Bug Patrol. Been a tad fragile lately, so I recruited the Bug Patrol to come and lend a claw or two in the fight against The Blues. Since these chappies never travel alone, they brought their friends and relatives and all in all we hand a grand, righteous groovy time of it. Please note the presence of the Celestial Sardine and Manu, the Bird of Reason, both absent from my neck of the wood for quite a while because they are both in great demand elsewhere; the Sardine for her outstanding skills as an all-’round entertainer and Manu simply much needed, end of. If you ever get overwhelmed by the uncommon amount of politico-mediatic bullshit floating about right now, drop me a line and I’ll send the merry brigands your way. Free of charge, por la cara. There. Have a maaarvelous week.
And here’s today’s lesson of my very own Spanish for Beginners:
https://twitter.com/DaniBordas/status/1011166809343643648/photo/1
Translation:
With this picture you can explain to a child what the Right is all about: you climb to the top standing on everybody else’s things and if you see that you’re going to topple and bust your ass you snatch the the flag and use it as a parachute.
And a wee “obituary. to cheer you up.
https://www.counterpunch.org/2018/08/27/the-horrors-of-john-mccain-war-hero-or-war-criminal-2/

Wee Chaps. Here’s one of those helpful thingummy bobs that are as good for one thing as for the next: pandemic Russophobia, subservient approval of the IHRA definition of anti-Semitism, uncritical belief in phantom chemical attacks, “floods. of refugees paranoia! you name it. If everybody is at it, it must be true, right? Well? I mean, even the representatives of the Master Races* say so! At which point I recall my dad’s comeback when, once, I pestered him beyond endurance with a (possible dumb) request, and he said no again, and I cried, in my childish despair, “But everybody’s getting one!. He turned his soft brown eyes on me and said, very quietly and serenely “And if one day everybody decides to run headlong into the sea and drown, will you follow them, too?. I was never the same after that. In as much as dads can ever rock, my dad rocked.
*Just in case you woz wandering what a Master Race looks like, here’s a helpful link to a wee sample. NB. There’s lots more in the same vein in that YouTube page. Have fun!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=R9J6r9Q2DGI&app=desktop
And in the best BBC/Guardian style, here’s the other side’s version:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNB-hEuB3Rs
Plus:
https://www.patreon.com/mbga
So much for the much feted Patreon, then, innit?

The Great Barrier Reef is slowly dying out.
Now you know.
But you needn’t worry. Keep believing the pundits who’ll tell you that is all perfectly natural, all in a mother nature’s day’s work and that science will somehow find a way to sort out this mess and all will be fluffy in the end.
Or not.
Have a grand week.
http://medialens.org/index.php/alerts/alert-archive/2018/875-world-on-fire-climate-breakdown.html

Here, have a little spoonful of sugar. Some habitats are not only wholeand unpolluted but positively bursting at the seams with mental health and fun and crappy jokes and fluff.

Nastiness. For Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Again. And again. Today and forever. Lest we forget. Please feel free to write your own complementary set of curses along an imaginary dotted line. As imaginary as the “reasons. given 73 years ago by the grisly Truman creature, and all the other Meat Puppets who came after him, for dropping the bombs that killed, all said and done (and this a very conservative estimate), well over 200,000 civilians at one stroke. Well, two strokes, if you want to be fussy. Not to mention the ones who died, slowly and agonizingly, of radiation burns and poisoning.
I know I repeat myself but!A pox on “Them. all!
“Ahab is forever Ahab, man.  This whole act’s immutably decreed.  ‘Twas rehearsed by thee and me billion years before this ocean rolled.  Fool!  I am the Fates’ lieutenant; I act under orders..Â .“ Herman Melville, Moby Dick 
“The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid ‘dens of crime’ that Dickens loved to paint!But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice.. .“ C. S. Lewis, author’s preface, 1962, The Screwtape Letters
https://www.globalresearch.ca/the-bombing-of-nagasaki-august-9-1945-the-un-censored-version/5345274
https://www.globalresearch.ca/hiroshima-a-military-base-according-to-president-harry-truman-2/5602782
https://www.globalresearch.ca/the-satanic-nature-of-the-atomic-bombings-of-hiroshima-and-nagasaki/5649684

Marine Biology. Due to this brain-scorching weather, it took me a little time to find again the chronicles of this latest “Russia done it!. lark but here they are, both versions, in the interest of balance and impartiality. 🙂
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/aug/03/suspected-russian-spy-us-embassy-moscow-analysis
https://www.rt.com/news/435081-guardian-secret-service-russia-spy/
Really, I’m almost persuaded to join in the fun and blame Putin for this bloody awful heat-wave wot is nearly paralyzing me and has already killed three Spaniards. I’m sure Putin could have easily contrived an invasion, or swarming, of some malevolent North African migrant wind. Unless this unwelcome sirocco is a punishment from the Mother of Bumba, for our sins of intellectual laziness and/or gullibility and for believing in what El Paí­s calls “la injerencia rusa. (which gives me  fits of the giggles something chronic, although I don’t know why).
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t for a moment believe that Putin is a saint who never sticks his fingers in anybody else’s pies, far from it. But nowhere does he interfere nearly as often and as lethally as you-know-who. Not by a very long shot. And in any case, I’d really like to see more (much more! as it’d be only just, not to say truthful) of, say, America’s interventions (both physical and psychological), or George Soros’ crass meddling, or, more to the point, Lockheed Martin’s criminal involvements. There. Take it easy. Drink lots. Have a nice weekend.

