My history teacher loved 3 thing’s, it seemed.

Nûrėmbürg Uno, he loved Baseball; he was the coach. Copenhagen©️, Red Man🤠, Skoal®️, the whole enchilada on a 9–Yard touchdown, he definitely walked the heybatt’ahBath’ah talk.

10.00 Central NATO Times

Number Däs LIED der Donald dos, he literally worshiped John Wayne, he spoke in that slow “why are wrist watches so expensive commercials—so EYE started a ‘watch company’ ”, drawl, y’all.

Estratosféricamente ilustrando el mandato de DonALd John Trump.

… Dear, FIP: you are forgetting to mix the Pig in the agenda. You can’t get to Le Journal de Dimanche without ‘Elton’s fightin’. Consider this a Public Service Announcement. Ye Bus en PRI.

Where’s Tuesday‽ TUESDAY’s GONE!!!!!!!!!! — Don’t worry, Mme., “EYE started a Watch Company”, our team of Deutsch–es-es will find your prescious Tuesday, if that is her real name, La Rumorosa dice que más bien es Marte.

Did Eye get that right, Mme? —“Just the facts.”

Journo 1402: Psychoanalysis, punditry, and Demagoguery

This interaction takes place inside of a doll house, where an audition for pundits, reporters, correspondents, TALKING HEADS, experts –of course– and an NSA strategist by the code name ‘Black Spy’ are running up and down Studio 3A to come up with the best metaphors for the current White “Doll House” administration.

In this ACT, the auditioners are going over some eminent euphemisms on Donald Trump’s ‘Eminence Front’.

🎶 Mauricio —Babiloniaaa.

And Yes, Donnie Deutsch:
“I’ve seen that movie, too.”

Musical guest:
Sir Elton Pig.

Journo 1402:
Psychoanalysis, punditry, and Demagoguery.
Room: The Doll House at 30 Rock.
Professor: John He•ille•mann.
Time: Whenever, y en dónde sea.

Lo bueno d’este blog es de que ni mabm, ni don Reginaldo Hércules Dwight Juan, lo leen.

Carl Linneaus (1707) [Nice Cardigan] is the most important Pig in history*, he single-mindedly took it upon himself to name all living organisms.  Linneaus was a Gemini by Western standards, pero andando en Hong Kong, —Duke Ellington— era igual de COCHON… MITT ROMNEY, ese político habla en Oink–Oink igualito que Snoop Dogg… <*,,,-—–~~~{ • } ~~~-—-,,,*>  ¿CARL JUNG? You’betcha — he was a Pig.

De cualquier manera, para poder llegar a ver quién está trabajando los controles de tus potencialidades y todas sus limitaciones, —por el otro lado de la cortina— sigue el SENTIER de la Yellow Brick Road.


President Trump is going to do a rendition of the Beastie Boys “Ill Communication” at the White Dollhouse in Washington.

Michael Steele has the
“Ill Communication”.
Hear all about as the Purple Pundit Sings:

“Viva el Son”
… or something like that.

Veinte para las nueve — Un an Sans Johnny

So, yeah, Charlita…

Previously, on this most inconsequential blog we [the staff] mentioned that a good friend, who this Rig-raff outfit never really knew, died.

Our interactions with him, were pure platonic plus rare praxis and once again, we only interacted with him, Gerald Morisot , on “those dreaded Wednesdays”, or “buanderie” days. On Saturdays the shower facilities are always closed, neamois, o como dirían en Sin Embargo:

on the previous ObPage, we [the Staff] took the liberty of jetting Ewe’s, un sabado [ASÍ, MORENA–Francia, Amigos de México en Francia, Associacion Gilberto Bosques—Paris, y Brontis–es-eses de La Préfecture à Cité, sin acento ] just for ol’Plain/FX.

We also added un acento to Gerard’s name, because the gentleman certainly CARRIED with A Whole Load of’these… acentos aglomerados en un Agora.

The following snapshot is not the most perfect picture, but the “Lone sac–a–dos” salute and plastic cup toast is the most honest Tribute we [the staff] could think of on the spot, for Mr. G.

—!Michelin Salewa?
— !PreeeeeeeCNTE¡
—¡Michelin Salewa, qué horas trae?
— !Las que áste y sus Mercedes quieran, mi General Arroyo¡¡¡
—¡No sea mamila, Michelin Salewa, qué Horas le cuelgan al reloj, cabrón?
—Ahhhh, faltan Veinte para las dos, mi General.

