Water Sillies

NO! That Is Not A Typo

Even hinting that it was is likely to get you a dose of Remote Nuclear Tormentor, because the English language does what I want it to do, no mucking about.  Art!

Courtesy Claude Monet

  
     You were thinking of this, weren't you?  Apparently Ol' Claude painted 250 works featuring the water lilies in his garden.  That's an awful lot.  One suspects he didn't get out much.

     ANYWAY we are here to regale you with the second part of DUDE's traumatic tale of pools and fools.  Earlier we explained to you in excruciating detail what goes into constructing a swimming pool, laying it on to underline how hard it is and how long it takes.  We also established that Jackass, son of Jay the business owner, was a lazy entitled slacker, and that Junior, the other son of Jay, talked entirely too much at the expense of working.  Art!

     No, Art, that's a Remote Nuclear Tormentor, which is not what I asked for.  Get it right or it's Tazer-time.

See?  You can do it when you try.

     When Jackass woke up, he strolled over from his truck, looked at the stage they had reached and -

     Did nothing to help.  In fact he sent Junior back to the truck to get his energy drink, then stood around chatting about the game they were going to play after work.

     Thus, by the time 11:00 rolls around, the pool is still at least 90 minutes behind schedule, which DUDE informs Jackass about, who loudly lambasts him about doing his job and not speaking back.

     Why is 11:00 important?  Because that's when the concrete truck arrived, chock-full of lovely concrete all ready to be poured and adored, despite the pool not being ready.  Art!

Sheer poetry: a concrete truck

     Here is where Jackass makes a verrrry serious mistake.  He gets in the company bobcat - a miniature JCB for us here in This Sceptred Isle - and begins unloading concrete into the bucket and dumping it around the pool.  Which was not ready.  Did I already mention that?

     Come 12:30, DUDE sits down and begins to eat his lunch, which sends Jackass, still pouring concrete - around the pool that wasn't ready, have I said that previously? - absolutely ballistic.  I shan't quote him as there was a lot of effing and jeffing involved, along the theme that DUDE had to carry on working.

Art!

     DUDE calmly refutes this, saying that Jay's rule is that one gets to have lunch after 6 hours on the job, and since Jay cuts his paychecks he's going to follow Jay's rules.  All said with a beatific smile.  Jackass rings Jay and presumably gets an earful as he goes back to pouring concrete in a sullen, slapdash silence.

     It gets better - or worse, if you're Jackass.  As mentioned yesteryon, DUDE has a medical appointment at 1:30 and his pre-arranged ride turns up to take him to the examination.  Once again Jackass goes ballistic - there's no explanation in either my 'Collins Concise English Dictionary' or my 'Brewer's Dictionary Of Phrase And Fable' as to where this phrase comes from so I shall poke Art with this red-hot toasting fork -

The terrifying Titan II launch in progress

     - saying that they'll never get the work done.  Once again, smiling sweetly, DUDE informs Jackass that the appointment has already been approved, so whether the pool gets finished or not isn't his concern.  Art!

ARACHNOPHOBES LOOK AWAY NOW!

     This is a Brown Recluse Spider, and DUDE had been bitten by one.  Their bite can cause serious necrosis if not promptly treated, so he was sent to hospital for a week.  

     Meanwhile at the pool -

     Without DUDE to apply his perfectionist work ethic, Jackass <insert swear of choice here> badly.  The pool walls weren't levelled, not all the braces had been set and he'd buried the plumbing in concrete before it had been connected.

     Surprise! it didn't pass inspection.  This meant Jay's company would have to demolish it, buy a new kit and install it from scratch.  You're talking about being on the hook for $20,000 here.

     Jackass, predictably, tried to blame DUDE for his epic <insert swear of choice here>, saying it was all his fault.

     You may recall that yesteryon I mentioned DUDE noticed a feature about the client's house, since he was both sharp-eyed and sharp-witted.  Art!

     A home surveillance system.  He asked the client for relevant footage, and they sent it to Jay for review.

