10 January 2016

SATURNALIA DIARY V.


PART THREE.

PRETTY EYES, PIRATE SMILE...


10. Even my agronomists eyed brother who despises these CBS laugh track shows saw me watching it and snickering and sat and watched it and actual let me watch another with him as usually he isn't big on laugh track shit and watched a and e and H as bullshit ancient alien astronauts conjecture is the closest thing to classics that the Ovid reciting man can find. As Max though be smitten me was the sort drug loving tough chick curvy gummadi he grew up with, CURVY, LIFE AFFIRMING, LIKE HOW THE FAGS WHO ADMIRED HIM EVEN MORE THAN I, Making him read Metamorphoses in the original as a boy, but then no one cares about our abuse at the hands of priests as it wasn't vulgar enough to give the Anderson Cooper the woody he is staying classy is always on the outlook for lest he have no feeling of Charity at all in his eating and spewing life. Faith Hope and Charity are these three graces that GE will pay the anarchists not to have as they push the product.

Sat there with him as we watched this show, as again our Aquinian blood approved at Max though he did lower the remote when the blond was shrieking about something. There was a cute line where lip glossed vamony Max dressed perfectly as the bean pole was blathering about something, and she said, that she was hording a half a vidacin for new years. Well we have both been there as this made my brother laugh, as somehow truth even romance comedy truth got into a sanitized and horrid and venial, better word than vulgar, television in which horrid woman tell us how nobel they are, in ways they once could only do with the assorted help.

Im not your mammy or aunt Jemeima Tina, so, there hun, these two girls seemed to make racial, height, sex and drugs jokes willingly and eagerly and the peanut gallery even the ossified one at CBS, once like the Cowboys and America shining bright, laughs as did me, never even considering this show before saw the blond on some show and saw in a clip the kind of girl I literally dream about, but alas this time can take the blond as she is self deprecating in ways fat news chicks are not, and is despised by the giant Polish woman, which proves again, someone in this set had nuns, who I recall detested the Beths too, ...they are so Beth.

I came to dread Christmas the last few years as cannot stand the influx of relates and a full house, though the days I recall of my mother making patters of a kind of canoli you out there have never had those are long gone, disappeared when I BECAME ILL, and women she had known for decades refused to come to my house, fearing as a blond girl did when I was in school, that somehow these wops on strings would catch some sort of epileptic germ form me, and I am not kidding as the Italians are amiss since giving the vocabulary to almost everything, still many,especially Sicilians are amazingly... my what is the word...?Yes, Superstitious, which again is a given Roman word which only means religion, the religion of our fathers, when held on too after Constantine and his Jewish girlfriend, there is always a Jewish girlfriend, some Max in the past highfalutin it for a neronian creep. I see they made the laws of their fathers and the bacchanalian illegal unless it was the mass, eventually made illegal by a Luther who had become more lawyer sly than a fat white man should be. Look it up. Beard and wine, and the transubstantiation, oh it was pagan alright, but ti was thousandth years old and a rite done by priests of mars when Romulous was a boy and thus 824 years now they say before Junior showed up. Its stuff like that that despite my occasional sneers at Jews or even making all my Christ guild like super villains Jews, eventually Jews like me, for my pubertal anti Jesus and more anti Luther stands. I only liked Luther when he was played by Hackman. Heh. 

 


11. I found myself finding which stations played 2 broke girls and when and juggled my life accordingly. When my sister came home and thought shed watch this dreck, no in fact, the woman I saw watching Gilligans island like eight weeks ago on a Marython, doesn't like it, and doesn't watch it, ouhhhhc, as it isn't Max who as a fat girl she likes seeing shown on TV...what...?, but it is the blond she despises, and that 500 thousand watt smile, as she told me she would like to kick that bitch in the teeth, and even Max cant save her, though she liked the big blond who was she told me, the masseur who hated George in her household grail Seinfeld which by now, I have taken the pledge to never catch again, like Gilligan's island.

This is telling too me, as it is something that our GumbaJews in power, it Constantine or HBO shrimp eaters, there are woman out there like my sister who will forgo a show because of some blond as it fulcrum, and I dint think even Beth was that egregious as have seen worse blond inflected upon us from Television city and the shroud of Burbank the magical remnant in which Sherwood Shwatrz was braised in. May the Shawnz be with you. I went upstairs an asked my brother, already hiding and hibernation from this, if I could catch 2 broke girls with him and he succumbed, again the magic of Jewey Max to enjoy it as we Roman always have. I liked how it is return to television for that vast wasteland was identified by Tina and her sisters the dog, as again there were jokes here as Plautus meant them to be, about short people, drugs, women, poles, immigrants Iranians, Asians, blonds, chubby brunettes, it was indebted, whether Whitney knows it or not , indebted to the Roman farce as it was meant as say Trump is, as I am as Bill Clinton is, a lovely respite from Thirty Rocks which fall on us, another Roman line placed in the mouth of a red headed messiah naivety wants to make black, despite the whole children of Ham thang. Aint Nuttin but a T thang, bitches. There is the promethium arch in the parade again I cant even begin to know who to ask the question of the Delphic Google, but an aside that a pretty woman especially of an each other veracity like Kat Dannings, and even the bleach bimbo mamma played as the blond here, though I did see them true to somehow make street wise and bitchy brunette Max into the dumb one, the lief work of Maureen Dowd, and still it wanst as awful as most television be. Here is something about the healing qualities of a certain ethic groups hunnies, a Beatrice quality, that even Alan didn't understand when I drew a named penthouse pet Dominique and maned her Beatrice in a packed I stupidly sent to various companies and showed both Zoetrope and Fixar, as fucking if they could handle that, and I feel a real serenity just watching this lovely woman, as in fact there is no describable plot, not do I care I merely watch hear and the blond one Lucy and Viv there way through the revetments of Allen's alley, and I find it enjoyable and humane.

Again I am Cornelius at the shows, and just to be a bitch watch some bowls and football, ah the Roman remnant that even the Tinas and the white woman cant totally Constantine us out of, as again, the ladies who lunch at the vomiteraoerim allays feel strange compassion for the winos at the fields, which they don't feel for the slaves who make there ipods whether from the Apennines or china. The more things change. So I watch the show insistently as if each gaze upon CBS television city Laura is a warming of the blood, something done by Romans and done by china-men too, except in the Roman variation, men would lucratively put there hands in fire pits too show ther devotion and touch then bad hand, yikes, as I say again, kids, don't listen to the woman who will destroy you as Juvenal said, they are owned lock stock and barrel by your enemies, and thus, don't listen to the ugly hags and old biddies, as they will detract you, and don't turn away from your martial creeds, and don't make the same mistake the Italians made. I wonder how this show got on the CBS air, and how Steven Colbert stays, as in fact, if an old bag like schoolmarm Hillary and her little house on the Umbrian planes imperial fish wives ever find out someone is carcjing jokes about drugs and sex, after jacking off jokes from thigh showing to Max like a nun, Im sure she could really get her sewing circle if not her lesbian manias to be against it.


