Satires that Scorch like Sulfuric Acid

The Rage of a Pauper Expressed with the words of a Prince

By

David Gottfried

I am an honorary, rich English Son of a Bitch only in my dreams. Although my poetry was once likened to the gilded language of Alexander Pope, when I recite, my voice is often a motley mélange of Jacke Gleason in the Honeymooners (A sit com about working class people in Brooklyn) the dudes in “Welcome Back Cotter” (A sit com about working class boys in Brooklyn) and, when I am feeling bitchy, I channel the orneriness of hags on the rag and sound like the Nanny of the TV show “The Nanny.”

The following is not a table of contents. It only lists a few of the key items in this presentation:

AIDS spreads its vicious Vampire Bat wing at about 5:45 (five minutes and forty-five seconds into the tape)

The police crucifixion of Abner Luima starts at about 9:10

Our gentlemanly neo conservatives are richly ridiculed at 11:35

My Christmas list appears at 17:30

I vandalize English Departments at about 22:50

I have an aural orgasm over the French Revolution at 26:50

The Lying Nature of the Law is established at 30:50

Fundamentalism is excoriated at 37:45

My love hate relationship with European Art is chronicled with diamonds and rubies at 39:00