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.
Herd Agonies. The “Russia Did It!” hysteria grows and lives long and prospers, I see. Oh, well… It does its job of distracting the hoi polloi from the real issues behind the hoo-hah: a disastrous Brexit, paedophile rings in Westminster, American freckled gas, and so on. Even the FaceFuckingBook & Cambridge Analytica scandal has been linked, by CNN (who else?), to Kremlin interference. But be of good cheer, brothers and sisters! Next time your wife leaves you, or your lover cheats on you with your best friend, or your child starts shooting his classmates, you’ll be able to lay the entire blame (without any need of even an emaciated shadow of evidence or that tiresome old burden of proof), on Vladimir Putin’s doorstep. And if anyone’s wondering whatever happened to “innocent until proven guilty”, I’d remind them that this admirable convention went out of the window after 9/11 and the Patriot Act 2.0 and Guantanamo and the American Gulag and all those exceptional abductions, sorry extraordinary renditions, etc. And nobody said boo!, then as now. So remember, next time, like in the old Lottery add, It Could Be You. And who’s gonna be around to speak up for you? Have a nice Easter.
Baby Bug. For Aki Kaurismäki, who puts his trust in Dogs. The Red Mood persists. I’m considering making a copy with the text in Catalan, changing the Boris bits to, say Puigdemont -or any of those pathetic “exiled” non-starters wold-be candidates to the presidency of the Generatitat– and sending it to my little brother, who is suffering greatly under the strain of the ongoooooooing political Panto. A word about the Bug. A few days ago I came across a rather nice interview with the Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki in which, amongst many other things with teeth, says that the world would be better run by a dog, or even a snake, than by the lot of idiots and/or psychopaths that are running it now. It reminded me of my own assertion that a tadpole (or, for that matter, a bug) could do a better job at managing the whole planet that any of the current politicians and their Meat Puppet-Masters, the International Money Mafias. For the love of Bumba, give me a tadpole to vote for!
For Mai Lai. Not much to comment, really. The Vietnamese are still paying for the effects of Agent Orange and there are people all over the world that still defend the mendacious, utterly unpardonable invasion of Vietnam; and even those who dismiss the Mai Lai massacre as “a slight mix-up”. No end to people’s wilful stupidity, obviously.
Russia March 18th 2018. Now, before you go reaching for the sackcloth and the ashes, think of how very, VERY much this is going to piss off Theresa May, and Boris Johnson, and Gavin “Spiderman” Williamson, and Andrew Marr, and Jonathan Freedland, and Mario Vargas Llosa (but not Henry Kissinger , alas; he’s unpissoffable). See? not all is Gloom & Doom. After all, anyone’s gonna bring about Armageddon, it ain’t gon’ be Vlad the Impervious, innit, no matter what the Daily Mail says. And here’s an extra Reason to Be Cheerful: unlike with all those downed planes, Trump, Brexit, the Catalan Panto, chemical attacks, poisoned has-been spooks and so on, this time we really, really can, genuinely, legitimately and with concrete evidence on our tables, blame Russia for this. The Russians done it, your Honour! Life can be so sweet…:-)
And to keep the Ivans the Terribles company, here’s an imaginary but stylish Mongolian Miss. She’s not afraid of overdoing it, is she?