Catholicism – Boy Outa Brooklyn

YANKEE GO HOME

**The Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Tennessee – God’s Country!**

I HAD BEEN LIVING in London for three decades when a voice in my head began nagging me. “Yankee Go Home,” it said. I believe all ex-pats hear this voice no matter what their home country. It’s natural to want to be home especially as we age. And though I remain eternally grateful to Britain for giving me the use of the hall for so long, I had fallen out of love with the place and the feeling was mutual.

The London I moved to thirty years earlier had become unrecognizable. Believe it or not, back then, London was shut on Sundays and the idea of a Muslim mayor was laughable. (A Hindu Prime Minister? Impossible.) In fact, I was shocked in 1990 when I saw just one completely veiled Muslim woman on the street! For the first twenty years of my London adventure, crime – especially violent crime – was very low and there was a general orderliness and decency about the place. (At least compared to the New York City I had fled.) I miss London circa 1990 as I miss New York circa 1956. Sadly, both cities are gone forever.

By 2010, I was looking behind me on the streets and looking at anti-FGM billboards on the tubes. I also had to slalom through a feces-strewn tent city to get into my tube station. Then I had a fist fight with a pickpocket on a London bus (I won) and the police questioned me! Before my eyes, London had morphed into Detroit with a few Ye Olde touristy bits. It was time for this actor to exit and pronto.

Some readers may remember my earlier post “Fade to Black” which catalogued the deliberate discrimination against White performers. (The best-selling thriller author James Patterson says that White writers now face the same attack.) Well… since the BLM riots and media company capitulation to the Black mobs, that anti-White discrimination has increased exponentially. Anyone who watches film and TV now recognizes how much non-White faces have invaded our screens. So, I was facing a future as an old White actor in London who would be unemployable or offered roles in anti-White garbage that I would never accept. Then Covid hit and I was shocked and disappointed by how easily the Brits surrendered. Other nations did the same but somehow, I expected better of the British. So… in May of 2021 – feeling as though I was escaping East Berlin in the Cold War – I split for points West.

Strange to report, this Brooklyn boy didn’t end up back on the stoops of Brooklyn but rather in the Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Tennessee – Davy Crockett country! In 1955, like every other kid in the US, I lived in my Davy Crockett coonskin cap. Now, by some strange twist of fate, I was living a stone’s throw from Davy’s birthplace. And it’s as close to a Goldilocks spot as you could find. The waves of White urbanites fleeing here prove my point. The terrain is beautiful, the climate temperate, the demographics 95% White, and, prior to the Biden economy, it was remarkably affordable. Sadly, in my one year in this demi-paradise the price of gas has doubled with no ceiling in sight and food prices are skyrocketing, too.

More bad news is that the anti-White bias controls show business here, too. The casting notices for screen, stage, or voice work are all skewed toward non-Whites and people who clearly have more genders than sense. The producers and directors trumpet their preferred pronouns and expect me to do the same. (I don’t.) The Web pages of regional theaters are plastered with Black faces giving the impression that theater is an almost exclusively Negro invention and activity. And these theatres proclaim that their primary mission is not to put on good productions of plays that a paying audience might enjoy seeing, but rather to promote racial equality, social justice, diversity, and inclusion — especially for the LGBTQLMNOP+ community. When I phone the office of the Screen Actors Guild, I am given a list of options to dial if I have experienced racial or sexual abuse. It’s revealing that I am not given a phone option if I, as a worker, feel I have been monetarily abused. The once mighty SAG union has been effectively busted by the Jewish media moguls who claim to be all for social justice.

Tennessee is a solid red (Republican) state, and I am living in the reddest part of that state. This is Trump Country. I landed here only a few months after Biden took office, but the roads were already lined with Trump 2024 signs, and I regularly see hilariously filthy anti-Biden bumper stickers too vulgar to recount. The folk here are very, very pro-police and pro-military. Tennessee is known as the Volunteer State because it has always sent more men per capita to the military than any other.

Veterans are worshipped here. They get special sales, parking spots, and meal deals. I’m the only guy not wearing a t-shirt declaring “Proud Vietnam War Veteran” or “Proud Korean War Veteran.” Many wear hats that proclaim, “Proud Wounded Veteran” or, even better, “Proud Battle-Wounded Veteran.” The sad truth is that these brave men are knee-jerk super-patriots. They were cannon fodder but can’t admit it. As much as they despise Biden, if he sent them into battle, they would click their heels (even their prosthetic ones) and be off. As far as they are concerned, no American ever fought in an unjust war.

I believe this mindset is a legacy of the Civil War. Southern men, with their British blood, love to fight. But they also feel a need to prove they are loyal to the union. I’ve seen this same syndrome in Mormons who also had a long history of bloody opposition to the rest of America. That’s why they disproportionately serve in the FBI and CIA. This “rah-rah the flag” mentality makes discussing American foreign policy a minefield. I have used the Russia-Ukraine war to make some progress, but I first must counter the anti-Russia nonsense they’ve been fed by the media including Fox News.

I thought there were lots of churches in Rome until I moved to Eastern Tennessee. There are churches everywhere here, even in the middle of the forest. Baptist is by far the most common denomination, but there are more versions of Baptist than Heinz has beans. Then there are the other major Protestant groups along with Church of Christ, Church of God, and assorted micro-denominations. Catholics are rarer than rocking-horse shit. In fact, when I tell people I’m an ex-Catholic they look for my horns and hooves. I’m told that in one church very near me they handle snakes. But don’t get the impression I’m living in a hillbilly holler. This region has ballet companies and symphonies. Life is very similar in the Appalachian Mountains up and down the East Coast. Anyone familiar with the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania or the Adirondacks of New York would feel at home here.

Everyone I meet invites me to their church, so I’ve been to quite a few. The services are bland with decent contemporary Gospel singing and generic “Jesus loves you” sermons. The congregants are ancient and busily waiting for The Rapture. They are instinctively against all the right things like globohomo and open borders but are unaware that organized Jewry is pushing these poisons. Most have never even met a Jew in their lives. (The same is true in Mormon Utah.) Most churches are not explicitly Christian Zionist, but they have a Disneyfied picture of the Twelve Tribes. In their artwork, Moses looks like Charlton Heston and the ancient Jews look Bavarian. This makes it difficult to make them see the truth about modern Jews and the criminal state of Israel. After all, “That nice Charlton Heston wouldn’t do anything un-Christian to us.”

