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.
Friends in Need. He’s been made redundant by the true monstrosities wot run the world. She’s had her home razed to the ground by same said bastards that made her little friend unemployed. So, they have teamed up for mutual care and company and, leaving behind all things past, they are taking the high road into the unknown, mysterious woods. Her wee dog and a small Shoggoth keep an eye on them quietly and unobtrusively.
Owl & Pussycat. The dashing fowl and the dancing kitty are at it again. A wee bit bored with their Bong-Tree paradise they’ve gone off, once more into the breach & all that. This time they have decided to do without the money –but not the honey. The pea-green boat having retired, they are using a singularity-propelled Skipping Vortex kindly lent them by the Sun and generated by his pal the Merry Cloud of Mischief. They are also taking a brace of Guide Worms because a) they are great company (and they sing beautifully), b) they have all sort of disreputable contacts in the Badlands and c) they are expert double-entry bookkeepers. We wish them all a safe journey and endless grooviness.
Puppies of Tindalos. Here’s just a little something to keep the juice flowing, now it seems to be back. See the acute Cagnolito of Tindalos and her mate, the Wholly Furious Fish, expressing their considered opinion on the subject of Brexshit, Theresa May, the Tories, that bunch of big girl’s blouses that call themselves the Labour Party, you name it.
Also, a side, snide nod to the 100th anniversary of the Amritsar Massacre. Since nobody seems to have the basic decency to apologize for it, we’ll do it, although it’s really no skin of our long-suffering snouts. And while we’re at it, also for the Black Hole of Calcutta and the Bengal Famine, and the Chagossians, and for all those weapons Britain is selling to the bleeding Saudis so they can obliterate Yemen. There. Have a maaaarvelous week.
Or that’s what we hope, anyway. It’s taken a sadly predictable event to shake me out of it and I’m only sorry that it was such a(nother) revolting display of unctuous cocksuckery that shook things up. Still, life is as life does and this days you grab, with both feeble hands, whatever chances of intellectual survival it throws at you.
For the quoted Incandescence…take your pick. The Brexshit panto or the arrest of Julian Assange are two good candidates, but, of course, there are plenty others. For as long as we have dribbling evil morons for our rules, we’ll never want for objects of fiery loathing.
And here be a couple of (a)cute quotes.
The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach:
The Ogre cannot master speech.
About a subjugated plain,
Among its desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hand on hips,
While dribble gushes from his lips.
The difficulty lies, not in the new ideas, but in escaping from the old ones, which ramify, for those brought up as most of us have been, into every corner of our minds.
John Maynard Keynes
Which is what Marx said, in 1852, in the opening paragraphs of the 18th Brummaire… , much more graphically and with a strong poetic flavour. But I also like Keynes’ version because it has a creepy hint of infection, of underhand corruption, unsuspected and undetected. Mooooo Ha Ha Ha…
Have a nice weekend.
Shock. Horror, gloom & doom. Away for a few days. Off to dreaded Barcelona. Unwilling and unready but sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, worse luck. I just pray to the sweet, patient mother of Bumba that I’ll be able to resist the irresistible urge to incinerate yellow ribbons. Or estelades. Or that red & yellow rag with the chicken in it. Or any other flag, for that matter. See you in a few days. PS. The quotation is from Lorca. There.
The Bug’s Lament. Here, as a free public service, is one of those useful, All-purpose Grievance Indicator tools I love so much. Just enter your gripe of choice along an imaginary line, anywhere you fancy, and you’re off!
Brexshit anyone? Incoming Spanish elections? Carles Puigdemont’s brain –or lack thereof? Turning Point’s tactics? The choices are endless, alas.
There’ll be another one along very soon so you’ll have even more choice of j’accuse gizmos. Since choices in general are getting fewer and meaner, I dare say this is better than nothing –if not much, I must admit.
Some info on Turning Point (know thy enemy…):
And one to mark the passing of a very nice man:
As I was just saying…choices are getting scarce. Farewell, Jeremy.
And this is for the pure joy of it. To remind myself that people can still be kind for the shear sake of being kind.