     Jay was <insert swear of choice here>.  He slapped Jackass across the face, informed him that he wasn't getting a bonus that year, he'd get no commission on the pool construction and all the costs for demolition and new pool kit were coming out of his pocket.

     DUDE was made a team lead, given his own helper and proceeded to out-construct Jackass by 2 to 1.

More Gentle Shoeing For King Piggy

As gentle as I get with Fat Caligula.  I did see a new name for him on a Tweet from 'Bill Madden' - 'Don Snorlyeone'.  Well earned!  Bill reviewed the Trump rally in Nevada so we don't have to.  Apparently DJ Tango had to be seated for the event, slurred his speech like a drunk after happy hour, and - Art!

He doesn't drink alcohol.  Adderall? That's another story

     -  completely zedded out once he passed the mike over.  Come on, Donold, show us your war face!

Hmmm.  Closer to 'Wah face'

Are You Hungary For More?

There's a picture that has gone viral, showing the 'food' now being served up to  South Canadian matelots aboard their ships in the Persian Gulf.  Art!

     There is considerable speculation about exactly what this is.  Fried boot sole and sauteed Spam have been suggested.  Conrad's suggestion is fossilised banana.

     ANYWAY back to Hungary.  The frankly peculiar-looking Foreign Minister in Orbanazi's government has been in seclusion since Monday, allegedly shredding every document ever produced by his office, as it would be used in evidence against him.  He emerged on Friday, doing a jog.  Art!

     Here he is with Horse-face, whom he faithfully reported to.  Horse-face - or Lavrov if we're being polite - is a Ruffian, so this is a fairly un-natural state of affairs.

     Orban the Weretoad, meanwhile, thinks he can stay as leader of the parliamentary minority and run for Prime Minister in 4 years time.  There are two problems with this: firstly, he needs to be out of prison to manage this, and secondly, Peter Magyar's party has a super-majority in parliament, meaning they can change the Hungarian Constitution, and Magyar has said a PM's term is going to be limited to two.  Orcban has already served four.  Sorry, Weretoad.  Art!

Art!

     Magyar has also appeared on state TV, from which he was banned for two years, and informed the interviewer that they were going to be out of a job as simping and pimping for Orban is going to stop quick smart.

     I know practically nothing about Magyar, just that he seems to exemplify the új seprű*.

More Fallout From That Image

The one promoting Donold Judas Trump as Jesus, healing the sick, which kicked up such a stink that it was gone a few hours later and he's now lying about him being depicted as a doctor.

     Well, cyber-security whiz Ryan McBeth came up with an hilarious skit on the original.  Art!

     FYI, Reagan was held to be going senile in office, but looking back he seems like Einstein compared to Donnie Dorko.

A Touch Of Spring

Yes, it's most definitely in the air.  Why, on this afternoon's walk with Edna a goose flew overhead, honking with happiness.

     Also, the cherry trees down Tandle Hill Road are in bloom.  Art!

     The blossoms don't hang around for long, so appreciate them while you can.

Finally -

I have a bank of pictures of BOOH looking awful, so here's another.  Art!

*  Magyar for 'new broom'

When The Fool Was Pooltardy

1. 
   

No!  That Is Not A Typo!

For one thing, I have excellent spelling and also pay attention to when the spellchecker - which has a charming South Canadian bias - underlines a word in red.  So, no, I did not get 'Foolhardy' wrong, but that does give me an excuse to put up an illo of Tom Hardy.  The ladies like him.  Art!

Tom and his weapon.  Women swoon.

     No, what I have to describe in the Intro today is an entertaining and illuminating story from 'R Slash' and their 'Entitled People' channel.  I guarantee that by the time this tale is over you will have increased your knowledge of niche construction sectors considerably.

     To set the scene, we need reference that traditional South Canadian status symbol, the swimming pool.  We here in This Sceptred Isle rarely include these in our domestic residences as shelling out £10,000 for an utility used for two weeks, at best, is rather wasteful.  Art!

     This is the end product, and charming describes it well.  

