Tales From The Bleaker Street Benches


Last night Christine made a profound announcement.

“There are no men in America anymore.”

She had been complaining about Stefan Ein’s refusal to carry her grocery bags home from the store.

“He told me; “I’m not your schlepper. Carry them yourself.” Then, he eats my food, even takes my food without asking. He takes cans, and never replaces them.”

“What a brilliant thing to say! Can I quote you on my blog? Better yet, I want you to have your own column ‘Tales From Bleaker Street’. I got this incredible image of the benches from google-maps by roaming the streets of New York. You’re in it. There is a woman in a red coat!”

Christine refuses to become computer savvy. She is the model for Monica in my book ‘The Gideon Computer’. This morning I awake to read about a massive computer attack on the East Coast. We are now in LIVE TIME! My science fiction novel has been dictating the future since 1986. Christine and I are…..THE ENLIGHTENED MAN AND WOMAN OF OUR AGE! We are the Divine Book Ends who keep this country from falling over the precipice – into the abyss.

I titled Christine the ‘Godmother of Greenwich Village where she has lived for forty-five years. She is the Keeper of the Catholic Grace – Italian style. She converses with the Old Italian Benchers as she calls them. These were once the young men of the hood, who remember Vinnie.

“They address Stefan as ‘The Chooch’. “How’s the Chooch doing?”  This is a derogative term for the Count of Monte Cristo.

“You mean Little Lord Fauntleroy from Vienna?”

“He took that Austrian Euro-trash for a walk in the park. He stooped down and picked up pieces of metal, telling her ‘This is art!”

“Christine. I want to do a large canvas of the benches with you in it. I want to immortalize you in a real work of art! There is no real art, and no real men in America. I want to tell the world about the Bohemian Art Scene you and Stefan are living. You two might be THE LAST.”

“But, he has no Social Graces. I thought he was charming when we first met. You aught to see the portrait that Nazi-Whore did of him. He’s so proud of it.”


“Christine. You are the New York Art Critic of our age. You are the only one telling it like it is. Your words are – choice! You need to be – heard!

Speaking of bad manners, your man Trump really blew it at the big Catholic shindig at the Waldorf. He was booed by some of the most conservative people in the world – that he utterly ignored. Cardinal Dolan had to turn his head away. Donald wouldn’t let anyone else, in. There’s this guy with a badge of a Catholic Chivalric Order whose genetic material has waited twenty generations to get next to a very power person, and, Trump slobbers all him, let’s out one Mouth Fart after another.

You know what I’m talking about. You had lunch with all those Italian widows at Father Demo’s Church who would look at you askew for the slightest infraction of etiquette. You were their disciple, the anointed one who would take over the hood when they were gone. This is why you became so conservative. I think that guy was Opus Dei!”

“What’s Opus Dei!”

“You aught see the glances he was giving Hillary, who may soon  be the most powerful leader in the world. The Pope still won’t let women be priests. They are a cut………..below! Trump said our next President hates Catholics. People gasped! He then called her crooked. He talked about pardoning her, as in the Inquisition.”

Chris is now quoting Kramer who is telling Jerry “Manners are the glue of society!” He calls his neighbor a “Dumb, stupid, silly, man.”

“There are no men in America anymore.”

“Get in your car and move to the East Side!”

If you look closely at the image above, you will the three surviving Beatles about to cross Sixth Avenue. John have achieved Manhood – and Sainthood – in the Big Apple. How many millions called John a Saint. He was snubbed by the Catholic church – and called godless! Trump is godless! John returned his MBE. Stefan entered a monastery in Germany to become a Catholic Priest. Christine and Stefan represent the Bohemian Catholic Order of the Village. Long live The Peaceful Order of Saint John!

Jon Presco


One needed much stamina to endure the night’s sometimes cringe-worthy moments. Though Trump provided almost all of them, Clinton’s more traditional speech couldn’t lift the awkward mood of the event. If the Al Smith Dinner in previous years has served as a respite from bitter campaign seasons, this year it may have failed to do so.

There was at least one bright spot, though. Before the event was done, Clinton and Trump did shake hands. The development was announced from the stage, to applause.

In the post-debate spin room, Hannity told Washington Post reporter Robert Costa that Ryan was a “saboteur” who “needed to be called out and replaced.” Days earlier Hannity went after Ryan on his radio show after the speaker refused to defend Trump following the release of a 2005 hot mic moment in which the businessman boasted he was able to sexually assault women because of his celebrity:

You know what bothers me the most about Paul Ryan and these weak Republicans? They are tougher against Donald Trump than these weaklings ever have been against Obama, and if they’re offended by Trump’s words, why haven’t any of them spoken out about Bill and Hillary’s actions towards women? They’re a bunch of phony — I mean I can’t take it anymore. They are so weak that Obama got his entire agenda passed.


schlepper ‎(plural schleppers)

  1. A servant who carries things; a porter.Tell the schlepper to take it up to your hotel room.
  2. (pejorative) One who wanders aimlessly.I can’t interest the little schlepper in doing his homework.
  3. (pejorative) Any manual laborer, or other lowly employee.He’s just a schlepper!


In a shabby New York side street in the mid-1880s, young Cedric Errol lives with his mother (known only as Mrs. Errol or “Dearest”) in genteel poverty after the death of his father, Captain Cedric Errol. One day, they are visited by an English lawyer named Havisham with a message from Cedric’s grandfather, the Earl of Dorincourt, an unruly millionaire who despises America and was very disappointed when his youngest son married an American woman. With the deaths of his father’s elder brothers, Cedric has now inherited the title Lord Fauntleroy and is the heir to the earldom and a vast estate. Cedric’s grandfather wants him to live in England and be educated as an English aristocrat. He offers his son’s widow a house and guaranteed income, but he refuses to have anything to do with her, even after she declines his money.

Polly Hovarth writes that Little Lord Fauntleroy “was the Harry Potter of his time and Frances Hodgson Burnett was as celebrated for creating him as J.K. Rowling is for Potter.” During the serialisation in St. Nicholas magazine, readers looked forward to new instalments. The fashions in the book became popular with velvet Lord Fauntleroy suits being sold, as well as other Fauntleroy merchandise such as velvet collars, playing cards, and chocolates. During a period when sentimental fiction was the norm, and in the United States the “rags to riches” story popular, Little Lord Fauntleroy was a hit.[5]


The song was written during Lennon’s ‘Bed-In‘ honeymoon in Montreal, Canada.[2] When asked by a reporter what he was trying to achieve by staying in bed, Lennon answered spontaneously “Just give peace a chance”. He went on to say this several times during the Bed-In.[2] Finally, on 1 June 1969, in Room 1742 at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal, André Perry recorded it using a simple setup of four microphones and a four-track tape recorder rented from a local recording studio.[3] The recording session was attended by dozens of journalists and various celebrities, including Timothy Leary, Rabbi Abraham Feinberg, Joseph Schwartz, Rosemary Woodruff Leary, Petula Clark, Dick Gregory, Allen Ginsberg, Roger Scott, Murray the K and Derek Taylor, many of whom are mentioned in the lyrics. Lennon played acoustic guitar and was joined by Tommy Smothers of the Smothers Brothers, also on acoustic guitar.




About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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