Spike Jones and Pérez Prado suffering communication difficulties. Prado was famous for his grunts, but here his personal interpreter does the the talking.
The police have left town and the revolutionary teachers (beardos with baseball bats trying to blackmail the administration into giving them cushy jobs) have hung up great big portraits of Marx, Engels, Lenin and Stalin, along with placards calling the governor a murderer, and they’re breaking up folk dancing in the barrios and intimidating the…
Is the name of a chicken grill in Mexico City. (For the uninitiated, pollo is Spanish for “chicken” and gilipollas is Spanish for “arsehole”, although as far as I know it’s only peninsular.)
Showing her customary wisdom, one’s secret damsel on the hill has agreed to a temporary separation in order to allow one to tootle round Mexico in an automobile of some nature with three absolutely gorgeous women. Syndicated stuff on this site will continue to update, but posting will be light for the next few weeks,…
Or rather, to get slightly richer rather quicker than would otherwise have been the case. He gets a monthly Spanish government pension of €3. One of a series of profiles in El Mundo.
Tim Stannard at La Liga Loca suggests that coach Javier Clemente may not be the smartest bet for a Serbian national team in desperate need of an image upgrade. Dutch coaches seem to travel rather better.
“Overcome with remorse at having stolen a bicycle, a thief in Germany wrote the victim a letter and fully recompensed him for the loss, police said on Monday.” If other thieves were to follow his lead, I could probably retire.