Friday Ephemera (837)
Triumphant scenes. || Following quarrel, audience polled. || Unorthodox pest control. || Organic, low-allergen pet food made from feral camels. || Crooning occurred. || Dachas of note. || CD shopping, HMV, London, 1990s. || Seaside activities of a low-key kind, Margate, 1989. || Mile-high club, budget version. || Bill, as in buffalo. || Beer of sulphuric acid and other inadvisable recipes. || Better than one, they say. || His is bigger. || Blithe Spirit, 1945. || On personal space. || Wheelchair attachment of note. || Lighthouses of the world. || Lippy and legs. || Ladies at large. || A large one, you said. || The Hardiman exoskeleton, 1967. || Nommy-nommy-nom. || College, but enriched. || Fitness scenes. || Oh, and a familiar racial grift is turned on its head. A cost-benefit analysis ensues.
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We need Common Sense Negro Control.
I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is this the face of a criminal?
Odd request, but would someone with a X account pleas snag that sketch in the replies (https://x.com/sungbinhwang02/status/2106595934331412612/photo/1) and post it here?
owl rite
Many thanks.
Family Feud, home edition.
About that hump fat …
It’s the absence of litter that first catches the eye, the lack of disorder (and the disorderly).
Recall the behavioral “quirks” of SF editor John W. Campbell:
Perfidious Albion.
‘The Hardiman exoskeleton, 1967. ‘
But how’s it do against a angry xenomorph?
Don’t think ‘visibility’ is helping.
Yes, it’s AI, but it’s still delightful, especially the lyrics.
Cheshire Cat’s Swing
Morning, all.
Poking my nose into the world of things called trans has not, on the whole, made me want to gush with indulgence.
Not entirely sure what’s happening here.
But apparently it’s a thing.
[ Slurps coffee. ]
Is reality trying to out-do AI now?
It’s a lot to process. The big chap with the, um, condition crops up in a lot of them. And then there’s Mr Baby-Oil-And-Sunglasses in the background.
I suppose it’s evidence of the allure of social media, such that even hunter-gatherer tribes in Tanzania are now performing scenes for TikTok.
Modernity, baby.
One beer of sulphuric acid please, landlord.
I’m told it’s “entirely harmless” and “refreshing in hot weather.” And I’m sure there are some here who’ve done worse.
When you sleep.
Morning, all. Up early to photograph a sunrise proposal atop a mountain.
Terrifying.
Laughed, not sorry.
With what’s kicking off in France right now we may be past the point of dry witty asides on blogs. My only hope is that the revolutionaries have jumped the gun here and started the revolution too early. It’s not too late for the West to roll tanks, if they have the will.
Further to recent rumblings, if you’re unhappy about the demographic terraforming currently underway – say, in your own, modest neighbourhood, Cate Blanchett questions your humanity and thinks you need educating by actors.
Ms Blanchett, needless to say, is unlikely ever to face any of the issues illustrated quite vividly in the previous post. Living, as she does, in a five-million-pound Victorian manor on a thirteen-acre estate near the overwhelmingly white Crowborough in East Sussex. And her other properties, including what is referred to as a holiday cottage in Cornwall, are similarly insulated from any unpleasantness.
I wonder, is it possible to slap the moral narcissism out of an actress? Further research needed, methinks.
Worth trying.
I wonder whether it has ever occurred to Ms Blanchett that these manicured pieties may strike some viewers as something close to treacherous, and possibly disgusting. Say, viewers whose streets have been rendered alienating, even dangerous, very much against their will, and who do not live in mansions on thirteen-acre estates.
Only as examples of what to shun and deport.
It’s the weird uniformity of their worldviews. Or rather worldview, singular.
It’s like they have some kind of chip implanted.
A sensitive thing apparently.
[ Titivates store-bought pizza, awaits applause. ]
*applause*
Too busy trying to ban political opposition to ensure their survival.
I’m detecting sarcasm.
It was a mistake to stop treating mummers as whores. Then again, it was a mistake to stop treating whores as whores.
*applause*
Not quite the full-throated affirmation I was hoping for.
[ Chomps pizza. ]
Maths is fun!
Those who control the tanks have deliberately fomented the conditions for this destruction.
So I’m afraid it’s going to be John Deere combines and harvesters that roll.
Pixelated cat.
Via Tacky Raccoons.
The pancreas, a beginner’s guide.
I’ve been saying for some time that this place is an educational resource.
A nourishing teat.
I watched that thing whilst muted.
Kate Bush was singing Wuthering Heights and it worked suprisingly well…
Minecat.
Nearly all UK politicians are rent boys. So shouldn’t they dress the part?
[ Returns from supermarket, laden with essential, nutritious booty. ]
[ Hides Belgian chocolate Viennese biscuits. ]
If there’s no majesté how can there be lèse?
How about some grotesque, insulting AI statues of European politicians? All the most prominent Euro-weenies, plus any who have sicced the police on their critics.
Seems to be an orb weaver. The Joro spiders we currently are dealing with in north Georgia are known to build bigger webs and are relatives of orb weavers. Or so grok tells me. Joro webs can be up to 20 feet across, though that orb weaver one looks like it is in the same ballpark. Walked into a Joro spider web a few days ago that spanned the 15 foot wide one-lane path down to our lake. I’m constantly knocking them down around the house. Sometimes they build a web or two behind the first web, like in layers. Had about eight of them on the side of my workshop. At first I only saw the one. Then I went back to show my wife where it had been and saw the others just a little higher in the trees. Nasty looking but mostly harmless. Easy to knock down and kill. I have seen videos of them trapping and killing hummingbirds. Their webs are quite strong.