 

12. A few days before Christmas, maybe Actual Saturnalia itself, 13 Dec., I received a large envelope from Tuner Watson Inc., and the cartoon network which our slack jawed yokel with Disney dreams owns. I was alerted by legal that Tuner Watson inc and its myriad o' subsidiaries doenst take over the Transom work, and thus am fir-with warned and scolded that should Tuner Watson inc by itself and independence of my query come up with ideas and or concepts like those in this packet I have no redress of greivence, you see, and blah blah blah,... listen honey, I as Jesuit pre law I know all your bullshit nonsense Success like words of law, and thus it was my own fault for ever believing anything I saw on Reddit, where in fact the post I saw and clicked on said that cartoon Network when don't making vaudeville out of the teen titans I adored as a kid, maybe that should say something right there, was looking for new projects and thus printed out the submission agreement, which covered most of this missive and proclamation sent to me right here.

So, again taught by Jesuits dear, you wouldn't want to see me in court and went to comics and cartoons after being trained in the black arts of the Franciscans which the joke goes in Italy even you Jews must say with a disconnected admiration that the Jesuits play a game with which even semites are unfamiliar. So I place this here if anyone out there sees Tuner Watson inc and Adult swim, adult in the most elastic sense of the word, as if Id work for them, as I have a strange upsetedness in the poverta, when they put on a show in which a satire version of Captain Marvel, I mean more so, meets up with Gore Vidal as a Tarzan loving comic book impresario and a bountiful cute brunette from Dogpatch is made into a new less butchery, butch, wonder woman, and Stan less empire at Anvil comics is played on its head and etc etc, you ll know it came from the mind of Tony. Im kidding, you'll never see that on comedy central or cartoons channels, or anything owned by the slack jawed hick with day issues and how smart-ass Letterman and became a avowed liberal when others would go to jail. No, there are far too many dick jokes and vomit jokes to do in the great circus, the vaster wasteland, which ah combo so virulent and thus beloved by critics who think themselves quite the bad-ass, that we look back at the Newt Minnow days with charm of Archie and hawk eye and Mary and Carol , so again, my dick jokes, like Bill Clinton's are of a more Plautus nature, and thus not easily gotten without explanation too much to a channel that I read once passed on Archer, just to show with whom we are dealing. 


 

But now as we barrel toward new years, I have to say, I watch Kat Dannings and even Beth, yeccch, each time I see them available, as they bewilder me with a mixture of sexuality, baseness, Plautus and Roman farce that good Jews and Jersey wops who have made it to the can o pees and to Lake Tahoe and always in levitown no matter yet what the has they wears says, as they calm me in ways even my brother notices. The busty one is as her ilk has been since Dante is s symbol of life, vitality joy, as the trash and the garbage collects readying for another election year of Columbus days, proving their worth by making the antisocial black lives matters bullshit uprisings look less like planet of the apes and more like a stare of a Barney Miller lineup, you know now that Soursos is mental, a sign I see more and more here and there, is all wrapped up in the plutocracy.

Things are not going well for the candidates hand picked by our Jewish college of cardinals, I mean, now that the one once owned by the Borgias were scattered, and guess what religion they were when they had to escape Torquemada like Spanish devils for the never so uptight parts of Italay. And in fact it was there Jewishness, sorry but true, which Machiavelli said caused them to be much more acceptable than the born again Lorenzo left to die on a bed of white sweat as Savonarola, Italian Luther, convinced the mud nickler that the angels of the lord had come to say he could be saved, or was it invents, by signing his power of attorney over to him. Ah but Savonarola, outside of the admiration of a few radio head Jesus freaks, never made it in Italy, as Christ knows if you can make it there...you see , warning to ISIS, he trod first to get rid of Christmastime, did Savonarola, as pope Pius the third did, ouch, and Medved can call it pagan all his little jewey heart wants, it has been since Sallust, and sued in my play Saturnalia, a perfect mercantile holiday and I believe like so many who took it religious mother Italay, in her pixies and goddesses as seen by me in pudgy and glorious and pouty and string Max, the anted up in Max, end up having their heads , if not feet,hung up on a marble walls, where we get the word of impeachment still.

So I not so upset but disappointment as again saw this posted at the place where the ads are collected for wannabe comic artists. So we went to the drug store as didn't want to be out that much today as felt a bit queezey and it was as causally as the interregnum of Barry ends up in the rains he brought with overcast-ed him. Once oustde, My brother asked if the Popsicles or something cold was bought, which I forgot. He grumbling got out of the car and walked towards the band aid central. Stay here, he said, Ill be right back. At the door was a handsome behemoth of a bald black man at the red kettles of the charity at the doorways. I saw him and nodded and he said hello. I took out a dollar and tossed it into the bucket, Thank you, My brother, he said, As its been slow this year. Its a slow time, I said. I stood in the drizzle to cold down from a zap of energy which went through me today. Then as I stood there at the car, an effeminate, or at last a kind of nigger one sees not in the bunkhouses of Crikey Nicky Sabine but instead male versions of Angela Davis used as human shields lest anyone ask why the men here aren't paid in the slave labor of the blood sport came up to me. I didn't know what this ninny wanted, and the large black man sat at the stoop manning the pot of dimes at a neon pestle that shines in the drug store window and was collections dime and pennies for the poor, menacing now in Obama nation most of us all. 

 

The creepy negro wore glasses one would see on a Petaphile in Kojack, and was emaciated and wore an out of placed gray ski jacket and baggy pants though not the sort that decrying by Bill Cosby would see his life as two bit hacks nigger comics and maybe the guy who runs fubu were behind detaining. As with Joe Patreno, no matter what you have done before, the sanctimony and the scantiness of white tornado butter matron goddesses and out of placed decency of white woman and Anderson Cooper can always bring you down. Now we know in fact that the blond hag wannabe who started a lot of this had her Any Wednesday like apt paid for by Bill, a small trifler that I could as Jesuit lawyer drive a bread trick through even now, but which was just something to toss off by our Torquemada Anderson until, in fact I would see a white haired duelist like Lawyer meet with the awful Gloria Alread, who like many women and niggers of our rainbow collation of prosecutors of that awful channel, who cant make an argument, the woman was no longer by herself making a soliloquies, and dealt with a lawyer who knew the black arts, well that yentas started to actuality dissolve in the very air. Like I have said, I am never shocked who America deans to toss from the Tarpean rock. TW RMS STX VW.

I nodded, thought maybe he was the kid I went to school with who was the son of a police detective, who when he sees me acknowledges me, and then will do old Richard takes perfectly with me, but, it wasnt him, I didn't know why I wasnt sure his visage and demeanor bothered me as he came outwards me with a kind of hanging arms, both with a kind of GI Joe kung fu grip, which caused the large black man who I had the feeling knew me but couldn't place him stood by the red kettle and showed a Superman physique. Can I help you...?, I said, as there was a strange vibe in the air. You come up here to scope out your bitch Dago, he said, no fooling even I cant write dialog that bad and that stereotypical, something I have always avoided. Its why I loved Homicide, life on the street so much. What..? I said, my heart starting to race, a problem I have had lately though and less than I have ever been in many ways, and when I was fat didn't have these nocturnal heart racing, but I felt strange and upset even by this Erckel that stood before me verbosely. Still at about 240 pounds or so since my last physical, I could still squash this creep, but with my new found whiteness and he being an acrimonious nigger of course I would be a hate criminal, as some pigs are more pork than others here in animal farm.

