Taste The Blood Of Dracula?

No Thanks!
For one thing, there are probably severe risks associated with imbibing the blood of the Vampire King, including turning into one of the undead yourself, or suffering nausea and vomiting.  I also imagine the Health & Safety Executive would have something to say about anyone trying to sell or otherwise profit by the sale of Mr. Dracula's rosy vein-filler.      "What on earth has brought this particular fit of whimsy on?" I hear you query.
     My socks.  A Christmas present last year, they feature a pretty convincing rendition of Christopher Lee at his finest - or should that be worst? - as Dracula.  Art?

Obviously I only wear one pair at a time.

     Because another pair of these Christmas socks also features the Hammer version of "Frankenstein", I did naturally wonder - oh, hang on, another illustration required. Art?

In all his wall-eyed glory

      - I did wonder about a conflation of the two.  "Taste The Blood Of Frankenstein!"
     Except my own inner pedant came rapidly to the fore.
     'You can't have that, or you'd be drinking the blood of Victor Von.  Which would make you a vampire, and based on the first sentence of this post that's something you want to avoid," said Inner Pedant.
     "Taste The Blood Of Frankenstein's Monster!" then.  
     Hmmm.  No, I think I'll still pass on that offer, thanks.  Drinking "blood" made up from heaven only knows what liquids VVF had concocted in order to make his stitched-together dead man dance, really does not appeal. 
     Besides, I have a glass of Old Speckled Hen here, which is much nicer.  

More Of Bolts And Lightning
No!  Nothing to do with Victor Von Frankenstein animating his monster in the classic Thirties film.

The Krell Laboratory from "Eorbidden  -" - no, hang on -

     Although that scene does combines bolts, a la ones through the neck, with channeled lightning.
     Okay, jumping with quicksilver speed from one topic to another - don't worry, you can come back and re-read this afterwards - let us reprise those "Bohemian Rhapsody" lyrics: 

"Send the bolts of lightning,

Very very frightning."

     It must be admitted that, if you were the pilot of a Sinister bomber and a Lightning interceptor came rocketing up on your starboard side as you were tootling along, you'd probably be a tad alarmed, too.
     Now, you know Conrad, always trying to cram 20 Oz. of nonsense into an 18 Oz. tin*.  So I wondered about the Skybolt missile.
    Here an aside.  You can tell the Skybolt is South Canadian because of the dramatic name.  If it was British it would have a name like Orange Blossom, Ochre Stoat or Grey Goose.  Er - perhaps not that last.
     Could, your humble scribe wondered, a Lightning interceptor possibly carry a Skybolt missile.  That way we'd have both a Bolt and a Lightning.
     Sadly, the answer is "No".  The Skybolt was freakin' enormous - Art?

Mounted on a Vulcan, to give scale

     Probably as long as the Lightning was.  Let's have a picture of a Lightning to give you an understanding of scales.

Lightning foreground, Vulcan background.  Now you know

     I realise this is a long way of writing "No" but it really is more about the journey than the destination here at BOOJUM!**

Taking The Biscuit
A phrase as used yesterday, or the day before that, because I'm idle and can't be bothered to check.  Art?

     Conrad, inquisitive as ever in a way that makes cats envious, wondered where the phrase comes from.  
     Let me be plain here - we are talking about BRITISH biscuits here, not the trans-Atlantic ones our South Canadian cousins use to dip in gravy, which makes one wince in horror at the sheer depravity***.
     Okay, rant over.  The - I may return to ranting if my elbow is jogged, so don't relax - biscuit in question here is the reward or prize of a biscuit, one made with flour and sugar and butter and a pinch of spices, which is a quantum level beyond the plain flour and water biscuit version that Ned The Peasant was used to.  If he won the sack race or whatever medieval peasants did for entertainment, then he got the Mod 2 version of a biscuit, and thought very highly of it.

Ned with his medieval megaphone. Or something.

By George
You know Conrad, a bundle of vices wrapped up in human form, amongst which is Musical Bigotry.  Conrad's position is that, if he doesn't like it, then it's irredeemably awful, and on this he will not budge.  Ever.
     So, dipping our toes ever so slightly into Current Affairs, does Conrad like George Michael's music?
     Nope.
     Wham?
     Even less so.

Although this gets my vote

     "But - but - the poor chap is dead, Conrad!" I hear you gasp in horror at your talented typist's surly dismissal.
     Yes, he is, which still won't make me change my mind about his music.  See second and third sentences above.
     However -
     Your humble (and hateful!) scribe has been learning of Ol' George's generosity, which was frequently anonymous and thus all the more genuine.  Tipping a student waitress £5,000 really is going the extra mile*.  In this he does hold the moral high ground, and is proof that Hom. Sap. can be fairly awesome when they put their minds to it.

Finally
Conrad has long gone to bat for the weasel, but there are other rodents out there with an image problem, prime amongst them the rat.  Conrad has never understood why folks hate and fear the rat.  Ned The Peasant had reason, thanks to the Black Death, but that was six hundred years ago and people ought to be able to let bygones be bygones.  Let us combat animal discrimination together!  Art?

Altogether now - Awwww!

*  BOOJUM! - proud user of Imperial measurements.  None of that new-fangled metric here!
**  At least it is in my head, which is what counts.
***  If it doesn't, gentle reader, then it ought to!