Wednesday, October 10, 2018
Basic Right Lyric
Wednesday's truth
is Tuesday’s lie,
then vice versa.
O me or my!
Socialism wipes its ass
as if its shit
some divine gift
to us deplorables!
But What is Truth? asked
Jesting Pilate. Sigh that
in Ghinny?
(He being
Eyetalian
really!)
Labels: deplorables, Italian, Populism, relativity, Right, Roman, socialism, Truth
Monday, December 14, 2015
Endowed By Their Creator
The Speech
-So, what you gonna say to the Jews?
-Easy! We’re for ‘em and against the dirty AY-rabs!
-Dirty? Really?
-Hey! The Jews is a clean people!
-I seem to see a filthy clutter of pushcarts in my
jaundiced, historical eye.
-So they weren’t to begin with? We learned ’em!
-Well...to get into the CL-ub…!
-Everybody must look nice. Period!
-In New Haven, their Woodbridge was the more interesting
golf course.
-Go back to freakin Yale!
-Old Eli stretched things to admit me.
-Ghinny Quota?
-Something like.
Labels: Country Club, Eli, ethnic exclusion, golf, Italian, Jew, quota, Yale
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Rocco and the Trump Supporter
ROCCO
So build a wall! Thus employ a cadre
of lazy and stupid Texans with political
connections? How Republican!
TS
What wall? WIRE! Get within ten feet and
you’re broiled.
ROCCO
Whole families?
TS
Take em back steaming and dump em at
Mexi-McDonalds: Spick Special!
ROCCO
Your great grandfather came from Italy!
TS
Yeah, but with BRIO! Not stink!
Rocco, severely Liberal, resides in South Philadelphia.
Search him for his uneven appearances on
this blog.
Labels: American, Border, dumb Texans, ethnic, ethnic prejudice, illegal immigrant, immigrant, Italian, Mexican, prejudice, Texan, wall, zap
Monday, August 24, 2015
Poor Bill Shakespeare
-Doing my version of Measure for Measure.
He...gets his actual pound of flesh in this one.
-Good God! Shylock does?
-And for Antonio, I got Antonio, a foreman down
at the docks. The only one not using a bullhorn there,
a real screaming ghinny! He complains about
everything in real life, anyway, so when the cutting
begins on him...?
-Horrible!
-Goes C over C in shrieking!
-And the Jew?
-Random casting. Anybody can play him.
-Because a vengeful homicidal maniac resides
in us all?
-Exactly! We’ll pick him from the audience, or
someone passing by.
-Can’t wait! The beautiful Portia?
-Just knocked her down to the one speech, since
we get to the bloody climax pretty soon.
-The quality of mercy is not strained...?
-IS! Changed it to conform with reality.
-Well, she doesn’t have much to do then?
-Swells a progress, like most women.
-Ah hah! Now we get Sexist, to add to anti-Semitic
and anti-Italian. Any racist?
-That comes in the Epilogue.
-After the flashing knife, or scalpel, or whatever?
-Laser.
-Another modern touch! It all sounds like such
a thoroughgoing mess, you’ll be labeled Genius!
-I’m expecting it. I’ve been genius-ing around
lately in preparation.
-How long is this Slaughter on Second Avenue?
-Fifteen, twenty minutes. Surveys tell us the audience
couldn’t take any more.
-So, you soften with the Epilogue?
-Two hip-hop guys who despise one another.
They summarize the play in a couple of
lines back and forth, and then really go at
each other! And, of course, at the racists out
front too!
-How do you know there’ll be racists?
-You gotta be kidding! Is the Pope a Catholic?
-There’s some debate.
-I thrive on all of it!
-This alleged play sounds like something gets
a Pulitzer! Making you an even greater asshole.
-I’m humbled.
Labels: Antonio, black, director, hip-hop, Italian, Measure For Measure, mercy, Portia, pound of flesh, Shakespeare, Shylock, theater
Monday, June 08, 2015
Rushing Sounds
Bit of a follower, I’m afraid. So, I went along with him,
even when disaster loomed.
Just ordinary screwups easy enough to handle: get some
hands in there who knew how to clean things up.
But...the hurt afterwards, and avoidance of him!
AND me. Unfazed, he! “I welcome their hate!”
Well I didn’t, so I started pulling away.