I said, he said, with a strange set of lips that looked wax and a hair lip and looking like Martin Laurence after the flu, Did you come up here to scope out the nigger bitch you want to pimp, mahn...What....? I said, again now irritated. He seemed upset that I didn't speak fluent Soul trains, or I did nad this coon didn't anymore, as after all was listening to my brothers Parliament Funckdelic and Ohio Players when I was a boy. The girl in there are you up here to ask her to be her pimp, wop, he said. Is this a joke, I said. The large slave like Country looking John Henry stood up, I think you better get the fuck out of here, pal, the massive chested man said. Naw he said, with the kind of aplomb that his ilk has been taught by their white woman owners, This dago here is out for Nefertiti, in there, and I turned and saw her pleasantly check out my brother who was darting around the store to get what we needed for Xmas. 
 




Are you her girlfriend, I said, causing the man in the fire engine red sweatshirt in the drizzle and coolness to laugh. Get lost, buddy, the large man said, He wishes, he added,and waved him off. Naw man, this guy has an eye for Nefertiti, [her nickname as another black girl who knows my brother and says hello to us who doesn't interest me with red locks is called Beyonce.] He wants that chick, he said of me, I know what you wops is about...he wants to pimp that girl , that's what these Mafioso do...He watches her like a hawk, she told me, She knows you had a hard on when you were standing there looking at her. I was suddenly not scared as much as I was humiliated. I didn't ever recall having a hard on when speaking to her, as lately have thankfully taken to wearing under ware smaller than what I need by accident thankfully, as don't really recall having a hard on when speaking to her as much as the usual flustering that I take on as Bob Newhart my way through dealing with girls. This was more vulgar than EVEN I AS ROMAN ANTONY COULD ABIDE. I didn't recall even being so effected by Nefertiti, a girl called Ashley, whose hair was even more niggeraldy than Lorette, a cute girl who more like a co ed, with big tits on a thin frame, yet who has become a friendly sort, and sadly as they always seem to do with me, browned and straightened her hair, which is always a deal breaker as has been since the great Leslie. But now I felt sucker punched by this nigger, the sort brought



in to learn just enough Latin to be an alderman , maybe President, and I was on the verge of tears that the pretty girl I barely knew and tried to just be friendly towards would have been laughing at ,me as some sort of wop pimp sort with these effeminate negro street hustlers.



I am a big G man, the ninny said, making the big bald man laugh, me groan, again, I have always tried to avoid the acceptable to Jews TV tropes colloquialisms, which is both my charm and my mistake. Plautus was right and critics even more than the mere mezzanine wish for that unencumbered Encore to allow them to whistle the same tunes they came in with. This affectation from the coated man causing the big black man to tsk and smack his lips in disgust, And the thin creep said, Ill start trouble with you if you go after this girl, mahman...I wanted out of here and and went to our Ford FESTIVA AND I OPENED THE DOOR TO GET AWAY. But then, thought the better of is as I did with those horrid women who spoke of their hatred of masculinity, a Roman ethic in me starts to ember and burn bright. Even I slammed the blue door shut the nigger started to jump back. Then my brother came out and saw this. Hey, Chickie, he said affably to the black man seated there, Hey Tony, this is Chicky, we went to school tight, a great football player he was, lest get out of here, ...he walked towards the car and saw me frozen there with that coon across the parking lot and a large woman who saw this and stayed at the doors. Is there a problem here...?, my brother asked.

Again I must say I am taller broader, fatter, thicker than my more wirery bother, but again like with my shorter wirey father, they are more intimidating than bloated me will ever be. Of course, the negro was automatically intimated by thinner and bantam Machete, as the affable black man called to him, a crip before the handbook, like many who had known my brother since 1973. I was upset and at wits ends, but the always burning always quick, brother said looking at this creep, They let you out of the Oval Office, Barry, …?, as he and others here in the low rent sub urba call him Barry, as I initiated.  He said to the frozen moron, Do you have a problem...​​​ ?, causing the other black man to laugh. He got into the car and told me to get in. I stood there. Is something wrong here, is somebody bothering you, Tony...he asked. No, I said, and I got in the car. Then I got out and the smarmy sissy ran like a black deer who would of course be the villain in a Disney cartoon, Yeah Youd better Run, I said in my best Zoidberg. I with equity went to the man manning the kettle and took out a five. You gave me some man. No, I said, This is yours, i said.  Mine, he asked. Fer what...? You stood here made me feel...okay. I walked towards the car, thinking who are these awful people who bother me as some sort of open need to try to actually think they can intimidate me as I am more upset angrily than I am shut up, as again have had a Byzantine to English dictionary since 10. 


 

I felt humiliated and remanded, and had to get out before this girl saw me, as I dint think this was anything more than a pretty girl, like watching Kat Dannings on television, the dancing girl that has been loved in Rome and earned on no less than some Jew comedy about Rome, in which like the carol abut the Christmas dunkey was turn from the air by Jews who as Plautus said, didn't get the gist of the audience from the jump. I felt awful and sad and beaten down, as this was the year that I felt badly about Mad men when my own Ad hoc on which is was stolen, no really, this time, unlike imagination-land, this time the three named fake from the sopranos who made this had read my Ad hoc long ago, mine  also about 1970s ads, but much scrappier and more decent and honorable, and about why were ads about cigarettes taken off when ads for vodka weren't, but then I never made a point of the bright lights of the big city or of white mans burden. I felt badly that somehow it had come to this, a dick joke by this pretty girl with some house nigger who thinks himself a G...I felt badly about it all, especially now, having dealt with this nigger in this year of Bleeding cool and other shit having to deal with the censorious and the censored who end up having been nothing more than gangster film makers remaining Italian films like Mafia and Django. I felt awful about everything and alone and beaten and reviled and remanded by creeps who think they are something because they only mouth the word nigger or who think retards have now know be palmed on football fields,dressed up and paraded like Etruscan hostages, lest they never have proud parents as Life only goes in one way and one set of rules. I called Lorette and told her I was nuder the weather and wasnt going to redeem the star wars tickets and again with a cute brunette, of sorts, who is interested in me why again was I falling head over heels overs one multaoo girl always as Coriolanus said, somewhere out there. Even in the farce version. There was again that someone else, no not Kat Dannings, but one can always hope, though I aint that psychotic yet.

