Killer Bees

This May Not Work
Because idiot mobile phone cannot be relied upon to function properly.  Last week it took 40 minutes to access photographs that had been taken already, switching between different leads and different sockets and different combinations of crossed fingers.  Yet another reason to consign all mobile phones to the bin and resort to a tin can connected with a length of string.  Art?

Requires neither electrical power, moving parts nor 18 month subscriptions

     You know that cod news question, "Could you live without your phone for a month?" - well, my answer is a very loud YES!! and for several years, at least, thanks.
     Right, digits intertwined because the Devil's Digital Device appears to be working as it should.  Okay, time to look askance at Conrad as he prepares to wow you with an incredibly offensive wartime film, namely "The Fighting Seabees", which is where the killer bees come from, as these are navvies with guns, and it's definitely a 'B' movie to boot.

They look to be doing more kissing than killing.

     Firstly, let me abruptly change subjects and instead go on about cigarettes, the 'baby cigar' made out of shredded nicotine plants and mind-control drugs chemical enhancers bad stuff.  Art?

THESE ARE NO BETTER!
(Although PK Dick would have loved them)

     The fuming coffin-nail didn't get removed from the screen until the Seventies, and consequently films in the Forties and Fifties were populated by hordes of hardened smokers, whose lungs probably resembled jute sacking dipped in tar, because Smoking Was Manly.*  Drinking was manly, too.  Remember that.
     Now that I've set the scene, allow me to introduce another.  Art?

I shall describe what you're seeing

     This is one of 'Wedge' Donovan's skilled technicians - their words, not mine! - opening a packet of cellophane-wrapped lung-picklers BY SLICING IT OPEN WITH A CIRCULAR SAW.
     I don't know if it's even a dummy saw blade; I suspect not, because Cheating Death Or Risking Traumatic Amputation Is Also Manly.  The kicker here is that the skilled technician is also staggeringly drunk, literally - he can barely stay upright or speak coherently.  And nobody minds one iota.
     Ah, the Forties - where you could get away with practically murder!
     I think that's enough of that for today, but rest assured we're coming back this way again.  Oh yes.
     Now, time to contort the motley into a washing machine and put it on full rinse for an hour and a half!

Yes, because "The welding, drilling, bricklaying and carpentering Seabees" would be dull.

Can You Say "Shrieking Hysterical Over-reaction"?
Sometimes the Beeb proves that it is indeed a touchstone of responsible, mature, balanced, researched and nuanced reporting by avoiding having anything to do with those qualities.  Just so here.  Art?

     What they mean, of course, is that a lot of foodstuffs get their red colouration from cochineal, a food colouring derived from boiling up cochineal beetles.

A red Beatle.  Close enough.

     Your humble scribe knew what the article was going to be about before reading it.  My comment would be 'Duh'; this is why vegans have to check food labels for ingredients, and why Conrad, if he's baking anything that needs to be coloured red, uses Doctor Oetker's non-beetley food dye.

Strange Ships - One That Flips
Ha!  Those ocean-going wags!  I see what they did there.  We are talking about the Floating Instrument Package, a vessel of peculiar aspect and function.  Art?

FLIP being towed into position

     You have to admit, FLIP looks odd.  It was designed to research ocean conditions, and functions by flooding the long hull, causing the research end of the vessel to stand proud of the sea by some 40 feet.  Art?

Going under

     Things aboard have to be designed to work in a horizontal and vertical plane; during the last two minutes of the flooding process, the crew stand outside, because there's a risk of injury indoors if things haven't been secured properly.  It's an outstandingly popular gig for oceanographers, and no wonder, because Flipping Is Manly.  Art?

Flipping manly, alright

     Today's BOOJUM! has come to you later than usual, because I didn't get a PC of my own in the office until mid-afternoon, and even then had to do work, instead of being able to compose glorious drivel.  Ah well.  These things are sent to try us ...


