Two Italian bodybuilders in the gym, one lifting great heaps of metal while the other stands over him and shouts in his ear things like: “STUFF YOUR DICK IN YOUR MOUTH, WHORESON” and “I FACK YOUR MOTHER”. I wonder if the Italian army is like this. (It is a common misconception that the first hint…
Just about the only folks who subscribe wholeheartedly to the same stark raving dungbrain discourse as the separatists (albeit without the latter’s threatened recourse to arms) are our bishops.
Wondering idle & aloud whether the origins of that outrageous compliment “the dog’s bollocks” are to be found in a time when we appreciated the finer cuts of dog. Brewery De Klok (“The Clock”) in Zottegem in Belgium used to produce a beer called Poepentsoe. This means literally “the pig’s hole (ie posterior orifice)” but…
I’d love to see El verano de Andalucía or Andarushía no natsu. Having to win the Tour the same day your brother marries … your girlfriend is something so many of us have experienced. (The Japan Times credits Kosaka his pickled eggplants, but says he’s still short of cultural mulligan stews. Can’t please everyone…)
A while later, some of us did a cameo somewhere else in a tranny cabaret show. As S observed, tranny shows here (at least the ones that appear in public theatres with subsidies) are all the same and have more to do with religious ritual–Easter in Seville, Castro speeches–than art, intellect or invention: men acquire…
The gig we got conned into yesterday was something calling itself Life Parade, basically a crackpot collective from the fascist-left fringe. As is usual in such cases, public numbers were significantly lower than those of the state-financed sponsoring entities which, for some reason, people refer to as non-governmental organisations. There was the usual hysterical anti-employment…
‘[Psycho Jeanne Wilding’s] neighbours claim that one element of her aggressive behaviour is the playing of Carl Orff’s choral work Carmina Burana. The prosecution argued that she intended to upset her neighbours because the work is about the “rape, pillage, and trashing of villages”.’
I first came across their memory in a squat listening to Christy Moore’s song, Viva la quinte brigada, on the Ride on album. Here (via El bibliómano and JM Collado, who appears to have copied a whole load of the archive without adding anything of interest) is a collection of photos. Paradoxically, none of the…
Apparently one has been booked by an artist with car and video camera to take off one’s clothes and pedal down from Tibidabo to the Columbus statue on the seafront during the first half of The Match, when it is assumed that absolutely no one will be on the streets. The flaw in this plan…