Gorgs Graphic Souk

Baby Worm2. Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light. – Groucho Marx

Baby Worm. I am free of all prejudices. I hate every one equally. – Groucho Marx

Worms and Blooms. For a nice bit of synchronicity.
You can know that everything around you points to the fact that your struggle for justice, maybe your entire life, has been futile. But this doesn’t invalidate what you have done.
Chis Hedges (again)

Amazing Grace3. Grace. Wonderful thing. Getting scarcer by the day but, amazingly, still around. Now and then one comes across it. Whoopy.

Ranting Emiliano. Emiliano is back, once more onto the breach, me old muckers. Here he can be seen instructing a defecting offspring of the Cyclopic Slug Beast of Screech, recently gone over to the ranks of the Free-floating Intergalactic Anarchist Siblinghood. The lesson for the day is: Question!
Questioning is dissenting. Dissension is rebellion. Rebellion is good. Nay, indispensable, otherwise we’re totally fucked.
Rebellion…should be our natural state.
Chris Hedges

Bubbly Chubby. No comment. Not necessary, useful or even expedient. “They” will keep on doing whatever They want, whenever They like and in any manner, no matter how vile and hideous They fancy. And nobody else is going to say Boo! because everybody else is a bunch of abject big girl’s blouses with as much spine and guts as a newly-split amoeba -except, to some extent, don Pedrito (Sanchez), who might very well pay dearly for his dissenting chutzpah. Bumba, gimme strength…

Guernica Ghost. This is, allegedly, for the original poor old Guernica of yore but by extension for today’s every poor bugger harassed, oppressed, vexed, battered, kidnapped, taken over, confiscated, forcibly democratized, colonized, assassinated, often mass-massacred and even genocided to Kingdom Come by the Evil System -no longer an Empire but a mere cog in the Macchina Diabolica of this Latter Days Crapitalist Grand Guignol. May the tutelary Dryad protect us all. Bumba knows we are in great need of protection, since we seem unable to defend ourselves from bullies, ghosties, long tentacled thingies and things that go Trump in the Dark Night of the Soul (to paraphrase my compadre don Ricardo).

Blooming Ferns. Aka Brief Encounter XIV. You cannot have too many piss-takings of that most godawful “English Treasure” so here’s another one. Behold! In the jolly forest of the blooming ferns Mimi, the fragrant eight-legged caterpillar, indigenous to the forest, has bumped into Manolito, the Hardy Perennial Alien. Mimi, who absolutely loves novelty, oddities and aliens is startled and delighted. Manolito is weary; not by nature but by experience. He’s not universally welcome, especially since he wears his alienness not on his sleeve but brazenly on the front of his t-shirt. Not to worry. Mimi will make Manolito feel at home with offers of chamber music, green tea and sponge cake. Love happy endings.

‘ere, ‘ave a modest dose of sweetness to take the bitter taste away, be it only for a short while.

Space Invaders. I rest my case. 2026 will be anything but happy. Ask the Venezuelans if you have any doubts. Or the poor Greenlanders. Or Mexico, or Colombia or… Andorra? Who can tell what’s on the mentally retarded mind of this ageing infant? The only bright spark I can think of in the midsts of this latest repulsive Grand Guignol is (and that’s only pure schadenfreude, which is not nice…) is the massive snub from said baby-psycho to that half-wit Nobel Peace Prize recipient who, obviously not content with this unrestricted public humiliation is now, in a prodigious display of masochistic cocksuckery, offering to share said chaffy piece of paper with him. Ah, well…
Keep biting, my friends, keep biting. Love and fangs.