     HOWEVER! - O that word again - did you ever stop to think of how a pool like this gets constructed?  Me neither.  It turns out there's a lot going on in preparation before you can take a paddle on an inflatable bed, which is where Dedicated Utilitarian Digging Expert, hereafter DUDE, comes in.  He worked for Jay's pool construction business, happy to be very well-paid, allowed to smoke when he liked and listen to heavy metal whilst working.  No, Vulnavia, Wet Wet Wet are not a metal band.

     Jay's two sons also worked for him.  There was Jackass, as DUDE named him, the team supervisor who was lazy, entitled and liable to condescend when there was an audience.  He is the Fool of today's title.  Then there was Junior, who babbled incessantly and was more hindrance than help.  Art!

     This is what South Canadians call a 'skid steer' and which DUDE described as a 'bobcat', which Jackass used on-site.

     One of the telling statistics that DUDE mentioned was that Jay's business had managed to construct 7 pools in the summer before he arrived, yet had already done 10 this year with another 3 to go.  A productive influence!  Art?

     We begin the tale with DUDE establishing that he had a doctor's appointment at 13:30 and he'd be out and gone by then, regardless of whatever else happened.  The pool site was as you see above; dug out with no work done on actual construction, and their concrete truck was due to arrive at 11:00, a hard limit when pouring would have to begin, since the truck would be on a schedule.  

     The threesome arrived at 06:30, and as DUDE and Junior got to work, Jackass went for a three-hour sleep in his truck.  This is the Tardy part of today's title.  Art!

     DUDE, who sharp eyes, noticed a particular feature about the client's house, which came in verrry useful later.  He then listed the work that had to be done before the concrete truck turned up.  To wit:

1.   Cut all the wedges, which are used to secure liners and support structures.

     

      2.  Set up marking pins.  These are long metal skewers used to determine the outline of a pool by insertion along the perimeter.  Art!

     3.  Set and bolt up the walls.  These, pretty obviously, are the retaining structures that keep water in the pool by providing support.  Art!

     4.  Set up the 'skimmer'.  No, I had no idea until I looked it up.  A skimmer is a filtration device set at water surface level, which sucks in floating debris such as leaves or insects, before it sinks to the bottom and rots.  Art!

     5.  Set and bolt the wall braces. These are structural supports that go on the back of the metal wall panels to prevent bowing when concrete or water is added, visible in the illo above.  Art!

     6.  Level the walls.  What it sounds like: ensuring the walls are all perfectly level horizontally, and completely perpendicular.

     7.  Install the pool liner.  Actually DUDE forgot to mention this, as his list of to-dos was already overlong.  Also install vinyl coping, which keeps the liner in place.  Art!

So much variety!

     8.  Install stairs and a buddy seat, the latter being low steps that allow people to sit in shallow water, so really two tasks in one.  Art!

     9.  Set the bench.

     10.  Secure with rebar stakes - not sure what's meant by this as the wall panels would have been secured already at this point.

     11.  Create the form for both pump and filter.  Here he's talking about creating a concrete platform for the pool's pump and main water filter, which need to be plumbed and wired in.  Art!

     DUDE observed of this list that it would have been a very hard task for 3 people to manage in less than five hours, yet they were down to 2 thanks to Jackass going off for a nap, then standing around criticising them.  Instead of, you know, helping.

     Right!  I am going to call a halt here, as the background has been established, otherwise this Intro would take up the whole blog.  Moving right along -

If Looks Could Nil

More recollections from Conrad's rubbish-tip skip of a mind.  Take a look at the Fairey Gannet, surely one of the ugliest aircraft to have ever wobbled into the air from the deck of an aircraft carrier.  Art!

     It was designed as an anti-submarine warfare aircraft and was, despite looking ten months pregnant, rather successful.  The wings folded down before it flew, I hasten to add.  

     HOWEVER - a word you surely knew was coming - it has been outdone by a recently-deployed Japanese electronic warfare airframe, the EC-2.  Art!

 

     That is one horrid-looking hairplane.

Who Is This Happy Smiling Chappy?

Art!

