighting, fucking, and fussing, especially among the high-born, such as they were, in that crossroad of citified clowns. If every grifter eventually washes up in Denver, the more ambitious ones took their game to the wickedest city in America, thence to fleece the suckers and savages–at least, those that the flapdoodle-peddlers and holy-rollers hadn’t already gotten their mitts on. Druggists did a land-office business there, selling not only nationally advertised patent medicines, but also their own peculiar compounds, witches brews full of herbs like black snakeroot and cabbage palm and coneflower and lily of the desert and other such rubbish. Medical doctors with their fancy M.D.s are bad enough, with their bruised satchels filled with God’s own medicine. But look about you in any village. Or even in any small town. The medicine man is likely to be the biggest good-for-nothing charlatan you’ll find. Not that I am inclined to go around and rub another man’s rhubarb. After all, what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.

“In the days before the great catastrophe which struck that fair city, San Francisco was a home-away-from-home for every dotard, recluse, mystic, tramp, creep, crank, crook, kook, cackling witch, crazy wizard, crafty gypsy, yekkman, beggar, morphodite, white slavemaster, ruined sport, effeminate dude, and worthless bohemian. Not to mention the meanest kind of poets, poetasters, versiflasts, dunderheads, bloated and hydrocephalic hack musicians; the lowliest panhandlers and concert-hall sneaks; pandars, and fancy-men; the most malignant and sullen ward-heelers; the most disreputable bomb-throwers, anarchists and low-down mailbox-thieves; the most garish zooks and the oiliest and most ingratiating pimps. Wander the streets of the Barbary Coast in the pale moonlight and there you would see leering from the shadows all manner of grey-fingered, sallow-skinned, carbuncled men and women scarred inside and out with hideous venereal diseases.There athwart the dives and gambling hells you’d find the pushers of pure morphine and cocaine; the pushers of adulterated drugs; the pushers of fake drugs, and the concomitant dope fiends; cocaine fiends scratching at imaginary bugs, hasheesh-eaters blowing great and airy bunco schemes, half-lidded gong-ringers in their opium stupor dreaming crazy dreams, and champagne drunks dispensing century-notes to match girls riding around the city on the backs of pink elephants. San Francisco in the days before the great fire was crawling with human lice; it was lousy with crooked policemen; with lying police spies; with grifters, grafters, gamblers, peddlers of watered stock, hustlers, rustlers and incompetent confidence men. In short, all the bawling and blubbering rabble low and high which congregate upon the streets of any major city, but which found their true home in particular in the low dives and rookeries of the Barbary Coast.

“Ah, and you should have seen the great fire which put paid to San Francisco. Me, I had a front-row seat. I was up all night havin’ a night out on the town and stumblin’ home from Chinatown when I ran across it; or, say rather, vice versa. The earth moved, the ground shook–nay, trembled and shifted and actually SLID beneath my feet. The sea roared and bellowed, and waves crashed against the shoreline. Roofs caved in, brick walls bucked out, buckled, then crumbled; balconies cracked and fell, milkmen went running, horses whickered, bucked and shied, stray dogs ran under buildings and, for all I know, might still be there to that day–and the steeple of the big church collapsed like it was made of cheap cardboard. Electrical wires shuddered loose from their collapsing wooden poles, water mains burst and flooded, and before long smoke filled the air and mud was flowing down the dirt street like shit through a tinhorn. It was a terrible sight to see. Cattle ran wild in the street, and a one-eyed bear was stumbling around on the waterfront, bellowing in fear and confusion. Cobblestone streets cracked clean in two. Whole buildings appeared to be melting and were disintegrating right before your eyes, like cotton candy dropped in turpentine. It was like a nightmare, or a fever dream. The fronts of houses came cascading out onto the street–they looked like so many dollhouses, or a mouth full of broken teeth with grey and white and black smoke swirling everywhere. I was viewing all this from the top of a high hill, and even from where I stood, the plaster dust was so thick you could barely see your hand in front of your face. Still, the high ground was the place to be, because the fires were everywhere, and nobody could seem to figure out a way to stop them. Finally, I think, some soldiers started dynamiting everything they could to stop the spread. The noise was awful. People yelling in fear, zooks screaming, flames crackling, solid brick walls falling like dominoes; loose bricks hitting the streets with a clatter, palatial facades collapsed like wedding cakes–it made you doubt the supremacy of man over nature, and it sure was a humbling experience–yes it was. Stone statues toppled, pianos fell out of windows, stagecoaches were shaken and shivered apart, screaming horses raced through the streets, out of control, wooden shacks were leaning against each other at crazy angles–it was like the Lord of Chaos shook hands with the Devil His Own Self! Then the earth itself split open and started buckling like a pie crust. And the fires–O God, the fires! They were raging uncontrollably. The heat was stifling–overwhelming! It’s my opinion that a lot of people who managed to avoid being buried beneath the rubble of collapsing brick buildings were mostly alright. But those unfortunates who lived in wooden buildings caught the full brunt of the fires. And Chinatown was almost completely destroyed.