The naïveté of these Christians extends to homosexuality. They are vehemently against it but don’t really know how truly degenerate it is. It is beyond their comprehension and simply too distasteful to discuss. As a result, some queers are making headway in the local school system pushing those “Cindy Has Two Mommies” books. I raised the issue with several local politicians. They simply could not comprehend what I was talking about and didn’t want to know. So, ironically, the unspeakable nature of homosexuality is its best defense.

Against my better judgement, I attended a 100% White Republican Party luncheon and, as I feared, it was full of back-slapping Chamber of Commerce types and their former beauty queen wives. None of the candidates who addressed us said anything of substance or that couldn’t have been said by a Democrat. Not a peep about race or the Great Replacement Policy. In private conversation, I asked the candidates some tough questions about race, but they brushed them off as not relevant because we’re all God’s children. (Christianity is a big problem for White nationalism!) I later learned that most of these candidates run unopposed, so they have become complacent.

These politicians and their constituents are in for a shock and a fight. The forces of darkness have crept into these mountains while their backs were turned. There is now an Islamic Cultural Center here.

The regional airport will no doubt soon be forced to accept Biden’s secret nighttime flights filled with non-White invaders. One local church has just imported an Afghani family with their entire village soon to follow, along with their goats. And, as is always the case, the local university is a haven to Jewish professors and pink-haired, morbidly obese creatures of dubious sexuality. I doubt these psycho-sexual misfits can find common cause with the native conservative Christians. I predict conflict in the not-too-distant future. The locals better conjure the fighting spirit of their British pioneer ancestors, or they will go the way of the dodo.

I oppose violence and would never condone or encourage it. But as America faces social collapse and the inevitable chaos it brings; it is comforting to know that there are four million registered deer hunters in Pennsylvania alone. I doubt many of those are non-binary. Tennessee is even more gun-friendly. The media-hyped mass shootings in America just increase gun sales here. (By the way, the US ranks only 64th in the world in mass shootings!) In fact, in this state you don’t even need a license to own a gun and concealed carry licenses are easy to come by. The men I see in Walmart with shirts hanging over their belts are concealing more than their beer guts. That said, this is the most peaceful region I’ve ever lived in. Maybe it’s because so many people are armed. In my one year here, I have not seen one violent incident or even heard a raised voice.

In some ways, America is little changed in my thirty years away. The shape of daily life is about the same. Ubiquitous phones, social media, and technology are one definite change and one for the worse. But the rise of entitlement culture is the biggest change I’ve seen. The glorification of victimhood and vulnerability. The rampant narcissism. I believe a certain Austrian painter called it, “The tyranny of the unwell.”

Thanks to voter fraud, the Democrats avoided being wiped out in the recent mid-term elections. But the results proved this is a 50-50 country with no hopes of reconciliation. The left and right need a no-fault divorce. The Whites and non-Whites need racial separation. Barring those rational, compassionate solutions things will get very ugly.

Meanwhile, the race to replace Biden as the Democrat nominee in 2024 will be as heated as that to replace Johnson in 1968. I predict this period will be similarly riot-filled and blood-soaked. All the entitled minority factions will be off the chain. And I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather ride out the storm than smack dab in Davy Crockett country!

________________________

Available as a paperback and eBook here and here and as an eBook here

Roadmap to Blog Outa Brooklyn

Thanks for visiting my blog. It is a sampler of my murder-memoir Boy Outa Brooklyn. The best way to enjoy it is to start at the first post and read chronologically. I hope you’ll find it both hilarious and horrifying.

I will also be posting about the best books, movies and songs about Brooklyn. And, sharing my practical and off-beat travel tips. If you enjoy my blog, please follow me. Hover your mouse in the lower right corner of the screen and a pop-up box will appear. Enter your email address and you’ll never miss one of my posts. Your address will not be sold or shared and you won’t be pestered with any sales cons.

Welcome to my Brooklyn,

Jack Antonio

Available as an eBook here

And as paperback and eBook here

amazon.com

and amazon.co.uk

STOP THE PRESSES #5

You asked for it, you got it!
Here’s my latest hard-boiled homage to the tough-guy reporters of yesteryear – Walter Winchell and Jimmy Cannon.

Supreme Court cutie Ruth Bader Ginsberg crowed many times that her Jewishness shaped her judicial outlook . . . Not the Bill of Rights, the Torah . . . Not the Federalist Papers, the Talmud . . . Not the Constitution, the Kaballah . . . So I guess it was her Jewishness that made Ruthie promote lowering the age of sexual consent to twelve . . . TWELVE . . . TWELVE!!!! . . .

R.I.P. RBG

Decomposing corpse. — The last known living photo of Judge Ginsberg.

Here’s a definition of chutzpah: Ginsberg, the champion of affirmative action, hired only one Black law clerk during her forty year judicial career. FORTY YEARS. ONE BLACK . . . She claimed she couldn’t find any more who were qualified . . . I call that “affirmative action for thee but not for me” . . . The Noxious RBG spent her last four years on the bench in a coma with her law clerks propping her up like the eponymous hero of the movie Weekend at Bernie’s . . .

Poster for Weekend at Bernie's — That’s our gal Ruthie in the middle.

Had Ruthie not been so high-on-her-own-supply and convinced she was the “indispensable” woman, she would/could have retired when Obama was President thus assuring that someone equally toxic would have taken her place . . . Funny how karma bites even the most high and mighty on their high and mighty asses, ain’t it . . . But, waaaaiiittt a minute here, Ruth Bader Ginsberg said that the Black football players in the NFL (Negro Felon League) were “stupid and disrespectful” for kneeling during the national anthem. That’s not nice . . .

Colin Kapernick kneeling. — Yo, Colin, my man, the ‘fro, can we talk?

Saint Ruthie wasn’t the only extreme libtard with “surprising” views on race and sex . . . Che Guevera (the Left’s favorite pin-up) said, “Mexicans are a band of illiterate Indians” and “The black is indolent and a dreamer; spending his meagre wage on frivolity or drink.” . . .

Che (the most reproduced face in history aside from Christ) was no friend of the LGBTQ crowd. In fact, he called homosexuals “scum” and put them in concentration camps where they labored beneath a sign that wittily proclaimed, “Work will make you men.” . . . Some say that sort of anti-gay vitriol only comes from a closet queen. Hmmmnnnn . . .

