Home » Month: July 2015

Sometimes Life Is Sweet

Sometimes is as bitter as bile. Today’s … kind of OK. Those Bubbles, they might make us proud, yet. Unless Uncle Sam decides to send in 4Greece.2the marines, that is. Anyway, good luck to them. Well fucking done. May the “infection expand! Sad update27/08/15. Look I don’t really want to talk about it, all right? I said it was too good to be true. And I still think that next is snap election (on the offing already) and possible Golden Dawn here I come. Oh grief… Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

Shaman.SUpdate 11/07/15 Never one for missing a chance to fulminate against dastardlydeedness and iniquities and having just heard of the latest Tory machinations, Mr Silky Bombarder, the wise old spider shaman prepares for his Ritual Deportation of Toxic Miasmas knees-up armed with the tools of his office: the sacred Crickitt Bat of Righteous Ire, the shrill Trumpet of Ruinous Exposure and the most holy Merry Maraca of Public Disrespect. Riding the sharp linear splendour of his spontaneously combusting aura, a pack of opportunistic Cagnolitos of Tindalos, forever on the lookout for unusual angles and attracted by the electromagnetic hoo-ha, have infiltrated the gaudeamus. They are much taken with the sacred Crickitt Bat, which they deem not only geometrically kosher but also extremely groovy and full of interesting possibilities. We wish them all a very happy shindig and even happier conjuring. May Chaos prevail!

YoungGSV.SUpdate 23/07/15 It never rains… I’ve been graphically alive but buggered if I feel like talking. So, here’s the latest batch. The first if for Iain. Yes, again. Got a problem with that? No, I thought you wouldn’t. The other two are small rants on the vexed question of “freedom” of speech in this our beyond proto- and practically neo- fascist western societies. And for the ongoing “Je suis sodding Charlie” mawk fest, and for those of us who refuse to buy into it and DO NOT belong to what my compadre don Attilio “El Caffarenito”described, more or less, as  the easy, comfortable and comforting one single beating heart of “social” media. Fie, sirs! And even faugh!

Squigglesville.SStatusOneBigHeartS

Askance.SUpdate 29/07/15 Rosie and BoomBoom are back fromtheir recent jaunt to the Equivocal Strata, where the Discontinuous Flowerettes invited them to attend a most intriguing ceremony; the more so because they offered no explanation whatsoever for the procedure, so that my bemused rubbery darlings are sadly unable to tell me whether they witnessed an alchemical marriage or a shotgun wedding, although they reassured me that they had a right riotous time and that the Flowerettes send their kind regards. Thus the cookie crumbles in the Fuzzy Heartlands.

UBipolarWormspdate 09/08/15 Introducing some recent arrivals: the Bipolar Worms and their Minders. The Worms are creatures of subtle psyches and cunning instincts, who can tell you what is what on either side of the fence on demand, any day of the week; but they are also somewhat delicate and a tad fragile, hence the fully tooled up Minders. The Minders look small and harmless but do not be fooled by appearances. They can apply the Sacred Crikkitt Bat to spectacular, almost pyrotechnic (not to mention lethal) effects.

The New Look! Gone is the glamorous but heavy-on-the-eye black. Say hello to a clearer display.

MushroomsSUpdate 11/08/15 Hey, hey! First post proper since the New Look. This here be my take on an event that is also NOT sodding Charlie. A tad beyond the officially approved date but better late than never, I say. Here’s a little memento mori for all the poor buggers, all 300,000-plus of them (a conservative estimate which does not include those who died later on of radiation poisoning, or had to live with hideous mutations, or even the victims of the Tokyo blitz), who died a horrible death at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, back in 1945, for no better reason that that psychopath and much-loved genocidal moron, Saint Harry Truman, though that a display of wanton sadism would scare Stalin. (And did it scare him? Did it bollocks!)
They, the dead 300,000 are not Charlie, either. People like them, the Great Disposables of the Earth, Washed or Unwashed, never are…
But I AM them. You can bank on it. Happy anniversary.
http://www.counterpunch.org/2015/07/01/no-je-suis-charleston/