I don't have to type out the whole lot, do I? You lot can be so literal-minded at times.
Anyway, there I was, with plenty to write about but no title. Somehow I had overlooked this in today's compilation of puns, non sequiteurs, drivel, scribbling and theosophical philosophy*.
"Fish!" I gibbered, desperately trying to come up with a clever intro. "Chips!" I continued, aware that this might apply to damaged dishes, computer innards or carefully sliced potatoes**.
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| England's contribution to haute cuisine |
Finally I fell into desperately trying to find a celebrity whose name would rhyme with another word. Robert de Niro, Joan Van Ark, Googie Withers, Ida Lupino - nothing of merit until - MICHAEL FASSBENDER!
| Michael smiling! Before he kills you. With those same teeth. |
Because he really does have an evil agenda. Either that or his agent is a dark, twisted, morbid character***. Look no further than his recent body of work. The evil android in "Prometheus", going about inflicting hideous alien worms on blokes having a quiet gin. Pretending to be Frank Sidebotham - but do we ever see his face, eh? Tell me that! Now he's hacking it up major style as MacBeth, the doomed Scottish nobleman who falls prey to greed and ambition. Don't forget the human-hating Young Magneto, all ready to crush you humans beneath the mighty mutant jackboot.
| Hairy and scary |
Anyway! Let us leave behind the troublous lowlands of the Intro and set forth for the Mountains of Cadness.
Doctor Who
I've been threatening you with this analysis for days now, and I'd better get down to it before the next episode arrives, which would confuse matters.
As I rather citrically put it, more like "Doctor What"? So, the Doctor hops back in time, cocking his snook at causality, the Time Lords and the Blinovitch Limitation Effect. He ends up in a fake Russian village in Scotland, because - they were practicing to invade Russia. Please, please don't let Mister Putin view this episode, he'll take it as a declaration of war only slightly delayed.
| To you - Toxic Waste Drums To the Russians - Found Furniture Fixer-Uppers |
Cass the CO: terribly PC and all that but a mute CO is rather a liability when she required a full-time signer to translate to and for her. What if matey is asleep? In the bathroom? Dead? On leave? Listening to banging dance tunes on his i-pod? Why didn't anyone try to write notes for her? Don't tell me, more PC, thanks to digital technology nobody in the future knows how to write!
Meanwhile the Doctor squares off against the "Fisher King", most definitely the baddie of the piece. "Here is where your story ends!" declares the Doctor, bravely, as the Fisher King is nine feet tall, made of solid bone and carries a gun.
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| I bet he can see right up it's nose |
Then the dam blows up and everything floods, and the Doctor isn't dead, except he was in the first part, so did he save himself as well as Clara by going back in time? If so, how did he turn up dead in the first place? And - why is a mouse when it spins?
| Just slightly before the flood |
England In The Sixteenth Century
1567, to be precise. I'm doing a lot of background reading on what life was like in Tudor England, specifically during the reign of Elizabeth 1. Pretty grim for about one in two of the population, I can tell you, who had only just enough to get by without starving or dying of exposure.
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| All scribble no drivel. Which does happen on occasion |
This is for a stand-alone vignette in my ever-expanding set of stories about Eden Underwood. Perhaps unsurprisingly, beer plays a prominent part in daily life, brewed at home for the most part because water was spectacularly unsafe to drink. Full of germs, rather like the fetid stuff Michael Fassbender was passing around on Prometheus. Thus the popularity of "small beer", which was beer with a very low alcoholic content; labourers doing hard physical work might get through as much as ten pints of small beer in a day. Nor was there any nonsense about having granary loaves or wholemeal bread - folks wanted lovely white pristine bread, because that meant it hadn't been adulterated with the kind of stuff Michael Fassbender was swilling around on the spaceship.
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| Ho ho, Art. You slay me. |
Wow. That's a lot of text, Conrad. I know you'll go back and add a few pictures in to break up the desert expanses of font, but still -
Clickbait Scum!
Yes, I know, I know - I'm being a hypocrite given that I exert sweat, toil, blood and outright dishonesty to divert folks into looking at BOOJUM!
However, the Twits have been at it again, viz:
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| A dead whale. A whale, that's dead. A no-longer-living cetacean. Nope, no matter how I phrase it, I ain't mind-blown |
No, I didn't go seeing what they put down as "Mind Blowing". I venture to guess that if your mind is blown by these pictures, it is vulnerable to gentlest of spring breezes and you'd better stay indoors over winter.
Wait! There's more:
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| Sadly, we'll never know. |
Yes, the world will have to whirl on it's merry way with Conrad never believing in this photographers work or not. There are only 86,400 seconds in a day, after all.
Oh, and I gave up bothering on "Answers" clickbait posts on Facebook a long time ago. They might have ten items to post, but will take three different pages for each, with text that could have fitted in one page. The photos are surrounded by a myriad of other adverts, pop-ups, fake "Next" buttons, other clickbait sites and - yes, the kitchen sink. They take ages to load and aren't worth the effort. Plus you'll never get those 600 seconds back.
* I'm patenting this as a tongue-twister.
** Not C.H.I.P.S., thanks, as that's an acronym of some acrimony.
*** I like him already!
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