Then I got a shit load of interpretations, emails, many admiring me all at once, and all I did and tried to do. Many people unprovided by me in any way other than my usual queries, even if they didn't want me to do their work, still, after dealing with Tuner Watson, still, they liked my shit and my work, and this made me feel okay. I felt a anger in me stocked by Bleeding Coolers, the lords of flat-bush I always hated. And then, after my brother had done most of Christmas fir us as I was in a stupor, we sat together and watched the Christmas eve football Roman games. It would be a great weekend as the Packers, the Stealers, the Giants, all the teams we are told are decent and honorable lost the weekend that Concussion came out, as the Stealers Pollock army are out trying to explain why it was that they let Mike Webster a stalwart and a giant, let him die in the cold, whereas much pilloried Jerry Jones hated by niggers on cable television, got great linchpin of his championships, Charles Haley bi polar medicine and gave him a lifetime job as a consultant. It was seeing Mike Webster in 1996 on a trip to Pittsburgh, at a bus stop, that was the germ of Saturnalia, the lunkhead left in the cold who tells Marius a joyous Noel when he stands and steams and unravels in the snow. Though weathering a Cowboy cap long replaced, even still I asked the sweaty older broken man for a autograph I kept as a talisman in a red art folder. When I got it, I smiled and offered him a twenty, though am not rich. I am Roman heart-ed and though not a Stealers fan, found this like the admiration that Catiline and others had in the senate for being a man. Sadly, with broken affability, he took it with grace and sweetness and wished me a joyous Noel, like inspector Luger in Barney Miller as I felt equally touched. He told me the Pittsburgh pollacks laughed at him, for all the light bulb jokes that you'd think they'd avoid, behind his back, sometimes in front, as Fixers as seen in the play were soon to have to give bags of cash to pizza shop owners whose daughters and Angelinas and waitresses had been molested by Bloomfield Eddie, Big Ben, whose sins and cretinism don't register at ESPN, whose numbers in this year are off almost 8 percent, as Julius Caesar said, the first rule of propaganda is it must be read.

Then, on Christmas eve I sat with my exhausted brother, who fell asleep and I watched the boyhood team I watched as a kid, the Raidahs, anyone but the Stealers, as they played this last home game at ironically enough the Colosseum. And black shirted men pulled out a win as the Cowboys never could, sadly, my other team, and the Raiders won, bless their hearts and the Roman farce Saturnalia night, or is always Halloween...?, the black shirted fascists Saturnalia carnival sued as pejorative by Hillary voters and bag men like Maureen Dowdy, I could see Angelas who look like Kat Dannings, almost hard to stay a flight, pout and gorgeous came down and even Beth, that horrid blond who camels toes and shrewish, they did their magic, and the raiders puled it out as the republic might too, no Bush can Streisand his way about, yet is still there, triumphant, unrepentant, as Roman genius collect at the stage door, with flowers for the Julia's playing Medea or Maxine, if alloyed anymore, as they always did. As the Colosseum was finally true to its Roman roots, as scary to the middlebrows as the Romans and Peckinpah have always been, I saw a moment that was immaculate to me.

On the jumbo tron, as men in Kiss army like make up wearing proto Roman Armour, but hardly shining, men looking as Curtis must have looked all that time ago when he went into the breech as a Roman would and not like Jewey Jesus who knew supposedly hed come back as the first Zombie, and so to grin and bare it, as he begged Pop God Yahweh to spare him, proving right there that these gods in three parts are never equal as neither was Gaul. I sat and saw this quietly, my exhausted brother knew something bothered me and left me be, as the 2 broke girls as pixies of various hefts were off now and I take it that geek show had come on, sadly, I watched as the will of the pirate smiles was appearance as the place in all its money ball poverty was rickety and rocking, and there on the screen came the visage that pushed them all over the edge. There was the Myron Cope enemy, crabbed as Ginny like, yes Im not kidding Weakling Myyyrin, who showed me why my father hated him, called his enemy Al Davis, a Ginny and a wise guy on the radio, but then there is an undercurrent of racism to the Stealers which wouldn't go well against Cam or Rich Sherman. Al, who dared to win himself, the first sorts that the hillbillies hate, they can dish it out as it were, but cant take a sock in the jaw, and Al as returnee here as Roman paternalist saint, would, decked in a track suit greasy grimy hair gelled saint, a black saint, a Machiavellian hated for knowing the score and he said in this pahtoem zone apparition way, Just win baby...! And the palace of Negros and firth, and those not good enough to put on airs, the res publica In hole, the trash and filth Caesar loved, the Roman farce existing sill under the weighty droning of Greek anthology, exploded as audit means hearing and tarorium means Bullpen, as Jackie said, and our saint appeared from the ellusian fields to win and wink and advance again, the wise ass persisted and it made me smile and laugh. THAT no matter what Ill never be like you, ill never be a Myrin asking for the love of men that go away and leave him in the lurch for daring to feel empathy for Kordell. Some comic hack wanted me to though not using my work still wanted me to jump through hoops and somehow explain myself to him. Those days are done, I thought, and with silent joy, watched the Raiders win as they were meant by their lesser God, a god who likes the pirates but not rapists, to do. The Raiders won, a Saturnalia miracle, and there was still beauty in this muddy empire.



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07 January 2016

SATURNALIA DIARY V.

PART TWO.

A KNIGHT AT THE CIRCUS.

 



6. Tiredly, sat there and watched, and even looked for, reruns of 2 broke girls, but found I couldn't sit through the Conan to get to it. Dont know why I find him an awful performer, I think his mind is razor sharp and said before the Simpsons was over the moment he left, but something about all that red and pink bothers Mediterranean me.

I could nigger up and say that people of his barbarian ilk always demeaned and detested me, but that isn't true and Harvard sorts always seemingly liked me, including the sorts of Ogletree Tribe sorts who were always looking to get lawyers for the team, the way Patreno recruited linebackers. Still, I found it a horrendous show, and yet, watch it intently, called as I felt as it seems angelic creatures like busty Kat, as have seen her type sued in Lutheran and Jewish hated as Neapolitan perseppios, Anglicas as crafted and baked into painted clay by the divine artisans of Apulia as a boy. None of my business but think shed better go by Kate, quite Ariosto, whose story the taming of the shew is, as saw some Shakespeare hagiography try to intimate that Katherine of that story, played by busty Liz perfectly, was something unknown to the continentals, even though as said was taken from a short story by Ludivico which is harsher, meaner, funnier, because not written by a fag, as I was warned that Shakespeare was a fence of stolen Italian goods since 1975. She is a prefect Kate, like Beckensale or Ariosto's smart bitch, as again, the story changes from Ludvico to Willie, as they always must, and she is a perfect exemplar of the busty and yet smart Italian woman we find in Boccaccio, a gracious lady which is why I admire her so.

As her type has done to Italian clods like me, up until Romano and other Jewish footlockers, it could be worse, were made to be Cyrano's who were supposed to be as besotted by sexless blonds as they were. Did I ever tell the story that Roman Mythology as dismissed by Tribeca sorts as for no better reason than the love story, as was told Italians don't feel love, one of the first go tos for Jewish in laws looking to advance in Athens barefoot or not since earlier programs un lionized in films. I have alas have taken to both the chubby Jewish bitchy chick and even the daffy blond who is always the sort that deep thraoted football lovers disparage and hate , like the boys at the Czabe show, who for some reason I get up and hear as toss and turn in early morning, who willingly show a hate for blonds on ESPN. I knew when saw the star was named Kat and the other Beth, I knew Kat or anyone who'd call herself after a cat was by definition the zaftig brunette and the twinkling, irritating blond was Beth. I hate the name Beth...

