Conrad: If He's Breathe-y He's Seethy

You Know How It Is

Your Humble Scribe's default condition is a state of barely-controlled rage, so much so that anything can set off a state of Frothing Nitric Ire.  Just imagine how incredibly worse things would be if I supported a ballfoot team, because they inevitably lose matches here and there.  I'd need two Remote Nuclear Detonators, one for each hand.  In fact make it four, one for each hand and one for each foot.  Art!

Now we're talking!

     I could probably manage a fifth one by hitting it with my forehead - hmmm perhaps not, it doesn't sound very dignified.

     ANYWAY after having delicious re-heated pizza (because it always tastes better the next day when re-heated) I have fought off the red mist enough to be coherent again - we'll get to the 'why' shortly, don't you worry.

     Back to South Canada and that Youtube Reddit posting about 'Small Town WoE Stories', where I use BOOJUM!'s less offensive acronym*.

     One poster related how, in their small town of a couple thousand people, their mother could take her pet boa constrictor YEP SMALL TOWN SOUTH CANADA RIGHT THERE - Art!

Boa with puny human for scale

     - and arrange it around her shoulders, and then go shopping in the local supermarket, at which nobody would even blink, as they knew both her and the snake.  Boas, you see, can bite but have no venom; they kill prey by wrapping themselves around it and - you may be ahead of me here - constricting their victim's breathing.  So madame was living dangerously.

     Another bizarre event is 'Cowpat Bingo'.  For this a sports hall or other venue with a large flat surface area was chosen, with the area divided into dozens if not hundreds of squares.  Spectators chose a square.  Fair enough.  Then Daisy was introduced, and where she dropped a pat was - The Winner!

Atom Heart Bother

     One poster said their high school tried this.  The cheerleading team scared the cow so much that it ran at the retaining fence, knocked a hole in it and escaped.  Definitely a Killer Kow from the Murder Meadow.

     Motley - let us experiment with Crocodile Pat Bingo!

The Reason For Seethin'

As you should surely know by now, Conrad has an undeclared war ongoing against Codeword compilers of the world, of whom there are a lot fewer than there used to be (see above item for Remote Nuclear Detonator details).  I shall have to hurry up and type this before my inchoate rage renders my words illegible.

"JAPONICA":  YOU WHAT?!  It took me at least half an hour to work out what this one was, time I'll never get back.  How Dog Buns! unfair is selecting an obscure variety of plant?  Art!

     Fortunately it all fell into place after that and I only used the RND a few dozen times.  But come on, really!  In real life it is a variety of flowering quince, it says here.  Bah!

"GOLEM": No, not an exhortation to Stanislav.  You know, the chap who wrote 'Solaris' and 'The Cyberiad'.  Although, given his Jewish background, he'd probably be aware of what a 'Golem' was.  It's an artificial creature, usually made of mud or clay, which is brought to life by inscribing the Hebrew for 'Life' on it's forehead.  When the need for a golem has passed, the inscription is altered, not entirely sure to what, and back it goes to a lifeless lump of riverbed silt.  BUT STILL!  <sighs>  Art!

     It also featured in a daft horror film starring Roddy McDowall, titled "It!", which probably confused Stephen King fans, where said golem was indestructible, though not scarlet.  Art!

How to scare cats the Roddy McDowall way!

"OMBUDSMAN":  You see?  Now can you understand my Righteous Rancour?  My Collins Concise defines this as an official who takes up citizen complaints about government or government entities and agents.  And, get this, it comes from the Swedish for 'Commissioner".  Not entirely sure about that.

Ombudsmen are boring.  Have a Titan II missile launch instead.

Bring On The "Tormentor"

Worry ye not, nearly done.  Then we have the endless supply of 'Doctor Who' fan-fiction to go!

If it wasn’t Morgan, the entity still looked impressively evil.  At least nine feet tall, looking like a skeleton swathed in loose skin, clad in smokey rags.  The mouth dropped open and a venemous hissing voice rolled over the car.

               ‘Damn you to Hell McMahon!  Have you any idea how much that hurts?  I’ll kill you from the inside out!’

               The bushes parted and it moved forward.  Dave, wide-eyed with fright and wonder, produced his sawn-off and let off both barrels at the disturbed shrubbery.

               ‘Just drive!’ called Yvonne.

               ‘Bullets won’t -’ began Louis, because the bullets did.  Two great jagged rents appeared in the towering spirit, gaping holes that rapidly grew, gobbling up the creature’s chest and dissolving it in streamers of vapour.

               Dave revved frantically and reversed, then shot out of the car park in third gear.  Louis kept his eyes on the spirit, which clawed unbelievingly at it’s chest even as it vanished completely.

               ‘What were you shooting at!’ squeaked a terrified Angela.  ‘And why were those bushes moving on their own!’

               ‘Let’s just get back to yours,’ said a weary Louis.

    Oooh, exciting**.  Dave pretty obviously put a silver ball down each barrel of his sawn-off.

A Quick Trip Back Nearly Eighty Years

Yes, we are back to "The War Illustrated", that wartime publication from This Sceptred Isle.  Currently you can catch scenes and images from the 'Special' Military Operation on media websites that are up-to-the-second.  For readers of TWI, they had to wait until weeks had gone by before events got covered, and those covering it had to be officially credentialled, and what they published was gone over by the censor to ensure nothing of import got divulged to the Axis.  Art!

     Here you see Monty addressing a group of his generals - you can tell by all the red.  Since the Allies had control of the skies by this time there's little risk of a roving enemy aircraft pouncing upon them.  Though doubtless the enlisted men would smile in secret seeing a lot of bigwigs running for dear life.

Finally -

More martial musings from the eclectic brain, about Dimya's 'Special' Military Operation in Ukraine.  One has to laugh at the brass neck of the tiny toxic terror toad, telling other countries 'Not to interfere in Ukraine' and that 'Sending heavy weapon's could affect Europe's security'.  To the first - what, are you going to take on NATO as well, when you can't even defeat Ukraine?  To the second, you did that yourself, Dimya, you and your expert advisers.  Art!

Dimya's advisers, networking.

     Reflective of that picture of Monty and his military mates, it seems that 50 high-ranking Ruffian officers were having a conference together, dangerously close to the Ukes near Kherson.  The Ukes have a pretty capable radio intercept service, and don't forget they are being backed by NATO and especially the South Canadians, who are ecstatically happy to pass on juicy information like this.  End result, the Ukes blew up the command post and two more Ruffian generals are taking a dirt nap, with a third one likely to follow soon.  I think that makes it eleven Ruffian generals now at room temperature, or half of the ones that started in February.  This is bad news for the Ruffian army generally, since they appear to have two ranks: generals and grunts.  Because the grunts aren't going, the generals have to go gee them up, since nobody else has the wit or initiative to manage matters on their own.

     Let's hear it for Jonesy, Tsar Poutine's top military planner!

*  'What on Earth'.  Do keep up!

**  I hope.