Flamethrowing Teen Terrors

Thought That Would Get Your Attention!
Although, typically, your humble scribe is not quite telling the truth.  
     "Surely not!" I hear you quail.  "Is not Conrad a touchstone of truth?"
     Leaving aside either your icy sarcasm or worrying naievety, I shall explicate.
     "Torchy The Battery Boy".  There, mentioned it again, and under today's gloomy grey skies if I told you it was a children's television programme then you, like I, might imagine our anti-hero being found guilty of "Battery" - or giving someone a lamping, in plain English - and his nickname of "Torchy" is because he's a pyromaniac with a home-made flamethrower.

"BURN, MOM, BURN!*"

     Put all your horrid preconceptions aside, because TTBB is one of Gerry Anderson's more obscure creations.  Conrad both impressed and surprised Rosie when he remarked upon TTBB.
     "How can you remember that?" she queried.  "You're younger than me and I only just remember it!"

Mind like a skip, Rosie.

     We are going back,  gentle reader, to the days when there were only 2 television channels, broadcasting solely in <gasp!> black and white, and where you had long intervals that featured a pot being thrown or horses ploughing a field.  When I say "Thrown" I mean, of course, being made.  Nothing like mindless vandalismgot shown on television in the olden days.  "Nation shall speak unto nation" and all that, though quite what North Korea would make of "It's A Knockout" is quite the question.
     Oh, here's Torchy himself:

Sinister little cove

     He was a sentient doll with a magic lamp in his head that could shine anywhere - good lord, whoever wrote this was high on something!

The Perils Of Having A Retentive Memory
OR
"Flash Fearless Versus The Zorg Women Parts 5 & 6"
A very long time ago Conrad read a review in Science Fiction Monthly that strongly disapproved of a music album with a sci-fi theme.

I had this copy

"They came out of the blue, a hell of a zoo,

A collection of mutated crud.

There was blood on their lips

And death on their hips -

They wuz SPACE PIRATES!"

 - from memory.  Though I couldn't remember the album title until a bit of Google-fu revealed the name above.  By all accounts it is, indeed, underwhelming, the title being the best bit about it.  Oddly enough although he is present it doesn't feature on John Entwistle's discography.

     When I say a very long time ago, I mean a good 40 years.  Some things stay with you, I suppose, even if you'd rather they didn't.

The Irony, It Chlorine-Trifluorides
For your information, ClF3 is The Chemical From Hell.  It explodes on contact with everything and burns materials not normally considered remotely flammable - sand, asbestos, glass, concrete - giving off clouds of toxic corrosive vapour.  Even the Nazis found it too dangerous to work with, not a statement you will hear very often.  
     I think I've made my point about the irony**.  

Perhaps more of a melt than a point

     Let us proceed.
     Your modest artisan and First Bus have a relationship that can at best - at best, mind you - be described as "fraught", if by "fraught" you mean "mutual incandescent loathing and hatred".  Robert Heinlein once controversially claimed that there are many, many things in life that would be greatly improved by a once-over-lightly of the Hiroshima treatment.  Whilst I would jib at applying this principle quite so liberally as Rob, when it comes to First Bus you'll get no argument from me.
     Here an aside.  Robert Heinlein was quite, shall we say, right-wing, although in a convincingly articulate way.  Quite the starched shirt.  The polar opposite of Philip Kendred Dick, whose drug problem seemed to be that he couldn't get enough.  Yet, when PKD fell seriously ill, it was ol' Bob who came to rescue him.  Unlikely friends.

How to pet cats the Robert Heinlein way!

     Today's Minor Domestic Event started with a non-event - no bus.  Your humble scribe stood at the bus stop feeling foolish, and cold, waiting.
     Still waiting.
     Waiting still.
     Of course the Bus Wait Rate Rule comes into play and one day I WILL find a way to make money from it.  Oh, what's this?  A 409 passing in the opposite direction, and what film is the bus poster advertising?
     "Arrival"
     Bah.  The universe is laughing at me.

"So are the aliens, Conrad."

     Hey!  Watch it!  I'M the alien round here!


*  I know, I know, how very shocking - me using the South Canadian spelling.  Tut!
** You know me - beat the point into the ground with a mallet, just to be sure.