A dreary unholiday drizzle descended over the decaying city, as I was out and about doing Christmas shit. It doesn't really feel like Christmas, a pall has descended over America, as we have all taken, thankful to the Virgil, so fuck you lesbians, English teachers and Russians, and we all find that a Trojan horses is beneath a Roman, even a new one made of plastic. Barry, thinking all the world is a stage, or a mausoleum, is never ending in his now flag draped and generalissimo laundered moments of assuaging America, a ball he fumbled a few weeks back when he lectured America about Arab discrimination, it was his biggest fear he said until more bweeving from Daffy assured President Fudd, it was in fact Rabbit season and he was told in no uncertain terms that until he is swept off the stage at the open mike at the Apollo this Praetorian is, at least pretend you are an American . Again big talk from a nation once gleefully at the jersey shore.

Like how a bloated house niggler, Mud bone, who by rote, tries to use Donald Trump as a verb, and equate him with being a bigot, again big talk from the man who dutifully didn't growl about Rylee Cooper, but then thanks to Simmons, he the latest Shutlzie, there aren't enough envelopes in a downturn, we have seen the memo. Once that memo went out saying root rot root for the patriots or else, suddenly his nigger ethics changed on a die, and suddenly he said that the Patriots, who he railed against, were great and they cheated. Hummnnnn, I take it the Georgetown recruiters I had were right about the cow college called Northwestern, as those Jesuit schools in Prairea, to mention Tribe again, were there as a way station to hell, here comes mister Styx. He of course hates Trump, always nice when Rachel Maddow and that a like are ob the Bush payroll, doubles you chances of a date as Woody said, ah but, The Roman Republic was a warning of mine, all along, me lover of Sallust as opposed to Amazon where I think about taking my book off as was never happy about that Rapprochement with them, but did feel good about making a top 200 list from a sever I didn't like , its hard to explain but it meant much to throw that in some faces, after all.

As much as anything and the Jesuit were right in their beatification of Machiavelli as their black saint, hated as he would be by Jews and Negro saints all taking the bus now that the dnc has disavowed knowledge of Black Lives matter now that that shit has lapped up on Rhamluous Gucci loafers, always the hidden vigerish in all of this. I am tired of the son in laws of power, as Gore said, Satire now that is one of the few things each hack thinks his own, that he can do without a gummit paper, or maybe mostly with, for giving the game away, when he said that the republic was closer to a circus and the empire closer to a tragedy and that in fact, lighten up Lorne, as somehow you amusingly bring out Donald Hollinger to make Bushie the younger into some acceptably form, the res public is closer to the farce and that in it, the man who spreads Homilies is doomed. But later in that same afternoon yak sports Ill hate you tomorrow show, the keeper of the flame, fat bloated lughole eyed nigger mud bone did call Jerry Coangelo, Jerome Many angels lets call him, he did call this quarreled man told to clean up the once proud 76ers, and that team perpetually looking at the next draft as the one that would count, the next great one, the next star, always in the next draft, as a Cowboy fan I have seen this done more by accident then they do, and Doctors team when I was lad, this bloated house everything nigger Buddha called Jerry 'The Godfather', you know just to show his good niggardly heart. Drop dead.

But the worst moment of the season came when guffawing ho dee doing, Google eyed faces making nigger had the acuity to speak of obviously peaceable negro cowboy wide out hated TO, who had some anniversary on this awful show, which is all which is bad about the society of Jesus and nothing any good. This bloated nigger had the nerve to speak wistfully of TO, who he lambasted and hectored each day as a good nigger ought when given the pad and directions, and he had the nerve to say that the NFL could sue someone with the theatricality and grace and talent of TO, especially with the horrid Ofella being gifted catches as the new better and improved Dez, like spic and span and American cheese when I was a kid. He gets catches gifted to him that no way would stay in the Dez tally.

You fucking coon, I thought, and had to turn it, again I was taught by a better caber of Jesuits than the Negros and the house Jews who play the Nance on morning ESPN radio, lets say sent to Northwestern, and the thought of this coon right now made me sick and saw I had been missing Laureali sent back this fat into the afternoon to play old hallmark Christmas films incessant adn lingeringly by that station. I thought of how this coon went after TO all the livelong day shoonuff, huk huck huck, day everyday, showing the genius of Bill Walsh that he was a last pick of his, as in fact Aikman and Mike Irvin were finally picks of Tom Landry in that Romantic way of a fall I have decried before. I thought I want this nigger to get his, in real life, no less, not just pinks slipped as loved seeing that Pollock, and soon enough the Irish spittoon and young mister Olbermann to be.

I WANT THIS GUY HURT, AND HURT BAD, TOO ROMAN …​?, I WANT THAT GOOGLY EYED COON TOO GET IT AND GET IT BAD...STILL TOO ROMAN? As his act distressed me, as he sits there behind a Lucite desk, laughing it up with Rothelisberger, saying unjesutical things like the 'patriots are great and they cheat', ETHICS FOR DUMMIES, or at least ESPN, menacing this affirmative auctioned coon doenst know what he says but will parrot anything, as Bill Simmons told us, anything the consortium needs to have said, for fun and prophet. I want this coon to get his, I want as Romans have before me, Iago anyone, to see this good and noble understanding nigger to get his, and bad, as he can so willingly and eagerly call men like the Cowboys and the Chargers dogs. As if they don't win as much and as well as say the Stellers and Packers do, whose great tradition have fallen on hard times lately, and they have became more gorgeous Georges than Gino Marchettis and doenst matter any more. He tore into the Cowboys, yes AMERICAS TEAM, WHEN BOTH WERE STILL GREAT, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT, those wearing Caesars star, the star that one must follow to fortune as it favorite will get upon you coon, and will burn you up as eons foreboded any Arabian meterorite falling Tasus came to earth in a stone rocket ship, a first revealed truth of the west as much as any, and bright civilization, I call it corruption as Ovid said, and that italic meteor eventually becoming the Tarpean rock will, I warn, fall on you. Cry Havock. 

Oh look, the matrix is on again, as a riff I did about the matrix as Christmas movie as a joke last year is sued by the  always wholly independent though owned by a war consortium poison war gas company station , is using that now to shill this crap,  which I must say again, I DON'T GET IT! Another sci fi crap show that steals in bushels from Ariosto, if it even knows, and dutifully fills itself up with Negros now, as blonds were once, and again showing the American dream, the Italians even in space travel will perpetually be not out there, but taking your bets and getting you whores, as i was warned by sharp Jesuits there is a reason Columbus must be somehow demeaned as getting 'lost', not knowing he wasn't in 'America', though Amerigo hadn't knocked up that Medici girl yet, as the mere basis of being a explorer and daring to go to where the church sad the dragons layd their eggs, like being a cowboy, is verboten to men with dark brows now.

7. Again BY SHINING PROOF OF Kat and Beth, will watch almost anything, as long as a pretty girl is in it, much like my Roman forefather's hagiographer Cornelius would, as he was once caught seeking out the dancing girls and farces in a city becoming then filled with political screeds, never good.