     It's Pan Mykola again, the 70-year old grandfather whose decrepit overloaded Zhiguli broke down in the centre of Kyiv.  This car went out of production 14 years ago, so it was at least that old.  The police were called, towed him to a garage and his car was repaired for free, allowing him to continue his journey.

     Plot twist: co-founder of Monobank, Oleh Horokhovskiy, got his details and gifted him a brand new pick-up truck, which is why we seem him smiling.  Art!

     Don't ask me what model of Peugeot it is, I have no idea.

     He probably had to have a learning session about things like power steering, cruise control, CD players and air-conditioning, and definitely using an automatic clutch.  Also the rules of correct cargo stowage.

Bilk The Milk

Another illuminating example of why South Canadian foods are often banned by us wicked Europeans, who cherish things like staying alive and healthy.  From the Twitter wag 'Daractenus', a Romanian whose English is better than a lot of the English.  Art!

     He misses a point here, commenting that South Canadian milk is banned from EU sale thanks to profit-driven farmers dosing their cows with exotic chemicals to gain a higher yield.  He missed the 'Raw' part of 'Raw Milk' here, because this swill is NOT pasteurised and is liable to inflict fearful scourging diseases on those daft enough to drink it.  Robert Kennedy Junkie, the South Canadian Secretary For Poisoning People, has been observed recently with an uncontrollable tremor in his hands.  I bet he drinks a gallon of this stuff every day and boasts about it.  Bafune.

I'm Warning You

I have yet to regale you with the 'Historical Notes' Youtube channel 'The Sherman Tank Was Not A "Death-Trap"' vlog, which lasted for 20 minutes and generated enough notes to probably create a whole BOOJUM! on it's own.

     Well, consider this.  art!

     Ol' Nick's opus here clocks in at 45 minutes.  I've already seen it once and recalled that his points are based on primary source materials, not anecdotes or urban legends.  If I did annotate and post about it, surely I would split it up and not post a single blog 5,000 words long?  Hmmm what do you want to bet ...

Finally -

Ending on a QI quote:

"Looking for fish?  Don't climb a tree" - Chinese proverb.  Try looking in pools*.

*  Ouch

A Bit Different Today

I'm Not Sure How This Will Work, Or Even If It Will

If you've been reading the blog for any length of time, you'll know that Conrad is a Dog Buns addict for Codewords, the crossword variant with no clues, just a couple of letters of the alphabet given a number, where you have to work out the other 24.  Or 25 if it's one of those swinishly difficult ones.  Art!

Quite possibly the Remote Nuclear Tormentor

     You'll also recall how I regularly froth with nitric ire at the obscure or foreign words the compilers put in, and I respond with the malicious mechanism above.

     Today, though, these words are going to work for me, since I now have 13 of them and am going to seed them throughout a long piece of written scrivel.  I will embolden and empurple the words.

     Arnie Schickelbaum, 42, was a veeblefetzer servicing technician (a repairman in plain English) who lived in the Bronx.  This strained his marriage somewhat, as his wife, Gardenia, lived in New Zealand.    He'd been in the veeblefetzer repair business for some years, had extensive experience and was no TYRO ('A novice or beginner, from the Latin 'Tiro', meaning 'Recruit').  Art!

Arnie veebles the fetz

     Given his extensive work with veeblefetzers and the knowledge he'd acquired over time, he could instantly diagnose faults and remedies to the delicate electronic gadgets, thus having something of the VATIC (characteristic of a prophet, from the Latin 'Vatos', meaning 'Prophet') about him.  Indeed, one of his SYNOPTIC (Of or relating to a synopsis (a brief review), from the Greek (Sunopsis' meaning 'View') responsibilities for the owners of the business was to create a detailed work sheet at week's end to itemise what work had been undertaken.  Art!

