I know I said only one blog today, but such is the fertility of Conrad's imagination <for which read desperate attempts to promote blog traffic*> that it was impossible to wait until Sunday to allow you to share these moments of comic brilliance <Mister Hand, sighing, asks what a delay of 24 hours would have cost?>
Let us proceed!
 |
| A Vulcan bomber. You don't appreciate how BIG these things are until you climb into one. A tale for another day ... |
No! Not a bingo-caller's code. This is the title for a training document, buried in the bowels of the Pentagon's myriad plans and contingencies for dealing with disaster, armed insurrection, climatic instability, Dollywood declaring independence and the death of Bruce Campbell**.
This particular document, however, makes plans for dealing with the ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!
 |
| A terrifying horde poised to take down humanity - no, hang on - no, wait, I was right in the first place |
Obviously untrue! Otherwise the studios would have put "The Walking Dead" on hold until they could get free footage.
 |
| Confused zombie is - confused |
Conrad refers you to that tongue-twister about Peter: "If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers -"
 |
| The best export to come from behind the Iron Curtain. Apart from Polish Pure Vodka |
STOP! right there! This Piper is off picking things, isn't he? Implying that the things being picked grow naturally, upon stalks or branches or stems.
How come they're already pickled? Go on, tell me! You don't get pickled walnuts growing in the wild; nor do gherkins germinate naturally packed full of vinegar.
Conrad strongly suspects the use of GM crops here ...
| "The Monsanto Mutant Melon can be trained to perform simple tasks, or turn itself into a delicious smoothie" |
FA Cup Final
Conrad didn't realise this was underway today. In fact the only clue he had was observing a whole lot of posts on Twitter, banging on about Hull.
Er - that's it. Conrad - not a proper man - knows and cares nothing about 1) Football or 2) Cars. Doubtless down to his hideous alien background.
 |
| F''ng big cup. Close enough |
Memory is indeed a strange beast. Conrad, back in January, remarked about how he recalled a line from - O! what a coincidence - a Biggles novel that he'd last read a good thirty years previously.
Today, what does he come across? A line from Biggles, recollecting how black-outs were technically impossible and how he'd spotted a man lighting a cigarette from five thousand feet up in the air - a line Conrad immediately recognised. The rest of the book - "Biggles Gets His Men", Conrad cannot recall a single thing about. Nothing. Nil. Zero.
As already said, memories - funny things.
 |
| Buggles. Close enough. |
I know you are poised on the edge of your seats, gentle readers, leaning forward so far that any small movement would cause a topple onto the floor -
Well, Conrad is pondering his note-taking. Dialogue - the verbal interaction between characters - is one thing, but a ton of exposition spouted by a character for purposes of radio or television broadcast - what does that come under?
One suspects that the answer is that it counts as dialogue and you'd better get annotating the next page and a half, which consists of a transcribed radio broadcast.
 |
| Look! Look how much Conrad has done! Yeah, it's only note-taking, nothing creative It's still impressive. Yes it is! |
"Heldigvis hadde jeg melka"
Or, if you care for a translation, "Fortunately the milk", from the Norwegian.
Conrad successfully guessed it was Norwegian. Mind you, he is 1/16th Norwegian himself.
Finally
To put a cap on it. Or, more accurately, a hat. A fedora. Rest your awe-shocked glazzies upon this:
 |
| There is little that can be said about this. |
Parental duties may have swapped over, but Conrad can still ruthlessly exploit - okay, use a photo of - Edna at her cutest:
* Mister Hand. Keeping it real
** It has to be faced - this day will come. Not soon, but it will come. A sombre thought.
No comments:
Post a Comment