The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age

Personal Information

Superpowers
Defies gravity Can spit really far Almost touch my toes Can cut a fly's legs off with a beer cap from 20 paces Know how to say useless stuff and prattle on in a dozen languages Don't know when to shut up
Favorite Quotes
To be for or against the Plague, it's much the same thing. Fiddledee, how a body shure do get around - just 2 weeks ago I was in Mississippi and now I'm all the way to Tennessee... Eat or Be Eaten Better to be pissed off than pissed on.
Biography
Born in swaddling clothes (designer, of course) at the confluence of big waters, my first recorded words were "Dad, can I have the keys to the car?" Raised a Southern Pedestrian, my musical talents were recognized at an early age, leading to my being exiled to the shed out back with a stack of books that became my eddykayshun - advanced readin', writin' & ritmytick, creating a major quandary of "what will I do, oh what will I do?" (Gunslinger) As an old black man advised in song, "You Gotta Move", so move I did, traveling the byways sideways even a lot of driveways, picking up sticks and psychological tics, even movin' to Beverlee through a quaint misunderstanding of the seriousness of TV series, until finally I blew up so big the carry nation incarnation tarnation couldn't hold me no more, so I fixed my sights on yonder sitar, and like Queequeg and Paul Bowles and one of those abducted kids by the Pied Piper of Hamelin, I ventured forth to the larger world, pickin' and grinnin', doin' me some reckonin' and naughts from naughts, occasionally rightin', building me some buildings and wiring and just trying to understand the babble comin' out of people's mouths and heads, I finally ended up in what Rummy quaintly calls "New Europe", which ain't so new from what I sees, but that pit in my stomach from lack-of-moving-sickness finally disappeared, and instead I sit behind a whopping big desk stacked with missives from all the chiefs with big whampum around the world telling me "what's going on". Which seems like a load of boolshit to me, but I guess that's what keeps me busy and entertained now, separatin' the weeds from the chapstick. So my name is Perry Keys, or Peracles to you, and since my mammy always said, "say please and thank you", I added the please, but I'm holdin' back on that thankee until I feel you've earned it. But do welcome, and I hope we's a gonna have a real good time. It all starts with, "I wuz born a poor young white chile livin' in the South..." and we cycle through again, like Nietzsche and his infernal regurgence. So enjoy, and let's spin a spell...

Shoutout to Maiello: Wrestling

[Meant to post this days ago, but may be better now]

Okay, Devega made the claim that Trump's modeled himseslf on the badguy wrestler (who the crowd cheers for) - so we need the Maiello deconstruction of 1) what to expect, 2) how Hillary can counter it, and 3) whether wrestling motifs are the future of all American political contests. (And of course anything else you want to riff on).

Trump Punts on Administration

When asked by Fox who he'd invite to be in his Administration, Trump responded "Menstruation? That's disgusting. And I'll have you know I have no problem with women, do really well if you know what I mean, really well, without having blood come out from wherever. That's for these sad sack losers, I don't have to get all soft and sensitive to have lots of beautiful women. When they have that time of month, I'll be on the golf course driving the wood, if you know what I mean"

Japanese Whispers: The Swift Boating of Hillary

In 2004, after losing the post-9/11 2002 mid-terms, the Democrats fielded a decorated Vietnam veteran against an incumbent president who was revealed to have gone AWOL on his National Guard service, a service in itself that was a bypass of the regular draft.

Instead of accepting the stacked deck, conservative Republicans immediately went to work reframing - parading a group of veterans to call into doubt Kerry's service, while finding a magic unicorn forged document to derail the otherwise overwhelmingly compelling evidence that Bush had failed to complete.

Flagging Relief

I've never quite gotten the flag, and growing up, I thought that was part of the point. Didn't everyone else sit through history class and learn how country after country had followed jingoistic rhetoric, crass manipulative symbolism and other tricks of the trade to go get slaughtered? I once read the final chapter to "Johnny Got His Gun" on air - at one point, that was required reading, no?

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