Month: August 2015

Survival of the Wittiest

TrafficOwlThat is, of them who see things for what they are. Mostly pie in the sky, I know, given that the world now functions according to the diktats and decrees of the psychopaths who run it, the Carl Roves and Henry Kissingers and that kind of freakish fauna, but one keeps on knocking on that door, one does. As one must.

VermicelliMischief.SUpdate 31/08/15. The Amphibious Vermicelli have been at it again. This time they’ve managed to inveigle the poor Blubber BumBum, who’s a little simple-minded and very easily led, into one of their dodgy experiments. The generously buttock’d creature has great psychic aptitudes and is a marvellous conduit of and for electromagnetic whatsits, so the wicked annelids have persuaded him to connect a human brain with whatever passes for the mind of a Repulsive Moon-Beasts of Leng, just to see what happens. Given that the brain belongs to someone in the current Tory cabinet (it has been ingeniously “borrowed. whist in her sleep), I’m not sure who is going to get the greater shock. Personally I’m inclined to pity the poor Moon-Beast. Update. I can now reveal that the brain “borrowed” was Theresa May’s, who never even noticed its absence the morning after (the experiment dragged on a bit). The wretched Moon-Beast is still in A&E but it’s expected to make a full recovery. Tough cookies they are, these beasties. Fortunately for them…

MrsMicroDragon.SUpdate 04/09/15. Another day down in the Beautiful South, another black kid gratuitously murdered by the “Law & Order”. Is anybody keeping count? I used to, but I lost it a while back, there have been so many in the past year. Here’s what some recent eye-witnesses have to say on the subject: Mr BlackBlob and his young son Squiddy, just back from a transatlantic visit to distant relatives, are telling their friend Mrs MicroDragon .“a third cousin dimensionally twice removed of Mrs Worm’s, how pigs will fly before they set foot again upon a land where harmless creatures are being wantonly bumped off, in public and with total impunity, by demented yahoos in blue armed to the teeth, according to a selectively colour-coded yardstick (or rather taserstick).

Missing Links


Back in 05/03/15 I threatened some more of those ad hominem attacks. Somehow I forgot to fulfill my promise (possibly because I uploaded them on the other site). Well, I hate to be forsworn so here they are.


And here be some more. Por mucho pan and all that, you know.

And some more-more and that’s it, I swear.




Another Experiment

This is yet another experiment, this time in the layout department.

PolarBear&Titanic I’m totally fed up with this clunky, chunky, graceless old format of text, text, text and then a block of thumbnails. It’s boring and messy and diabolically time-wasting if you want to correlate a text entry with its image. It’d seem so much more logical and rational to have one discrete paragraph per picture and to separate one image from the next by aligning them right/left and pairing them each with its companion text. If any, of course; some of the images are “sin comentario“. So here we are with two lovely old jokes out of very old Punches.

FringedPonyThe one about the polar bear must be one of my Top Ten Desert Island jokes of all times. I must try to find some more of those old Punchers. Also, I’ve just “discovered” that justifying the text is vastly more aesthetically pleasing and massively easier on the ojo, look you!

I can’t imagine why I never though of any of this before. After all it’s fucking basic and simple and not brain surgery. Perhaps I am lazy. Or going gaga. Or something not very nice in any case. But there you are, I have now. Better late than never, innit?

Update. Having found out how easy it’s to use this more airy layout, I’ve started doing the same to older posts. It’s a bit of hard work so I’m going about it the shuia-shuia way, but in time I might manage a few back pages.

The New Life

23/08/15. I’m going to experiment with a new posting policy. One, two pics max. per post. If I don’t like it I will amalgamate posts and bundle them into 6-8-packs, as per usual. So here’s the first of the solo posts.

FlyingCircusS Roll up! Roll up! Come see a most wonderful Fly-By-Night Circus!
BigNose McGurk and His Children. A Sob Story with a Happy Ending. For the Silver Bunny and Rose Macaulay.
This is the story of Leo(pold) “BigNose” McGurk, a serial single father.
Soft of heart and chronically naive, he got himself mixed up, time and again, with a string of heedlessly unscrupulous misses who soon after giving birth to a strapping lassie or lad, left him literally holding the baby.
By the time he had collected a dozen of such semi-orphans finances were getting strained and things were getting a trifle out of hand and Leo acknowledged that drastic action was needed to provide for such an extensive family. Unwilling to betray his proclivity for unsuitable females or sell the babies into slavery, he decided to set up a nomadic entertainment troupe. And because all his children are very pretty, indecently healthy, bright as lights and possessed of a keen sense of fun, Leo’s Poly-Dimensional Flying Circus prospered rapidly and acquired great renown all over the Badlands, from the marshes of !Ting to the underground canals of Crapston Parva.

FlyingCircusBlueSSuch was its fame that it soon reached the ever-vigilant ears of the Shoggoths, who punctually despatched Rosie to lend a hand with the after-hours babysitting and the running of the finances. The delightful Imogen, Lapsed Larva once of the Final Void, offered her services as acting part-time* usherette and ice-cream & maracas girl.
The travelling jamboree has since been renamed The BigNose & Rosie Itinerant Flying Circus, in recognition of Rosie’s invaluable contribution to the concern and to underplay the poli-dimensional element of the spectacle so as to preserve the mystery and the element of surprise. Leo may well be non-female-savvy and a hopeless administrator but he has three priceless talents: a gift for parenthood, an unerring aesthetic flair and a past-master’s technique in the matter/energy/dimensions manipulation department.
See him here, making some of his niños appear out of nowhere in particular and cascade through the Loopy Singing Hoops. Behold! even Roderick, one of the defecting Lloigor (full-time blasé creatures as they are), is impressed and utterly charmed.
The circus has so thrived that the two eldest children are now at the University of Upper Leng doing PhDs in classic quantum mechanics and funky biochemistry respectively. Three of the deserting mothers have made pacific overtures with a view to obtaining access to their forsaken offspring. Rosie is dealing with their appeals.
Alien anthropology -word to the wise. The females of Leo’s species (Probuscicus Levitans) are universally notorious, as much for their beauty, glamour and social graces as for their mindboggling fickleness. You’ve been warned.
*Imogen has not given up her post as Chairlarva of the Spartacist League 2.0

Please note there are two versions. I dearly love the blue one (I would, wouldn’t I?) but it displays kind of too dark on certain browsers (looks spot on on the tablet, where it was made). Again, feel free to vote if you can be arsed.

Now Voyagers

16/08/15 Voyagers. Still in full view of the spires of Snoopton-on-Scree and not two steps into the Mountains of Uncertainty, Magdalena the Martial Teddy, Emiliano “The Mexican” and their guest, a young Flowerette on her first Grand Tour, are set upon by a posse of Plug-Ugly beasts. Oh, dearie me. These chaps… do they ever learn? The Flowerette is called Incy and she’s just decided Grand Tours live up to their riotous reputation. Note. I’ve uploaded an alternative, very, very slightly different version. In time I may decide which one I like best. Feel free to vote.


CustodianUpdate 19/08/15 The Grief Custodian. Bring him your tears, your grief and your deepest sorrows. In his cavernous belly, where stars germinate and suns are hatched, he’ll keep your heartaches and your gripes fresh and crisp until you need them again. Or until the galaxies grow weary of their merry spinning dance, whichever comes first.