Che Guevera dead. — Che doing his famous impersonation of Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

Speaking of the “lavender lads” – it’s being whispered in the corridors of power that Chief Justice John Roberts is “light in the loafers” and is being blackmailed by a certain tribe of rootless-cosmopolitans? . . . This explains his lurch to the Left . . .

Justice John Roberts and wife. — Roberts and his long-suffering *beard*, er… I mean, wife.

Not possible? Welp, the Mafia blackmailed and deballed the famous “crime buster” of the 1950s Sen. Estes Kefauver with pix of his pussy-hound ways . . .

Yup, Ol’ Estes made JFK look like a choirboy . . . As long as we’re talkin’ about choirboys . . .

Joel Osteen runs a mega-church in Dallas. He is the most popular televangelist in America.

This squeaky-clean holy-huckster isn’t preaching the Gospel. He’s just sprinkling a bit of Jesus over Napoleon Hill’s classic self-help book Think and Grow Rich . . . Hey, how come we let immigrants with tuberculosis, polio and even plague flood into our countries but if your dog isn’t vaccinated you’re in big trouble? . . . John Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater Revival had never been to Louisiana or even seen the Mississippi River before he wrote Proud Mary and other songs about the Bayou . . . In pre-WW2 Hollywood, actors were blacklisted for not being commies . . . Ronald Reagan’s film career tanked when “liberal” Hollywood blacklisted him for daring to clean the commies out of the Screen Actors Guild while he was union president . . . Morons who mock Reagan’s acting have never seen King’s Row, Juke Girl or Storm Warning . . .

Ronald Reagan and Bonzo the Chimp. — This scribe is no fan of chimp comedies but Ronnie was better with a chimp co-star in *Bedtime for Bonzo* than Cary Grant was in *Monkey Business*.

As long as were discussing simians in the cinema – George Floyd fucked-on-film in porn movies . . . This just in – evidence has emerged (seen by your reporter) that Georgie Boy Floyd was a longtime police informant (snitch) – that’s considered the lowest form of life in the ‘hood. . . Meanwhile, Floyd’s fellow-felon Jacob Blake whose shooting caused all the kerfuffle in Kenosha, Wisconsin had a habit of raping women including his baby-mama. He raped her while her young daughter was in the bed next to her. The insistent dusky Casanova forced his fingers into his beloved’s vagina, smelled them and opined, “It smells like you bins wit udder mens.” . . . His baby-mama tearfully testified to this and, ya know, we gotta believe the woman . . . She called the cops to arrest Blake. He attacked the cops, was shot while reaching for a weapon and was left paralyzed from the waist down . . . Mayhaps the unfortunate Blake’s sexual activity will be restricted to digital insertion (hopefully consensual) for the foreseeable . . .

Lorez Alexandria. — Jazz singer Lorez Alexandria was as good as any of ‘em and better than most.

But unlucky Lorez never had that all-important hit record so she never got the bookings and acclaim she deserved . . . One dame who got nothing but undeserved acclaim was Margaret Mead the most famous woman in Cultural Anthropology . . .

Margaret Mead with Samoan girls. — Here’s Maggie getting fashion tips from the locals. ‘Scuse me but isn’t that what’s called “cultural appropriation?”

Maggie was hoaxed by the South Sea island teens when she wrote her famous pro-Brown, anti-White study Coming of Age in Samoa . . . Turns out their society was actually very straight-laced and violent – not at all the peaceful, sexual paradise the dim-witted Mead portrayed . . .

Original book cover of Coming of Age in Samoa. — Cultural Bullshit

Mead was a student of the Jewish-Marxist Franz Boas. He invented the pseudo-science of Cultural-Anthropology which holds that a Bantu banging on a tree trunk in the jungle is of equal artistic value to the work of Bach . . .

Guess what? Franny’s famous skull measurement studies which supposedly proved racial equality have been exposed as totally bogus . . . Boas cooked the books to push his anti-White Marxist crap . . . He was as crooked as that other fraud Sigmund Freud . . . Meanwhile, I’m scratchin’ my noggin’ over why people who have never owned slaves should pay slavery reparations to people who have never been slaves . . . Heard on the Rialto and Rodeo Drive: Meghan Markle is the most pretentious, presumptuous twat in public life and has already worn out her welcome stateside . . .

The young Meghan Markle — The Woman Who Would Be Queen aka The Mulatto Greta Thunberg

Tell ya the truth, I’d sooner listen to political punditry from Scary Spice . . . Fred Astaire failed an early Hollywood screen test with this critique, “Can’t act. Can’t sing. Slightly bald. Can dance a little.” . . .

Here’s another showbiz “ouch” – Broadway producer Cheryl Crawford turned down Arthur Miller’s great play Death of a Salesman with this note, “Who wants to see a play about a traveling salesman?” . . . So explain to me why the same loons who say there is no such thing as gender are screeching that there must be a female President . . . Here’s some good news – the future belongs to the fertile. The gender-liquid brigade, the cis-phobic snowflakes and other assorted psycho-sexual misfits aren’t reproducing . . . Wanna know who is breeding? Mormons, Amish, Hasids, Muslims and Evangelical Christians. Looks like the future belongs to the fundamentalists, too . . .

Horace the Poet — The Roman poet Horace predicted this state of affairs with – “You can chase Mother Nature out with a pitchfork but she will always return.”

Bust of Epictetus — Epictetus, another Roman smarty-pants, cautioned people in the first century not to talk about themselves at dinner parties. The first century!!!

Winston Churchill, Dwight Eisenhower and Charles de Gaulle each wrote multi-volume histories of WW2 . . . These three wartime titans devoted about a paragraph each to European Jewry with no mention of gas chambers . . . Betcha didn’t know this – the British almost dropped the atomic bombs on Japan using their Lancaster bombers coz America’s B-29s were too small . . . Elvis Presley “The King” died on the “throne” whilst straining at stool . . . But even in the worst of Presley’s stupid movies there is at least one good tune . . . Barbara Streisand wanted Elvis to co-star with her in A Star Is Born but after one meeting with Babs, The King took a pasadena . . . Who sez Elvis was a dumb hillbilly? . . .

Elvis Presley in his coffin. — Elvis doing his famous impersonation of Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

Laurence Olivier almost played the Marlon Brando role in The Godfather . . . Robert Redford almost played the Dustin Hoffman role in The Graduate . . . Jackie Gleason almost played the Gene Hackman role in The French Connection . . . If you think Jackie would have been a weird choice then you obviously haven’t seen him in Requiem for a Heavyweight and The Hustler . . . “The Great One” was a great actor . . . Mary Baker Eddy, the deranged founder of Christian Science, insisted her flock eschew doctors and medicine coz the body and pain didn’t exist; only spirit was real and flesh was an illusion . . . But this holy-hypocrite secretly visited dentists where she insisted on massive doses of pain killers . . .

