12 September 2008


As a kid, I wondered why my pop and the fag priests were so , well, adamant, that I would be baptized in the tribe of the truest roman church. I wondered why they were making me read books years outside of being apportioned for a fourth grader, like Tacitus or Dante. But when I would ask my mother, almost operatically, she would recite to me of her beloved Oviddio, as if that explained everything. She would recite various Italian translations of Latin, despite her being an unsophisticated Italian like they would say on one of the loathsome, discredited, computer encyclopedias, as some times she takes off since I was a boy, and recites the tales with brio, until the nymph turns into tears or the gaunt man passes by the greyhound, as if a giant fuck you to the mamma Scorsese making marinara in mob movies. She would speak of the annals, or even of Emilio Salgari, the wop who took the basic pirate yarn and made it an epic, as they do to everything.

I wondered why they were so devoted to this, this second gospel , the hidden gospel, these bibles singed at the corners, and wondered why they , like Dante, their truest hero, adulated Virgil, as their truest son of god. It was Virgil who had an estate which should have sued Jew baby Jesus for copyright infringement. When the the bishops demanded that Constantine burn every copy of the Aeneid, even the burning cross boy, said famously to them to show who is the Caesar and who is not, --and so as the bishops would know who was zooming whom,-- "I have not become Christian, fellows, instead, You have become Roman...." As if to say , at any moment, the big bad Caesar to whom they would render everything, would go Nero on them, at anytime. Again in Italy, second person is everything. Why was Virgil seen by the fathers as a SAINT, A GREATEST SAINT, A MOST DECENT SAINT....? But, then, when, I see someone like John MacKane, and this solid gold dancer he had foisted on him days before his speech , even though he had been the nominee since March, --whats that about--and I begin to understand all.

Yes, that Was a hell of a SENATE, John, I read the war with Hannibal too, old man.I still recall it, though, and haven't replaced it for some assembly of god, anti catholic, anti jewish , rotten milk of human meanness, Christan bullshit, God knows.



I may have never mentioned this, but I was taught by Jesuit priests. With that as a background, I must say I think the chosen-ness of Pallid Pallin is still something of a disaster, or literally, 'the stars do not approve'. God almighty, when Mumbles Gergen , our praetorian for hire, calls a possible praetor and thus employer, well, Incoherent, that is something shocking.

Are you going to tap dance till the election, old man....?I made the mistake of gong to some where on this electric Athens called the web, called The Daily Kos, thinking perhaps a bunch of liberals would at least see the inanity of this old man and this milf as a running mate. Oh, but, these aging hippy fucks are into their own full out Holy war with their nigger prince, which is much easier to do, I would say, when the elderly hag hero of your party isn't calling on white working people everywhere to suddenly become legion in your progressive party, all to continually embarrass and hopefully derail the coon, who, to recall, you didn't seem to really want only weeks back. Please, take this bullshit about your self righteousness and beat it. By the way , grandpa Simpson and mrs Flanders isn't as funny, witty or Hip as Boris and Natasha, but what would one expect from these low rent,aging, fags...? I AM THE HEP CAT, as I try to tell people. This self righteousness is what my parents tried to inoculate me from, more than serums which the Italians have never needed or used, since the needles have been chock full of poisons since the time of Mussolini, and why all your silly little mean boys are all wheezing little creeps.

No, it was this sort of American strain of hypocrisy of which I was warned by roman soothsayers, and by even, yes, sorry, by Jewish yenta Doctors, who liked my Roman fuck you attitude at the Germans, that they once [and perhaps still ]really hated. Mister Savage, you have a call from the mossad, some things have come up about Pallin we would like you think over , BEFORE WE MAKE UP YOUR MIND FOR YOU...ANY ONE WANNA BET THE SWERVE MIKE TAKES OVER THIS IMPERIAL SHICKSA...? ...wanna bet this guy does a 180, as a good Americun does...? Even when they run for Praetor, no less...? But, Here , only in America, is where a party now can bald fadedly call for anchormen to be forced out, and screech incessantly about boxes of fake waffle mix, only weeks after their bloated house queen ,-- alas never to be czarina with my man Bill around--, was seemingly calling for this nigger to get shaaat, as another dutiful house Negro would say. I don't know why the republicans get pissed off over the linquini vertebra dems being wafflers, as they always somersault to the right,anyway, ...wait, Erkle doesn't waffle...?, you mean, I dreamt his little spin on drilling...? A fatiguing quality to evil, you say Nick...?

It is amazing how pompous and self righteous a party can be, despairingly most, its idle, computer jockeying white priests, I say, after they had just spent six months trying to destroy the poor dumb bastard, and found like Hillary, they just didn't have enough working decent white people registered, a crowd by the by that she was playing to shamelessly when the solid gold dancer was still a Yukon Milf, [ -- Dear Penthosuuushhe, I never thought I would write to you, buts I musssht shhpeak of this broad I was vetting one day....Holy cow, this broad has Shhhhhex in her wanton eyessshhhhhe ...] and the never was queen and cnn found, there weren't enough of those hardworking people in it as a party to give the old bloated cunt her desired crown. I might hope the nigger wins, just to see Hillary Plotz, but I will say anything about this coon, who you tried to derail as late as june, and I will say anything about Augustus, --which Ironically also means blessed by the way,--that I so like. And, like how the bombing of Serbia never raised an eyebrow among the pacifists, so, too, just catch a good non bigoted liberal like pig face Frank Rich when a curvy jewish girl falls out of imperial broom closet, like something out of Plautus. Spare me the Erkle as the Virgillian golden child, or in this case, Burnt sienna child, as I have had a gutful of that.


My mother had it pegged, as one would guess someone who knows Ovid by heart in this nigger- old man imperium world, would. She was vainly, desperately, fumbling with a remote, trying to pound it, to get the tv off of some show about both Mac Kane and Erkle and how both were , well, whatever bullshit cnn wanted to show in their incessant marathon of campaigning, drizzled as it were, with a light dusting of oil company commercials . "Put the cartoon robot , [futurama] on...", she said, though she doesn't much like that, "But, ANYTHING, just get these damn clowns out of my sight." Again, maybe Love of circus didn't doom Rome as much as save it.

I had received a package from Dick Blick, as I continue to try to recreate Mister Stupendous in almost the exact recompilation of a schoolboy verve, like Ma reciting that Italian poetry verbatim in the soprano infested new world. I brought a small crate of cardboard to the attic where I keep a stock of such things, and I saw that I bought reams of a perfect sort of paper called NEWSPRINT, which I might have alerted an uncaring Warren G, and also a mellotto vampire comic maker, that I sincerely missed. I also bought thick pentel pens with felt tips. I thought of how my dad was proud that I started to try to draw images off of old Roman walls as if a Tyberian true rebellion, in Coppola's wop inferno of egg creams, car fins, penitentiaries, and swamps of jersey. I held this beauteous gray brick of paper, which duplicated that which the Old man bought me then for a dollar a ream of 1,ooo perfect sheets, from one of his union brethren at the local cheap news paper, and I listened to the disco station here in Pittsburgh, 3ws, where there is some real music. I heard Bill Withers start to sing that slow soul aged hymn, and in seconds, I started to cry.

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