Whoopee Rupee Ruble Rubble!

All Completely Correct

If a little informal.  The Ruffian currency, the ruble (South Canadian spelling adopted for cheap pun reasons) might be now called the 'Centurion' of currencies, not because it smacks of Roman non-commissioned officers or stalwart British tanks of the Cold War era, 

Any excuse for TANK

but because it has now hit an unenviable target.  I did save a screenshot of this, just to be certain I'd have mockery-material if the original vanished into the ether.  Art!

    For Your Information, the ruble at this time in 2022 was trading at about 50 to the dollar.  So a single ruble is now worth a single cent, and is nearing parity on the cost of a sheet of toilet paper; yes, there is a metric out there measuring the two.  Trent Telenko, South Canadian ex-logistics officer, pointed out it costs 0.04 dollars for a sheet of toilet paper (or four cents) BUT he is no doubt comparing luxury triple-ply quilted South Canadian toilet paper, not the sandpaper that the Ruffians use.  Art!

That's Vanya's monthly wage spent in one go

     What does this depreciation mean for Ruffians and the rest of the world, especially the civilised bits?  Well, it's not good, I'll tell you that.  The ₽ has lost 62% of it's value in the past 12 months against the dollar and now stands at the worst position ever in the past 25 years, bar the mental spike immediately post-Special Idiotic Operation*.  You may respond to that by saying "Mighty Tsar Putin wishes to avoid trading in dollars, and thus so it shall be, amen."

     Bloaty Gas Tout can bloviate and bluster all he likes; international trade in oil and gas is done in dollars, the end.  Nobody trades in rubles any more.  Art!

"Dimya ignored his doctor's advice about risking a stroke."

     The has lost 75% of it's value against the Euro, faring even worse than against the dollar.  I believe it's now ₽106 to a single €, and the Euro is important because Ruffia imported so much from Europe, meaning that any imports still entering Ruffia are now much more expensive.

     What of China and India, Putin's best mates?  Their exchange rate statistics mirror those of the dollar and Euro.  Putin tried to force the Chinese to trade in rubles.  They flat-out refused (see above).  The Yuan has 'only' fallen by 28% against the ruble, with the Rupee faring much better - ₹1.2 to the ruble, a depreciation of 58%.  Art!

<blows kisses to Putin>

     When it comes to exports, if they are high in volume, then there is an increased demand for the currency of the trading nation.  Conversely, if there is a decrease in exports, then the currency is treated as having economic lice.  This is where the ruble and exports stand now; there has been a collapse in trade of 60% which is reflected in the ruble's linked demise of 56% averaged out over the four currencies named above.  In a league of world currencies, the ruble enjoys such splendid company as the Turkish Lira and the Argentinian peso - the two worst-performing currencies there are.  

The consequences of excess inflation

     Inflation in Turkey stands at 38% and a whopping 147% in Argentina.  The Ruffians claim 2.3%, but are obviously crossing their fingers behind their back and hoping not to be struck by lightning.

     

Answers In The Comments, Please

There are more peculiar items going for knockdown prices on "The Daily Beast"'s pages, which Conrad can only speculate upon.  Art!

     That to port is blatantly a torture implement and doubtless comes with a disclaimer about "CONSENTING ADULTS ONLY" and making sure you sterilise it in an autoclave first.  That to starboard?  No idea.  A Rotary Flanged Grommet Inducer?

     Yes, I could just click on the link BUT WHERE WOULD BE THE FUN IN THAT?

"The War Illustrated"

Let us whistle up the cover of Issue 176, for March 17th 1944.  Art!

     The caption is a little hard to read, so allow Conrad to inform you that these are commandos in training 'somewhere in England' except one of the major training bases was at Achnacarry in the Scottish Highlands.

     It's difficult to see clearly here, thanks to the smoke and frankly blurry photography, but these chaps are wielding the new '8.3 inch triangular bayonet', which was more like a skewer than a miniature sword, as the old 1907 pattern bayonet had been.  Art!

     The spike model was unquestionably a horribly efficient pig-sticker, saving a considerable amount of metal in production.  The 1907, however, was calculated to instil the fear of God Almighty into  the opposition when they saw the sunlight glinting onto it's blade, and the likely prospect of being in his company imminently.