The young Mary Baker Eddy. — Mary Baker Eddy – 19th Century Bunny Boiler.

Surprisingly, the arch-cynic Mark Twain flirted with Christian Science then came to his senses and wrote a hilarious critique of the cult . . . For many decades, the Twain book was as rare-as-rocking-horse-shit coz Christian Scientists (on orders from the paranoid Mary Baker Eddy) found and destroyed copies . . .

Julius and Ethel Rosenberg under arrest. — The Jewish Communist traitors Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were guilty as hell of giving atomic secrets to Joseph Stalin

Uncle Joe was the second greatest mass murderer of the 20^th century second only to that other commie-creep – Mao Zedong . . . Your correspondent laughs and cheers when he imagines the repulsive Julius and Ethel frying in the electric chair at Sing-Sing . . . To his everlasting credit, Judge Kaufman (the Rosenberg’s co-religionist) who presided at their trial blamed them for the deaths of 38,000 American soldiers in Korea . . . That war only happened coz Stalin was emboldened by the nuclear weapons he had acquired thanks to the secrets the Rosenberg scum had given him . . . Another of the Rosenberg’s co-religionists – Congressman Samuel Dickstein actually took money from Stalin to betray America . . . And still they kvetch when people question their loyalty . . .

Julius and Ethel Rosenberg in their coffins. — The Rosenbergs doing their famous impression of Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

Since Lockdown more Brits have died from flu and pneumonia than from Covid-19 and that’s even accepting the massively exaggerated Covid death totals . . . On the other side of the pond, the New York Times reported that the most widely used Covid-19 test in America is returning 90% false positives . . . Say, don’t call me daffy, this Corona-hoax gets more apparent and preposterous by the day . . .

LEST WE FORGET

Sticky stool — **Ruth Bader Ginsberg lying in state.**

_________________________________

Boy Outa Brooklyn a murder-memoir by Jack Antonio — Available as an eBook here and as a paperback and eBook from amazon.com and amazon.co.uk

STOP THE PRESSES! #3

vintage cartoon of newsboy — Here’s another hard-boiled homage to the two-fisted reporters of yesteryear – Walter Winchell and Jimmy Cannon.

Waaaiiittt a minute – first they told us to buy expensive masks with breathing valves coz simple masks wouldn’t stop Covid. Now they tell us to not buy masks with valves coz they spread the disease. Who’s in charge here? . . .

Vintage deep sea diver — Coming soon – the “Anthony Fauci Signature Mask” guaranteed to cure what ails ya!

From its earliest days television was described as “chewing gum for the eyes” and “the idiot box” and “a vast wasteland.” All correct . . . My favorite description of TV is – “an electronic sewer-pipe in the corner of your living room.” Even the genteel NPR in the states and BBC in Britain are pumping genteel sewage into your brain. Turn ’em off . . .

Open sewer pipe — Pass me the remote, will ya? Uh… on second thought…

Hey, if masculinity is so “toxic” why do so many lesbians pretend to be male and dress like traditional grooms . . .

Black lesbian couple at marriage — “Do you take this man, uh, I mean pretend-man… oh, you figure it out.”

And why do they pretend to be super-butch males? Doesn’t that make them super-toxic? . . .

Hey, If masculinity is so “toxic” why would any woman want to “transition” to male? Answers on a postcard . . . Another question – If male to female transsexuals are returning their bodies to a “natural” state then why do they have to insert a dildo-like plastic tube into their manufactured vaginas for several hours a day to prevent their bodies from closing up and healing what it detects as an open bleeding wound? . . .

Vaginal dilators — The colors are a nice touch, no?

When bluegrass bands play heavy metal and Motown music, it’s better than the originals . . . Southern, White Christian males are the only group in the world that we are allowed and even encouraged to mock . . . When people wearing Corona-masks flinch away from me, I want to beat them to a bloody pulp . . . In the 1960s, U.S. police departments came under massive Marxist attack over supposed police brutality against Blacks. The anti-Communist John Birch Society ran the counter-campaign: “Support Your Local Police and Keep Them Independent.” It made them a laughing stock . . .

Poster for Support Your Local Police and keep them independent — I wonder how many Americans will laugh when their local police are defunded and replaced with a national Stasi?

Please explain this to me – The US & UK built many massive “Covid emergency centers” to handle the predicted overflow from hospitals. These facilities, boasting many thousands of beds, were unneeded and unused. They’ve been dismantled. But, hold up, from the beginning of the Covid-hoax we were warned of even deadlier second and third waves of the virus. If the powers-that-be actually believed this disaster was coming then why did they dismantle essential facilities mere months before Covid would return with a vengeance? . . . The big band leader Stan Kenton had an incestuous relationship with his daughter that lasted from her pre-teen years to young womanhood . . .

Stan Kenton and his daughter — She’s written a book claiming it wasn’t all bad. Hmmmnnn . . .

Is it me or are more female teachers banging their students these days? . . . British Prime Minister Boris Johnson is such a racial mongrel even he doesn’t know what he is . . . BoJo wants to import 3.5 million Chinese from Hong Kong at a time of unprecedented UK unemployment and economic crisis . . . Maybe our boy is Chinese, too? . . . How do the Chinese pay him off? . . .

Boris Johnson and Chinese dragon — Take 3.5 million from Column A and 3.5 million from Column B.

The Empire State Building was a flop for decades and was dubbed The Empty State Building . . . Even before Corona and the riots, I knew that Trumpowitz was gonna lose the election coz the demographics were against him in Florida, Arizona and Georgia. He had the right impulse about Corona i.e. let it burn through and develop herd immunity but then he listened to President Kushner and surrendered to the hysteria. Then he listened again to President Kushner and didn’t crack down on the riots immediately. He’s making a few tough tweets now but it’s too late. He’s gonna have no convention, no rallies and no second term . . .

Jared Kushner and Donald Trump — President Kushner keeping an eye on his puppet.

