One Heart, One Mind

Red Twins & Co. I have nothing more to add to the collective wisdom of the young misses and their pals. Well, perhaps an extra cheer or two for don Julio, light of my life, pillar of my sanity, rescuer of my Blues and all that. Wake up, people!


Shoggy Bears. The Mad Muse strikes again, Bumba help us all. And although the pic bears (pun not intended) no relation whatsoever to the subject, I dedicate it to my family and friends in Barcelona who today, September 11, sodding Diada Day, must be suffering from horrible, hardly containable urges to grab the matches and take to the streets to incinerate a few yellow ribbons. I could dedicate it to myself, for that matter, since I feel as strongly as they do about this disgraceful caper that has divided the country in two and spoiled the fun of and for nearly everybody, with the exceptions of: 1) the indepes, who are all having collective stiffies just thinking about how virtuous and superior they are, and 2) the Chinese shop owners, who are making a killing selling cheap estelades and tacky yellow ribbons and silly T-shirts with even sillier slogans. Happy Diada, then, xiquets. May the senseless chickens you have set free to riot and destroy come home to roost on your thoughtless doorsteps sooner rather than later.
Please note that the Shoggies have sprouted temporary ursine feet and partial claws to appear more bear-like. But this is a private joke between me and Hayao Miyazaki so I’ll disclose no more

Monster Dialectics

Boo2. I was going to translate the diatribe of Boo2, a cousin of the wee monster of a few weeks ago, but I’ve reconsidered. His language is hardly fit for a respectable site such as this and his terms of abuse can flay skin off folks’ backs even at such cybernetic remove. So here’s the gist of his lament instead. He says, basically, to stop it at once! That Them Who Ought to Stop It are making everybody miserable, and ruining the planet, and killing all the joy out of life, and stealing his rightful job of scaring people. And, worse sin of all, they are upsetting his little monster-dryad mate, who’s very young and vulnerable. He also says that if Boris Johnson had any decency he’d auto-euthanize right away.
Now you might think that, foul language included, this is a very long proclamation for such a small speech bubble, but MonsterTalk is even more concise than Latin and German put together. A little goes a long, long way. And this particular dialect is even more tersely summarizing that most. So use your imagination if you’re in the mood for some highly colourful vituperation. Then double it and you’ll roughly approximate the fire and the passion of Boo2’s harangue.
Have a fab weekend.

Home Remedies

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:
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.

Welcome to ZombieLand!

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!
And in the best BBC/Guardian style, here’s the other side’s version:
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.

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.

Through A Glass Darkly

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.” 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

Dog Days

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. 🙂
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.

Graphic Games

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.

Water Music

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.