How Our Childhood Tried To Kill Us

I Refer, Of Course, To "Help! It's The Hair Bear Bunch"

This was a children's cartoon dreamed up by a bunch of sadists and perverts way back at the beginning of the Seventies.  Allow me to display Exhibit One, Your Honour.  Art!

     We shall overlook the fact that these bears can speak, and in South Canadian argot no less, as that is the least worrying thing about this litany of sin.  First of all, note the gigantic bushy hairdo; this is because someone got home in the small hours, drunk off their bottom, and found a beermat in their pocket with the words "Hair" and "Bear" scrawled on it.  Then they had to make good after their pitch meeting.  

     Secondly, please note that although these creatures wear clothing THEY WEAR NO UNDERPANTS OR TROUSERS!  This is typical of South Canadian cartoon critters, and is clearly down to animators being a bunch of perverts.  Art!

Proof!

     Most tellingly of all, this series would have us believe that bears are cuddly, amiable, harmless bundles of furry friendliness, whom only ever get up to lovable japes -

     LIES!  ALL LIES!!

     A fully-grown bear can outrun and outclimb any puny human, and it comes with great big fangs and claws as standard.  If a bear gives you a clout then you are unlikely to get up and ask for seconds.  Even the cowardly black bear will go for you when startled or protecting it's cubs.

Or if it smells cookies

     Now, this rank mis-representation might not stick with South Canadians, as they live there, as does the bear, and they will be told to be noisy when out hiking in the wilderness, and if camping to hang up their food from a tree, but consider tourists.  Tourists!  People from lands where the bear is unknown, yet whose childhood consisted of LYING CARTOONS that ceaselessly promoted the deceitful notion that bears are friendly and " - we don't even bite!".

A black bear unhappy at being traduced (as he sees it)

     Picture what would be left when An Errant Tourist comes across a mother bear and her cubs whilst hiking a trail, and amidst exclamations of "Awwww" goes to pet one of the cubs - whilst possibly also wondering why these bears don't have waistcoats.

"Mister Smith's remains will be buried in one of these."

     Remember, children, always have your bear spray to hand.  And whilst on that subject, Motley, I've got a can of it here, and we'll test it by spraying you in the face.

Back On The E-mail Chain Gang

Which is a tortured way of saying I have logged back onto the Great War Forum, after being absent for Lo! these many years, at least five and maybe even six.  For those of you unaware, the GWF is a website inhabited by folks who are very, very knowledgeable about the First Unpleasantness, and whom are quite willing to answer the most obscure questions imaginable.  It is, of course - obviously! - a splendid way to spend a couple of hours after only intending to visit for a few minutes.

Your Humble Scribe's icon over at GWF
("Mother", a 9.2 inch howitzer)

     So if I am absent for even longer than usual, you know where to find me.  I have already dug up some more info on 'Aerial Ropeways' - which I shan't torment you with today.

More Of Idiots Tempting Fate And Dismemberment

Who would have thought that chopping wood could be so downright dangerous?  All you have to do is add a power-source and a bladed cutting instrument, after which human ingenuity is capable of creating an infinite number of ways to risk bodily mutilation.  Let us examine this more closely.  Art!

     Here you see the operator blithely bending down at axe-head level, because of course there's no guard or rails or any kind of protection, and that blade will continue to reciprocate back and forth as long as the power's on, because where is the 'Off' switch again?  

     This one is harder to make out.  Check out the image at lower starboard, and you will see the back of a dog, which gaily wanders into and out of shot, totally unconcerned with the spinning machinery of death in the background, meaning it must be long used to it.

     You can only avoid probability for so long, buddy.

     I don't know why this needs pointing out: yet again no kind of protection for the operator, and that blade whizzes up and down several times a second.  It makes short work of wood, so imagine how easily it would cope with flesh and bone.  Where does the motive power come from?  So glad you asked!

     All the way over there.  Gosh, if there were an accident, how long would it take to shut that engine off?  There are what look like a couple of buttons on the actual chopping mechanism, which might be the On/Off switch controlling the blade, and very stupidly placed they are, since if you were panicky and tried swiping one and missed - there's your hand directly under the chopper.

"ISTHMUS"

Yes, a crossword solution that Your Modest Artisan got first time, because I am brilliant at solving crosswords, from the clue "Narrow strip of land (7)" no less.  Having solved it, Conrad then speculated where it came from.  It sounds Greek to me.  And thus it turns out to be: from "isthmos", which is Greek for "neck".  Art!

     The isthmus of Panama, for your delectation.  This is where they constructed the Panama Canal for reasons that should be obvious to anyone with eyes.  "Because it's the narrowest bit" for those without.  An isthmus is, after all, a narrow strip of land joining two much larger land masses.

     We may come back to this; isthmi are interesting*!

Finally -

Ah, the madness begins.  Conrad sat down last night and began to do a not-quite frame-by-frame analysis of "Dawn Of The Dead"'s motorcycle gang, attempting to count how many went into the shopping mall and how many came out.  Not an easy job, frankly, given that it's filmed at night and motorcycles tend to keep moving lest they fall over.

     We will most definitely be coming back to this one, O yes indeed!

Caught listening to "The Archers", a biker panics

*  O yes they are.