The spectacularly corrupt and stupid Biden will win but he will be a figurehead and so will his incompetent female Black VP whoever she is . . . America will be ruled by a cabal of Marxists with Obama pulling the strings . . . Bader-Ginsburg will resign with much fanfare and spike the football on her way out. The Marxists will get to appoint at least two other justices. Then they will abolish the electoral college, open the borders, open the prisons, pass amnesty and bankrupt the country . . . When Trumpstein appeared, I said that he wasn’t important but what he represented and who came after him were. I also said that he would fail but that his failure would be useful. It would set the stage for a genuine White Nationalist leader to emerge. This coming leader who is yet unknown will operate outside of electoral politics. He will be a strongman in the mold of Caesar or Franco . . .

Francisco Franco — Barring his arrival, Whites in America will be lucky to be living in something akin to South Africa. The situation in Europe and the UK is equally bleak.

During the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s more Communists were killed by other Communists than by Franco’s forces . . . Stalin saw that war as a chance to finally clean out the Trotskyites . . . The Gospel Quartets and Quintets of the 1940s and 50s were pure rock & roll, doo-wop and soul. Listen to the Swan Silvertones and the Soul Stirrers and you’ll hear it . . .

The Swan Silvertones — Claude Jeter of the Silvertones was The Man!

Meanwhile, White gospel singer Kenny Hinson could have been a massive country music star if he’d wanted to be. He had one of the great voices in American music!

I’ve never bought any music by The Beatles or Bob Dylan . . . Cardinal Spellman of New York was called the American Pope. He was also a predatory homosexual who cruised gay bars in Gotham accompanied by famous homos of the theater. These lavender lads all favored young Black meat . . . The Cardinal was also a rabid hawk. It’s said he spent more time on his knees in Viet Nam servicing GIs than praying . . .

Francis Cardinal Spellman — *Franny* Spellman in full drag. Say a prayer for the altar boys!

Tony Blair’s Labour Party promoted 24/7 drinking in pubs and widespread gambling so I guess it really did care about the health and welfare of the White working class; or was it that Blair took money from scumbags who made their fortunes by selling gambling, alcohol and tobacco to the White working class? . . . Hookers will tell you that often their johns just want to talk about their wives and children . . . The Arabic word for African is “slave” . . . Millions more Africans were enslaved by Muslim countries than by the Christian world . . .

African slave castrated by Muslims — Muslims chopped off the penis and testicles of their African slaves.

Saudi Arabia didn’t outlaw slavery until 1962 . . . Millions more Africans were enslaved by Brazil than by the USA . . . Brazil didn’t outlaw slavery until decades after the USA did . . . Most of the slave ships and slave markets were owned and run by Jews . . . How come Black Lives Matter isn’t protesting outside Brazilian, Israeli and Islamic embassies? . . . My favorite true-crime cases are Lizzie Borden, Sam Sheppard and Jeffrey MacDonald . . .

Lizzie Borden — Lizzie was guilty as hell. The murder house is now a B & B.

Dr. Sam Sheppard — Dr. Sam was innocent. The poor bastard ended up as a pro-wrestler.

Jeffrey MacDonald — The jury is still out on MacDonald who is rotting in prison. The film maker Errol Morris is convinced MacDonald is innocent. You decide.

The father of singer Harry Connick, Jr. was a New Orleans D.A. accused of covering up the JFK assassination . . . The father of actor Woody Harrelson was a Texas hitman who many believe was one of the mysterious “Three Tramps” arrested behind the Grassy Knoll on the day JFK was hit . . .

The "Three Tramps" on the Grassy Knoll — “Daddy, is that you?”

Abraham Lincoln opposed expanding slavery into the West not because he was opposed to slavery but because he was opposed to spreading Blacks further into America . . .

Cartoon of Abe Lincoln with a slave — Not so honest Abe didn’t free the slaves in the North.

Lincoln’s last meeting in The White House was with Black leaders to decide how and where to repatriate or resettle the freed slaves – Africa, South America and part of Texas were considered . . .

John Wilkes Booth shooting Abraham Lincoln — If only John Wilkes Booth had missed!

BROOKLYN BOOKS #4

Pete Hamill and I grew up side-by-side in working-class, Catholic, Brooklyn neighborhoods.

Row of brownstones in Park Slope, Brooklyn — Pete in leafy Park Slope.

Brooklyn trolley in the 1940s — Pete in the 1940s

The cast of The Honeymooners on a bus. — Me in the 1950s

Pete – Irish. Me – Italian

Kiss Me, I'm Irish. Blow me, I'm Italian.

That last distinction was the biggie. For as much as I admired and even feared the Brooklyn Irish; and though we lived cheek by jowl, I felt they were alien to my tribe. Sharper. Colder. Meaner. And, lots, lots drunker.

19th century anti-Irish immigration cartoon in the USA.

I can’t remember ever seeing an Irish parent being warm and affectionate with one of their children.

It was the Irish parents who mocked their kids and blackened their eyes; the Irish parents who drunkenly fell off bar stools and tenement stoops; the Irish parents who got thrown into the aptly named Paddy Wagon to be hauled away by Irish cops.

It was the Irish mother upstairs in our tenement who got her sluggish sons out of bed by throwing pails of cold water over them. It was the Irish father upstairs who chased one of those same sons out of their kitchen window only for the terrified kid to go sailing past our kitchen window as we ate dinner.

My childhood impression, formed in countless games of stick ball, tag and Monopoly, was that all Irish kids had fiery tempers and green teeth. I also learned that all Irish nuns had cheeks forever reddened with fury. No lie, it seemed like all of Irish Brooklyn was constantly plastered and pissed-off.

So, for me, Hamill’s memoir was an insider’s lowdown from the enemy camp – one that confirmed what I felt as a child about his kith and kin. In A Drinking Life, he spills his guts on himself and his breed with bittersweet affection and brutal honesty. This is a brave, brilliantly observed memoir that captures the feel of 20^th century urban American life as well as any I’ve read. Pete’s description of the VE Day celebrations in Park Slope brought me to tears. The way he conjured his proud, angry one-legged father made me see and feel the man as he limped up the street to the corner bar.

Pete Hamill and I played in the same streets, rode the same trolleys, hung-out in the same parks, fought in the same playgrounds and gorged in the same ice cream parlors. I suffered a year of weekly piano lessons from a terrifying Irish nun at Holy Name School where Pete suffered the full-time fury of the Sisters of Perpetual Rage.

Group of unsmiling nuns — Here they are saying “cheese”

I even bought movie tickets from Pete’s mother at the local itch-house.

Pete Hamill at Holy Name School, Brooklyn — Me in the 8th grade. Wait minute… that’s Pete!