*  Women smokers were tolerated, rather than accepted.  The trouble started, in my opinion, when they got the vote.  It was all downhill <Mister Hand redacts a screed that would have been acceptable in 1898)

An Embarrassment Of Riches

Or, What Then?
Somewhat earlier this afternoon I was pondering on where, exactly, to place a whole passel of fiction books that have been taking up floorspace until your humble scribe reaches a decision.  I opened up a pair of upper wardrobe doors that are rarely opened and - Hay Pesto!  Discovered a whole load of books, comics and magazines that had lain there undisturbed for possibly several years.  Art?

The haul

      Of course the temptation is to "just have a look" and we all know how that ends up - blinking blearily at the clock as it reads 1:30 ante meridian, with a clutch of books open at one's feet.* Actually I'm going to have to check that those military history ones are properly recorded in my ever-lengthening list of MH books, since I do not recall AT ALL ever purchasing one about "The Art of Warfare in the Age of Marlborough".  Life is tough, eh?

Dan Dare - my resolve is going to be tested NOT reading this

      These things are sent to try - well, maybe to try you, I actually enjoy this sort of activity.

      Now, time to send the motley through a hedge maze - pursued by a pack of rabid elephant seals!

Conrad: A Hair-splitting Pedant 8uiiiiii0---------

     <sorry, the cat just walked over my laptop keyboard>

Conrad: Adept At Tracking Down Technology-spurning Doomsday Cultists
For Yes!  we are back on 'The Omega Man' again, because your humble scribe cannot resist squeezing the last drop of artistic inspiration out of it's desiccated carcass.
     If you are not familiar with the film - and you should be, because it contains valuable guidance and pointers on how to survive when the Zombie Apocalypse arrives** - then be advised that Colonel Neville is pitted in battle against The Family; he seeks to find their 'nest' during daylight hours, so he can invite them all to a big party exterminate the lot of them.  Art?

After all, a party thrown by The Family is a bit - dull.

     Reciprocally, The Family come out come out wherev- sorry - they come out at night to try and render Mr. Neville extremely dead.  Neville's problem is that he can't find their central location.
     Okaaaaay.  Let's look at this via the lens of Conrad's Reductionist Logic.  The Family hate, HATE, HATE technology.  Unfortunately for them, they still need an average of 3 litres of water per day to survive.  With my previous estimate of 70 members of their diseased little tribe surviving, that means they need 75 tons of water per year just to survive.  There isn't any running water in the ruins of Los Angeles any more, and we also need to factor in - er - sanitary arrangements.  Given that The Family probably views the flush toilet as the Devil's Own Digestor, they aren't going to use hygenic plumbing.

Satan's sanitation!

     The one item which satisfies both issues is - the nearest river.  Ol' Nev needs only to watch the riverbanks for The Family members toting water containers, or hobbling cross-legged, and he can trail them back to their nest.
     This, of course, supposes that The Family actually bother to wash their septic skins, which might not be true - Soap Is Satan's Seduction! or somesuch - in which case Ol' Nev needs only follow his nose.***

My Just Reward
I shall harp on about dog-sitting Edna only infrequently from now on, or at least until the next time (probably July).  My sterling service and noble sacrifice for 8 days was rewarded - hey, it was a sacrifice!  I had to sit in the lounge and watch Netflix for a week! - was rewarded with the following.  Art?

     That's several different varieties of mustard to you, all from Dijon, which is famous for producing 'Moutarde' as the M8's call it.  Incidentally in the background is another previous gift, silicon rubber gloves in the shape of a cow's head.  Edna did not like these AT ALL to begin with, and would back off and bark wildly if they were used.  She has now accommodated them in her world-map of Things Humans Use.
      Then there is the second present, which made me laugh.  Art?

     It made me laugh.  I shall have to show this to Laura tomorrow, when I return to the Dark Tower and work, for she hails from Italy.  And perhaps also mention that brown bear they captured and accidentally killed, too, since one does not always associate Italy with brown bears.



*  Like demanding yet rewarding children.  There.  Who said I'm not poetic?
**  That's 'when', not 'if'.
***  No, they couldn't.  Bottled water was a rarity in 1975.

