Author: Otto S. Fishbein

Reading Sunday Comics, smoking rat weed…Well, you reap what you sow when you plant the seed. Bum cheese on rye with ham and prosciutto, got more Louie than Phillip Rizzuto. What goes around comes around–

Know your rights! Number 1:
You have the right not to be killed. Murder is a crime, unless it is done by a policeman
or an aristocrat. Number 2:
You have the right to Sunday Comics.

You’ve got a little worry, I know it all too well. I’ve got your Sunday Comics, but so does every kiss and tell who dares to cross your threshold, or happens on your way. Stop laying blame, you know that’s not my thing.

Rosenbergs, H-bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom, Brando, “The King and I” and “The Catcher in the Rye.” Eisenhower, vaccine, England’s got a new queen
Marciano, Liberace, Sunday Comics, goodbye. We didn’t start the fire…

Now I laugh and make a fortune, ‘cuz the Comics are on Sunday
and a world screams, “Kiss me, Son of God!”

Now, I can order in Latin: “make ’em au gratin, Joe!” I’m an old altar boy, that’s why I’m so depressed — I never got to read the Comics on Sunday. Now I’m habitual, majoring in crimes that are unspeakable.

Somos viciosos, y queremos molestarlos. Somos chismosos, en la sala lo matamos. Somos operarios de esta máquina banal. En la tormenta, leemos lo Sunday Comics; saludamos con hipocresía al dueño del lugar. Somos residentes.

Nineteen tequilas later we had a deal: Havana goes back to the mob, and the Sunday Comics open a chain of Kentucky Fried Chicken shops. Ain’t life sweet?