“And then, following the aftershocks, came the long march of the homeless people driven out of the city, and down the peninsula. Oakland was badly damaged; you couldn’t go there. But if you had money you could stay in San Francisco, and actually live pretty comfortably at some of the hotels which had managed to weather the blast, but there were thousands of people whose homes were utterly destroyed, and who had nowhere to go. It was like nothing you ever seen. It was like a Barbarian army had gone through and sacked the place. I tell you Yob, it was just like Sodom and Gomorrah, ‘which the Lord overthrew in his anger, and in his wrath’. Be glad you weren’t there. ”

1*SALUTATION
THE BEACH BOYS
AREN’T YOU GLAD

ALSO SEE:
DARLIN’

LAUGHING GRAVY
VEGETABLES

2*REFERENCE
ALBANIA: THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE UGLY
https://www.crazytravelista.com/culture-shock-albania-good-bad-ugly/

3*HUMOR
HOWDY DOOIT!
jeffoverturf.blogspot.com/2012/09/howdy-dooit-will-elder-mad-mondays.html

4*NOVELTY
BIZARRE WAYS TO EAT HOT DOGS
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/food/article-3090846/Bizarre-ways-eat-hot-dogs-world-revealed.html

ALSO SEE:
LENINGEN VERSUS THE ANTS
A corking yarn, about a picnic gone terribly terribly wrong.
http://www.classicshorts.com/stories/lvta.html

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
JAMES TAYLOR
To James Taylor, Heroin was Bigger than the Beatles
How could such pretty music come out of a person with such an ugly hole in his soul?
By Mark Ribowsky
medium.com/cuepoint/to-james-taylor-heroin-was-bigger-than-the-beatles-35dee89b7f5e

ALSO SEE:
James Taylor
Don’t Let Me Be Lonely Tonight:Soft-Rock ‘Roids
*An All-Time Dog:Everyday: Clever title, Jimmy boy
Handy Man: Pee Wee, at the drive-in
This guy is a bona-fide one-man cheese factory: How Sweet It is (To Be Loved By You): Who Crop-Dusted the Room?
Mexico: Promise to stay there?
(You Are My) Only One: Sedaka-Rama
Shower the People: Post-60’s Regression
Carly Simon: Nobody Does It Better: Hanging out with James Taylor too long
http://www.nepanewsletter.com/worst

6* DAILY UTILITY
STIFF LITTLE FINGERS
ALTERNATIVE ULSTER (LIVE)

7*CARTOON
TV GUIDE’S SIXTY GREATEST CARTOONS OF ALL TIME
http://www.tvguide.com/news/greatest-cartoons-tv-guide-magazine-1071203/

8*PRESCRIPTION
HOWARD POST
THE END OF HECTOR THE SPECTRE
http://fourcolorshadows.blogspot.com/2017/08/favorite-artists-howard-post-end-of.html

9* RUMOR PATROL
Wednesday, January 31st, 2018: The 55th anniversary of National Gorilla Suit Day.
happydays-365.com/gorilla-suit-day/national-gorilla-suit-day-january-31/

SEE:

https://animationresources.org/inbetweens-the-genius-of-don-martin/

10* LAGNIAPPE
THE ASSOCIATION
EVERYTHING THAT TOUCHES YOU

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
THE DOUCHE CHILLS 2: BILL COSBY VS. SPIKE LEE
Some people just give you the douche chills.

I admit that I would be hard-pressed to decide who was worse.

Between Spike “Race Riot Man” Lee:
http://time.com/10666/spike-lees-racism-isnt-cute-m-f-hipster-is-the-new-honkey/

And Bill “God Is Tired of You” Cosby:
https://www.rci.rutgers.edu/~schochet/101/Cosby_Speech.htm

