Sir Thomas Malory Did It First

A.K.A. Baby Yoda Gets A Name

Don't sneer at me for being behind the curve here, it's not an easy balancing act, keeping your head in both the fifteenth century and the twenty-fifth (or whenever "The Mandalorian" is set).

     This does, however, give me the opportunity to bait the odd click or two by including a screenshot of the small green critter in question.  Art!

     For those who may have been in a submersible marine research station at the bottom of the Marianas Trench for the past three years, this little scamp is self-willed, inquisitive, perpetually hungry and fond of food to big to comfortably fit in his mouth.

     Now that your appetites are whetted, let us abruptly change tack and revert to "Le Mort D'Arthur", because this does make sense*.  You see, ever since Book One we have had to deal with a character Sir Tom called "The King With A Hundred Knights", a rather clumsy nomenclature that definitely doesn't trip lightly off the tongue.  I don't know, perhaps it was smoother in French.  Only towards the end of Book Ten do we learn that this cove has a name: "Sir Berrant Le Apres".  Well done, Tom, couldn't you have dropped that in a tad earlier?

     No pictures of Sir Berrant that I can find, so you'll have to make to with a Questing Beast.  Looks a little "Yellow Submarine" to me, frankly**. 

     "What does - O," I hear you comment.  "We see."
     Yes, here we are half-way through the second series of "The Mandalorian" and only now do we find that "Baby Yoda" is actually "Grogu" (long "O").  Conrad feels this is quite appropriate, since he/she/it/whatever appears to be passing fond of anything vaguely edible it can fit in it's gob, such as grog.  Art!  More clickbait!

BAD GROGU!  NAUGHTY GROGU!

     Since the little beggar is telekinetic, it's a safe bet that Mando has terrible trouble keeping the lids on all the jars in his spaceship.  Although that kind of ability would be pretty damn useful in getting my jars of Polish pickles open, since they vacuum-seal them so securely you have to slam a -

     Sorry, got a little off-track there.  What's that?  What's 'grog'?  O I thought you'd never ask!  Art!

     It was a ration of rum, diluted with water, which was served to seamen in the Royal Navy from 1740 to 1970, and which made the Senior Service unbeatable (or made it think so).  Diluted in this manner, it would spoil rapidly, especially in tropical climes, so the rascally tars couldn't hoard it to get pie-eyed on a couple of pints of rum (which was 95% proof and thus able to serve as fuel in an emergency).
     Hmmmm.  Okay, Mando, you do NOT let Grogu anywhere near grog.  Not only would that make you culpable in loco parentis, having a kid able to throw around multi-ton monsters under the influence - nope.  We don't want that.

I feel I'm being judged here

     It's a bit hard to tell if Mando's annoyed or not, isn't it?  One supposes that if you're still alive, he's not too bothered.
     Motley!  Do you want to hear the delicate squeaking of some Whistling Birds?

Breaking Down

Not the sort where your car's axles fall off and you hurl over the bridge parapet to fall 50 yards into the Squalee River, nor yet where you suddenly realise that QAnon are a load of credulous bampots.

     No.  Remember Conrad banging on about Lego constructions that make up 'Great Ball Contraptions"?  You better had, for we now have a few shots of the modules that collectively make these Rube Goldberg/Heath Robinson assemblages.  Art!

     That Apollo is the conduit down which the balls roll, to emerge at the bottom, and sorry that they never pulled the camera back far enough to show the whole thing, which stands about eight feet high.  And it's only one small part of the whole construction.

     Here the split-feed of balls coming from the rocket merge together and onwards to a set of three circular disks, that pick each ball up, move it to the disk above and then -

     - down the other side again.  Then -

     - they get jiggered up a set of alternating steps.  Okay, that's four of the 'modules' that get linked together to create the whole enormous array.  Conrad is pretty sure they build all the modules first, then transport them to the display venue and the hard work consists of linking everything up, making sure it works, making sure it works in synchrony with the other modules and then setting the balls rolling.  It would just take too long to assemble from scratch at the venue.  Days, probably.

     Go on, go on - "some people have entirely too much time on their hands.***"

I Like This Theory!

You know Conrad, if it's possible to put a dark and sinister interpretation on something bright and positive, then that's his day made.  You wouldn't believe how hilarious it is to recite "Little Bo Peep" in the manner of an understated  hissing psychopath (the school won't invite me back, though).

     ANYWAY I was perusing a Youtube Reddit channel that asked "What Fan Theory Makes Most Sense To You?" and they came up with a corker.  Art!

Scooby and the gang!

     "Scooby Doo takes place in a world devastated by a global economic catastrophe".
     Before you scoff, they did add in that these kids just swan about the land with no gainful employment, parents, educational responsibilities or source of income.  Obviously they barter their services for food and fuel.

     Next compelling argument: everywhere they travel is dilapidated, abandoned or run-down.  Of course they stay away from big cities, which in this scenario would be rat-infested, gang-riddled, septic sewers of disease and violence.

Here there are just septic sewers.  I rest my case.

     Lastly, they make the point that people who, pre-Crash, would have been well-off middle-class doctors and scientists, go out of their way to cheat and steal and hoodwink them for the sake of a few dollars.

     Colour me convinced.

"The entire Police Department was present."

*  In my head, which is where it matters most.

**  'Questing Beat'?

***  Said without a wisp of irony