Either a partially-assembled or partially-disassembled veeblefetzer

     Don't think Arnie was a mere worker drone.  Not at all.  At the weekend he worked on restoring old cars, hard physical work as a change to his finely-tuned job.  On Friday nights he could be seen in the Bronx's bars, where he would QUAFF (To drink heartily or in one draught, from the 16th century and possibly Teuton in origin) many a beer and have a riotous good time.  This sent his distant and neglected wife into a PAROXYSM (Uncontrollable outburst, fit or convulsion, from the French via Latin and the Greek 'Paroxunein'. meaning 'To goad') fit of rage, and you can hardly blame her.  She began to plot.   First, she laid in a stock of QUIRTS (Whips with a leather thong on one end, from the Spanish 'Cuerda' meaning 'Cord') because she wanted revenge, not a murder charge.  Art!

Quirts

     She took a flight to New York, with her whips safely stored in cargo as it's almost impossible to hijack an aircraft with a two-foot leather cord, and arrived at La Guardia on the fourteenth of March,  brimming with confidence and seething with rage.

     That, gentle reader, is an example of a SEGUE (To proceed from one section of music to another without a break, also used of other media, from the Latin 'Sequi').  

     Gardenia immediately went to Arnie's place of work, a part of her plot that she hadn't thought through, as it was Sunday and they were closed.  She cursed Arnie, his employer, Sunday trading regulations and the author, before finding an hotel and rooming there overnight.  Art!

     She was slightly mollified by the author's having given her infinite hotel funds, so she roomed at the Crosby Street Hotel, which cost $4,550, as she spent $300 on room service and the mini-bar.    They do a mean Caesar's Salad Brunch Burger, you se

     ANYWAY come Monday morning she proceeded hot-foot to 'Eric And Ernie's MacGuffin Machinists - for all your veeblefetzer needs!', expecting to find her errant husband beavering away on delicate electrical equipment whilst nursing a sore head.  Yes, blowing $150 on beer at the Bronx Draft House will do that.  Art!

Yes it's a real place

     Artie, standing in as a LOCUM (Properly LOCUM TENENS, being a person standing in for a member of the same profession, such as a chemist, clergyman or Senior Veeblefetzer Servicing Technician) for Arnie, was rather cowed by the whip-wielding woman, and volunteered that Arnie had the day off, so wouldn't be there at all.  He did volunteer that, if Gardenia wanted to encounter her hubbo, she should try his favourite Chinese restaurant at lunchtime: the TOPAZ KUMQUAT (A white or colourless mineral often tinted by impurities, found in cavities in igneous rocks, from the Greek 'Topazos';  several small Chinese trees and the small round orange fruit of same, from the Cantonese 'Kam Kwat', meaning 'Golden Orange')

     Artie you craven traitor!  Art?

     

     Gardenia, keeping her whips out of sight in a suitcase, as New Yorkers tolerate a lot but only up to a point, went and sat in a corner of the restaurant, as the author had apparently given her GPS-like powers of navigation.  Or she caught an Uber.  This is the twenty-first century chaps, do keep up!

     ANYWAY AGAIN she confronted Arnie when he came in from the street, a little bleary-eyed and stubbly, wanting to get Won Ton Noodles, his go-to hangover cure, topped with a fried egg.

     "How dare you abandon me in Whakapapa!" she screeched, raising a quirt.  "The best years of my life!  The prime of my youth!"

     "I'm sorry, but you are?" asked a baffled Arnie.

     "I'M YOUR WIFE!" shouted Gardenia, her face a radioactive red.  "You better watch out Arnie Stepanovich, it's the Fifteenth of March - the IDES (In the Roman calendar the 15th day in March, May, July and October and the 13th day of other months were dubbed the Ides' and Julius Caesar was famously slain in the Ides of March).

     Arnie briefly wondered how much he'd really had to drink last night and if he'd accidentally gotten married.  Then he began to put two and two together.

     'I'm Arnie Schickelbaum, not Stepanovich.  I think you and I are victims.  Victims - of BAD WRITING!'

     Gardenia immediately took umbrage, and her quirt, and began belabouring the author.

     "What, am I a mere ADJUNCT (An incidental or non-essential component added to another object, from the Latin 'Adjunctus', meaning 'To adjoin') to you?  Is that why you named me after a flower?'