"City In The Sky"

Ace and the Doctor have had a thorough nosy about the premier orbital space station 'Arcology One' and the Doctor is impatient to be moving on.

     There were significant omissions amongst those selected in Arc One: no military or politicians, no lawyers, no management or consultants.  The Wardens were the closest thing to any kind of armed force, and even they didn’t carry weapons – hence the unarmed combat.

     A call came in on Nat’s Tab, from Virginia Branson.  Could Ace meet the Doctor back at the Tardis?

     ‘Is this goodbye?’ joked Nat, to a rueful look from Ace which hinted at more than words could communicate.

     ‘Probably,’ she replied.  ‘We tend not to stick around for very long.’

 

     The Doctor, predictably, bundled her into the timeship without much fanfare.  There were still local residents watching the remarkably unremarkable blue wooden object after all, who might be puzzled about how it vanished into nothingness and speculate endlessly –

     Ace peered at the Timelord over the central console.  He hadn’t set the controls for any particular location, instead triggering the dematerialisation circuitry before standing and looking intensely at the rising and falling rotor, the Tardis’s wheezy, aged operation running before him.

     ‘Perspectives,’ he mouthed, barely sounding the words aloud.  He looked up at Ace, and his normally twinkling expression displayed a sombreness entirely out of place.

     The young woman cocked her head to one side, wondering if he expected her to try and fill in the gaps, use her sense of logic and calculation the way he always nudged her to –

     Hmmm interesting to see what Hom. Sap. don't need in terms of survival skills, nicht wahr?

A Photo Begging For A Caption

You may be unaware of a criminal underclass in South Canada known as 'Porch pirates'.  These are people who steal parcels delivered to other people's property, which have been left out in plain view since there was nobody in to take delivery.  

     Firstly, this is a failure on behalf of the courier, because parcels ought NEVER to be left in plain view of passers-by - this is a lesson I learned working at Footasylum over the Christmas period.  

     Secondly, some pranksters plant booby-trapped packages for these thieves - Mark Rober is the king of these.

     Thirdly, sometimes the game's not worth the candle.  Art!

     This is where he went into the drain, after being spotted stealing the parcel and fleeing across a road, causing an accident.  Way to rack up those charges, dude!

     Since he proved reluctant to leave, the po-po put a police pooch down the drain, which focussed his attention wonderfully, and here you see him being extracted.  Probably not what he anticipated whilst exercising his light fingers.

Finally -

Whilst watching "Ghostbusters: Afterlife" I tried to point my bendy desk lamp at the ceiling, to obtain a more general illumination.  Like a comedy drunk, it fell over backwards - and promptly went out.

     I know, I know, you quivering craven custards would have immediately sprung for the main lightswitch and called a priest after showering in holy water and hanging a noose of garlic around your neck whilst desperately looking for the silver bullets you put aside for Halloween.

     Pshaw!  Art?

     Still, I'm not happy that I now HAVE  to make a constitutional down to Lesser Sodom later this afternoon.  In shoes, thanks to the rain.

    Later, droogs!

*  This and subsequent data courtesy Youtuber Joe Blogs.

O To Be An Architect In Oz

No!  Nothing To Do With Sydney Opera House

Which, you cannot deny, is a striking and memorable building, even if critics dubbed it 'Clamshells in a typewriter', because they're bitter old hacks who don't get invited to parties any more.  I think that warrants a picture of this Australian institution.  Art!

A custom-build, not a kit

     No, the 'Oz' I am referring to here is, obviously - of course - the one created by Frank Baum, and most specifically The Emerald City.

     Conrad rather mistakenly assumed that the Mighty Oz would have interminable trouble dealing with criminals chiselling bits off his palace and the urban sprawl around it, which, if you stop to think about it, is unrealistic.  Art!

     How many thousands, or tens of thousands, of tons of emerald have gone into the construction of this celestial demesne?  Say at a rough guesstimate, ten thousand tons.  That's the equivalent of two millenia's production of emerald across the globe, meaning that it's value would instantly plummet, because as it ceases to become a very rare gemstone, so people have to pay less for it.

