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.
PrimaevalRed. Por mucho pan… and all that. ere, ‘ave a slightly more optimistic version. And remember this:
There is, in fact, no way of dealing with these persons; they are the world’s masters, laying the ponderous weight of their foolish and heavy minds upon all subtleties, delicacies and discriminations to flatten them, talking very loudly, firmly and fatuously the while through their hats, and through their mouthpiece, the press. There is no dealing with them; it is they who make England, and indeed the world, what it is.
Rose Macaulay. Told by an Idiot
NewYear26. As usual, the chances that it will be a good, let alone a happy one are practically nil. Still, we resist, we bite, we make of ourselves the greatest possible nuisance and we keep Becketting on regardless and with an incandescent will.
Love, ferrets and a cute quote!
Al cabo de unos años o unos meses el viejo problema revienta los remiendos, provoca una crisis y el partido a la sazón relegado sustituye al que le sustituyó. Y por la misma causa. No sé de un solo gobierno que haya resuelto un problema serio: siempre caen, pero no les preocupa porque sus sucesores también caerán.
(After a few years or a few months the old problem ruptures the patches, causes a crisis and the party formerly relegated replaces the one who replaced it. And for the same reason. I don’t know of a single government that has solved a serious problem: they always fall, but they don’t mind because their successors will fall too.)
Eduardo Mendoza.
Optimism of the Will. Solstice soon come. Have a spiffing one and go along with the Rugose Imp who thinks that a Solstice is as good as a Summer. I’m in no mood to argue the toss with It. At the moment I can do with a wee dose of optimism, no matter how misguided.
Dancing Girls2. To paraphrase, probably misquote and possibly misconstrue Adorno’s quote on laughter, here’s what the Swineherd of Tindalos (plus attendant piggies) has to say to the two dancing black thingummybobs:
Because there’s noting to dance about…dance, dance, dance!
The two dancing black thingummybobs have given up on their erstwhile plan to re-designate themselves as a single white male accountant as a really daft idea. Bully for them.
Remember Remember. For them and for every other “unworthy” victims of the insanity that seems to rule the world, with no end in sight.
