THE INFORMATION #945 JUNE 16, 2017 

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


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

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

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

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

“Which one, Count?”

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

“‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart’?”

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

“‘By the Light of the Silvery Moon.'”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dehaven-smith.com/faq/default.html

 
ALSO SEE:

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

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

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

 
 
ALSO SEE:

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

SEE ALSO:

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

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

 
SEE ALSO: 
AMUSING VIGNETTES ABOUT MCDONALDS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 224 JUNE 2017

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE

​​NUMBER 224

JUNE  2017

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

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

A: Shoot the lawyer twice.

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

3. SIGNS YOU’VE MOVED TO A SHITTY TOWN

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

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

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

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

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

Pawn shops everywhere.

Signs designating “Drug and Gun Free Zone”.

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

No microbrews in the local liquor store

Shaw’s is the best grocery store

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

Used car lot with more American flags than cars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


SAILING
GOLF
BASSMASTERS

THE RITZ
THE FOUR SEASONS
MOTEL 6

CHANEL
MARC JABOBS
FOREVER 21

HOGARTH
KRAZY KAT
PLUGGERS

CATAMARAN
JIM CRAMER
RAMEN

DER STURMER
WALL STREET JOURNAL
NATIONAL ENQUIRER

AUJOURD’HUI AT THE FOUR SEASONS
SORELLINA
TACO BELL

NANTUCKET
MARTHA’S VINEYARD
REVERE

PAUL
GEORGE
RINGO

PRIVATE ISLAND
VACATION HOME
COUSIN JOEY’S HOUSE

AFTERNOON TEA
POWER LUNCH
ARBY’S

5. THE GREAT CONDIMENT DEBATE: A POLITICAL SYMPOSIUM


DEMOCRATIC PLATFORM
Condiments are a way of life.

Part of the American way of life.

They should be free.

Free.

Free for all.

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

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

NO!

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

Or on our freedom fries.

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

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

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

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

American cuisine for Americans!

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

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

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

Red pepper
Black pepper

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

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

God bless you.

And God blesh the American people.

 

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


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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

    Twain. Melville. Whitman. Hawthorne.

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

    But then we have to start reaching….

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

9. IMMIGRANTS, NOT AMERICANS, MUST ADAPT. 

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

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

​ ​

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

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

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

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

THE RIGHT TO LEAVE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE RIGHT TO LEAVE. IN A SEALED BOXCAR.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

​ ​

Bob Shipemback on the White
Power Website.

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

How do I know?

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

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

He provided faulty attribution regarding his sources.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As for the charges of plagiarism:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blacks, not so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

THE INFORMATION #944 JUNE 9, 2017

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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


1*SALUTATION

ANASTASIA SCREAMED

Brilliant proto-grunge.

ONE DEEP BREATH

https://youtu.be/nPRWtfsJWgU

 

SHE MUST

https://youtu.be/vUWDzGAJbDs

 

DEAD IN THE GRASS

https://youtu.be/tw8V6VljD8M

 

ALSO SEE:

ANASTASIA SCREAMED

LAUGHING DOWN THE LIMEHOUSE

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

 

SEE ALSO:

SCARCE 

ALL SIDEWAYS

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

 

2*REFERENCE

TOLKIEN VS. DISNEY

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

 

3*HUMOR

COPS VS. APPALACHIAN HILLBILLIES

https://youtu.be/FsRktXy2qGA

 

ALSO SEE: 

DINDU NUFFIN

https://youtu.be/cqI8qKFhLdk

 

4*NOVELTY

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

 

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

TIMOTHY LEARY VS. ART LINKLETTER

“Kids die the darndest deaths.”