     That's only the beginning of Mighty Oz's troubles, mind you.  Emerald is high on the Mohs scale for hardness, at about 8.0, meaning it is difficult to work without having edged tools that score high on the Brinell index for hardness.  Any artisans working it would need PPE, because getting high-speed emerald fragments in your eyes is no fun.  Art!

     Note that the structures here appear to be single, very large pieces of emerald, in a single plane.  Except for the domed roofs.  How on earth do you make a hemisphere out of a brittle gemstone?  And how do those giant slabs of emerald butt together?  Are they so finely machined that they mate together without any need of a mortar to bind and fill in gaps?  If so you'd need to machine them at the microscopic level to get such an inordinately level surface.  As for a 'mortar' to bind and seal, good luck with that, you need an epoxy resin that I sincerely doubt Oz has managed to yet create, given that it's most advanced technology is a hot-air balloon.

     I know, I know, you're all saying 'Ah but - magic!'  This is the Get Out Of Jail Free card, because with a bit of hand-waving and magic, you can explain anything away O so easily.  Is magic going to secure the foundations against either settling, tree roots or heave?  Not to mention underground streams.  What about erosion of the external walls thanks to weather and dust?  Given the enormous size of the emerald construction members, will extremes of temperature cause stress and shear fractures?  As a matter of fact I just checked on that, and emerald is susceptible to fracture damage in extreme heat, since elevated temperatures cause existing flaws to increase.  Nor are you supposed to expose emerald to constant sunlight.  Art!

     That there is the largest ever emerald, weighing in at a whopping 1 kg.  You've got a long way to go, matey!

     Of course, I could be over-thinking this .....

Tannerite: The Darwin Award Dynamite

It's not actually dynamite, for your information.  Tannerite is a binary explosive, consisting of aluminium oxide powder and ammonium nitrate.  Yes, the ammonium nitrate that blew up the port of Beirut a couple of years ago.  Art!

     They come in separate containers that one mixes together, and are intended to be used as a long-range indicator for high-power shooting, as the mixture will explode DRAMATICALLY when hit.  Thus you know you've hit your target without having to walk half a mile there and back.

     The thing is, this stuff as sold in two constituent parts is NOT governed by rules and regulations about explosives, which means that all sorts of numpties who you wouldn't trust with a sparkler are able to get their sweaty quivering mitts upon it.  Usually to a detrimental conclusion.  Art!

     Here we see Mr. P., who loaded the lawnmower above with three pounds of Tannerite and proceeded to shoot at it - from far too close.  He lacked any protection below the chest, which was unfortunate, as when the lawnmower - carcass above - was hit, it disintegrated and the shrapnel took off his left leg below the knee.

     Not quite a Darwin Award, but getting pretty close.  One suspects that this stuff is going to get regulated before too many DAs are awarded.

I Say!

For reasons obscure to me, Your Humble Scribe has once again taken up writing duties on "The Annals Of Urquelomplangia", a rather daft satire set in a mythical Middle European country, the last in that continent to still practice magic.  The story concerns Markus, a humble - indeed lowly - provincial wizard, who is accidentally elevated to the position of The Royal Mage, and is thus thrust into the daily politics and intrigue of a life at court.  Art!

     All Markus wanted to do was be left alone to brew mead and breed finches.  Alas, 'twas not to be.  He's already had to deal with demons, Golems and imposter finches.  What next awaits?

Did You Know?

That in the card game of bridge, there is a term known as 'B.A.M.' which stands for 'Berate All Monsters' for 'Board-A-Match', a term Conrad knows nothing about and cares less to look up.

     It is appropriate for another circumstance, though.  Art!

"City In The Sky"

Art is learning that life aboard an orbital arcology is very different from that back on the surface of terra firma.

     ‘Hardly.  This isn’t Earth and people need to keep muscle tone and mass or they’ll probably die when we go back Downstairs.’

     The mixture of duties seemed puzzling to the young woman.  She changed the subject.

     ‘When do you go back?’

     Veronika sighed, swapping the towel on her left shoulder to her right shoulder.

     ‘When everything’s calmed down.  Less than twenty years, I hope, so I can still find my relatives – if they’re alive.’

     ‘Where do they live?’

     ‘Lord, you do like to ask questions!  In Berlin.’

     Nat returned from behind the plastic curtain.

     ‘Come on, before Nika puts you on a training regime.’

 Despite her apprehension, the Wardens actually seemed a pretty decent bunch, more used to interpreting and applying the provisions of the Charter that every person on the sphere had signed, than breaking up fights or arresting people.  Fights did happen, rarely, since a Warden was never more than ten minutes from wherever it occurred.  Then, too, Arc One didn’t have alcohol.  The twenty-first century used a substance called “prosohol” that mimicked alcohol’s effects without the nastier side-effects.  No Friday night brawls or hangovers.  Anyone who did end up violating the Charter got the worst tasks – mucking out cattle-pens or servicing  sewage and waste systems.

     That answers the old question about who, in a society of equals, cleans out the sewers.

Finally -

FTX - the gift that keeps on giving!  Much as Darth Marmalade does.

     You may remember Sam Bankman-Fried, the criminal who was behind the FTX crypto-currency scamble, and who managed to get bail in order to stay at his parent's house and out of jail.  Given that he'd previously been confined to a real rathole gaol in the Caribbean, he probably thought this was the best possible outcome, bar being set free with no charges. Art!

     Just as Agent Orange cannot keep his flapping piehole shut, so too SBF cannot avoid trying to access the internet via a VPN, or trying to intimidate witnesses in his forthcoming trial.  

     So, he's going back to jail.  Other parties please take note!

Nikmetopopolis

This One Veers About A Bit, So Be Warned

It's Also Rather Grim

Okay!  Were I to mention "Potemkin" your fevered mind would immediately dart to that warship 'Potemkin', which features in the outstanding film by the Sinister-yet-talented film director Sergei Eisenstein and his film "Battleship Potemkin".  You are probably only aware of one scene in the film.  Art!

Direct inspiration for "The Untouchables"

     In this scene, the eeeevil Tsarist soldiers massacre the protesting Odessans on the city steps, which I won't comment on as we are tasteless but not that tasteless.

     The battleship was named in honour of one Grigory Potemkin, a big wheel in the court and army of Catherine The Great, who conquered lands that had belonged to the Ottomans, and whom - it says here - "peacefully coughcoughannexed" Crimea.  Not merely a conqueror, he also established towns that are now cities we have heard about of late: Kherson, Nikolaiev - now Mykolaiv as the Ukrainians style it - Sevastopol and Ekaterinoslav - now Dnipro.  Art!

Grig and Cat

     Despite being an accomplished soldier, statesman and diplomat, what people best remember him for are the 'Potemkin Villages' he established in order to supposedly impress Ol' Cat when she went a-visiting.  These were shams constructed to give the impression of wealth, prosperity and a happy peasantry.

     Here an aside.  The Ruffians are doing exactly the same in Mariupol at present.  They have thrown up apartment blocks and advertise them in television presentations that are carefully angled and shot to exclude the bombed-out shell of the city they stand in.  Art!

All very depressing

     Ironically enough, another dictatorial regime sought to create an artificially-enhanced 'reality' to make manure look like meringue.  We speak, of course - obviously! - of the Nazis, and their temporary 'model concentration camp' at Theresienstadt.  The Danish and Swiss Red Cross had been making noises of increasing volume about inspecting the Danish prisoners in this camp, and the RSHA (who were responsible for maintaining them) were very, very reluctantly prodded into allowing a visit in June of 1944.  Art!

     Everything was prettified for the visit, there was a football match and a children's opera, things were painted, flowers were planted, and immediately after the Red Cross departed everyone was sent off to Auschwitz.

     Moving from the awful to the inane, we now skip forward in time again, to the time of the Sinister Union.  In order to confound and confuse and contradict The Evil West Especially South Canada, the Sinisters used to hide the nature of their military production lines, by titling them as "Tractor Construction Combine 23" or  "Uralmash Washing Machine And Television Assembly Plant (Only Five Year Wait!)".  There's an old Sinister-era joke about a man in an industrial factory who tries to smuggle home all the parts to make a sewing-machine, which is what the factory makes.  Except every time he puts it together, he makes a machine gun.  Art!  This is what you might call an anti-Potemkin institution, or even a Nikmetop institution.  Art!

     This enormous explosion took place at a factory supposedly making 'Optical systems' for the military.  As you can see from the lower photos, the place has been utterly obliterated, with at least one dead, five in critical condition and over fifty more injured.  People initially said it was an Ukrainian drone, which is nonsense, as the amount of damage would need a wave of multi-ton drones carrying enormous warheads.  O and look what someone found next to their car.  Art!

     Hmmmm it looks like old Sinister habits die hard.  This factory was obviously either storing or producing artillery shells and that diehard smoker Igor Jenkins had been posted there.  The official Ruffian explanation?  "They were fireworks".  Residents of Moscow and satellite towns must be uneasily looking at local factories and wondering if, or how many, 'fireworks' are being stored there.  And if that is the case, whether the Ukrainians know about them, too.

     O what it is to live in interesting times! - as an old Scottish curse goes.

Finally!

No, this is not the usual Coda that appears at the end of a blog.  What I mean, obviously - of course! - is that I have, at long last, finished "Jonathan Strange And Mister Norrell".  Yes, it was entertaining and amusing, but it was also FAR TOO LONG and could have easily been edited down to 500 pages without losing anything much.  It's going back to a charity shop, probably this weekend.  Art!

A television series?  Who knew!

Also Finally -

Nope, still not the end.  What I refer to, obviously - of course! - is that trade paperback I got at the weekend, "The Darkest Judge", which has finally gone down the route of "Marvel Zombies".  What they've done is come up with an excuse to parade around a whole host of popular "2000AD" characters either as zombies or fighting off the zombie hordes.  Art!

     I recognise Rogue Trooper, Kano, a Nort trooper, a Krool, Tharg (!), Ace, a Sov Judge, a Geek and the V.Cs.  Art!

    A bit of duplication here.  There's a Harlem Hero, Sam 'Robohunter' Slade, Meltdown Man, DR and Quinch, Kano and Rogue again, Middenhead McNulty, Ro-Jaws - though how a robot can also be a zombie is rather beyond me - Torquemada, Wulf and Ukko.  Plus a few I don't recognise that probably got printed after I left the readership.  Art!

     A bit of coincidence, this one - here the Psi-Judges are getting mentally melted by none other than Wolfie Smith, whom we referred to recently.  Quite how he can still manage his ESP with a brain made out of necrotic slime is one for the writer to explain.

The Witter On Twitter

It came out yesteryon that "Happy" Jack Smith's investigation into Agent Orange had sequestered all his Twitter data, and both Conrad and media commentators were puzzled as to why this was so.

     Well, on MSNBC this morning, a legal journalist explained that the background data that is time-and-datestamped onto Tweets will permit the investigators to locate them in both time and space, thus being able to pinpoint exactly who sent what, and when, and from where, and to whom.  Thus Citizen Trump cannot argue 'O it was one of my lowly minions who exhorted my MAGA devotees to storm the FBI headquarters and only leave when every agent's head was on a spike".

     A Quoran also explained that Twitter has a direct message function, so any supposedly private Tweets Agent Orange sent, as well as any drafts, will be recoverable.  Art!

Go on, Don, tell us how enjoyable and exciting an indictment is!

"City In The Sky"

Ace is getting a tour of Arcology One, and now comes across how some of the Wardens spend their leisure time.

     In stark contrast, the other half of the room consisted of low couches, low tables, computer stations and wall-hangings, separated from the boisterous event by a thick curtain of transparent plastic.  The chill-out section, of course –

     - a whistle blew, coming from the third person on the mats, the dancing non-combatant, and Ace realised that she was the referee.  Both fighters stood and bowed to each other, and the meeting dissolved into laughter as people split up to go and punish themselves on exercise bikes or weight machines.

     One of the fighters, a stocky, dark-skinned woman with close-cropped hair, came towards Nat and Ace, heading for the exit, then stopped to look at the young traveller.

     ‘Who’s this?’ she asked. 

     ‘Ace.  A sight-seeing visitor from Downstairs.  Ace, this is Veronika.  Look after her for a minute, will you?  I need to post information to Tab about her and the Doctor or they’ll get bothered endlessly.’

     The new introduction waved Nat away and looked back at Ace again.

     ‘So – you lot are the law around here?’ asked Ace, to break the conversational silence.  Veronika frowned.

     ‘We administer the Charter, if that’s what you mean.   We lead in physiotherapy, diet and exercise advice and training.’

     ‘Diet!’ said Ace, surprised.  ‘Diet police?’

     Ah, the wave of the future!

Finally -

Yes, this really is the last item.  And it's entirely apposite, because it's life imitating art.  Art!

     Obviously the whole farrago was directly inspired by Conrad's fan-fiction and I should probably sue for royalties.  On the other hand, Virgin probably have lots of hungry barristers on a retainer looking to beat the legal spoons out of anyone they consider defaming the business or Ol' Rick.

On The Scene With A Ghastly Green Theme

Don't Fret So -

We're not picking on the political party, because that would invoke Politics, which we abhor and avoid (unless there's more traffic in it), and while we're about it, Conrad maliciously wonders how those Just Stop Oil characters get to where they want to inconvenience people; surely they don't own The Evil Car, do they?  And - how much of their apparel is made out of plastics derived from oil?  I confidently expect them to give the Puffy Petroleum Pimp a medal for cutting his country's oil production significantly, si

     ANYWAY that's not what this blog is about, nor is it about Stephen King's character in "Creepshow"*, mention of which means we can spirit up a picture if Art will cease chewing on carbonaceous fuel.

I hope you're chugging a herbicide, Stevo, not Miracl-Gro

     No, what I wanted to hold forth on is "The Wizard Of Oz", which I've still never seen in it's entirety, nor do I intend to, because, don't forget, CONRAD HATES ALL MUSICALS.  Towards the end of the film our quintet of heroes and heroine (and Toto) return to the Emerald Palace, which looks cool but which must also suffer severe problems with theft.  Art!

You cannot deny it's pretty verdant

  - where they come face-to-face with the terrifying Wizard.  Art!

    Admit it, he wouldn't look out of place on "Star Trek".  There is plenty of flame and fury whilst the Wizard intones his instructions to our gallant group, which amounts to a Quest; bring back the Wicked Witch Of The West's broomstick.  Art!

<facepalm>

     When they return from their quest with the BROOMSTICK, Art, they are once again confronted with the frightening visage of the Mighty Oz.  Except Toto, the mischievous little scruff, goes off and finds a loose curtain, which he tugs away at in the spirit of all dogs everywhere who love to indulge in tug-of-war games with watered silk curtains, Dior handbags and cuts of Kobe beef.  Art!

     Ooops.  Art!

Busted.

     Of course - obviously! - this is only very vaguely connected with what I wanted to witter on about in the Intro.  Which is 'Kudzu', a creeping vine long associated with the South Canadian South, which I think I first encountered in the film 'Black Rainbow'.  It has an interesting history, being imported to South Canada as a decorative houseplant in the Eighteen-Seventies, and sitting quietly and politely on people's dining table or window-sill for sixty years.

     Then come the Thirties and the Dustbowl.  The federal authorities proposed to use kudzu as a tool for preventing soil erosion, since it spreads very quickly; up to a foot a day at the peak of growing season.  A million acres were cultivated; until the feds stopped paying for it to be planted, at which point it instantly fell out of favour and was supplanted by better crops.  Art!

     From the Sixties onwards it acquired mythical status as 'The plant that ate the South', with scaremongers alleging it grew at a rate of 150,000 acres per year, that it killed forests and covered seven million acres of land.  Hom. Sap. versus kudzu, and Hom. Sap. was losing.  LOSING BIG TIME!  Even though the Southrons delighted in adopting it as a badge of their geography.  Kudzu, as mighty as Oz.

     Except not.  When sober scientists did the number crunching, they found that it covered 225,000 acres or 0.1% of the Southron forests, so hardly the burgeoning near-Triffid menace long bethought.  It spread at a humble rate of 2,500 acres per year, principally along ground that couldn't be grazed by cattle or livestock - or, in other words, the roadsides people passed by gazing in awe at it.  Art!

Toto!

    This unlovely little piker is a Kudzu bug, which thrives by sucking the juices out of kudzu vines, thus killing them.  The thing about an invasive plant species, you see, is that they have no natural predators, which is why they proliferate wildly and uncontrollably.  The Kudzu bug was accidentally introduced from Asia to South Canada and is now reducing the vine's acreage appreciably.  Kudzu konked, you might even say.  Or even Kudzugwanged**.

The Carrier Beef

Yes, I've no doubt some of you were ticked off when I put up a picture of a gigantic toy aircraft carrier with NO ATTRIBUTION.  My only excuse is that I was whizzing along in creating content during a 15 minute break and didn't have the opportunity to add any extra information.

     Rejoice!  For I have found the source of the image.  Let's have the original.  Art!

     It was the '99' or '66' that gave it away, because when I Googled for 'Giant Aircraft Carrier Toy' I found the following.  Art!

     Obviously not very seaworthy, so you can't put it in the paddling pool.  It is, as you can tell from the first image, freakin' enormous.  7' 6" long and 3' wide, so Mom is going to be glaring at Dad come Christmas morning when Junior unwraps this monster, as it takes up the whole room.

"City In The Sky"

Ace, with a teenager's inherent distrust of authority, and especially uniformed authority masquerading as a police force (of sorts), is getting a tour of the Arcology One space station.

     Nat looked at her with wonder.

     ‘You really aren’t from here and now, are you!  Ace, there are illiterate peasants in the Mekong Delta who know all about M3!’

     ‘Yeah, well, I’m not one of them,’ grumbled the young woman.

     M3 happened to be shorthand for NASA’s Manned Mars Mission, twenty astronauts currently sitting on the Red Planet, exploring.  They had supplies to last a year there, and because of the distance and isolation they were capable of returning home without any Earth-based assistance.

     ‘Enough of the misery!’ announced Nat.  ‘Come on, I’ll take you to the common room and introduce you.’

     Not overly fond of authority, Ace felt a touch of foreboding about meeting a clutch of officious semi-police on their home turf.  The common room occupied the central quadrangle of Tadcaster, a single building noticeably larger than the surrounding domestic apartments.  Once again the entrance consisted of a doorway – double-sized – covered by a swatch of white-and-green fabric.  Once inside, a raucous chorus of whoops and catcalls came from the slightly dimmer interior.

     The noise came from a crowd of men and women wearing leotards or the silver-ringed coverall,  who were fringing a set of circular mats, where two other women, both sweating furiously, were busy throwing each other around with moderated violence.  Another third person danced around and watched them closely, darting in to slap one of the contestants – entirely at random, from what Ace could see.  

     Ah, female wrestling WASH OUT YOUR FILTHY MINDS!  Mens sana rea, mens sana corpore, as the Romans said.

Corks! Said The Sorks

Of late, the news has been featuring an event I didn't realise still existed: a Scout Jamboree.  For your information, this is a grand meeting of Scout associations from across the globe, which usually has a goodly proportion of British Scouts, which is fair enough because we invented them.  Art!

    This year the event was held in South Korea, hence the 'Sorks' comment.  It was quite poorly organised, which is surprising; the Sorks are usually hoohoodilly-hot at getting things done properly.

     However, they couldn't control the weather; a heatwave struck the camp, forcing many attendants into hotel accommodation.

     Now they're being threatened with a typhoon.  It never rains but it downpours torrentially, hmmm?

Hmmmmm

Late breaking news.  Jack 'Sunny Smile' Smith acquired a search warrant for Citizen Trump's Twitter account, which Twitter dragged their feet about and thus experienced a $350,000 fine for not expediting the warrant.  Twitter were forbidden to tell DJ Tango about the warrant. Conrad wonders what they are looking for, if anything.  I suspect Donald will not be sleeping very well this week, wondering what he left on his account that's actionable.   Tee hee!

"Donald's Tommy Cooper impersonation needed working on."

Finally -

I was considering doing 'A Little Musical Critique' of 'Hips Don't Lie', but the Dog Buns thing is over 600 words long!  It would need to be serialised and I don't know if you or I have the patience to do so.

     We shall see.

* Do you see what I did the  - O you do.

**  Chess term.  Look it up.