Rapists to the Wall!This is for everyone involved in the hideous affair of la Manada. Either as an expression of solidarity for the victim and her supporters, or as a fervent curse to the judges who passed a sentence on the offenders that is tantamount of an endorsement of murderous misogynistic violence (with a special mention to the dissenting magistrate who wanted to let the criminals go free), to the imbecile and corrupt defence of said psychopaths, and to anyone who supported them and, as usual, made the victim out to be at fault if not actually lying. And naturally, my best and most ferocious curses to the five premier league sick bastards who did the horrid deed. Call yourself a pack? You insult pack animals, you gruesome assholes. Animals don’t do what you did to that poor girl. May you all rot in Hell and may your stupid dicks fall off and be eaten by itinerant piranhas. The motto in the placard means, loosely and Gorgonicall speaking: Little raping males to the grinder! NB. In Spanish the term “machito”, little male, is, always, intentionally and deeply offensive. As it should be.
Gordita. Her name is Blossom. I don’t know what she does. When asked, she replies she does “Ninja stuff”. That’s good enough for me. She laughs a lot, sings beautifully and cooks a mean tortilla de patatas. She and her delicious companions are welcome to stay for as long as they like. The Shoggies, always great admirers of sheer bulk, are much taken with her and they sing this to her all day long:
And this is for the Dread Mayhem Queen, just for the Hell of it (and because I love Jimmy Cliff). May her despicable teeth someday adorn some wall of shame or other like a cautionary inlaid pattern, pour encourager les autres.
Poppet. Protests and petitions no longer work. Lobbies are all corrupt and on the side of the demons(the real ones, not the designated “diable du jour”). More energetic forms of opposition are increasingly criminalized and punished with venomous vigour. And I’ve never been any good at violence, anyway. So, in case it might work, like Heisenberg was fond of saying about horseshoes, and as a public service to the community, I offer you Poppy, the Generic Voodoo Dolly for you to try your hand at surgically targeting sorcery. She’s very easy and cheap to run (the usual muffins and vodka usually do the trick, although she won’t turn her nose at Austrian chocolate). Her little technowizard companion quite likes pork scratchings, would you believe it. He’s not very refined, I fear. He is French and his motto is “Touchez pas, salauds!” Anyway, he’s reliable. Good luck and have fun.
Here, to inspire you in your conjuring endeavours:
Fuzzy Miss.Here’s another tall girl, to go with the last one. She fights the Grid, that’s her job. And very good she is at it, too. Likewise she has a side-line in spells to banish the ghastly miasmas that mainstream media leaves in your electromagnetic field, not to mention your brain. She does that for free but she’ll never say no to a gift of flowers or a small bottle of genuine Russian vodka. Her companion tadpoles & wee worm love chocolate.
Shaman. The latest in the series “Tall Girls”. This one undertakes commissions, if she’s in the mood, previous offers of… well, offerings, burnt or otherwise; plus gifts, donations, carrots, bungs and a variety of bribes. If she can be bothered to perform, she’s very effective, if not omnipotent.