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 / 04 / 19 /

Barcelona to pay prostitutes not to have sex

Now I’m a loose kind of man. (Feargal the lawyer has asked me to make it clear that “Barcelona” refers to the council and not to FC Barcelona, where it is understood that traditional practices are observed.)

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M

Some of you will know at least one of the ladies in this photo.

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Vespaña

Ander Izagirre is checking the paths and byways of The United National Realities on a Vespa. This is a Good Thing. (Pedro de Miguel proposes, on debatable grounds, that he call himself Vespasian.)

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Why I like McDonald’s

The burger chain’s resurgence explained. Anti-American trash here are circulating a “boycott the gringos on May 1” mail, so I may have the extra fries with my menu that day.

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The United National Realities plus The Canaries

Colin Davies’ new name for the new Spain, being fashioned by constitutionally-handicapped collective onanists. He’s wrong to exclude the Canaries: halfabet fascists there have discovered Canariedad (check Bye, bye, Spain), the official translation of which is hereby declared to be “Canariousness” (Gurgle helpfully suggests “consciousness”. (Virgulilla notes that the Senate is going after the Catalan [...]

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Breath tests for walkers

Fortunately not here.

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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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