This Pheasant Ain't Pleasant

Or: The Bird That Shoots Back
You'll have to bear with me on this (no pun intended).  It comes as an aside to an aside to an article gestating in my mind, which generated this tangential input.
     Okay!  Let us cast our metaphorical eye back over the decades to that arena of combat, North Africa, and the year Nineteen Forty-Three Anno Domini.  Picture, if you will, the heat, the sand, the dust, the flies, the heat, the lack of anything green, more flies, desert sores and people doing their very best to kill you.  That last is the kicker. 
     Now, we are going to look at a particular anti-tank gun as used by the forces under the command of Perfidious Albion (there are too many to list here): the 17 pounder.*
     "I say!" I hear you quail.  "It must be positively minute if that's all it weighs!"
     Bafoons.  Art?

BANG!

     It is the shell itself that weighs 17 pounds.*  This particular piece of armour-piercing kit would turn any Axis tank in the desert into a colander a mile* away, literally.  Problem was, the carriage designed for it was not ready when the gun component itself was, so the British - being Perfidious after all - mounted them on the plentiful gun carriage of the 25 pounder*, creating a hybrid they called "Pheasant".  You can see where today's title comes from; having one of these taking pot-shots at you would bring on a severe case of Bad Hair Day.

Ouch.

     Now that we've got that out of the way, let's take the motley out of that tub of syrup where it's been steeping since yesterday and roll it down the beach!**

You What?
As you should surely know by now, Conrad is both a skinflint and a musical hipster, so his expression can be guessed at on overhearing a colleague talking about ticket prices for some wannabe-songster called Justin Timberland.  £276 per ticket?

Kind of lacks stage presence

     After recovering from nearly swallowing my own tongue, I expressed an expectation: for that price I'd want a stretch limo with complimentary champagne picking me up from my front door and returning me home, a backstage pass, access to the after-gig party, a seat in the front row, free t-shirts and a key ring.  Although I would pass on the key ring at a pinch.

Ah, what sacrifices I make.

     Then!  That Coincidence Hydra came in and bit me on the nethers, because what else did the Beeb website discuss RIGHT THEN but the reason why ticket prices are so high!***
     When they make that assertion they are referring to what one might sniffily dismiss as "Stadium Singers", or bands.  You know the type, they only tour gigantic arenas that can accommodate as many paying sheep audience as possible.  Your humble scribe didn't take out a second mortgage to go see Public Service Broadcasting, after all, because of that impeccable street music cred, and they're very personable and not at all stadium-y.
     We shall come back to this.  O yes indeed!

Pink Floyd are worried

You What?
Although we don't often tackle Current Affairs on BOOJUM! an advert that came up on Facebook had me looking askance at it, wondering who on earth green-lit it and who created it.  Art

No.  No, I will not.

     The advert features several vignettes of people at home, then realising that a creepy cyanose lepus has appeared out of nowhere and is watching them intently, in a manner unlike any rabbit ever. 
     Frankly, if the unearthly thing suddenly exploded open in a welter of talons, teeth and tentacles - as in the world's most terrifying documentary "The Thing" - your humble scribe would not have been surprised.
     Also, said advert failed in it's job: I've no idea what they were selling.
     Bah!



Further To Charles Dodgson -
 - whom you might know better as Lewis Carroll, purveyor of advanced mathematics and nonsense verse, including "The Hunting of the Snark", from which pome the name 'Boojum' is derived.  You see?
      He also invented the concept of descending a rabbit hole as a metaphor for transition into Wonderland.  This metaphor has also been adapted, adopted and otherwise assimilated into popular culture, evolving into the phrase "down the rabbit hole".  Art?

Thus

    However, it is now shorthand for "Falling in with a bunch of woo so deeply that it becomes the single most important thing in that miscreant's life, yeah verily".  Or, in less polite parlance, it means you - if it is indeed you - have gone completely batshot insane.
     NOW do you see why Conrad ain't following any blue bunny anywhere?





*  None of that metric nonsense here.
**  Syrup-steeped motley - tastes delicious.
***  I realise this is 2 exclamation marks very close together, structurally, which is getting close to Continental levels of hysteria.  I apologise.  Won't happen again.