Evolution3. There you go. It’s all abut trial & error, and recognizing you’re going about it the wrong way, and being flexible and adaptable and all that jazz. Salud!
Patchwork Entities. Behold the Mishmash Man, also known as the Bits & Pieces Man. He was made with leftovers, discarded stuff from the cast off creations of several smarty-pants bombastic demiurges, by a down&out avant-garde sorcerer with a taste for recycling. He travels the Uncertain Shifts with his spiky owlets and a couple of defrocked warrior princesses he met at a villainous tavern in the alien district of !Ting who, unable to find any kind of job in any respectable army or even any disreputable one, volunteered to tag along as his bodyguards and purveyors of silly jokes. They (the ragbag geezer and the two louche damsels) are willing to undertake some (not many) special ops of the Annoy, Harass and Torment variety for a nominal prize* and for the mere joy of it. The owlets can carry messages to & from their higher-born cousin, the owl of Pallas, if you ask them very, very nicely and your message is not total fiddle-faddle.
*They neither need nor care for money. They don’t eat and they are quite content to be like the lilies of the field; the raggedy bloke wears whatever the eccentric necromancer clad him in back when and the two misses what they were wearing at the time they had to leg it from whatever sphere they decamped from. However, if you offer them a discarded teddy bear or black and white picture postcards of the Plateau of Leng, they’ll throw in a bonus ball of sending nightmares to Priti Patel, for free, por la cara.
Quarrelling. Of course, one would do best to stick to Master Sun’s tactics and try for subduing the enemy without fighting. Mariano Rajoy, the erstwhile prime minister of Spain, used to be very good at this sort of thing, or a variety of it: he’d beat about the bush at nauseam, doing nothing, deciding nothing and talking a lot of bollocks to go with this inertia, until his opponents, bored to distraction, would loose the will to live let alone fight. Still, sometimes one has to fight and that’s that. So, pick your battles carefully. Make sure that they are YOUR fights and not somebody else’s (your ancestors, your priests, the state, etc.) Then stick to your guns and be flexible. And do have a shufti at both Sun Tzu and Niccolo Machiavelli. Happy campaigning!
This one is for Afghanistan. For two decades of wanton, unprovoked, unjustifiable and indefensible vicious destruction. And for all the lies that went with this, the Nth sorry-ass venture of the Guardian Angel of the Free World and its servile bootlickers. And for all the mealy-mouthed, hand-wringing, crocodile-teared “analysis” that we have to put up with now, with the indentured “free” media plus most of the world and its wife falling over themselves to lament and pick apart and carp and bitch and admonish and ask “but…what went wrong?” and so on. Yet not one of them dares ask the only legitimate question: What the fuck were they, America and its retainer states, doing there in the first place? (I could tell you exactly why they went in and what they were dong there, but I won’t. Do your own homework.) Actually, I’ll bet you anything that it won’t be long before some of our freedom-loving, democracy-worshiping pundits start blaming the Afghan people for this catastrophe. And the old lies will acquire renewed and enhanced currency value. And the WeThePeople will believe them all over again. And they will use them to demonize the next waves of wretched refugees that will “swarm” and “swamp” and “invade” our beautiful free countries, with their mythical welfare sinecures and phantom NHSs and free speech and whatnot. Oh, well… Have a fab weekend.
NoliMe Tangere. Word to the wise.Do not piss this small damsel off. If you do she will surely slap your face with her luminous (and possibly radioactive) wet kippers. You’re welcome.
A brief note on the use of the word “peasant(s) as used amongst ourselves (us chickens and the Family). See the following extract from:
The Gorgon’s Dictionary. Peasants.
Noun, collective. Also used in the singular, but more often than not the collective form applies, for their number is Legion.Peasanthood, or peasantness, is not a socio-economic class but a mental, intellectual, moral and emotional way of being, a state of mind. It’s also a modus operandi. Some of it can be congenital but mostly is learned behaviour.
Full rant available on request. Have a spiffing weekend.
Good Moves. The “what might have been” game is one of my top ten favourite heartbreakers. To wit. Imagine if you will, Botany Bay (which the autochthonous people called Gamay), 34°00’16” South 151°13’04” East, January 26th 1788. Arthur Philip and his Fleet of the Doomed lands to find the place deserted of both man and beast. Moreover, even the vegetation seems to have vanished entirely and all he surveys is a barren, hostile rocky wilderness.
Three weeks before this arrival, following a tip from a very wise and sensitive Brush bronzewing (Phaps elegans) who could sense trouble way ahead, the whole population of Gamay and environs, human, animal and vegetable had migrated temporarily some 1,000 miles North West.
Philip decides that the place is a bummer. He tails back and heads deeper into the Pacific Ocean, towards Ponape (now Pohnpei). This intrusion pisses Great Cthulhu off immensely; he wakes up in a foul mood and devours the entire fleet without even breaking a sweat. Then he goes back to sleep. The end.
And here’s a picture of a very pretty Brush bronzewing for to gladden your eyeballs: