The Darkest Parade Of The Athletes

It's A Bit Of A Portmanteau Title Today

In the sense of 'embodying several uses or qualities', derived from a French travelling case.

     - hang on, I've just gone back to review this and we've not got a gripping picture to lure the punters within.  Art!

"Nuclear torpedo inbound - deploying Point Defence Cannons!"

      You see, Conrad was travelling back to Babylon Lite via tram this afternoon, and it was standing room only, so I had no recourse to book or crossword.  Thus I was looking out of the window, brooding, wondering how I could belittle the Fun-Sized Foot Fiddler and his Victory Parade.

      "Well, there is that track by the Comsats, "Dark Parade", I mused to myself, for it does not go down well if I have these conversations out loud.  Art!

     I can't see this lot of humourless twods listening to an old man ramble about zombies and nuclear weapons and not worry.

     ANYWAY it's a song about the failed South Canadian attempt to free their hostages in Iran by main force in secret, which is quite ambitious for a three-minute work.  Art!

     The Iranians paraded all the wreckage and bodies with ghoulish relish, so it really was dark.  Not exactly the same as Peter The Average sitting on his throne above Red Square, however, so perhaps not that great an analogy.  Art!

     "Parade Of The Athletes" is an electronic dance album by DJ Tiesto, and jolly good it is too, definitely one of his better efforts.  Art!

Athletes, parading

     Definitely a lot less martial than the serried ranks of Ruffians marching across Red Square.

     Let us now direct our excoriating vision upon the near-farce of The Pest In The Bulletproof Vest and his 'Victory' Parade as of yesteryon.  It had been pruned from the dimensions of last year's parade, with only 8,000 soldiers marrionetting around instead of the more usual 11,000.  Art!

     They had trucks.  Lots of trucks.  Art!

     They had ICBMs.  Lots of ICBMs*.  Art!

     What they lacked were tanks.  Normally they wheel out the T-90s en masse, to try and look modern and impressive, yet not yesteryon.  Not even their 8 T-14 Armartas put in an appearance, which is a mixed blessing as they are likely to break down in front of the crowd.
     So, the sole tank on display was a Second Unpleasantness-era T-34.  One struggles to understand the thought processes of the people who dreamed this one up.  Predictably, it was Point And Laugh Day on Tuesday.  I bet Dimya was weeping salty tears into his borshch <note Ukrainian spelling>.

     Not only that, there were no aircraft doing aerial things over the ooohing and aaaahing audience, both because there were no aircraft, and no audience, either.  Apparently the 'Immortal Regiment' tradition, of civilian masses carrying photos of loved ones who perished in war (also cruelly known as the "Graveyard on stick") was far too risky, as they might carry photos of the recently deceased and reveal just how many orcs have become sunflower-fodder.  Art!

All safely in black and white

     Poor old Putykins; he couldn't even claim a consolation prize, because Bakhmut still holds.  In fact there are rumours of a Ukrainian counter-attack, which, if true, will cause Dimya's borshch to be more tears than beetroot.

O Delicious Schadenfreude!

No, nothing about football this time.  Your Humble Scribe was checking the BBC News pages this morning and what did I espy?  Why, an announcement that a South Canadian politician is being indicted for all sorts of mischief.

     "Come on, Conrad, this continual braying about DJ Tango is getting old," I hear you say.

     But wait!  Art!

I hate him already

     This is George Santos, who has managed to rack up a list of offences in the past, which are now landing him in the soup.  He is now being charged with: fraud; money-laundering; theft of public funds; and lying to the House of Representatives.  In the past he has lied about being Jewish, lied about his mother being killed on 9/11, and stole money being raised for a service dog.

     What splendid upstanding characters these South Canadian politicians are!  And how they thoughtfully generate content for the blog.  Ta very much, Georgie boy.  And we can subsume this one under Crime And Criminals, rather than Politics. Because I say so, before you ask.

Not Sure What To Make Of This

If you read the blog regularly AND FOR YOUR CONTINUED GOOD HEALTH YOU HAD BETTER then you know Conrad is rather a fan of "Lord Of The Rings" by Ol' Tolky.  There is no denying that Sauron, who truly justifies the title of Dark Lord, is one of fiction's most pre-eminent villains.  Art!

     Meet a butterfly whose genus is now named "Saurona", after yes you guessed it, Ol' Nine Fingers himself.  Conrad is unsure how to feel about one of the most ineffectual critters on the planet being named after Ol' Tolky's villain.  It'll probably go down a storm with the Mordor Tourist Board, mind.

     Just waiting for someone to name a species of lizard or mole-rat after Gandalf ...

O Noes, Not Him Again!

We have explained a couple of times about the South Canadian John Bolton, who held high office in the Trump Administration, and who left to become an ambassador, after Darth Marmalade sacked him.  There's no taint associated with being sacked by Prez Trump, he sacked everybody.  Bolton so closely resembles Conrad that people have contacted me on Facebook demanding to know why I'm putting on a South Canadian accent and wearing a suit.  Art!

     They have a point.  Since I travel on public transport, there is always the risk that a violent twod takes a swing at me for being "That Dog Buns! John Bolton," rather overlooking the fact that Mr. B. definitely doesn't travel on the East Didsbury tram.

"The Sea Of Sand"

The Doctor, Sarah and Professor Templeman are preparing to leave the alien complex at Makin Al-Jinni.

No bio-vores present, and those tell-tale displays in the science building – they are headed for the shoreline! realised the Doctor. 

          ‘Look at those,’ said Templeman, pointing at a triple series of tracks leading over the sand-basin walls.

          Exit tracks, recognised all three witnesses.  The bio-vores had fled in their black glass machineries.

          On cue, a Sahariana came lurching over the crest of the basin, heading downwards with one man driving, the other next to him hugging a machine-gun.  The vehicle skidded to a halt, Tenente Dominione leaning out of the driver’s seat to bow and salute mockingly.

          Fifteen minutes later the desert car proceeded slowly westwards, a big blue box secured on the rear decking, the Doctor, Sarah and the Professor all crammed into any available space.

          ‘Three black tanks came out of the dig,’ explained Dominione.  ‘We opened fire but our bullets just bounced off.’

          ‘Head for the depot,’ ordered the Doctor.  ‘They won’t bother with it any longer.’  Not when they can head for the burgeoning shores of the Med, anyway, he told himself.

          They got closer to Mersa Martuba, hearing occasional bangs and rattles reminiscent of gun battles, then closer, and closer – and abruptly came across a scene of brief battle and slaughter.

        Blimey, how few of our gallant band of survivors are actually going to survive?

Finally - 

Not only was there an event on tonight, the same thing is running tomorrow morning at the Arena, so I cannot take in my usual rucksack and must make do instead with what looks like a slightly outsized purse.  Conrad not happy.  Roll on home working.

     Bah!

*  Although who knows which launcher actually has a missile inside?