I put papers together and send out more and more a little bit ago, looking for lines in the resume, and little more than that, though maybe made a few hundred this year as attest a best hall ever, I did see the always horrid and easily beloved television performer Chris Matthews, actually have the audacity to question, I mean like openly, like this cow wasn't an oracle or a saint or a recpeticale of truth and Twinkies, a white trash fat gal piglet petunia pig named what else in our decaying John Ford movie, Kathleen. Oh god the Irish have won, as was warned by doomed priests , as only the petaphiles and thus Celtics survived the brothers deaths of Venice, like say Andy poo did. So, fatso Parker, and her beady eyes bickered away, as if seeing Adam West at the con, or say, Wicca like , or at least more like the witches of a Nazi inspired and rebated Stonehenge, more than any cites witches once available to Caesar in Rome. 



The fat little pig bitch has a look on her cartoon moon face, a look I was warned about by Eucharist explaining Jesuits, that somehow she a passvante in Ella ways was being actually questioned by this thug creep whitish sodden bag of sour mash, and her look screamed a how dare he. Though truer to a low end Jesuit education than I am, to low rent brethren who end up shipped to holy cross and the hinterland for things a joke in Boccaccio but now sued to hide the pandemic tingled upon them by anti papists weirdo Jew clerked America, he does have a jesuitical lets call it suspicion of the woman kind, and has tripped up women with the shiv called the unwanted question, and will I think bereft this is over do it again.

This wasn't supposed to ever happen, she was another Caesar's mistresses, above reproach, and she demeaned almost Margret Hamilton in her facial tick. It were as though this Irish catholic, again the hidden vig of the Gunner reproaches and approved, this thug tossed malicious water out at her by asking him to , as a commemorator exercised by something he said, which like all political bullshit is now is best taken at face value in the three card money game all has become.

She seemed insulted that this spittoon did dare to question this living bag of supplication and summers eve, despite the handling by the brethren as initiated before it isn't all women I dislike, see Kat elsewhere, as have weakness for the Laura or the Cynthia, as the center of poetic for all Apulians was never leaves of grass.

I was just moving through the channels looking for a comely frame, a funny show, Roman that I am and weak at such things, as her eyes flared with Hillary like umbridge, she seemed actuary like insulted as her sort would be, as Capote New York is gone, and the ladies who lunch are of a lower order, like she. In a matter of advent days though, our corn fed bloated, myopic cow, our Nebraska cheerleader showed up seemingly moments after being hate crimed, you know questioned, and by a papist no less, as I have been warned since Christmas pageants long ago, paid for by hangers on of the mob decrying and deafening a Christmas party no one asked he throw, and whose finger banging fat daughter squeezed into our catholic school by the always show offing dago rat would ruin my life, throw it on the pile, and this cow without words and lyricism by Steven Sondheim, quickly flitted away to be at the CNN tower of Anderson, where we still go off on tangents its now that we have paid off all the upstanding debts to and of the Mac martin case. So, with the last versatility of la cote basque, there she was, at the new salon, worthy of being the fat woman at the vomiteorium I saw her as elsewhere, with Andie glimmering and shining truth at us, Andie poo, who still amazingly holds a grudge against Capote, as all swans like him must.

She now has found her circle, more clutching than any of Dante, and knows a good fag like well bred Anderson would never interrupt her memorized soliloquy, as the generational scion like he, who know the best placed for Irish is as the help, no really, a dignified and rose red Irish priest with flame colored hair named Father John told me as much as a kid, that liberals know the basic set up of things, and wish to make sure it inst changed until after fat woman like her are long dead. As for Chris Matthews, well, the training of Jesuits cant go away too much, explaining why Bill is out there speaking of the disaster, which would befall a Bush attempt at brokering a convention to set him up, the holy sportscaster himself in a lead balloon, smoking a this time five dollar Romeo E Juliette, perhaps, as Republican Bill, hoo boy would I commence, still, he knows that that family has rigged one too many elections and should now gracefully bow off the stage, and concierge the monies they gave to smiling Jack Meechem got have been another of those books that Tacitus would write for the praise and or the key, but whatever, that operetta is done. Poor Christine, to show no good dead goes unpunished, having actually asked a white woman to explain her argument and not just write given on that side of the geographic proof, or is it a speared sheet, this is after all corporate TV, he was ambushed by some fox news rat and he true to his Leo Gorsey creed told him to drop dead and other street wise tethers he learned when Tip was grumbling about niggers costing Red, buddy Red lose a first round draft pick, causing Draconian punishments for crack cocaine as opposed to fleet street and wall street masters of the universe powdered, the world is yours, and so I didn't feel badly as sometimes do, as figured he got what all bag men deserve.

I finally turned it from the ESPN hacks and afternoon yaks, as bloated nigger queen fatso baldy Mudbone likes kicking the Cowboys when they are down calling them no account coconuts and like sanctimonious Barry can sue the word Thug agreeably as why else is he on the payroll...? This fat bloated coon was trashing the decimated Cowboys, insult to injury is our national creed, and I thought, that was enough of this bag of farts, click, always an answer that fat girls and niggers cant ever use, but which distinguished rtierns may have caused both Rome and Sicily to disappear from the HBO lineups without even a whisper of a faggy boycott.

 



Today, as the incessant sad holiday rains continue unabated, and no one is even running for anything yet. We are days from the Roman good year that end up with a man standing at the south face of the Capitol hoping for the winter grace of Cath to allow him to not crash the imperial chariot as Cato and Ovid warned can happen.

The Trump hater, he gets his sense and his instrumentation from the wind and they call the wind zeitgeist, and he started bellicosity and trashing the Cowboys as of course behenth his contempt and dogs accuse, as he calls anyone who like from the downtown in as much as he would like like the Chargers who he says sleeps walk through their series. Id like to be Praetor, let me be queen, cause like with Krauthammer, ah a name worthy of Stalag 13, and Rushbo going into war, Id like to see that steel wheeler go to a war he braying for incidentally before told to preen his decency against vulgarian Trumpo.Too Id send that coon onto a field and turn the neronian thumb on him and lets see how well you do with behemoths coming at your heed with a blood sport ethic,  a schoolboy punk like you likes thinking isn't there as you openly, like ESPN bathroom attendants do, call the cowboys names as you openly root for a team with a gbh pocketed lunkhead dragging girls into toilets for the closet to heavy petting a rapist or a aging Praetor, can get. Sadly, wow Bill looks bad, the old knight at the circus now has taken its toll, and finally i have found the old transvestite wistfully thinking of both Heasparia and or Teri Hatcher sadly, as i isnt no nigger on any pad and don't root for the stillers, not since Joe Gilliam, which Mudbone and the faggots are paid to not recall. 

 

Ah, but, it is a republic, Stella, and too, Id like to hurl fatso Mudbone unto a field of men, lest see how well he is at Romancing it up and watch to see how long it is before this coon shits his sears boys department pants. I cant stand this coon, and even more than jewey Kornshier who seemed to be more ver klempt with this guffawing nigger each day, Id love to see his bald head busted open, but then I have a less decent Roman heart. The Cowboys have actually been quite game, losing late and keeping even the beloved by Bankers and wall street-rs, hummmph, dreary Green bay and Seahags to a defensive struggle, but then, what does it matter when a nigger says you're no good, what can one ever say in ones defense.

