Your Basic Arsenal. If you must have weapons choose them carefully and economically. Don’t buy BAE Systems or Lockheed Martin’s crap. Develop your own. And remember the advice given in The Karate Kid: never use them in anger, only as defence. Or deterrent…:-)

Obituary Special. I was saving this here doodle for the weekend but, hey! life is short. Not for the latest not-at-all-dearly departed, though. At the ripe age of 88, after a lifetime of overachievement in the field of calculated mendacity and sadistic obfuscation, not to mention the spewing of fuse-blowing aphorisms, Donald “Duck. Rumsfeld has finally kicked the bucket, and not a day too soon. But no, I’ll not be cracking open that bottle of Beluga Gold Line I’m hiding under the bed. That I’m saving for Henry Kissinger’s demise (Provided the wee bastard doesn’t manage to outlive me, that is.) Meanwhile let us rejoice in a very small way at a very small piece of good news. Of course there’s plenty more where he came from but every little helps, dontyouknow. So today instead of un po’ di mu’, I love you and leave you with a link to some of his best verbal bollocks. Enjoy.

“There are known knowns, things we know that we know; and there are known unknowns, things that we know we don’t know. But there are also unknown unknowns, things we do not know we don’t know..

[And, to quote, imperfectly, either The Two Johns (Bird & Fortune) or Rory Bremner: “Then there are the things we know we knew but we no longer know because we shredded them”]

“If you can’t solve a problem, make it bigger..

https://www.azquotes.com/author/12769-Donald_Rumsfeld

Outrage. aka Pots & Kettles. Honestly folks, I don’t know where are we to find the patience to put up with this heap-a-caca. One grotesque evil-looking prat who broke the lockdown rules to “get his eyes tested. rebuking one putty-faced idiot for snogging his bit on the side; and a lumbering tittering, dribbling cretin spewing bollocks at an Olympics level stalking the national psyche (And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?), whilst out there in the wings the pestilent Patel brute bides her time, waiting for the right moment to stage a coup and take over the whole kit and caboodle. It’s as the wee monster calls it: the Kitchenware Wars; a lot of degraded pots calling a lot of noxious kettles black. It’s a pretty crummy state of affairs when small, insignificant worms and monsters know better what’s what than we do ourselves. I mean enough of us did vote for this lot, didn’t they? And while we’re on the subject of smooching!some women must be really and truly either blind, or desperate, or just plain stupid. Or, indeed, thoroughly venal and self-serving. Who on Earth would want to touch Matt Hancock with the ten foot proverbial, let alone snog him, for crying out loud? The mind boggles! ‘ere, ‘ave a po’m and a spiffing week.

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

W.A. Auden. Epitaph on a Tyrant

Solstice 2021. So here we go again. The sun has come and now he’s going again, rousing much distress and indignation amongst the light-loving Fuzzies of the Badlands. I do sympathize with the infuriated one but I’m closer to his more philosophical friend. Some things are as they are and that’s that. Bumba speed and many happy returns, old chap. Have a splendid Solstice, although is wet, cold and miserable. Never mind. Toujours gai! Toujours gai!, even in the midst of dire conditions. Resist, bite and swim against the tide.

Entanglement II. The ineffable (and often unreliable) Wikipedia has this to say about entanglement:

Quantum entanglement is a physical phenomenon that occurs when a group of particles are generated, interact, or share spatial proximity in a way such that the quantum state of each particle of the group cannot be described independently of the state of the others, including when the particles are separated by a large distance.

In this here example we can see two snakes indulging in a spot of said funky interacting, much to the stupefaction and even some degree of alarm of the local fauna. And these guys don’t shock easily, I can tell you.

So, if you decide to go ahead and avail yourselves to the new-found “freedom. of hugging (something I heartily recommend), stir clear of any quantum activity zones, just in case.

Have a spooky, long distance hug, a magnificent weekend and un po’ di mu’.

One-Sided Tiff. There. It’s difficult to pick up a fight with someone who does NOT want to fight. Or can’t be bothered. Have a grand rest of the week.