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

 

ALSO SEE:

MACHETE-WIELDING HITCHHIKING CLOWN

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


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

6* DAILY UTILITY

TEN TOXIC PEOPLE YOU SHOULD AVOID AT ALL COSTS

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

 

7*CARTOON

THE DARK SECRET BEHIND THE CREATION OF BATMAN

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

 

8*PRESCRIPTION

TOP TEN WEIRDEST MUSIC GENRES

https://youtu.be/r2P0H5a797Y

 

ALSO SEE:

TOP TEN WEIRDEST BANDS

https://youtu.be/H7E_ZqWUgFA

 

TOP TEN RIP-OFF SONGS

https://youtu.be/1GWMvCXdsG4

 

9*RUMOR PATROL

THE BEATLES: MIND CONTROLLING THE MASSES

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

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

 

ALSO SEE: 

STRANGE THINGS THE BEATLES SAY IN REVERSE

https://youtu.be/FN04yBO9oM0

https://youtu.be/gYTopzZzNLQ

https://youtu.be/mGEpzGIm078

 

SEE ALSO: 

CONTRA SGT. PEPPER 

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

 

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

 

ALSO SEE: 

FRED MCDOWELL & THE HUNTER’S CHAPEL SINGERS 

I WISH I WAS IN HEAVEN SITTING DOWN

https://youtu.be/YDdT8AYjQc0

 

SISTER O.M. TERRILL 

I’M GOING TO THAT CITY

https://youtu.be/T2oXf9Vc_co

 

WILMA LEE & STONEY COOPER

THIS WORLD CAN’T STAND LONG

https://youtu.be/r0calNNfZsA

 

REV. ROBERT WILKINS 

HOLY GHOST TRAIN

https://youtu.be/8olIDGNb6AM

 

CORA FLUKER 

MOVE, DANIEL

https://youtu.be/QaQqQcAidKU

 

BROTHER CLAUDE ELY 

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

https://youtu.be/il2xXRSJLmc

 

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

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

 

The world is just a little town/

Everybody putting everybody down–John Lennon

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

They hate you if you’re clever/

And they despise a fool–John Lennon 

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

THE MOST ANNOYING MOVIE CHARACTERS OF ALL TIME

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

 

ALSO SEE:

THE FACE OF COUSIN ITT:

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

THE INFORMATION #943 JUNE 2, 2017

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

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

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

The Wolf and the Lamb

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

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

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

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

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

WARRA WARRA WARRA WARRA WARRA—

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

“ANY EXCUSE WILL SERVE A TYRANT.”


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

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE INFORMATION #942 MAY 26, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
THE DANGER OF FIDGET SPINNERS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A woman’s shout is a band manager!

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

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

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

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
TOP 50 MARICOPA COUNTY MUGSHOTS

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

THE INFORMATION #941 MAY 19, 2017

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

Eighteenth Anniversary Issue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1*SALUTATION

GLORIA JONES

TAINTED LOVE

https://youtu.be/NSehtaY6k1U

2*REFERENCE

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

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

CARL PANZRAM, AUTHOR OF:
Carl Panzram – Wikiquote

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

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

3*HUMOR 

THE CRAZIEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED

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

4*NOVELTY 

CLASSICS COMICS: UNCLE TOM’S CABIN

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

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST 

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

6* DAILY UTILITY 

LONGEVITY BY GEOGRAPHY

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

7*CARTOON 

DICK HAFER

HOMOSEXUALITY: LEGITIMATE ALTERNATIVE DEATHSTYLE

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

8*PRESCRIPTION

PRIVATE SNAFU

GOING HOME

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

ALSO SEE

DISNEY

REASON AND EMOTION

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

ALSO SEE

USAF [PARAMOUNT?]

KILLJOY WAS HERE

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

9*RUMOR PATROL

BRENT RINEHART’S HOMOPHOBIC REELECTION COMIC BOOK

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

10* LAGNIAPPE

TAKE ME FOR A LITTLE WHILE

EVIE SANDS

https://youtu.be/Gkbn_X57VCw 

JACKIE ROSS

https://youtu.be/-FpIME_48nc

THE MIRETTES

https://youtu.be/b-XKkFTur4I

PATTI LABELLE AND THE BLUEBELLES

https://youtu.be/B-LBUmWVhqo

VANILLA FUDGE

https://youtu.be/B_LkA_BgGsM

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

ROLLING STONES SONGS RANKED

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

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

GREATEST MARKETING DISASTERS IN HISTORY

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

THE INFORMATION #940 MAY 12, 2017

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

3*HUMOR 

5 Deranged Authors Who Wrote the Same Book Over and Over


4*NOVELTY 
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST 

The Philip K. Dick way of political resistance

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

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

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

7*CARTOON 

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

THE JFK ASSASSINATION (2)

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

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 
940. THE CURRENT POLITICAL SITUATION

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