I’ve been meaning to do something with dodos ever since I started signing myself UndeadDodo on some sites. So here they are, the darling extinct creatures having a good philosophical bitch about life. Or lack thereof, poor things.

What with the current so-called reality unravelling and illusions beginning to collapse right, left and centre, the peerless Grumpy, in semi-formal office regalia, has taken himself and his off-the-cuff ADCs, the BearThing and her new cub, down to the shores of Samsara to wait for the tide to turn and thus be ready to welcome the new ship of fools to their rightful inheritance. Mrs B has her money on the rats and, hedging her bets, the cockroaches. The baby is wondering if there’s half a chance of persuading the Teddy to play with him, as all this waiting is beginning to get on his wick.

Update 02/11/15 This is the picture of the muriel I mentioned a while back depicting the Tiny Totem and his mother. Here she can be seen shooing away and saying “Not today, thank you.” to the slightly irritating HyperFruityFly, who, as usual, is trying to flog something or other to madamina, in this case some apples it has nicked from the orchard of the Hesperides. Milady doesn’t disapprove of the purloining itself -nor do the Hesperides, who are cheerfully aware that they have got more apples than they can dispose of comfortably- but most certainly she objects to paying for what she can get for free any day of the week or, at a pinch, through a mutually acceptable bartering, as the Hesperides are very fond of apple juice laced with some of the stardust that emanates twice a day from madamina’s Willendorfian bosoms. The HyperFruityFly, impenitently annoying creature that it is, knows the score full well, still, it tries. Too much time on its hands, I think. It needs a job, or a hobby. Perhaps we can persuade it to enroll on some evening course on, say, art appreciation, or four-dimensional origami. Anything that’ll keep it off the streets and our backs, really.
It’s also the young bijou Totem’s birthday. He is 1,000 years old and he’s just been given his first Sacred Crickitt Bat and Garrote Florido (Flowering Club). And is he chuffed or what. He feels so grown up, he does.   Educational gossip courtesy of Zippy Stardust of the South Vermont Underground Mi-Go Settlement.

A good friend of mine on Ipernity, the delightful Yasser, aka NGC300, has been summarily  censored for uploading an excellent political cartoon, very critical of America and its murderous, two-faced policies. This so grated on the sensibilities of an American user, who couldn’t understand why everybody hates America (and, incidentally, didn’t seem to know the difference between plain good old sarcasm and a hyperbole) that she flagged the post and had it removed. This is not the first time my mate has been so abominably used by the Iperatchiks. And by no means the only user. This whole sorry-ass incident reminded me , once more, of what Henry Ford  said about his cars: You can have them in any colour you like as long as it’s black. Also reminds me of the old Francoist slogan of my distant yuff: Libertad si, pero dentro de un orden. Pah! Mealy-mouthed self-righteousness. So toxic. May they all get leprosy of the brain. 

So, to cleanse the chakras of such malevolent bilge, I did the Kittens4U poster and, rummaging in my hard drive for some soothing balm for bruised souls, I found one of the pictures Rosie took of those wondrous muriels she found in the underground space-time caves of Uluru. Note. The mini demiurge has a Mother, as it’s only fitting and proper. Presently I’ll be publishing a picture of both; a sort of Maternitá with a twist, don’t you know.