They are after all is said and done the exquisite victims, saints among us, nothing unsaid by Metternich, retrospect showing what they were headed for in 1938, and yet despite their sanctimony, somehow all their vouching means nothing and we have more people per capita and in actual numbers in jails than do the boys of Mao. Ah but the persona non grata was a Roman affectation, a trepeain rock they landed on eons ago, and thus, don't be shocked when it falls on thee, I guess, as it wasnt white knuckles on the triggers that took out Malcolm X was it...? I remember to the other bad teams left off the hook by injuries to Dez and Lee and Tony, they will be healthy next yer, I suppose, and wants this coon to get his and still, hope the Cowboys, already at a top five pick, hope they win a bit more as losing is beneath a Cowboy as Passover beneath a Roman, and yet, with high rounds pick in all rounds, they'll play a losers scheduled, like the Romans and politics this ash been booby tapped by the spirit of Rozelle, and you'll still be everything you already are. You like that...?


8. I thought 2 broke girls was gong to be on, as have taken to the chubby, gorgeous, bitchy,big lipped, Jewish chick, and even the atrocious blond inst as awful as she might have been. But the guide was wrong and instead saw parts of the dreck without saving grace, big banged theory, which tries to place the universe into a music of the spheres that some Jewish hack can contemplate and feel enamored of. The truth I can sense that is palpable in the waitress show seems unseen here as this geek think is entirely fake and the usual TV shit that I avoid. No Kats or Katz here, and the blond is an ethnic trollop who thinks if all power comes out of a barrel of a gun, all beauty if not cheapness comes out of a nozzle of nice and easy. Conan was started then, even though the guide said 2 broke grls, such is my be-dulled enraptures with these gals and the strangeness oaf a zaftic polish woman and a strange ad sweet mixed race new York as has been seen since Damon Runyon and Alan reed and Robert Alda were the first radio play of guys and dolls to try it out. There was something sweet about these two chicks and their fake new York, as it recalled Allens Alley and the underworld where all the Jews now trying to short their way to Americanism try to ferget ever was. Like Oz.

Conan was one and again I must say I admire him in all ways, except when he is physically on the air,as he makes me sick, why I don't know but again think he is a consummate wit and writer as maybe he would have been better off in those dark ages before Obama and such, when smart raconteur men were hosted by Bill Cullen and Mel Brooks and Alexander King on Merv and Johnny and whats my line.

Tonight was the star wars show, and recalled and watched much thinking that perhaps would see the triumph the dog puppet when he was at the phantom menace in what was a masterpiece of mans on the street stared by Steve Allen, speaking of a better age and time, sorry if they let you niggers congregation for fiddies now and protest, but I recall an America before the destruction of the middle class, and right on time, with misers being not frightened but lauded by the ghost of Marley GE stock king of the year Welsh, we hear that three days before Xmas, that the numbers have been revised again, and indeed that bullshit economy you thought you had at a paltry 2.4 percent growth is actually reconfigured at a more truthful 1.7. Well, 5000 plutocrats cant spend that fast. It was back before Peanuts cartoons were antisepsis for the patrimony that white women dint seem to realize they are now wholly owned subsidizers of, again don't be shocked when as Augustus said, thou art outnumbered.

I watched anyway, as Conan did his geek act, like Letterman one thinks one would know when being a smart ass like being a letch is too much for the cragginess of ones face, and that one should move on after a bit. But on here was the horrid grave robber JJ, who I really cant stand, I am after all told I am an anti Semite, you know now that Kunsler and his ilk is dead and the remaining are all blond fuckers with pink Christmas trees. And being as Romantically anti Drones didn't help, but I found this an overload of dislike, especially with Jewbaccca here doing his act and on the other channel as Charlie Rose talking to Lawrence besotted David O Russel and so I felt set upon on both sides by credits to their races, and the American dream that I have always forwent.

This was awful watching this, as somehow the family aspect of Star wars has been forgotten, I have seen before that this was a story about one family, as is stolen by the dreaded Marquez from no less than Vidal and Politziano before, it is again an Italian affectation no spic would ever give credit for, as they preen somehow their overly lyrical BS came from Hemingway and Faulkner who didn't write this way at all, but what white women actually read any thing...​? The star wars was the main story that of SeJanus, the last knight who became hatchet man for a dying empire, and then for some reason and in pages torn away long ago forgotten had some sort of conversion scene that has meant much to later Italian masterworks, of evil to reclamation as important part of Italian literature which denies and desists the evil queen trying evil to the end or Lex Luther as loser perpetual. 


 

I found myself feeling badly for George again, why this ninny was allowed to come in and Saroyan and deface and reamer the works there since recognizably 1975 when he wrote it. George Lucas had to stand there and shill, and act out his story to a Hollywood which didn't trust him nor his ideas, as back then we were all acting like gritty Pacino and Hackman as grungy cops running under L trains and brilliantly so. But George, with Sylvester Stallone, my model for the pudgy, lacrimose, slope eyed italic strong man Captian Magnus, knew something they the always frightened away clever welling always pink treed Jews didn't know about the jesuitical ethic of the Venus and the Hercules, and the hero being all. George, as a founding member of zeotrope and who was slated I heard to make Apocalypse now, Id pay too see that one, he made the Star wars into a universe of its own as would say a Altman, bringing a Sergio Leone sensibility to the space operas as that Italian had brought to the western, as its always an Italian who does that.

So, Now, watching Abrams tank his way through as the tasteless Jewish hack to have sucked the correct cut dicks to be an auter, and like with Toni Morrison I find and have found people closer the centers of new Rome hate them even more than I do, as I cant relay care, as am at heart a graffiti artist and deal with others who realllllly hold a grudge, again don't mean to be mean but have heard my share of true disliked and disgust from a lot of these people who took me into confidence as an outsider. I sat there and watched this sadly, as the hack did his act, and really jewed it up, and I just kept thinking when is Kat and Beth on...? I cant take this shit, and then turned to Charlie Rose and watched De Nero, who I didn't find as awful as at least they were doing something new and something of his own. As have thrown likes gotten from people like Bill Clinton and Alan Moore to me to hacks who hold them in higher regard than I do, I once got a like from Robert DiNero on Facebook before the unpleasantness, though couldn't relay that into being accepted in Tribeca. Though I could tell the star turn of the ingenue who now must play the prerequisite long island ballsy chick, Oh Gawd that's played, still at least it was the great DeNiro, whose Jewish cheerleader did once tell me as I said, Italians dont fall in Love which makes me laugh when our new Hepburn and Tracy, Blond and sandy haired Lawrence and the horrid Bradley Cooper, are constantly in love that the other, but then figuring with janus calculus about Italians, maybe as usually with Jews she didn't mean sandy haired ones after all. Roman Mythology, well, in it and on those walls, like my rats, I made them exceedingly black.