He got married! And she is very nearly worse.
Case in point, the D’Onofrio girl, worried to death
about going to dance with bare shoulders pretty
scarred by acne.
“Can you say Craters of the Moon?” the new wife
slid in. He continued in the same vein, of course:
“I told her not to worry. She’s black enough
to resemble the dark side!”
That was enough even for me, and I laid both of
them out, citing the proverb Fools rush in where
angels fear to tread.
“Pussy angels? Why does that not surprise me?”
“We’re opting for the other place,” adds she.
“Fewer bores!” he laughs.
“Freedom!”
Labels: '"Freedom", angels, boors, follower, Fools rush in, heaven, Hell, Italian, manners, prejudice
Friday, February 20, 2015
City Politics
“Marie, Marie!
Go wash your feet.
The Board of Health's
across the street!”
How we Irish asserted thus
our hygienic superiority in
New Haven, for now we won
via Mayor Richard Lee,
after generations of Yankee
fucking. So, we, in turn
fucked the Italians. My
father worked for the Journal-
Courier, published by
John Day Jackson, who
didn't descend from Prospect
Street to cast many Democratic
votes. Italians eventually got
their Dick Celentano, Republican.
Then, the Blacks fretted in
the wings. Eventually scored too.
And, after, the Hispanics. It’s
the story of the slugging Northeast city.
And one hell of a one in it’s grimier
precincts! Freedom of Information Act
devised for such. Small potatoes, but
toxic little buggers!
Labels: black, city politics, Democrat, Irish, Italian, New England Politics, New Haven, Northeast, Republican
Monday, October 13, 2014
The Irreverence of Small Groups
Three Italian-American Stallions
1
You got jaggedy things sliding around
in your eyes?
2
Yeah! Multi colors.
1
That's the clincher!
3
Ebola?
1
A certainty. And note how black he is!
2
Hey, Ignoramus! Sturdy Sicilian peasant stock!
3
Mafia.
2
A few family members, but just keeping their
hand in.
1
My Friend, OUR oldest predecessors hailed from
the cultured cities. From Rome and Florence!
3
And we go back to Caesar! Whitely.
1
Who screwed up on the Ides of March crap,
or he'd still be with us.
3
Whereas you?
1
Busting clods of shit with webbed feet!
2
So now I'm a duck? I don't get no respect!
1
By way of alleviation, allow me soon to escort
raw you unto my Corridor of Art.
3
He got two paintings.
1
Number One: “Mussolini Midst the Flowers.”
3
Or, “The Ghinny in the Garden.”
2
Can't wait.
1
And Number Two...!
3
“The Ghinny in the Gas Station.”
1
Hanging upside down, unfortunately. Duce, not painting.
3
Mistress alongside. But the Partisans tied her skirt for modesty sake.
2
The morals of murderers.
1
From an old Puritan strain that 's big here now.
3
Enough culture! What'll we do with our Ebola paison?
1
Unfortunately, my Hazmat Suit is hanging in Mother's closet. Maybe my Father can bring it on the bus.
3
He standing guard on it presently?
1
Yeah! Retired. You know how they are.
3
Too much fuss and bother! Let's pour about
a gallon of homemade Ghinny Red down him!
1
And watch pro football?
2
Si! Any Italian players?
1
Most of your color, but not ethnicity.
Labels: black, Ebola, execution, football, Italian, Mussolini, partisan, war
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Syndrome and its Tragic Stomachers
Rocco and Opera Lamont
ROCCO
Thought you were touring Europe in Porgy and Bess.
LAMONT
Bess, you somebody else's woman now!
ROCCO
That why you're whispering?
LAMONT
Voice went in Milan. Doctors at Penn say take a year off.
ROCCO
Like ballplayer without the millions.
LAMONT
Something like. But I want to ask you of a much more
serious malady: “Obama Derangement Syndrome.”
The newspapers in Italy think it mostly springs from the
way he walks
ROCCO
Lil strut sometimes? Uppity?
LAMONT
Race in there of course.
ROCCO
I used to think that, but we're speaking of Realms of Righty
Gold now. They've transcended Race and sped to pure,
gnashing insanity!
LAMONT
They should declare some saints when this harrowing era is over.
ROCCO
Already entering stages of lachrymose martyrdom.
