Freddie the Know-it-all > Recent Status Updates

I wish GR would shut up about voting for this Greatest Book of 2025 bullshit. We all know what kind of dreck is gonna win.

I liked the long, long harangue about Howard Hughes. Mainly because it confirms my prophesy that Musk is just his re-incarnation. I'm certain that Leon will end up saving his toenail clippings, urine, and feces in jars; wandering around the woods muttering about Space or the United Federation of Planets.

Not only that, I have a solution for the Poor Old crowd. Don't move to the USA where you're not wanted and never fit in. Back home you won't be a Poor Old, you'll be just a regular guy.

Just after fretting about the poor old stars and how they suffer because they're commies, then it's the poor old Hollywood tycoons and how they suffer because all their relatives are in Ouchwitz. Now it's the poor old japs and how they're suffering in internment camps. "Journalism" wasn't always a What About the Poor Old , but in my lifetime that's all it's been.

Now GR is suggesting all kinds of Thick People magazines to me; The Life of Meryl Street and vomit like that. I shoulda known better than get near this News of the Stars crap. Strictly for teenaged girls ... and various shlemiels, shlemazels, shmendricks, and shmucks. Imagine someone wanting to know what that dim-bulb degenerate Berthold Brecht thought or did.

This guy simply cannot stick to a topic - he goes off on tangents like a barroom drunkard. I should dump this POS, but, like The Wizard says, "... like I been a, ... I been a cabbie for 17 years. 10 years at night .. and I still don't own my own cab, ya know why ... 'cause I don't want to; that must be what I, what I want. ...ya know, to be on the night shift driving somebody else's cab."

Must be what I want.

Trying this one again. Regretted it: a whole chapter about Poor Ol' Underdog Stars getting in trouble for being commie spies and saboteurs (sniff-sniff), the poor dears. But after all, who's gonna write a book about about these cap-and-bells sissies but a wannabe cap-and-bell sissy? It's getting hard to find anything I like these days. Might go re-read someone with some talent or at least some self-awareness.

The best - maybe only - argument for typewriters over computers is that Stephen King said that he could have written three times as much if he had used a computer instead of a typewriter.

Adding an extra hour to 2025 is like getting a bonus track on a Yoko Ono album.

It's good that half the time I really don't know what's gonna happen next. But the other half of the time I do know what's gonna happen next: Quarry is gonna screw some chick.

I dunno. A Hit Man. I don't believe in Hit Men. I don't believe in Hit Men who get laid every time they turn around - everyone knows only Private Eyes get laid every time they turn around. I don't believe in really long descriptions or Tough Guys either. But I'm gonna wait before I get mad: I know that JDM has kinda ruined reading for me.

I've gotta get off the pot here and dump this thing. 700 pages of sitting in a deli, having an egg-cream with somebody's shlemiel, shlemazel, shmendrik, shmuck agent named "Myron", while his spittle flies at you - just to hear about Taylor Swift's new vaudeville act is precisely what I've tried to avoid all my life. I hate these mothefuckers, and usually relish hating on them, but my Hate Plate is full today.

I kinda wish I'd never started this one; it's too thick.

Geez, these people are annoying. And this is a fat book too: 700+ pages. C'maaan! Oy vey! Shlemiel, shlemazel, shmendrik, shmuck.

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I am enjoying this in the hate-makes-the-world-go-round way. There're few things more loathsome than actors, singers, muscians, dancers, painters, photographers, writers, and poets (did I miss anyone?) I like having my prejudices and conclusions confirmed.

If you don't mind stuff like this: "So like I'm sitting there with Carson and who walks in but Rachel, yeah you know Rachel Silvers, Phil's wife, Yeah, you bet, great gal," ... you'll love this book. Grab yourself a knish and an egg-cream and enjoy.

Is there anything more pitiful than Show Business? Maybe the Art World. At least Show Biz juifs make money, natch.