Yet, no matter how similar our childhood landscapes, we were separated not only by ethnicity but by politics.

Pete – Left. Me – Right.

Pete Hamill became one of New York’s premier newspaper columnists and bleeding-heart liberals. Like his contemporary Irish columnist, the insufferable douchebag-blowhard Jimmy Breslin, Pete Hamill loved playing the “muck-raking White knight” fighting for what he believed was equality but what I knew was actually White replacement.

Pete believed dat dey was depraved on account dey wuz deprived.

In the 1980s when Brooklyn was stewing in crack-fueled racial violence, Hamill sided with Black Brooklyn against White Brooklyn – specifically Italian Brooklyn. He sneeringly called we Italians fighting for our survival, “guidos” which was tantamount to calling Blacks, “niggers.” I’ll never forgive Hamill for being a race traitor.

Irish drunks are a dime a dozen (and a fuckin’ bore) so Hamill’s saga of bottoming out before straightening out, though well told, wasn’t for me. I much preferred his bawdy, Henry Miller-like tales of being a budding beatnik artist. Those were full of fun period details and read like Tropic of Art School. Besides, a little sexual braggadocio never hurts. In fact, Brooklyn and braggadocio go together like sausage and peppers.

And, hey, if you were playing “hide the shillelagh” with…

Pete Hamill with Shirley — Shirley MacLaine…

Pete hamill with Jackie Onassis — … and Jackie O

You’d braggadocio, too!

So, this social-justice leprechaun wasn’t averse to a bit of jet-setting at Elaine’s and P.J. Clarke’s. (Somehow I doubt he ever squired Tawana Brawley to either boîte.) And yet… like Alfred Kazin (the subject of my last post ) as much as I wanted to smack Hamill in the chops for his silly knee-jerk liberal bullshit, I couldn’t help liking the guy.

I’d love to sit down with him over a beer (Oops, better make that a root beer) not at Elaine’s but at Farrell’s – the legendary Irish working-class watering hole in Park Slope. We could stay off politics and shoot the shit about the nuns, the priests, the gangs, the girls, the Irish Mafia, the Italian Mafia, Coney Island and especially the Dodgers. The Brooklyn Dodgers.

Pete & Me

Two boys outa Brooklyn

So very different

So very the same

BROOKLYN BOOKS #3

Alfred Kazin (1915-98) was a noted Jewish critic – one of my least favorite literary types. I’m not a fan of that species because it’s part of the Jewish monopoly on printed media. (Don’t believe me? Check the names on the mastheads of every magazine and publishing house in America but… be careful. Many of those Anglo-Saxon sounding names are not genuine. Name changing is part of the Hebraic shape-shifting ploy called passing.)

The Jewish critics rave about members of their own tribe (often without merit) while neglecting more talented gentile writers. And, they only promote philo-semitic authors. Plus, their view of literature is hopelessly tainted by their Jew-centric perspective. So, to put it mildly, there exists an unbridgeable political, religious and cultural gap between Alfred Kazin and I.

And yet… I gotta say that I loved Alf’s memoir of growing up in the Jewish ghetto that was Brownsville, Brooklyn in the 1920s and 30s. In fact, I couldn’t help liking the guy. Go know. I think it’s that undefinable “Brooklyn” thing that bonds us.

Like Alf, I’ve always been a compulsive urban walker;
a trait we share with another Brooklyn boy – Henry Miller.

A Walker in the City is Kazin’s elegantly written collection of character studies, incidents and musings. It brims with colorful tales of rabbis and radicals, great books, great music, great meals and great awakenings. The reader senses Kazin walking himself into adulthood and consciousness. His love of Brooklyn, literature and his people permeate every page. I admire his own writing more than his criticisms of others.

Don’t get me wrong. I bristled at much of what he wrote but he did such a great job of writing that I cut him some slack. Hey, I’m easy. So, sue me.

I owe Alf a debt of gratitude because his memoir was one of those that inspired me to tell the story of my boyhood across the borough in Italian-Catholic Brooklyn. That said – our takes on race, religion, sex and politics are as diametrically opposed as his Brownsville is from my South Brooklyn.

Karl Marx – Brownsville’s Meshuggah Messiah

It’s a sad but predictable irony that all of the Marxist and liberal bullshit about class and race preached in the streets and synagogues of Brownsville (and described so brilliantly by Alfred Kazin) failed. Bigtime. Marxists embedded in the city government used Marxist principles to replace the Jews of Brownsville with the Blacks of Brownsville. The result? After “70 count’ em 70” years of those Marxist ministrations, Brownsville is the murder capital of New York City.

Black men on the streets of Brownsville, Brooklyn — A lively debate about Torah and Das Kapital.

The area was never a garden spot but now it is a no-go zone of hellish housing projects. It makes Flatlands and East New York look like Cap d’Antibes.

Elevated subway platform in Brownsville, Brooklyn — Catching the Last Train to Brownsville.

The few Jews left in Brownsville (even fans of Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela) have become the prey-of-choice for roving gangs of feral youths playing the “knock out game.”

Male victim of an anti-semitic attack — No wonder “down with the struggle” Bernie Sanders abandoned Brooklyn for Lily White Vermont.

Never mind… if you enjoy reading memoirs written with wit, style, brain and heart then have I got a Brooklyn book for you – A Walker in the City by Alfred Kazin.

So, read it already!

My Road to Damascus

It happened on a bright June day in 1967. I was walking across the surprisingly bucolic campus of Brooklyn College nestled inside the decidedly un-bucolic Flatbush. Many of the campus buildings were ivy-covered brick so who needed the Ivy League? I was a recent Catholic high school graduate there for a day of testing and orientation. I was unaware that I was in the epicenter of Jewish communist activism.

Brooklyn College was so radical it was called “the little red school house” but not to be confused with The Little Red School House in Greenwich Village. Both institutions graduated a spectacularly disproportionate number of Levantines who were moaning-Marxists of dubious sexuality and (worst of all) folk singers.

The co-eds at Brooklyn College were evenly divided into two opposing camps.

**Nothing’s too good for Daddy’s little princess.**

The “JAPs” (Jewish American Princesses) had been gifted nose jobs as high school graduation presents and came to class loaded for bear i.e. they were out to land a nice Jewish boy preferably in pre-med or pre-law. I had never been in close proximity to such exotic creatures and gazed open-mouthed at them in class as they simultaneously adjusted their hair, stockings and bra while filing their nails and applying lipstick. I was a goy so I was invisible to them. They were brainless and harmless and at least afforded me a chubby or two.

