–¿Cómo se llama un cerdo silvestre que acaba de salir del bosque? –¡Jaballí! Not one of mine. If you prefer your animal tame and stuffed, Lenox has a bull’s head for you. I almost acquired one from a bar that was closing down, but there were parasites crawling out of its orifices.
Other old media may be bolder liars, but you can always rely on ABC for the grossest cheese, as in this drooling retrowank re Felipe González’s new bit. How can you write a thing like that, even if it is a double entendre? Or am I just too much of a curious puritan?
César-Javier Palacios reports on the cyclist, shot dead by a hunter who mistook him for a boar. When in death’s dark vale loud singing usually suffices to drive off hell’s hunters. Hunters know this too. In his romance, Count Arnaldos, hungry hawk in hand, falls prey to a sailor (love, glory or death, true or…
Classic nimbyism, enabled by Spain’s lack of effective central government: Castilla y León has lots of wolves, but other communities which, according to ecologists, should in historical and biological terms have some, don’t want to take the overproduction. So they’re being shot. I don’t suppose we could airlift them to the outskirts of Reykjavik.
