kalebeul: anythingarian bubbles and troubles from the land of the fretting nun
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kalebeul anythingarian bubbles and troubles from the land of the fretting nun
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/ kalebeul / 2004 / 02 / 09 /

I’m a primadonna

How I used to chant UB40’s Ivory Madonna when I was small, drunk and confused. Other well-known versions of this include “I’ve a green banana,” but no one gets misunderstood like Michael Jackson. This, from Misheard Lyrics, is not an excerpt from Beat It:
Heated, heated.
No one wants a beef fajita.
Show ‘em hot pocket, strong is [...]

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Three bags full

Italian adopt-a-sheep scheme

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packaging

Either condoms have suddenly become hideously expensive or there’s a missing link when The Guardian says that “British teenagers are better off … than ever before” while the BBC says they’re using crisp packets because they can’t afford the real thing. The solution is obvious - sell crisps wrapped in condoms - and the title [...]

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to rent

The agent just can’t figure out why he’s had this place on the market for months. The neighbours believe that it may have something to do with the fact that sometimes lumps of concrete fall on you as you walk past.

Meanwhile, back in Britain,
Hanging baskets are to be banned on lampposts in a country town [...]

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Holdups

“It is unfortunate it happened but it could have happened to them anywhere,” said the Spanish Tourist Office of a roadside attack here on a family from Devon by a Latino gang. Er, probably not in Devon.

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Dog only understands (commands in) Czech

Reports the Chicago Tribune:
New Lenox’s newest cop barks, or at least understands, only a foreign tongue. So when canine officer Bear joined the force five months ago, his partner, Officer John Conroy, learned to give commands to the Czech born and bred German shepherd in his native language. “It is a bit of a twist,” [...]

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Apparently some ladies & gents with whom I sing when the big geezer is off doing other stuff are going to be on the telly quite a lot.

Apart from the odd bit of arranging, the barrel organ is the thing at the moment, when I get time. It’s a somewhat more lonely path, but I’m not very good at dance steps or 80s music anyway.

Kalebeul wouldn’t watch a hagiography of a faghating totalitarian fuckwit like St Paul, so it sees no reason this weekend to take cinema seats away from Barcelona’s chiliastic masses in their nostalgic lust for Hispanic dictators and good-looking saints. Paul Berman’s piece from 2004 applies. Even the regime sociologists seem to have noticed that Cataloonia has lost track of reality.

Graffiti of Camarón de la Isla and guitarist, somewhere in Barcelona, I think in Carmelo, so overlooking the place where he died:

More here.

Kabe-Otoko/Wall Man, neither human nor demon, observes the world from within walls:

Velen verzeggen Schiedam, maar sluiten dadelijk een verbond met Barcelona.” Is it about drinkers swearing by Dutch gin/jenever, only to turn to Spanish wine and brandy?


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