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Sunday, 10 April 2022

Shakes Fist At Steve And Oscar

 I Had Better Explain, Hadn't I?

Those of you who have been reading this epitome of wit, wisdom and wonder will already recognise those names: Steve, my memory (take a small bow Steve) and Oscar, my subconscious (no bow for you Oz you're too much the drama queen already).  They are responsible for generating a fair amount of blog content by having words or phrases pop up in my mind at random.  This is the reason I have pen and paper next to the alarm clock, so I can scribble down any input they came up with overnight.  Art!


    Since both are immaterial and you really don't want a picture of the inside of my brain, here's a Packard V12 ship's engine, as used in the Vosper motor gun boat of the Second World 'Special' Military Operation.  Just because.  No, I don't know why it has so many pumps s

     ANYWAY the Dubious Duo came up with a word that I didn't write down immediately, meaning I'm now struggling to recall exactly what it was.  CHARSHISH?  I know, it sounds like the Ruffian version of a Ukrainian town.  So, let's Google a solution.  Art!

'Turkish and Mediterranean cooking'

     Say what?  Hmmmm no.  Conrad had the feeling that it's Biblical in nature, along the lines of " - and yeah verily the peoples of Lakmesh and Charshish took it unto themselves to raise a right ruckus -' or similar.  Okay, perhaps it was CHARSHEMISH, that sounds appropriately Biblical.  Off to Google we go.  Art!


     Hmmmmm no.  Apparently there is no such word.  Or at least none that Google recognises, I wonder - Collins Concise here we come!  <long pause> Nope again, nothing between 'Charpentier' and 'chart'.  Perhaps I got the first letter wrong and it's SHARSHISH <tries again>.

     Hmmm well, we get something close to a hit - Sharanish, a village in the Kurdish region of northern Iraq.  Recent history since the Nineties rather afflicted by wa- 'Special' Military Operations, usually by the Turkeys, since they hate and fear anything that has 'Kurd' in it.  One wonders what they think of Poutine, that British American dish of chips (NOT 'French fries' ever ever ever!), gravy and cheese kurds.  Art!

Sharanish

     Or - could it have been SHARSHEMISH?  Heigh ho, back to Google again.  What on earth?  Art!


     This is described by an auction house as 'Chamisha Chumshei Torah, Zhitomir' and has a connection with Sabbat prayers, dated 1851.  Undeniably Jewish, as confirmed by the Hebrew text, and there's Cyrillic in there as well - Art!


      Zhitomir rings a bell, too.  Hang on whilst I Google a placename that very definitely DOES exist.  Ah.  Thought so.  Art!


     The correct Ukrainian spelling is now "Zhytomyr".

     Dog Buns and Kreplach!  I could go on chasing that fnorping word all afternoon and not get it, and, irony of ironies, we end up back in the news headlines when I'm trying to track down (what I think is) an ancient city as mentioned in the Good Book.

     I give up.  Motley!  Open the sluice gates on the Gin Trough.


A Little Malicious Schadenfreude

As you should surely know by now, Conrad cordially detests the ballfoot game and only reads the venomous, citric Comments on the BBC's sports website because they are frequently hilarious, and since he doesn't support any teams, all of them are fair game.  I have, however, picked up by osmosis a certain amount of knowledge about the players, teams and game itself, quite to my surprise.

     Thus we come to The Manchester United team and their captain, Harry Maguire.  Art!


     The chap to starboard is one Roy Keane, who is hilariously blunt when being interviewed, being utterly scathing without having to raise his voice.  He is also a hard man's hard man, who gave nothing less than 110% when playing for TMU and expects nothing less from current players, which brings us back to Ol' Hal.

     It seems that Lester Sitty (sp?) sold him to TMU for £80 million, a quite staggering sum, and the fans and critics are not happy with his performance.  He has been described, to great comic effect, as 'having a turning circle only slightly smaller than the QE2'.  And a killing comment on the current HYS - 


     I nearly spat tea over my keyboard when I read that.  Classic!