     'Let us go plight our troth,' said Arnie, kissing the back of Gardenia's hand.  'Forsooth, my chariot awaits.'  Yeah, quoting the Bard Of Avon always wows the ladies.  Art!

Arnie's ride

     ZEPHYR A soft or gentle breeze from the Greek 'Zephuros' meaning 'West wind'.

          There you have today's slice of scrivel.  I apologise for larding the definitions at the beginning of the piece, and having a Chinese restaurant be the source of two is definitely reaching.  Both the hotel and bar are real, the hotel being the most expensive in New York.  

     Regardless of whether you enjoyed reading this or not, Conrad had a hoot writing it.  I also now have two fully-formed characters in Arnie and Gardenia - yes, it's a flower - who may return, as veeblefetzers never go out of fashion, and an angry wife makes for splendid comic material.  Well, it makes a refreshing change to compose a blog without The Usual Suspects intruding.

On A Bender With Soldatensender

It's Teuton In Case You Were Wondering

It means 'Soldier's Radio' and yes, it dates from the Second Unpleasantness.  We'll come back to it after Your Humble Scribe initially ventures around the houses in pursuit of his latest Intro theme.  Thanks to 'SK Media' on Twitter for resurrecting this idea.  You may recall him as the South Canadian with a long history of involvement with Ukraine, who went there and served in their drone forces.  Art!

     Ol' SK had posted on Twitter about a MAGA cult member who was proving that their parents were very closely related.  Cletus The Slack-Jawed Local Yokel was holding forth on the Truth Social image that Donnie Dorko posted of him replacing Jesus.  Art!

     DJ Tango himself admitted to posting this image, which incurred howls of hatred and accusations of blasphemy from his now ex-supporters, and he silently bowed to pressure and deleted it later that day.

     Cletus wasn't having it, though.  

"I don't think President Trump posted that. I think somebody else posted that."

     The word 'think' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there.

     Here's where SK opens up the field: he mentions the phrase 'Good Tsar, bad boyars'.  What does he mean?  O I thought you'd never ask!

     You see, back in Tsarist Ruffia, it was believed by the superstitious peasantry that the Tsar was a kindly and benevolent figure with their best interests at heart, even when said Tsar was Ivan Grozny, better known to us in the West as Ivan The Terrible.  Art!

John The Awful circa 1550

     The reason they barely existed in poverty and squalor was not the fault of the Tsar - whom one could not criticise and keep your head on your neck - but the corrupt and eeeevil circle of boyars, Ruffian court aristocracy, whom kept him isolated and deliberately misinformed.  Good Tsar, bad boyars.

     You may be interested to know that this kind of oblique criticism is not new, even in 1550.  Art!

     Meet Edward II of England.  We here in This Sceptred Isle have always had problems with Edwards, and he was no mistake.  Eddy Two here presided over the disastrous defeat by the Scots at Bannockburn HOORAY SHOUTS CONRAD'S CELTIC GENES and he was an all-round incompetent.  However - we meet again, word - he was the King in an era where the Divine Right Of Kings was not merely a concept, it was chapter, verse and daily observance.  You did not criticise the King and keep your head on your shoulders.

     No, instead you inveigled against his wicked courtiers, who were keeping the King in ignorance of the real state of affairs, who were working against him, who were looking to line their own pockets at the expense of the King's loyal citizens.  Good King, bad barons.  That way you got to level your criticism and remained capitated.  Art!

     A moments silence, please, for the propaganda pundit par excellence Sefton Delmer.  Ol' Sefty worked for the British Political Warfare Executive during the Second Unpleasantness, and thanks to his upbringing in Germany as a youth, he was intimately familiar with Teuton culture.  He was responsible for setting up radio stations that pretended to be broadcasting Teuton content, but which were actually broadcasting Teuton content.  Except with every four or five copied items would be a bit of political poison, subtly done, undercutting Teuton morale.  Art!

