Cigar Tubes Of DEATH!

AND DESTRUCTION!

Seriously.  Every word true.  Okay, for this to make sense (as much as it ever will) we need to establish a background, and that means Gerry Anderson's futurology folk-tales like "Thunderbirds".  If you have no idea what I'm talking about THE EXIT DOOR IS THAT WAY.  Thank you.  Art!

Hypersonic hot wings

From VTOL to STOL at Mach 28

     Actually, Your Humble Scribe can't remember if TB1 ever does descend back into the depths on it's rockets.  Perhaps an aside for a later date.

     ANYWAY you can see the impressively fiery rocketry at work here, and they have a real feel of propulsion, which is completely fictional. I was listening to a FAB talk by Gerry's son, who said they had absolutely no power behind them at all; all the movement is by wire, not rockets.

     He went on to explain that the rockets were simulated using emergency flares from a company called Schermully (splendid English name!), and let us see if Art can provide a picture, once he's pitchforked out of his coal-induced stupor.

So many flares!

     So there you have the ideal method of producing a convincing replica of a rocket motor, except for the fact that these things burn hotter than Hades and were being used inside models using lots of flammable paint, plastic and wood.  Art!

The unglamourous flying truck

     They therefore need to be insulated, which is where Gerry's cigar-smoking helped, as he was fond of the rolled tobacco.  A cigar, you see, is an expensive and delicate item, so it's protected from the world's ravages by being sealed within a tube.  Art!

Substitute Schermully for cigar

     Okay, I know you pedantic hair-splitting sceptics like proof of everything, so here's the DEATH AND DESTRUCTION I mentioned in today's title.  Art!

THINGS EXPLODING*!

     Fun fact: some of these explosions were so large they set the studio ceiling alight.  

     Motley!  We need to find out if petrol long past it's sell-by-date can still be used in a flamethrower, and we've run out of firesuits.  Just stand still while we Bacofoil you, hmmm?

Do I Need To Tell You - DON'T Try This At Home?

For residents in This Sceptred Isle said warning doesn't apply, because we don't have skunks in this country.  You can probably guess where this is going, and indeed it's nowhere very creditable.

     According to one Redditor on the Youtube channel about Pro-revenge, you can bait a skunk into a piece of stovepipe laid on the ground.  Art!

    Allegedly, once in the pipe Ol' Funky cannot raise it's tail to spray skunk-juice at anyone, whilst you cover the bottom of the pipe and keep it vertical, so it can't climb out.  What you can then do is attend a dance event held by a rival school or college, then roll the stovepipe across the dancefloor.  Mister Funky will emerge, no doubt in an enraged state, and boy does he have room to raise his tail.

     Conrad cannot possibly condone this malicious action, even if it's tremendously funny for anyone not on the dancefloor.

Let's Have More Of Torment

Yes, it's a great way to boost the word count, although I hope you notice that the Compositional Ton has been raised accordingly, to 1,200 words.  Ah me, Conrad remembers the days when it was only 750.  And when BOOJUM! began it might be as little as 300 or 400.  ANWAY enough nostalgia, let the supernatural begin.

Louis spun on his heel to point at a hulking brute sitting at the back of the class.

               ‘Why are you in here, in this class?’

               Brief shrug from the student.

               ‘Ah – doing what the DTO said I had to?

‘Wrong answer!  You!’ tried Louis again, pointing to a scrawny teen with terrible acne.

‘I don’t know!’ whimpered the youth in panic.

‘Dim but honest.  I like that.  You!’

‘Er – to learn reading and writing?’

‘Bingo!  Good answer.  You can go early.’

That left twelve students, all unsettled at Louis and his attitude.  He gathered in the test papers, seeing that one student had scrawled nothing but mis-spelt obscenities across the paper.

‘ “Biffo”,’ he read aloud.  Biffo sprawled in a chair, a sneering lad of mixed race who promptly got a slap round the head from Jennifer.  He jerked upright, looking to see who had dared to attack him.  ‘Biffo.  That should be “Buffo”, short for “Buffoon”, shouldn’t it?   You can’t even spell these swear-words properly.  Congrats, you’ve failed the course.  Back to prison in one easy move.’

Biffo surged upright, swearing.

‘I weren’t ******* coming back here anyway,’ he snarled.  His machismo was severely dented when Jennifer tripped him up in front of the class, who hooted with malicious laughter as he sprawled lengthwise on the floor. 

‘Get used to that position,’ Louis warned.  Biffo gave him two fingers, which somehow got slammed in the door on his way out, causing him to dance down the corridor outside in pain and anger.

‘Anyone else like to try being big and hard?  No?  Good choice.  Okay, those of you who remain at liberty next week are welcome to attend our next session.’

‘Think you’re so hard,’ muttered one ridiculuously small individual, hood pulled up over his head, on the way out.

‘I’m not, I just don’t give a ****,’ replied Louis in a matter-of-fact tone.

‘Did he really say that?’ asked one departing student to another.

     Note to any teaching staff reading this: please do not rely on spiritual assistance and intervention to manage your classroom effectively.

Looking Back

As you should surely know by now, the blog doesn't really bother to look back at the past year as we are not at all reflective.  On the other hand, we are perfectly willing to take advantage of others who think hard before posting, and Lo! the BBC have once again put up a collection of photographs, on the theme of "2021". So let's have one of them.  Art!

Courtesy Justin Saculles

     This particular hound is Summer, who dealt with lockdown by catching treats, says the caption.  How does she know that's a treat?  She's leaving her acquisition a little late, surely?  Treat-fatigue?  

Radio Free Europe

No!  Not the R.E.M. song, which I cannot get out of my head now, thanks very much.  There.  Happy now?

     It occurred to Conrad that, since the Sinister Union went toes-up in 1991, RFE might no longer be around.  It was established at the start of the Cold War in 1950, with a brief to broadcast factual news to the Warsaw Pact nations and the Sinisters themselves.  Art!

     The Sinisters hated, hated HATED it, because it explained about things they ignored or lied or twisted to make them fit the Sinister Weltanschaung.  For example, after Chernobyl and the utter silence from the Kremlin about what had occurred, folks behind the Iron Curtain tuned in to RFE to see what the real explanation was.  The Sinisters frequently tried jamming the signal, which was as I seem to recall, four times more expensive than the actual cost of RFE's broadcasting.  After the Sinister Union split apart broadcasting focus shifted to transmissions to other dictatorships, and the station is still going.  Art!

In Prague

     Heh.  This probably tweaks Tsar Putin's tail, since the Czech Republic used to be under Sinister rule, and now it thumbs a metaphorical nose at him.  Poor Dimya!

     And with that, we are done.

*  A lifelong fascination for Your Humble Scribe