kalebeul: anythingarian bubbles and troubles from the land of the fretting nun
kalebeul's barcelona walking tour service. why else would i write this blog?
kalebeul anythingarian bubbles and troubles from the land of the fretting nun
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/ kalebeul / 2006 / 01 / 17 /

I am completely unlike anyone else

That’s what this facial analysis site said to this heavy/ska-period PR shot. This wide awake one on the other hand had it thinking of Alfred Rosenberg, Eddie Murphy and Jane Fonda. This would have been too obvious. (Via whatserface)

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Best blonde joke ever

Via Burningbird. Takes a while to get to the punchline, but hey…

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Repaint! Repaint! And thin no more!

Cunning punning over at Gay Nazi Sex Vicar. (I once spent an hour listening to a shy Scottish gent with no great enthusiasm for dipthongs or final ts talking about Mozart piano concertos (The peni$ enters here, etc).)

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Estate agent

–Hello, Fincas X.

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Les Cabanyes

Dunno if the museum idea will work out, but this is good news from Joan Saumell and his people.

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St George the Nasty

Here’s St George killing a hermaphrodite Swedish dragon. In Abkhazia they used to celebrate a feast of St George and the Cow. What can one do?

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Can I coup my horse here?

PP senator Carlos Benet has said that Pavía entered Congress on a horse (during the 1874 coup), Tejero with a pistol (this is the 1981 coup that failed), while Zapatero arrived by suburban train (the reference is to the Al Qaeda train bombs before the elections two years ago). I don’t think Pavía actually went [...]

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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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