Vintage bearded lady — **I think she sat behind me in Psych 101.**

The “Rachels” and “Ruths” bore their Hebraic-honkers like a badge of honor. Their wiry hair was left to nature and they favored sandals, folk skirts and unshaven legs. Their moustaches were unshaven, too. They scurried around campus clutching to their peasant-blouse covered bosoms Joan Baez LPs, Lawrence Ferlinghetti poetry books and Wilhelm Reich’s The Function of the Orgasm. (I wouldn’t fuck these hectoring yentas with your dick.)

So… I was strolling across campus feeling like Joe College when a Rachel ran up to me screaming like a banshee, slavering like a bronco and demanding that I boycott class because LBJ was bombing Vietnam. She shoved a flyer into my hand and her unshaven face into mine and ranted about nukes, napalm and negroes. I thanked her and promised to read the flyer but she screamed into my face, “Nazi” and ran to her next target. I tried to proceed but was forced to walk a gauntlet of Rachels, Ruths and their male counterparts – the Bruces and Barrys. All screaming. All slavering. All thrusting flyers. All demanding that Brooklyn College be brought to a standstill because LBJ was bombing Vietnam.

The very next day the Six Day War broke out between Israel and Egypt and I was back on campus for more testing.

So… I was strolling across campus feeling like Joe College when the very same Rachel ran up to me screaming like a banshee, slavering like a bronco and demanding that I boycott class because LBJ was not bombing Cairo. She shoved a flyer into my hand and her unshaven face into mine and ranted about Auschwitz, Anne Frank and Arabs. I thanked her and promised to read the flyer but she screamed into my face, “Nazi” and ran to her next target. I tried to proceed but was forced to walk a gauntlet of Rachels, Ruths and their male counterparts – the Bruces and Barrys. All screaming. All slavering. All thrusting flyers. All demanding that Brooklyn College be brought to a standstill because LBJ was not bombing Cairo.

In fact, these leftist humanitarians wanted Cairo nuked!

**Cairo – I figure 10 million dead *before* the Soviet retaliation.**

Suddenly and e’en like Saul of Tarsus on the road to Damascus, I was knocked to the ground by a blinding light of revelation. I then picked myself up and stood in the center of Brooklyn College, in the center of Flatbush, in the center of Brooklyn and knew in the center of my Catholic, Italian-American soul that I was in enemy territory. The scales had fallen from my eyes! I knew that the Rachels, Ruths, Bruces, Barrys and, yes, even the JAPs were not me. Not mine. Not American. All their supposedly selfless political activism was all about them. (And, they have done nothing to dissuade me of that conclusion in the more than fifty years since my Damascene conversion.)

St. Paul on the road to Damascus — **You think it was easy getting that horse on campus?**

Day of Infamy

During the Six Day War, Israel, our supposed ally, deliberately attacked and attempted to sink the USS Liberty, an intelligence ship, observing the war from the Mediterranean. In order to prevent the Liberty from reporting Israeli war crimes, Israel killed 34 U.S. sailors and wounded 171 more. Israeli planes even machine-gunned U.S. sailors attempting to escape in life rafts.

Meanwhile, Israeli dupes inside the White House almost gave my Brooklyn College classmates their dream. They almost tricked LBJ into nuking Cairo. (Take a minute to imagine that scenario.) Then, the dupes and LBJ conducted a massive cover up. The surviving sailors were ordered and threatened into silence.

Israel claims its act of treachery carried out on a U.S. ship clearly flying the Stars and Stripes was a tragic mistake.

If you believe that, I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn I wanna talk to you about.

POSTSCRIPT

In the 1970s, I learned that a former classmate at Brooklyn College had machine gunned many Palestinian women and children to death. When I knew this particular Bruce, he was a “peace & granola” hippie-dippie-trippie type. Then he got that Old Time Religion. From Meyer Kahane and the Jewish Defense League to the present, Brooklyn has been the breeding ground of Israel’s most violent fundamentalist lunatics.

Whenever I hear wild-eyed, wiry-haired women living on illegal Jewish settlements being interviewed with a baby on one hip and an uzi on the other, their Brooklyn accents are those of the Rachels and Ruths I first encountered on that bright June day in 1967 on the surprisingly bucolic campus of Brooklyn College.

Boy Outa Brooklyn a murder-memoir by Jack Antonio
Image: the smiling face of Steeplechase Park in Coney Island, Brooklyn — Available as an eBook and paperback
amazon.com
amazon.co.uk
And as an eBook here
https://books2read.com/The-Boy-Outa-Brooklyn

World In Wax

It was the summer of 1960 and my family was walking past Coney Island’s World in Wax Musee when the barker shouted out, “See the rapist Caryl Chessman in the gas chamber!”

“What’s a rapist?” I innocently asked my mother.

“Uh… ummm… a man who forces himself on a woman,” she flustered.

“Oh,” I replied with no idea of what she meant.

Soon after that we shared another awkward moment of sex education. It happened one night while I was watching TV. She and her friends were in the next room chain smoking and “gassing” when someone on TV mentioned “impotence.”

“Hey, Ma, what’s impotence?” I shouted into the room full of Catholic housewives.

Long frozen silence from the stunned women.

“Unable to perform like a man,” my mother eventually shouted in answer.

“Oh,” I shouted in return and (again) with no idea what she meant.

Caryl Chessman in a wax museum gas chamber. — Caryl Chessman, darling of the liberal intelligentsia,
as I like to remember him.

The World In Wax Musee was owned by one of Coney Island’s great characters, Lillie Santangelo. Caryl Chessman wasn’t the only predatory sex fiend rendered in wax in Lillie’s macabre collection. John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. were in there, too; along with “full moon” killers, “vampire” killers, “bathtub” killers, “screwdriver” killers and Richard Speck the sub-human filth who tortured, raped and murdered eight student nurses in Chicago. Speck escaped Chessman’s fate but unfortunately enjoyed his life in prison. He even had a half-assed sex change and acquired a set of phoney tits. These helped him attract and suck every swinging Black dick he could get his lips around.

Richard Speck – isn’t *she* lovely?
Unrepentant to his/her/its grave.

Chessman and Speck both had scores of bleeding-heart intellectuals, rootless cosmopolitans and Hollywood champagne-socialists pleading their cases and screaming for their release. But, to no avail. Both of these pieces of utter shit died behind bars. Hehehe.