I felt badly that this hack had somehow purloined his way into the as I said, restriction of a Sergio Leone universe, he seems amazingly to have become their Virgil if not Orson, which schooled me, as his done by similar hacks like Tarantino who at least could have some of the genetic predisposition to the art of decay, but I doubt it. I sat and turned back after that was done on CR, and there they were still pushing the procurement, still pushing away the password here is Pushy, as I flt badly that he was here as interloper in a universe created in flair pen and manila paper long long ago.

Who was this creep to come into theses creations and muck them up, and of course with a healthy Jewish disdain for the Roman-ism of it all, as after all, there were no theological tests in Rome until as Tacitus said, wherever there was SPQR, there was the cross, a impediment in a chapter called the Jews in unread yet lauded Tacitus, soon enough dropped as a favored Roman, mostly by FF Coppola as I script blasted the email that that chapter appears in the annals of imperial Rome, as Coppola pretended that he had not only read it, but that Tacitus was his favorite ROMAN. IM SURE THAT GANGSTER MOVIE MAKER THOUGHT HE HAD THE GIST. And then they called Tacitus dangerous.

9. But then, on the feast of the immaculate conception this day Ironically a festival of Chanikah, which appears in no Bible, and yet seems to keep a close allegiance to a similar Etruscan Italic festival my Mother still calls candellera, the Mediterranean is never that wide, actually, the senate, the assembly of Queens, oh wait no, the house of deputies, came together and voted 407-19 to bolt the golden door from the inside. Senselessly the Arabs that niggers and cheap tricks of the democrats to go after Trump did have enough of a snake clear eye to vote to close the door to America, as could never happen to those Jews, oh wait, no, there were Jews returned to the Reich as Romans to Mussolini, humnnnn, and now suddenly with Barry making an gaming mea culpa that he didnt cry enough while tap dancing about men and ladies cut apart in Napoleons mud town and van nyes by Arabs with choppers, well, suddenly the waning days of power have given the titled closest executive God a sense of decorum and even humility. 


 

How about that, the two faced God persists shows us his middle throat, in which as the Etruscan said, Tarchon, their Aeneas senate arrow into the air to kill the two faced presto in mid song, why would I be wearing this one, in bibles long forgotten or meant to be burned in the next go around unavailing nothing bit the sopranos and Seinfeld, those unlike Roman gods bother no one, ever, and whatever Roman numerals endless episode of star wars we have come to. On the feast of Lucretius rejection, all the good democrats proved the floors were washed as the Romans said, and all but a hand full of niggers, perhaps the same rag tag crew who didn't get the envelopes not to riot this close to an election year, they all came tethered to sing patriotic icy songs in the mausoleums cellar, and they voted no matter what all the white hands on deck say on cooperate news stations, hoping the last Bush campaign is not as doomed as it has seems to me since oh, 2007. The provosts of the senate, they call came together to make sure only the most jerimandered were against the golden rules.

AH, HOW CORRUPT AND ROMAN, ALLOWED AS OPPOSED TO JEWEY, WE HAVE BECOME NOW, we all on the literally west bank of the Potomac. Somewhere fat old yentas are either glad or horrified by fat blond cunt fish wives, as occasionally I see the American girl like Wendy or Molly or Kat somehow berated as they breached through the Abrams walls, as old snide Jews rail with anger at public displays of secular Christmas, once grandfathered in, as rabbis who speak to and for Gods unseen rail against even pink fake trees, until told, like Jews still using Nixon to trash the black MIA flag and then told in no uncertain terms to zip it lest uncle Rupert names sure you are sent to the outre Hebrides of News-max. There, a jewey hack screeches about Chris Christy of all Ralph's for the audacity, Sicilian he is, as opposed to Italian, but then that must mean something to his in law masters, he is pilloried is the poor soul for hvainag elevated an Arab to the bench, without even asking Micheal Savage and other bankers what they thought, as an Arab you know, even a republican one, is suspicious as the women who lunch once thought of them.

So take your honied sconces with the patricians who churn and rattle and hum for power can Dare call anyone a vulgarian more like hubby than not a bully for having the temerity to stand in the way of our legacies of frat house imperial sees of power. The word Bully, should have been avoided by in laws and sons of damned gestational power, like say the words Rape and corrupt and free trade, as again, the ethic here is that when one says Lucretia, the next word is implied , and doesn't even need to be said. But I warn you Arabs as I did of Ofella Beckem, how did I know...?, like a Stealer rapist or beater of women with Crown Royal bottles, only the Cowboys must be lectured or called a circus, that strange disparagement shows me that the Jews and the niggers the Irish and the lesbians don't know the business that they have chosen, as without the Cowboys and the Stealers again hanging on for dear life with lee press on nails, the ratings, the only truth, are middling. See, their transvestite quarterback who is not Manzelled as the boys in the band and the bus never came to notice that fact that Big Ben was a drunken queen drama cunt who raced through Pittsburgh like a white tornado, slovenly and unshaven and threw up in overhangs and threw the finger at god guy Italian sportscasters told to burn the tape, and maybe, again Rooney being so penny wise doesn't know yet as do I that he has paid for keeping Ben around in more than just the fifties he tosses about the old Pollock of the Post Gazette. Maybe he paid more than just the pennies he keeps like Jewish villain in literature, always Ebeneezer and Lex Luther, the white girls have it no other way, he has paid with the fact that Mark Madden is pushed back to midnight by the always pr demanding Rooney family, and starts to actually tell the truth about what he was thinking all along anyway. No one, Machiavelli said, is bribed enough to forget slights, ever. So when Ofella or Stealers do things that don't even registrar as important the house coons of ESPN just don't notice as they yo yo yoo dawg and do their niggardly act, ah but as I warned before dont make the same mistake NBC did, as the last peon before Mudbone I couldn't stand this bad was Eddie Kiss me goodnight Shutlzie, and in that dismay was joined by the suits in legal who had, one free trade won, got enough. Why I am the Roman auger, take your choices, Abdul but don't cry at me, as this Christmas a channel as usual, filled with Jews who cant dare go up against the low hanging Lutheran cunts they have coveted, will be showing Mob wives into good-fellows again as a last minstrel show allowed in so decent and noble a slum archipelago as this.

But then we are all Sicilians now, as opposed to the credo still inculcated in me, that I am a Roman citizen, as praetorian with conversion scene Paul so eagerly said, Jewish was just a accident of birth. Happy Saturnalia to us all, as the bag men blame Heat Mizer for ruining Christmas sales, ah hes too much. And perhaps somewhere a fat old yenta fish wife could say as beady eyed fat men like Frank Rich and Kathleen Parker blow Oreo dust in hot breathes on perpetual enflamed television, perchance a old Pinocchio like wife could say to show how far we immigrants have fallen, but as we all live out the lives that Plautus and other Romans wrote for Sicilians thereto and yon, a credo for the new colossus, not quite same as the old one, OR THE OLDEST ONE, not to me, a yenta wife can say encapsulating the cycle epic of her levitown house to the New Rochelle suburbs of Jerry and Mill now not what they used to be, always the sub urba joke of the Tuscan quarters, 



LOOK,  all, I lift my lock besides the Golden door.


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