LAMONT
Can't use a word like lachrymose in Italian South Philadelphia.
Even with its Latin root, that's a Bryn Mawr word.
ROCCO
The suburbs instruct! But let's try to forget that they do
with an Eagles game! Much to cheer about presently,
though of course you can't.
LAMONT
And thus, blessedly, can't be accused of being uppity in
outbellowing Caucasians!
-----
Anything about opera finds an honored niche
in South Philadelphia.
Labels: Bryn Mawr, Eagles, Italian, martyrdom, Obama Derangement Syndrome, opera, Rocco, South Philadelphia
Monday, April 01, 2013
Adhering Words
Religions inform us
as to what ruling class
proscribes as moral.
Governments follow suit,
their doctrines too
gussied up with just peachy
language mush-
ing about in both Pre-
amble and Bible.
So, everywhere, really. Though
Scandinavians give better life,
Italians and Greeks more cacophonic.
Thus do we rack up the middle isthmus
of Capitalistic Desire.
Religions inform us
as to what ruling class
proscribes as moral.
Governments follow suit,
their doctrines too
gussied up with just peachy
language mush-
ing about in both Pre-
amble and Bible.
So, everywhere, really. Though
Scandinavians give better life,
Italians and Greeks more cacophonic.
Thus do we rack up the middle isthmus
of Capitalistic Desire.
Labels: Bible, Capitalism, Greek, Italian, Preamble, ruling class, Scandinavia
Monday, February 18, 2013
“Not So Super Mario”
The name hung on him
by the Irish woman,
also here to learn the new
series of switches.
He shunned her, a bitch,
pure and simple, who cut
all for even innocent takes.
During the Super Bowl frenzy
he wore a Baltimore jersey.
Only he and Group’s basic
“Drama Queen” did so.
From something this silly,
a bond formed and they,
despite warnings, dated.
She couldn’t fathom his
fascination for what she
called soccer. “Like ballet
with the Prima Ballerina
shrieking in pain over
a hangnail.” He explained
that what she further labeled
Academy Award! was similar
to her frequent protestations
for justice and equity.
Didn’t wash, so he gave up.
His attention seized,
anyway, by her performances
bordering on egregious. Such
disturbed others; he simply repeated
to her how lovely she was in everything.
When it grows time to leave,
she floats following him, now
loses that idea quickly without
his really weighing in.
Back in Bolzano, how her emails flood!
Then hop, diminish, and stop.
Two old uncles visit. They have found
a bride for him. He thanks them, but de-
tails how such rituals have truly lost force
in such a cosmopolitan area. But
certainly they will meet!–out of
respect for their love and position.
The photo shows her to be pretty.
And reserved. That proves
the clincher finally.
The name hung on him
by the Irish woman,
also here to learn the new
series of switches.
He shunned her, a bitch,
pure and simple, who cut
all for even innocent takes.
During the Super Bowl frenzy
he wore a Baltimore jersey.
Only he and Group’s basic
“Drama Queen” did so.
From something this silly,
a bond formed and they,
despite warnings, dated.
She couldn’t fathom his
fascination for what she
called soccer. “Like ballet
with the Prima Ballerina
shrieking in pain over
a hangnail.” He explained
that what she further labeled
Academy Award! was similar
to her frequent protestations
for justice and equity.
Didn’t wash, so he gave up.
His attention seized,
anyway, by her performances
bordering on egregious. Such
disturbed others; he simply repeated
to her how lovely she was in everything.
When it grows time to leave,
she floats following him, now
loses that idea quickly without
his really weighing in.
Back in Bolzano, how her emails flood!
Then hop, diminish, and stop.
Two old uncles visit. They have found
a bride for him. He thanks them, but de-
tails how such rituals have truly lost force
in such a cosmopolitan area. But
certainly they will meet!–out of
respect for their love and position.
The photo shows her to be pretty.
And reserved. That proves
the clincher finally.
Labels: arranged marriage, Drama Queen, Irish, Italian, office, soccer, Super Mario, tradition
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
Juliet
A few modest homes
in South Philadelphia
have Juliet balconies.
"You leave now it's forever,
Obnoxious Ghinny Prick!"
Many feel poetry there.
Labels: Italian, Juliet, relationship, South Philadelphia