*11ABOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
4 KIDS WALK INTO A BANK. BOSS. ***
50 YEARS OF ROLLING STONE. ***1/2
A.D. AFTER DEATH. SNYDER & LEMIRE. ****
ALEX RIDER. SCORPIA. JOHNSTON ET AL. ***1/2
AMERICA 1. ***
THE ARCHIES & OTHER STORIES. **1/2
THE ART OF THE PULPS. ELLIS, ET AL., ED. ***1/2
AS THE CROW FLIES. GILLMAN. ***1/2
BATGIRL 2. SON OF PENGUIN. ***
BATMAN 4. THE WAR OF JOKES & RIDDLES. ***1/2
BATMAN/THE FLASH. THE BUTTON. ***1/2
BLACK PANTHER. WORLD OF WAKANDA. ***
BLACK PANTHER & THE CREW 1. WE ARE THE STREETS. ***
BLACKJACKED & PISTOL-WHIPPED. ***1/2
A BRIEF HISTORY OF EVERYONE WHO EVER LIVED. RUTHERFORD. ****1/2
CINEMAPS. DEGRAFF & JAMESON. ***1/2
THE COMIC BOOK STORY OF VIDEO GAMES. HENNESSEY & MCGOWAN. ****
COMPASS SOUTH. LARSON & MOCK. ****
THE CONFIDENCE GAME. KONNIKOVA. ****
A CRACK IN THE EDGE OF THE WORLD. WINCHESTER. ****
CREEPY VOLUME 2. ***1/2
CREEPY VOLUME 3. ***1/2
CREEPY VOLUME 4. ***
CREEPY VOLUME 5. ***1/2
CREEPY COMICS 2008-2010. ***1/2
DEATH NOTE. OHBA & OBATA. ***1/2
DR. STRANGE 3. BLOOD IN THE AETHER. ***1/2
EERIE VOLUME 1. ***1/2
EERIE VOLUME 2. ***1/2
EERIE VOLUME 3. ***
EMPIRE OF SIN. KRIST. ***1/2
THE ERRAND. LA FLEUR & OEHLERS. ***1/2
EXTRAORDINARY X-MEN 3. KINGDOMS FALL. ***1/2
EXTRAORDINARY X-MEN 4. IVX. ***1/2
FANTASYLAND. ANDERSEN. ****
THE FIFTH BEATLE. TIWARY, ROBINSON & BAKER. ****
GWENPOOL 3. TOTALLY IN CONTINUITY.**1/2
HIT MAKERS. THOMPSON. ****
THE HOLOCAUST: A NEW HISTORY. REES. ****1/2
I AM GROOT. HASTINGS ET AL. ***1/2
I AM NOT OK WITH THIS. FORSMAN. ***
I HATE FAIRYLAND 3. GOOD GIRLS. ***1/2
I, PARROT. UNFERTH & HAIDLE. ***1/2
IF NO NEWS, SEND RUMORS. BATES. ***1/2
IF OUR BODIES COULD TALK. HAMBLIN. ****
THE IRRESISTIBLE CON. WHEEN. ****
JOHN STANLEY: GIVING LIFE TO LITTLE LULU. SCHELLY. ***1/2
JUSTICE LEAGUE 4. ENDLESS. ***1/2
KOBANE CALLING. ZEROCALCARI. ***1/2
THE LAST OF US. AMERICAN DREAMS. HICKS. ***
THE LEGION OF REGRETTABLE SUPER-VILLAINS. MORRIS. ***1/2
MASTERMIND. KONNIKOVA. ****
THE MASSIVE 1. WOOD. ****1/2
THE MASSIVE 2. WOOD. ****1/2
MAZE RUNNER. DEATH CURE. ***
THE MIGHTY CAPTAIN MARVEL. 1. STOHL. ***
NANCY DREW & THE HARDY BOYS. THE BIG LIE. ***
PARK BENCH. CHABOUTE. ****1/2
REAL FOOD, FAKE FOOD. OLMSTED. ****
RICHARD STARK’S PARKER. THE HUNTER. COOKE. ****1/2
RIVERDALE 1. ***
ROCK CANDY MOUNTAIN 1. STARKS. ***1/2
SATANIA. VEHLMANN & KERASCOET. ****
THE SCRAPBOOK OF FRANKIE PRATT. PRESTON. ****
SECRET EMPIRE. UNITED WE STAND. ***
SECRET INVASION. BENDIS. ***1/2
SECRET INVASION. FRONT LINE. REED. ****
SECRET INVASION. THUNDERBOLTS. ***1/2
SECRET WAR. BENDIS. ***1/2
SECRET WARRIORS. NICK FURY, AGENT OF NOTHING. ***1/2
SECRET WARRIORS. SECRET EMPIRE. ***
STRANGE ATTRACTORS. SOULE. ****
SUPER SONS 1. ***1/2
SUPERGIRL 2. ESCAPE FROM THE PHANTOM ZONE. ***
SPIDER-MAN: MILES MORALES 3. ***1/2
STRANGE DAYS INDEED. WHEEN. ****
SUPERFAIL. **1/2
TIM BURTON’S THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS. ***
TULSA. CLARK. ****1/2
VALARIAN: THE COMPLETE COLLECTION. V. 3. ****
VAMPIRELLA 1. ***
WAITING FOR THE MAN. SHAPIRO. ***1/2
THE WAR BRIDE’S SCRAPBOOK. PRESTON. ****1/2
WHAT DOES CONSENT REALLY MEAN? WALLIS ET AL. ***1/2
WHAT HAPPENED. MISS SIMONE? LIGHT. ***1/2
WHEN CHURCHILL SLAUGHTERED SHEEP & STALIN ROBBED A BANK. MILTON. ***1/2
WHEN HITLER TOOK COCAINE & LENIN LOST HIS BRAIN.MILTON. ***1/2
X-MEN BLUE 2. TOIL & TROUBLE. ***
YOU & A BIKE & THE ROAD. DAVIS. ****

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
TEN CRUEL THINGS MEN DO TO WOMEN
https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/life-style/relationships/love-sex/10-cruel-things-men-do-to-women/articleshow/5298989.cms