"12 Inches"! I Hear You Say
Yes, we here at BOOJUM! like to keep the old Imperial measures because who on Earth would want a consistent and logical system of measurement that is called 'Metric'?
Right.
Nobody.
Bear with me on this, the beggars have redacted our measurements in all three dimensions, volumes and mass, and are doubtless going to be working on time in order to have a 20-hour day where we work for 9 h
ANYWAY allow me to include a relevant photo. Art!
This, ladies and gentlemen and those unsure, is what a prosthetic leg looks like. I put this forward because an Original Poster on Reddit came up with a heck of a headline. Art!
Doubtless you are seething at sibling for barring her brother and his prosthetic leg, because - well, who would do that?
You labour under a misapprehension. OP's brother is in possession of two (count them) wholly intact and functional legs of his own, that both work independently of each other, without any need for an additional artificial limb. He just, arbitrarily, decided that he needed to carry around an artificial limb. Art!
Back when he was still wholesome
Original Poster put up that her brother, who seems to define Creepy As All Eff, had a prosthetic leg that he carried around everywhere. He didn't explain how he got it, nor why he was carrying <note absence of leg puns> it around, just that he and Artificial Leg, Knee And Foot equipage would never be separated.
Not good enough for OP. She informed brother - sorry, CAAF Brother - that he could indeed crash at her pad over Christmas.
But not with his disturbing prosthetic.
Bro thus took himself off to the Parent's Hotel, rather than afflict his leg-end. Art!
There was an huge influx of readers and commenters on OP's first post, including a couple of relevant ones from Prosthesists, whom informed OP that her brother was in very hot water. It transpires that prosthetic legs are VERY VERY EXPENSIVE, to the tune of being able to purchase a car with their allotment. Yes, really. Also, they are pretty much tailored to a single individual, meaning that you can't book one out of the Leg Prosthesis Shop and will have to pay for a new one.
This massive bump in online traffic meant that the woman whom CAAFB stole the leg from got to hear about it. She filed charges, and CAAFB is now looking at felony charges thanks to how expensive prosthetic legs are.
This is the point at which the story ends, when it was only getting started in Conrad's opinion. We need to know more about the 'Why' and the 'What'. Or, if you like, get to the foot of it. Art!
O! Delicious Schadenfreude!
As you ought to know by now, Your Humble Scribe does not give a fig for any of the ballfoot teams that play in the Prime Ire League (sp?) BUT he does O so enjoy the venom that pours forth from commentators on the BBC's website pages. Here is but one example -
There's quite a bit to unpack here. The 'Oil money' mentioned is because some rich beggar from the UAE or similar invested heavily into Person City (sp?) which allowed them to buy players regardless of cost. The next 3 replies have been removed as they breach the BBC's terms of service - probably bad language. The "man ure" comment is a play on words, because the main protagonists of Person City are The Manchester United. Yes yes yes, very sophomoric. Don't shoot me, I only maintain the piano. Art!
Pig's bladder politics. Who would have thought, waaaaaay back in 1524, that it would come to this.
"City In The Sky"
Ace and Terry are trying to make sense of the Doctor's nonsensical message to them. Except - him being the Doctor, it's not going to be nonsense. Or is it?
A ten minute excursion and asking people
to Tab for the vet brought them back to
‘Thought you were my husband come back.
I chased him away. Physical
contact transmits the bacteria, you know.’
Ace flushed with shame when she realised that this woman’s “put-upon”
cough during their interview had actually been the beginnings of this disease.
‘Are you okay to talk?’ asked Terry.
‘Only we’ve got a problem.’
Emilia looked directly at them.
No, Davy hadn’t told them yet.
Damn. Well, as a Founder scion she
took responsibility.
‘We have more than that. The
first fatalities have occurred. Three
people so far.’
Ace reared back as if slapped, and Terry bit his knuckle. Emilia waved a hand.
‘Not your fault, it’s that cretin Barclay. Enough of that. What is your problem?’
They explained, falling over themselves verbally to get the message
across, before showing her the printed paper that Davy gave them.
Don't criticise about printed paper, they use it lots of times in "Space 1999"
Tuff Love
As you surely know by now, any and all media inputs from the world are relentlessly ground down and rendered unto grist for BOOJUM! which also includes the rather spammy material thrown up upon log-in. Art!
This is the Italian village of Civita Di Bagnoregio, which the idiot algorithm had brought up as a screensaver.
What makes this village so unique is that it is constructed upon a column of volcanic 'Tuff', which is robust enough to build houses upon, yet too weak to sustain over a couple of centuries. The village perimeter has been progressively shrinking o'er these several centuries, with subterranean tombs now becoming genuinely sub terranean. Art!
The only way in is now via the elevated roadway. There used to be a ridgl that connected the town to Bagnoregio, an architectural or geographical feature that no longer exists. Make the most of Italy's Disappearing Town! because like the tennis score, it won't be along for much longer.
Colin: A Work In Progress
In case you were wondering, yes, Colin Furze is still alive. Conrad is somewhat aghast at this news, since Colin is one of those people determined to kill themselves by various eccentric means. His Thermite Cannon is still the gold standard of stupidity when it comes to creating self-immolating stuff. Art!
This is Ol' Col creating an <takes breath> underground tunnel that links his house to his secret underground base in the back garden. Yes, you read that correctly.
Quite what Mrs. Furze thinks about this, if Ol' Col is still married, remains unspoken.
Finally -
Gotta go box up the Sunday Stew!