Bonus Bollocks! Pals. Here. A wee bit of vacuous frivolity. All glorious colourful form, hardly any substance and practically no politics. It’s too dammed hot for depths.

Bogus Heraldry aka Shoggy Apotheosis II. To call this a coat of arms would be inaccurate, not to say pretentious. But it amuses the Shoggies to play with specific terminologies and so they have cooked a mock-heraldic description for my modest (and inadequate, to be sure) attempt to capture their wondrous essence.
Argent and sable with a touch of gules in a fur of bedlam on an inverted chief ordinary of Mountains of Madness and Mother Chaos. Two lazy semi-rampant Argentinian jaguars (La Aguada culture) frame the motto: One Is All and All Are One.
Linguistic appeal. Any Latinists willing to correct the motto welcome. It’s straight out of some online translator or other (I forget which one) and I don’t trust online translators. Thank you kindly.

Merman. He fights his own battles but if he likes you and if he likes your battle he’ll chip in with his fishy minions and his trusty double-headed double-edged ! whatever. I’ve asked him what on earth-and-ocean is the terminal-looking contraption he wields so skilfully; who made it?, did he make it himself?, can I get one on e-Bay?, and so on. He just smiled sweetly, gave me a slightly commiserative look and said that some things are better kept where they are: in the dark. Oh, well! I recommend him as an ally, however. He’s very good and he tells glorious fish jokes.

Rat Pack. They are big, bold and beautiful. They travel fast and they travel light. But they always have time and space for bona fide chubby orphaned blobs and their companion ghosts. Their names are Minnie “the Moocher”, Vinnie “the Don” and Bongo.

Ugly 3. Goodbye and good riddance, mister full-of-hot-air blob! Your mere presence spreads foul miasmas and the wrong sort of chaos. And folks, do remember the Uglies’ (1, 2 and 3) injunction: be of good cheer! No matter how ill-favoured you may be you’ll never be quite as hideous as this clown, who thinks he can intimidate the world into submission. Or the sad fuckers who let him bully them into complying, of course.
Stay stubborn. Be difficult. Have a lovely week.

Rumbeta de l’entropia. Per mi, per tu, per als meus, per als nostres, per als de casa i els de fora de casa. Per el Peret i per l’Espriu. Per tots els pobres malaurats que no tenen res, literalment, ni tan sols una terra on caure morts i que acaben morint ofegats al Mediterrani perquí¨ els que si tenen un paí­s no els volen a casa, capficats com estan dissenyant nous canals per desviar el patrimoni comú a llurs butxaques eternament famí¨liques, o embrancats en elucubracions fútils i bizantines sobre el futur improbable de fronteres imaginí ries mentre el paí­s s’en va a la merda. Per als malastrucs desheretats, per als escanyats, per als tristos i per qui plora per ells.
En una platja llevantina qualsevol, en una nit sense gens d’importí ncia, l’í€ziz de cals Egipcis, que és molt bon músic i millor amfitrió, ha organitzat un gaudeamus satí­ric, una mena de xirigota autí²ctona d’estar per casa, per presentar al respectable la seva darrera parida, la Rumbeta de l’Entropia. Les Santes Llagostes Il·luminades estan tan encisades amb l’espectacle que han fet la dansa ritual per fer baixar la lluna. I í dhuc la pruna, fixeu-vos! Les Llagostes Xiquetes, que són totes de Calella i Palafrugell, com les havaneres, ballen la rumbeta com si ballessin la conga perquí¨ si, perquí¨ són molt seves. La Daina Hipercrí­tica, amiga de tota la vida del Aziz, no podria estar més d’acord amb I’mpecable i concí­s aní lisi del seu compadrito sobre la situació regional. Les famoses partí­cules subatí²miques Smith i Jones, que no es perden una festa ni per casualitat, ponderen el valor intoxicant del Valdepeñas, que irriga la juerga a dojo com un bé de Bumba baixat del cel. Els Shoggoths fan guí rdia, que no se sap mai…
Si poseu molta atenció, podreu fins i tot sentir l’oloret de l’escalivada que es cou a poc a poc fora de la imatge. I l’única “estelada” que veureu aquí­, és la Via Lí ctia, que cobreix un cel tan negre i tan lluent com els ulls d’un cavall en un poema de Lorca.
Now, put this lot through Google Translate and have a giggle. Or, alternatively, learn Catalan. 🙂