Richard Speck attacking nurse in Coney Island wax museum. — **“Please let me out of prison. I promise not to do it again.”**

Meanwhile, back at the Wax Musee, Lillie also had an entire exhibit dedicated to Lina Medina, the world’s youngest mother, a Peruvian girl who gave birth at the age of five. The jury is still out on which of her loving male relatives raped the child.

Fast forward to 1981

I was directing an off-Broadway play and told my designer that I’d like our stage set to look and feel like the World in Wax Musee because it was the most frightening space I’d ever been in. The brutal artlessness of the exhibits made it so. Its dioramas-of-death captured a bottom-feeder, off-hand brand of sex-violence that even the film Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer could not match.

It was the very cheapness of the materials and mannequins used that gave the murder scenes their terrible power. The ill-fitting clothes and ill-posed limbs evoked nothing of reality. Yet, it was this very absence of life, movement or any hint of reality that made the mannequins seem ready to burst into murderous life. It was the gouts of ketchup-like blood splattered on the walls and linoleum; the flickering fluorescent lights and the chicken wire that separated the viewer from the crime scenes that chilled to the bone.

There was something especially unsettling about a cheap dummy sticking a screwdriver into another cheap dummy’s neck or hiding under a female dummy’s bed. It was beyond the stuff of nightmares.

Lillie also had a Hall of Fame where you really needed a score card to tell the players apart. I suspect Lillie had only one Caucasian head mould and one Negro head mould coz Elvis looked like Harry Truman looked like John Glenn looked like Popeye. And, Muhammad Ali looked like Jackie Robinson looked like Louis Armstrong looked like Buckwheat.

**Don’t tell me… James Dean. No, Harry Truman. Wait, got it… LBJ.**

Anyway… my designer visited the Musee and later cursed me for scarring her for life. While there, she spoke with Lillie who mentioned that she needed a new recorded announcement to draw a crowd but didn’t know any actors who could make one. Her budget was $10. My designer told Lillie about me and that’s how I got to spend an afternoon wandering around the World in Wax Musee (by my lonesome) gathering ideas and composing my spiel. (I have never looked over my shoulder so many times in my life!) P.S. I did the gig for free.

Lillie let me sit in her office to write my script. I noticed that she had a large ashtray on her desk filled with artificial eyes, ears and fingers that had been plucked or melted off. (I confess that I stole one of the fingers. I like to think it came from the hand of Red Foxx but it might have belonged to Hickman the Fox who kidnapped, murdered and dismembered a child in 1927.)

Hickman the Fox in a Coney Island wax museum. — Note the exquisite craftsmanship.
The verisimilitude.

Lillie didn’t play my recording for long because she shut the Musee’s doors soon after my visit. (Jeez, I didn’t think I was that bad!) But, I wasn’t surprised when she called it quits. I had been there on a summer weekend and I’d had the Musee to myself for hours. Lillie had even tried throwing a few phrases of Spanish and Ebonics into her pitch in an attempt to draw in Coney’s new demographic but, alas, it was not to be. The writing was on the Musee wall.

In 1986, Lillie’s entire collection was sold at auction for a tidy sum – there has always been a lucrative market for circus and side-show collectibles. And, her Musee was second in size and importance only to Madame Tussaud’s in London! Along with the dioramas-of-death, 100 wax heads found in Lillie’s attic were also sold. The auction catalogue listed heads of Babe Ruth and Frank Sinatra. But, how could they tell? Those heads could easily have been Leopold and Loeb or Abbott and Costello.

Thanatopsis

Gravestones in Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, New York — **The view from my childhood bedroom and stoop**

So many of those who shaped my life are dead – dead as the airline passengers who fell to earth one Brooklyn Christmas; dead as the woman I saw speared by a falling window pole on 42^nd street. Dead. And, so many of the other souls who merely touched my life – they must also surely be dead. They could not have survived their fragile, reckless lives ’til now. I want to gather them all to me and bury them all in Green-Wood Cemetery – there to find eternal rest in a plot guarded by weeping Protestant angels, ivy-covered Civil War soldiers and by me. Their graves, a stone’s throw across the street from my boyhood stoop, will be dug in the sacred soil where Washington’s troops were slaughtered and the American Revolution saved.

I will spend my final days on that stoop staring into Green-Wood, staring into eternity. I will daily tend their graves while intoning Carrie’s poem – “What is death?” Maybe one of my dead will have the answer.

Angle weeping on gravestone — **I know just how she feels.**

Drummer Boy atop grave in Green-Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn — **An earlier Boy Outa Brooklyn**

_____________________________

Calling Mr. and Mrs. Mainstreet

Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein — Woodward & Bernstein – pin-up boys for crypto-commie *journos* everywhere.
Uh… Carl… the hair… can we talk?

Since my rock career had died aborning, I decided to turn my hand to politics. And, since 1976 was a presidential election year, I found ready employment with The New York Times-CBS News poll. Both of these legendary news outlets were and are notoriously slanted Left. The man running their poll “war room” was a recent graduate of the Columbia School of Journalism – a hotbed of Cultural Marxism. Barry was prematurely balding, preternaturally sweaty and hell-bent on becoming the next Woodward or Bernstein. Preferably, Bernstein. (America was still obsessed with Watergate.) This pushy prick saw polling as a necessary step up the media ladder to his heroic, muckraking future. At worst, he might be the next Geraldo Rivera.

Barry was drawn from the “rootless cosmopolitan” class so he had nothing in common with and nothing but contempt for anyone who lived west of the Hudson River, i.e. most Americans. He radiated disdain for what he held were the pinhead opinions of Mr. & Mrs. Mainstreet. And, all of Barry’s minions shared his belief that, parts of Manhattan aside, America was populated by knuckle-dragging nitwits. The office mantra was – “Don’t forget, Tricky Dick won the last election in a fucking landslide, man!”

Senator George McGovern — George McGovern the only presidential candidate who could make Dukakis look dynamic.
Uh… George… the comb-over… can we talk?

Barry’s polling posse consisted of Columbia School of Journalism undergrads, grudge-bearing McGovern voters, Hadassah hags and lifetime members of the Fist Fuckers of America who gloried in being refugees from that “other America” – a land bereft of beauty, culture and glory holes. There is nothing so haughty and censorious as regional queens come to Gotham – unless it’s their balding, sweaty boss. I did my level best to man-up against them, stand-up for America and screw-up the poll results.