That invasion fleet has laser-cannons that can singe the bristles off a fly's antennae at a million miles distance, in the dark and with one eye closed.
Just so you know you're standing on the edge, figuratively ...
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| The Edge, standing on |
Frankenstein
It's nearly 200 years since Mary Shelley conjured up this modern fable. Obviously it resonates with society because today Conrad spotted a bus poster that featured the title and tag-line: "Frankenstein; after 200 years he's still alive".
NO! NO! NO!
Excuse me - let me quaff some bismuth-hydrobromohexane* - that's better, the pulse has settled a little.
Being a bit of a stickler - okay an obsessive saddoe - Conrad likes the facts to be correct. Victor Frankenstein was the doctor who created the Monster; "Frankenstein" refers to the Doctor, not the Monster!
I don't suppose we're allowed to call him "The Monster" anymore, either, given that this is the touchy-feely PC 21st Century. "Differently-beautiful" or "Handsome-lite", perhaps. And - don't tell me, old Faceache has managed to find his way to America. And - there will be a female romantic interest. And - if there's a baddy, he'll be played by an English actor <Mister Hand prevents any more tedious rambling by moving on>
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| Slipknot's missing member |
Let us hasten away from what Hollywood has done to classic English literature and instead soothe our savage breasts with - language (music in the next item).
"Escutcheon" is pretty definitely an import into English, probably post-Norman, and refers to a range of dishes cooked up in the castle kitchen for the local lord and his retinue, done kebab-style impaled on spare swords that happened to by lying around.
What's that?
It's not?
It means a bit of brass around a keyhole?
Oh, come on, reality! How boring is that!
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| Unfortunately this will not open your front door. Tasty, though |
Thanks to the USB slot in the mobile-murder-machine that Conrad drives to work in the Daily D1ckhead Death Derby, it is possible to plug in an I-Pod** and have it play tunes. However, the I-Pod plays a strange randomised list of unconnected songs. Then, after a random period, it crashes. Classical FM then comes over the speakers for a minute until the I-Pod remembers that it ought to be playing music. It starts back at the beginning, and if you were 125 songs into the playlist, why then you need to click on the "Next" button 126 times. Then it crashes again -
The I-Pod. Not as cute as a puppy, but you can't plug a puppy into an USB port. Well, you could, but the RSPCA would prosecute, and Anna would be very cross indeed.
Today's traffic jam:
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| NO! |
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| This, for a mile. Thankfully music hath charms and prevents Conrad going beserk with an atomic howitzer |
Progress
Yes, I have managed to sort a considerable number of books since posting last night's state of play. Gaze in wonder!
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| Only another 250 to go! |
So - Tanks?
Yes indeedy. And because it is February, in which month Valentine's Day falls, here is a Valentine tank:
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| Mk III in desert camouflage |
In Ending
Obligatory cute animal picture, which has been rather monopolised of late by Edna, our domesticated wolf:
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| Repeat after me: "Domestication wolf not cute puppy! Domestication wolf ..." |
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| "Wanna pet me? I do mastication.***" |
** Whoever invented the I-Pod gets a free Staying Alive pass when that invasion fleet arrives!
*** "Mastication" - chewing.
Tally ho!
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