Mongolian Variant. Aka The Return of Genghis Khan. And here they are again, our old friends the CV19 viruses! This lot are the latest soooon-come variety and they come all the way from far, far Mongolia, riding their shaggy yaks and singing their wild viral songs. Funny thing, these “variants: the South African, the Brazilian, the Indian, the Nigerian (and, of course, the super-evil Chinese) and so on. All of them from that dreadful “abroad. place, except a UK variant that is hardly ever mentioned. I surmise that the next variety will be from Yorkshire and that also will be classed as “foreign. for it’s well know that amongst the “Real English., anything or anybody not from the Home Counties and the Cotswolds, counts as a foreigner (frequently called bloody foreigner). Oh, well. Have a lovely weekend.

Pissed Off. The ultimate APGI. Good for any-&-all moans, groans, quibbles, bitches and invectives. Personally, today, I’d like to direct its malevolence to the Infernal Powers of The Other Site. As would my good friend the Red Baron, no doubt; so this is, in part, for him.

Notice how Rosie is trying to still the choppy waters, reminding us that anger may be very cathartic and useful but it’s also very bad for your ulcers in the long run. Also, please know that the AK47 is a plastic one. We would never allow the real thing in the house, but is the though that counts!:-)

Year 74. The actual shindig was on Tuesday but I haven’t felt like celebrating all that much (courtesy of the IDF and the Butcher of Beirut) so here’s the related doodle, a wee bit late. The party was OK if a bit low key, in the spirit of the past year, when most flags have been flying at half mast if truth be told. Still, there were the usual highlights. A very stern-but-nice insectoid lady manifested early in the morning bringing a bagful of the most precious of commodities in these godawful days. A couple of freshly evolved Shoggothic ! things also attended and were introduced to the rest of the company by the merry Voodoo Poppets. And while nobody was paying much attention, having been diverted by the music, the food and the ineffable drugs, a couple of hybrid Cagnolitos of…fuckknowswhere, really (the Tindalos High Commission denies any kinship with or even knowledge of the nonconformist beasties), infiltrated the festivities and proceeded to do a rain dance in the kitchen. No, I don’t know why, either. Cagnolitos, of Tindalos or Elsewhere, are laws onto themselves and they are seldom willing, or even able, to give coherent explanations for their behaviour. Me, I think “The more, the merrier.. Have a good weekend, when it comes, if it comes.

A Close Shave. As promised here is the first account of the solo adventures of the two absconded proto-thingies from the down-under cave. They floated merrily in their peregrine bubble, hither and thither, and suddenly they were confronted by a particularly disturbing instance of the Perpetual Struggle Against Iniquity. Having listened to both the urban legend and the Sondheim opera in toto they concluded that, whilst having some very valid evidence to justify his desire for retaliation ad expiation, nevertheless Mr. Todd’s methods were a tad extreme. As for Mrs. Lovett, the creatures reluctantly and grudgingly gave her some credit for her entrepreneurial, if mercenary, spirit. On the count of Judge Turpin and the Beadle, they inclined towards agreement with Todd: they deserved to die, although they would not have touched any pie made from such noxious beings. Why, it may very well have given them the runs, if not worse! Then they departed the scene and went on to their next experience as fast as the bubble would carry them.

Have a splendid week and un po’ di suitable mu’

Young Lamia. There she goes, the bright fledgling monster, out into the big bad world, a-hunting for delusional men and silly poets, for to lead them up the garden path and drive them up the wall. She will take some time out along her way to give wise counsel to credulous young women and ill-informed young girls who believe that being a Disney princess is “the. thing to be. She travels in semi state and great style with her Teddypoles (the discerning demon’s equivalent of teddy bears) and her shining pentagrams, which, at a pinch, can be used as shuriken (aka ninja throwing stars). Her vehicle is a Perennial Swirl escorted by a couple of Wandering Flowerettes. Two Fluffy Flutterbies (a Final Void variety of butterfly, what else?) wiggle and frolic around her head to pass the time and for the sheer joy of it. We are thoroughly delighted and wish the pretty budding anomaly lots of luck, fun, love, laughter and the company of as many wolves as she can get her mitts on.

Exobiology Note. Teddypoles, when they grow up, they become Unboilable Frogs. The kind of radical amphibian that can never-ever-not-on-your-nelly be persuaded that “almost certainly. means “for sure. or “beyond the shadow of a doubt. or any other such governmental confidence tricks.