Then What?

Yes, Still Banging On About "The Omega Man"
Don't complain - it's not as if you have to pay for this, is it?  Now, there is a bit of a SPOILER here, which I feel is kind of redundant, given that the film in question is nearly 50 years old but I cherish your innocence.
     Don't forget - SPOILER!  Okay, Art, lay the spoiler-ey picture on us.

Mister Neville looking a bit porly

     No!  That isn't all blood, he's lying in a fountain and his leaking go-juice has flavoured the waters.  This is Lt. Col. Robert Neville being dead, at the end of the film, going for a bit of a messianic termination.
     Now, where does this leave The Family?  These, you recall, were the albino victims of plague, who are terribly light-sensitive, afflicted with sores and who live for nothing more than to render Mr. Neville not-alive.  Art?

Those muted threads really make your skin colour pop, ladies!

     From early in the film they've been doggedly trying to kill him, unsuccessfully.  He, on the other hand, scrags a great many of them - automatic weapons will help you to do that - along the way, quite beside the ones who simply up and die thanks to the diseases final stages.
     Well, then what?
     Neville's dead and gone; what else do they have to keep going on for?  "Destroy all technology!" is their catchphrase, which they exemplify by - burning books.
     Er - don't know if you got the memo, chaps, but books don't count as "technology", most especially because they've been around since that rock 'n' roll rebel William Caxton and his printing press.

Die, eeeevil technology! - No - hang on

     On the other hand, they are quite happy to use petrol in an ambush on Mr. Neville.  I think The Family are prone to cherry-picking, you know.  And laziness.  If they really want to destroy all technology then they best be advised to walk to the top of the nearest skyscraper - no electricity for lifts, remember - shatter the top windows and begin pitching out all the telephones, televisions, stereos, computers, fridges, printers, photocopiers (good luck with this item, they are Dog Buns awkward to move let alone propel from a window) and other office or domestic technology there present.  Then they'd have to walk to the floor below and repeat the process, and so on and so on, down to the bottom floor.

Look!  Scattered paper!  The Family have been doing in eeeevil technology again!

     But wait!  We haven't finished yet - did they check the roof for aerials or transmitters or relays?  Then they'd have to get into the basement and destroy any generating plant or air-conditioning equipment.
     And that's just one skyscraper.
     Lazy, like I said.*

Well.  I didn't expect to go on, quite.  I do raise some serious issues, though, don't I?

"Three Men In A Boat" By Jerome K. Jerome
I mentioned this yesterday, because it speaks universal truths about the human condition, and is jolly amusing to boot.  If you've never read it, do give it a go.  It has never been out of print, despite being well over a century old.  I recall reading it to Darling Daughter before she had to go to the dentist, as it would distract her from the impending torture, and it did.  Art?

Their route

     The title also adds "To say nothing of the dog", said canine in question being Montmorency, who looks a perfect angel in furry form, yet who is anything but.  One of his preferred pastimes is to gather together a band of disreputable friends, and then tackle another group of disreputable enemies.
     Oh, and JKJ was responsible for an enormous increase in leisure boating on the Thames River.  A portentous precedent.  Art?

Will surely have the same effect.**

And now for a crash course in LITHIUM WAFER BATTERY DES - actually no.  Just seeing if I could make your brain glaze over.

Finally -
As a change from "Strange Ships" I Googled "Strange Planes", which immediately brought up what looked like a Photoshop impossibility.  Art?

Sorry, but NO!

     The flight crew wouldn't be able to see the runway, there would be no room in the body for anything except the engine, they wouldn't be able to carry enough fuel for a monster engine of that size, and - what is it intended to do?  Look impressive?
     It transpires that this is an internet phenomenon: people spoofing pictures of ridiculous aircraft.  Given that things like the Super-Guppy exists in real life, there's really no need to invent strange planes.  Art?

Thus

*  No, they couldn't just set it alight.  Power-redundant firefighting systems.  Sorry.
**  Fingers crossed