Survival Of The Unfittest.

IkerNardlyBleevit. If proof was still needed that we are run by a bunch of single-brain-cell dickheads this should be it:

The poor possum-like creature is flabbergasted and wonders, as do many of us, how much longer can we survive this deplorable Governance By Stupid.

Linguistic note. The title is an in-joke, lifted bodily from the ineffable Let Stalk Strine. The author assures us that’ s how Aussies pronounce “I can hardly believe it” (Only he gives the phonetic spelling as “Eiche nardly bleevit”.) He also affirms that “abstract” is pronounced “airp’s trek”, to which I can bear witness of it being absolutely (or “airpsly”) true, as I I’ve come across this phonetic phenomenon very recently. So, ditch your bikini bottoms, dig out your insurgent shorts and have an airpsly fair blillis weekend.

Tapestry. No. II

Ingravity. Mini-Series Tapestries. No. II. Book now for the latest Defying Gravity* Without Tears weekend workshop organized by the Floating Doodahs of Upper Drift Magna. Free of charge and open to all creatures in righteous distress. Free lunch and complimentary goody bag containing a PDF pirate transcript of the R’lyeh Fragments, a jar of the exquisite Mi-Go face scrub mask and a potted miniature amphibious dog rose (Rosa canina aquatica) from the nurseries of beautiful Y’ha-nthei, courtesy of some renegade Deep Ones we are chummy with. Also, free Byakhee-enabled transport to & from for mobility-restricted participants.

NB. Please note that this does not refer to physical gravity but to the almost overwhelming, soul-crushing serial waves of malicious linguistic pretentiousness that threaten to destroy the sanity and peace of mind of anyone with a modicum of good taste and common sense.

This here doodle is for Ross, obviously. Keep ‘em coming, me old china!

Tapestry. No.1. Tittering

The Giggles. Mini-Series Tapestries. No. I (A set of three doodles with slight variations of the same background)

When laughter fails there’s always the giggles, like Hope at the bottom of Pandora’s box. And of those there are as many as there are reasons for them. Here be an example of something that has caused me and endless fit of these pleasant, tingly reactions (not to mention a healthy dose of the good old selective schadenfreude*):

Of course, it could have as easily provoked a fit of the foaming-at-the-mouths; such a waste of online space, what! But no, I much rather titter, like a Shantak bird. And so do the two wee chaps in the doodle.

Stay sane and have a sponditious weekend.

* No matter how, old, fat, alien or physically fucked up I may be, at least I’m not Luke Harding:

(I swear to Bumba, the Guardian is increasingly morphing into a hilarious mixture of Hello! Magazine, the Daily Mail and the Pagan Chronicle.)

Sneaky Procreation

Generations. aka Fractious Fractals. Emilia and Amelia, two highly respectable, thoroughly decorous twin snakes indigenous to the Midway Drift, have given synchronic birth each to a mess of hatchlings. The babies appear to have fractal tendencies. It’s easy to predict that they’ll grow up to be unruly bunches and that they will evolve into troublesome, non-compliant creatures. However, to make up for these nonconformist inclinations, they are scandalously healthy and marvellously merry. Moreover, they never-ever-ever, not in a million years, will they vote Tory, send troops to Afghanistan* or accuse Russia of about everything bad that happens in the world, not even this rotten, wet and miserable summer we’re having. Us chickens celebrate their arrival, wish them a long, prosperous and fun-ridden life and, to some extent, feel for the young mothers, although they knew what they were getting into when they chose to go down the path of procreation. Fortuity be thy name and all that…


Gloomy Meditations

Sad Mandala. Things have perked up a wee bit since I finished this here doodle but since you never know when you’re gonna need a melancholy version of the ever-useful APGI, here goes this sombre mandala, for to meditate on the brevity of life, the fickleness of pretty boys and the overabundance of creeps of the Patel, Biden, Blair and other dread stuff of that ilk. Have a splendid weekend even if, in all probability, is going to be wet and muggy and mis’able. Have also un po’ di beautifully sad mu’:


