Tardigrades Tittle-Tattle. I’ve been meaning to do something on these delightful ultimate survivors for a long time. Hitch scratched: here they are. As you can see this lot are philosophically inclined. At least the orangey one is. The green one is more the let’s-get-on-with-it type, bless it.
Another Golem. Yes, have another Golem. They’s good for you. This one and his small companion, who feels he’s becoming more insubstantial by the minute, seem to have lost their bearings, poor things, as we all do from time to time. But they have not lost heart, I think. We hope it’s only a temporary state and we wish them a safe & speedy return to the clear path. Rosa watches over them.
Totally unrelated, I dedicate this to the passing of Dr. John, the Night Tripper. Chika chika forever to you too, mate! Have a safe …trip.
Scary Lass. Here a little something for the visiting Strumpet.
And, as a bonus oddball, a little something else for the well-meaning-but-naïve (?) folk that still believe that The Times is a serious paper.
Have a grand week, in spite of the ongoing whorish shenanigans.
Farfallin. EU elections: The Results.
No so much no ‘comment needed’ as ‘don’t waste your breath’. Besides Kenneth Williams, the need to quote Ecclesiastes is greater than ever. Once more, the turkeys have voted for Christmas
For the benefit of those who don’t speak Catalan, here’s a translation of the caption:
With every wash a sheet is lost.
For the benefit of those who do, here’s the quotation in full:
D’altra banda, si matem el rei, n’entronitzaran de seguida un de pitjor. “A cada bugada es perd un llençol”, solia dir la mare, que al cel sia.
Salvador Espriu. Primera historia d’ Esther
And here be a detailed who-is-who list of the people that did so well in these end-days elections.
We’ll end up missing the Mayhem Queen, we will. Oh, I’ve got a touch of The Dooms the size of a Brexit double-decker! 🙂
Insect Queen 2.0 Here’s another of those ever so helpful All-Purpose Gripe Indicators. To be used on whichever bee is currently buzzing around your bonnet. It was delivered to us yesterday, free of charge, by the latest Insect Queen to join the cause. I asked her to what or whom the text of her rant was addressed and she said “Take your pick, girl.” And so can you. Climate apocalypse? The latest Irangate? Bogus chlorine attacks in Syria? EU elections? Mr Mike Pompino’s newest caper? Trade war with China? Systematic attempts at destabilizing Russia? The Assange saga? As usual, the choices are endless, worse luck. I include a few informative and/or entertaining links on the various subjects of our discontent. Now, I must be off to buy some Russian vodka, Iranian caviar to feed the local cats (I hate caviar, myself) and a nice Huawei tablet. Have a grand weekend.
Wee Monsters. No comment needed, really, except a quick, brief-but-savage jeer at the endless hypocrisy of the soi-disant Free World, plague take them. As I said before, in imperial politics what’s good for the geese is seldom good for the gander. Gulf of Tonkin Incident, anyone?
Douce Mère de Bumba, priez pour nous…
Birthday Reds. Well, it makes a change from the old tiresome birthday blues, innit? So, 72 (tomorrow) and counting. I wonder when I’m going to get perfectly fed up with all this computing, computing… However, I’m still in good company and that counts for something. Look, even the Shub-Niggurath has joined the exquisite Li-Lo (another lot of distant relatives of the delightful Mi-Go) and other guest to the party. Judiciously she has brought with her, across the Mountains of Madness, her own little cloud of stroppy despondency, just in case things get too chirpy and fluffy, what with the fizzy finches, and the Li-Lo being congenital optimists, and the cat a born hedonist and the Musical Teddy far too fond of Conchita Piquer. That’s my girl!
Spymaster. Here is a snippet of Beluga tittle-tattle. Meet Captain Bubbles, Russian spymaster extraordinaire, singing the praises of The Service to a small crowd of rapt admirers. Well, one is rapt. The wee fish remains sceptic, as it’s his wont. He’s a very disenchanted creature, he is. (Well, he would be, wouldn’t he?)
This Loony Tune was inspired by the latest-but-one chapter in the Russia-Done-It! deranged soap opera. The latest, of course, is the Barr-Him-and-Throw-Him-to-the-Dogs! dingdong. Which only shows that when people are determined to make prats of themselves nothing, not even inquiries, investigations, analysis, inspections, scrutiny and even hard evidence, will stop them from clinging like limpets to whatever notions, doctrines, dogmas, whathaveyous, make them feel safe and secure and comfortable. In other words, intellectual laziness is endless, unlike common sense and goodwill.
What most gives me the giggles about this sorry-ass story, though, is the fact that inside the harness, they claim, was written “Equipment of St. Petersburg”. In English! Ain’t that considerate of the Russians? Next they’ll be posting helpful notices, in English, too, everywhere saying: Yes. We spy on you all. Every hour of every day. We know where you live. Moooo ha, ha ha…!
Here’s a link or two to the Belugosi romp. The second link is worth checking be it only for the extended footage of the darling whale. I had no idea that Belugas were that cute. Positively edible, what!
Also, as a bonus, an extra link to something that I knew was being done but I thought it was only done on the quiet, never acknowledged. It turns out that is an open and flourishing racket. Maybe I’ll get myself one of those to cheer me along…:-)
Rent-a-crowd? Those who rallied against Sessions, now protest his removal – YouTube
Choices2. Well, it could have been so much worse, innit? My natural pessimism was predicting, Cassandra-like, a considerable victory for the three (increasingly rabid) right wing parties, wot would have coalesced immediately into a dread tripartite nightmare. As things stand, it’s bad enough that Vox has got in any sodding reps at all, and 24 is far, far, far too effing many. About the vast majority of ERC in Catalonia, the least said the better for my ulcer. As for Cs huge success … don’t get me started.
Funny old thing, though. For once, it was the Right that fragmented into an unseemly (and uncharacteristic) display of high-pitched bitching and backstabbing. This kind of indecorous, not to say impractical, behaviour, generally befalls the Left’s encampment. Or our current Tory pigsty. It’s nice, though. Refreshing.
My best wishes (tempered by thin hopes) to don Pedrito and his merry lot of autochthonous quasi-New Labour clones.
Life goes on. Regardless. It must.
I can’t go on. I’ll go on.
And she crawled on, do or die, in the serene weather.
Dirty Harriets. This is for my nieces, the Terrible Twins, know at home as the morochas, which is what you call girl twins in Venezuela, where they were born. May they stay as groovy as ever and give the male species a good ticking off. Or an in-depth dressing down, whichever they fancy best.