     This is the broadcast station 'Aspidistra', which would regularly use it's unparalelled power to add on demoralising addenda to the end of Teuton radio transmissions, to the elevated blood pressure of Herr Goebbels.  It also broadcast the alleged content of 'Soldatensender Calais', which pretended to be a Teuton station sending out content from that location.  

     The truth was that Delmer, with a cast of emigres from Germany and Austria, frequently Jewish ones who were delighted to get one back on their oppressors, was adding in pearls of poison wit to pre-recorded Teuton radio broadcasts.  Art!

Gert Frobe flies again

     The central character of SSC was 'Der Chef', whom set himself up as a sincere, honest and dedicated Nazi and Teuton patriot, whom was horrified at the corruption and decadence present in the ranks of the Nazis, which offended his pure and patriotic Prussian soul.  This probably rang true with the listening audience, because Nazi corruption and decadence was nothing new to them.  One slang term they had for Nazi functionaries out to steal, embezzle and defraud was 'Golden Pheasants', so the British were building on an already-extant base.

     This, you see, gentle reader, is how you criticise the King without actually criticising the King.  Art!

     Especially as the Bunker Tsar will ignore your petition.  These pathetic broadcasts have been going on for years, with Peter The Average paying entirely 0% interest.  Good Tsar bad boyars, remember.

     Well, it may not have been a bender, but you must admit it was a little bit diverted.

Appealing And Reeling

Another from the horrifying compilation that 'Be Amazed' put up on Youtube in their 'When Building Demolitions Go Horribly Wrong' sequence.  This one is set in Moscow, where building regulations, safety and proper demolition practices are another country.  Art!

     Here we see the urban hellscape that is Mordorvia, before any extra ladling of opprobium.  Snow and grey the theme.  Art!

     Part of a building being demolished decides to collapse in sympathy, or spite, or surrender, the 'collapse' part being the important bit.  Art!

     Nobody was killed. 

     THIS TIME.

"Who?"

NO!  Not the film adapted from the Algis Budrys novel, whom you must admit has one of the more interesting names in sci-fi.  Art!

     This was in the decade before our time-travelling Gallifreyan.

     ANYWAY what we're here for is a double-dose of dirty debacle, as one of the true and tested tactics of Donold Trump is to claim that he had minimal contact with, knowledge of or acquaintance with a person who was actually one of his best mates.  Rudy Giuliani springs to mind.  DJ Tango does not like being associated with failure, even if it be seventeen steps removed.

      Guess which pariah nation is now resorting to this tactic as regards the Weretoad's loss of political power as of Sunday?  Art!

     There are a lot of consequences to follow for Mordorvia from Orbanazi, or Orcban, losing the Hungarian general election, which we might well detail over the following days.  One being for the observation to Orban that you can only perpetuate Ruffia to a certain extent before kickback occurs.   Getting Putin shoved down your gullet 24/7 may offend.  

More Gentle Shoeing

As we members of the Donold Judas Trump Publicity Campaign keep posting, our responsibility is to keep reminder the Saggy Senile Sepia Sackbut that he is indeed very, very mortal*.  You know, as in ancient Roman triumphs, where a Rubio or Leavitt would sit behind Emperor Obesus to remind him that he needed a glutes and cardio regime.  Art!

     O my goodness, he looks as if he's every feeling second of his ninety-three years. Conrad is unsure when this illo was taken, although it's supposed to be  contemporary, so at sometime during The Nodfather's time during the latest 24/7 crisis with Iran.  You can bet that he's taking lots of half-days off from the Iranian  crisis in order to be able to cheat at golf.  "Trump" and "work ethic" being diametrically opposed.

Politics Be Beggared

 I just came across a post from 'Daractenus', the actinic Romanian poster on Twitter whose English is a whole lot better than many of my compatriots, and whom takes a look across Eastern Europe.  This one was posted during the throes of the recent Hungarian general election, so  Sunday just gone**.  Art!

     I think this is where we came in.

*  No mention of adult diapers, as that would not be classy.  Even if true.

**  An election on a Sunday makes a lot more sense, as there are a lot fewer people working, whom have to interrupt their working day