The Theme Is Blue Again

Another input from the BBC again, thanks to Auntie for helping generate blog content, it's why we pay our licence fee.  Er - we do pay our licence fee, don't we? <looks around furtively> moving swiftly along - Art!

Courtesy Jade Blue.  Yes, really

     The photographer here posted a gardening picture from Wales, where they had gone for the first lockdown, and had been gifted a pair of blue Wellington boots, which they seem inordinately proud of.


Back To "Tormentor"

If you recall, Luma (I beg your pardon, 'Louis McMahon') had fended off an attack by a couple of Goth college students.  

Influenced thralls.  Not possessed.

               ‘Correct.  Another Morgan attack defeated.  Thank you for the warning.’

               When the two would-be attackers had left, or more correctly staggered away, Louis sat and gave thanks in his chair.  True to what he’d been told, they appeared different from normal humans, what with their giant psychedelic hedgehog aurae. 

               What on earth is that gun you have!

               ‘Eh?  Oh, hardly a gun.  Not a gun at all.  Pistol, yes; gun, no.’  As a comment it seemed

appropriate. 

               “Appropriate” scarcely seemed appropriate.  Here he was in broad daylight, in the middle of a college campus, amongst hundreds of students, and the Dark Ones had chosen to attack him.

               ‘Pay attention, Yvonne.  I am going to take this battle to Morgan and his assorted serfs and slaves.  I will!’

 

When Louis reached home, and later home and bed, he endured a series of hateful dreams about skinny skeletons in black trying to strangle him.  Each time he utterly destroyed the flimsy bone-creatures, but they were never-ending. 

               Louis! came a piercing silent scream in the small hours, a summons that no mortal ear could have heard.

               He came awake instantly, rolling out of bed to his left and clutching the ever-present crucifix as a shield.

               The room was dark, shrouded thanks to the heavy winter curtains.  His eyes gradually began to resolve detail, including what seemed to be a giant mass of mobile spiderweb off in a ceiling corner.  Black, plastic and repulsive, it writhed and bulged.

               ‘Yvonne!’ he called.  The shapeless mass instantly resolved, into a central body and two lesser masses off to left and right, waving to either side of the major dark centre.  Within seconds the two smaller objects gradually became clearer, into the Professor and Yvonne.

     Ooo-er, Matron!  Things seem to be coming to a head.  They'd better be, we're at Page 72 of 81.


Also

     Just to keep you in the loop, I have now reached Page 681 in "Reclaiming History", this part dealing with Lee Harvey Oswald in excruciating detail.  We haven't been given his inside leg measurement yet, an oversight I'm sure Ol' Vinny will remedy soon.

How to strangle the Vincent Bugliosi way!

Finally -

As you may have come to expect, this coda is where Conrad comments on what's going on in Ukraine, so if you've had enough of misery and destruction, feel free to skip to the end BUT I WILL KNOW IF YOU DO SO.  Just a friendly warning.  Art!

     


     That's Konstantin, the vlogger who puts up 'Inside Russia' and who is currently in Uzbekistan, but who still has to be wary about what he says, for example "Emergency SPECIAL MILITARY OPERATIONd 10" and so on.

     His description of the Ruffian MOD's official spokesman delivering news of the invasion is telling.  Art!

Humourless twod personified

     According to Konstantin, for the first three days Gitface was positively gleeful when making his announcements, ending the first three day's broadcasts with an announcement about 'Zero Ruffian casualties'.  Then, on the fourth day - when things had obviously gone incredibly awry and the Ruffians were essentially stuck in place - his cheery smile had vanished, and there was no comment about casualties.  And here we are 41 days later.  Day 45 of a war that, as Conrad makes out, costs the Ruffians 1,000 casualties PER DAY.  Yeah, no mention of casualties now, hmmmm, Twodface?


     Hark!  Can you hear that dripping noise?  That's Dimya, crying into his kasha.


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