Your Basic Arsenal. If you must have weapons choose them carefully and economically. Don’t buy BAE Systems or Lockheed Martin’s crap. Develop your own. And remember the advice given in The Karate Kid: never use them in anger, only as defence. Or deterrent…:-)

Obituary Special. I was saving this here doodle for the weekend but, hey! life is short. Not for the latest not-at-all-dearly departed, though. At the ripe age of 88, after a lifetime of overachievement in the field of calculated mendacity and sadistic obfuscation, not to mention the spewing of fuse-blowing aphorisms, Donald “Duck” Rumsfeld has finally kicked the bucket, and not a day too soon. But no, I’ll not be cracking open that bottle of Beluga Gold Line I’m hiding under the bed. That I’m saving for Henry Kissinger’s demise (Provided the wee bastard doesn’t manage to outlive me, that is.) Meanwhile let us rejoice in a very small way at a very small piece of good news. Of course there’s plenty more where he came from but every little helps, dontyouknow. So today instead of un po’ di mu’, I love you and leave you with a link to some of his best verbal bollocks. Enjoy.

“There are known knowns, things we know that we know; and there are known unknowns, things that we know we don’t know. But there are also unknown unknowns, things we do not know we don’t know.”

[And, to quote, imperfectly, either The Two Johns (Bird & Fortune) or Rory Bremner: “Then there are the things we know we knew but we no longer know because we shredded them”]

If you can’t solve a problem, make it bigger.”

The Devil’s Kitchen

Outrage. aka Pots & Kettles. Honestly folks, I don’t know where are we to find the patience to put up with this heap-a-caca. One grotesque evil-looking prat who broke the lockdown rules to “get his eyes tested” rebuking one putty-faced idiot for snogging his bit on the side; and a lumbering tittering, dribbling cretin spewing bollocks at an Olympics level stalking the national psyche (And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?), whilst out there in the wings the pestilent Patel brute bides her time, waiting for the right moment to stage a coup and take over the whole kit and caboodle. It’s as the wee monster calls it: the Kitchenware Wars; a lot of degraded pots calling a lot of noxious kettles black. It’s a pretty crummy state of affairs when small, insignificant worms and monsters know better what’s what than we do ourselves. I mean enough of us did vote for this lot, didn’t they? And while we’re on the subject of smooching…some women must be really and truly either blind, or desperate, or just plain stupid. Or, indeed, thoroughly venal and self-serving. Who on Earth would want to touch Matt Hancock with the ten foot proverbial, let alone snog him, for crying out loud? The mind boggles… ‘ere, ‘ave a po’m and a spiffing week.

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

W.A. Auden. Epitaph on a Tyrant

Celestial Ups & Downs

Solstice 2021. So here we go again. The sun has come and now he’s going again, rousing much distress and indignation amongst the light-loving Fuzzies of the Badlands. I do sympathize with the infuriated one but I’m closer to his more philosophical friend. Some things are as they are and that’s that. Bumba speed and many happy returns, old chap. Have a splendid Solstice, although is wet, cold and miserable. Never mind. Toujours gai! Toujours gai!, even in the midst of dire conditions. Resist, bite and swim against the tide.

Funky Physics

Entanglement II. The ineffable (and often unreliable) Wikipedia has this to say about entanglement:

Quantum entanglement is a physical phenomenon that occurs when a group of particles are generated, interact, or share spatial proximity in a way such that the quantum state of each particle of the group cannot be described independently of the state of the others, including when the particles are separated by a large distance.

In this here example we can see two snakes indulging in a spot of said funky interacting, much to the stupefaction and even some degree of alarm of the local fauna. And these guys don’t shock easily, I can tell you.

So, if you decide to go ahead and avail yourselves to the new-found “freedom” of hugging (something I heartily recommend), stir clear of any quantum activity zones, just in case.

Have a spooky, long distance hug, a magnificent weekend and un po’ di mu’.