Full disclosure: last week we pirated a link of the Ozz Man’s “See you on the other side”, and at the time, we had not learned of your death. The song just cut into our mental frequency out of the bleu… out of the lapsus–lazuli.

… it’s High–noonan at rue des Bourdonnais 75001, y faltan Veinte para las nueve.


Luc, meet Salomé (4 ans) — Her Cake on a Parisian Podium

The following must be read in a Brian Williams voice:

To our viewers in the Outer Limits of our known universe. A birthday party in this marble is a countdown to a funeral.

Salomé turned 4 years of age and like many–many–many—many « chirrin’ » around this big stage that Talkin’ Head Monkees sometimes call The Globe, Salomé’s « parental units » seemed to have planned a birthday party, for her.

Something, however, seemed to have spoiled the celebration.

Oye Salomé, perdónalo. Donald Trump no sabe lo que hace, él apenas es un bebé..

Her cake was last spotted on top of a Parisian pedestal and a City of Lights lamp-post, just as the staff of this most inconsequential blog was making it’s way through a sea of ROMA still frames, on their way to the forum.

We here at Rockefeller Plaza hope that little Salomé’s fortune cookie wasn’t printed with the same batch of ink that a Guatemalan girl got on the way to an Evergreen hospital in « Dat Dere » “West Texas Town of El Paso”.

Nope, this snapshot has no symmetry, none whatsoever. It’s just for the record, One can’t draw a real map, Pinochín, sin tener la dirección, o como dicen en El Sur: el Mero Norte.

In New York it’s the elleventh hour, and coming up, is the story of an eleven yeay–old girl, as told by a young Arab league… or something like that, at first sight, the spectacle looks like an episode of what Sarah Silverman would look like in a French BD. And no, silly, it’s not parallel to any Young Turk’s universe, para nada.

22 hundred hours — 96 to Montparnasse

¿Cómo chingados está mi General?

¿Se imagina usted,
mi General,
si asté, lo hubiese parido su chingada madre el mero día de La Natividad?
¿A qué clase de Pachucos le daría apertura La Concha de su madre para que renombraran ese Holiday?

Se imagina usted a doña Vivianita repartiendo Merry–MxMás como si fuera Bolo del Día de Reyes.

Octavio Paz

Hercules, meet Magallanes, he’s on page 849 under the section DÉC… It’s now or Never.

Rue de l’Arrivée en Route to La Porte de France on the 89.

Dear Comadre Letty… See Saw’ got pretty eyes, but aquí entre nos, qué pedo con El Emperador de Francia?

Que los pinches frogs no tienen otro Cassel que no pueda* tenga tener el monopolio del bang–bang?

En contexto con Mapple Higginmuffin
para los rosbif’s de la britanica
and the East India Company
at the Frogs and British Library.

It’s 11.30 and Maple orders a beverage from Hot Chocolate at Sugar Daddy’s Indiana joint.

Damn, now that’s some funky magic ewe got in that Chocolate, Maple says, after a sip of the frappe that Oyuki brought to the table. The Rain had stopped and after a few sips it was time to open the Haine files and see about this Cassel character and the cash–cow that followed from the film’s take in the Asian market.

A pair of lamehuevos had been scouting Maple for a few  blocks now. It was no big deal, Maple was happy to amuse the Von Dutch uniform wearing customers. But tonight happened to be Sunday, and on Sunday, Maple limits her Mandarin Cobra dole-outs to One. So the tab for the hot chocolate was cleard at the counter with Curly, a ginger who was also on the Futuro Pelo bandewagon.

And on behalf of The Dangling Particlples, please accept all apologies and keep that squelch – on until the fat lady doles out the End Credits of 1984.

To which, Paul replied:
That would make it Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five,
o como dicen los muy–muy franceses…
Why bother, it’s too much multiplication.

The Ouest is Da’best

ISSY… veinte para las diez. Hoy es Sábado Ocho de diciembre. Bang!!! Hoy es día para jugar al rey de los deportes en Francia. los gladiadores del equipo amarillo ya comienzaron desde hace dos café–es-es-eses a manchar de las salidas de los entronques del la red RER con el Chaleco Más Chillante, para llamar la atención.

Museos, festivales músicales, en fin, toda forma de arte que requiera boleto de admisión ya han sido bloqueados… Disneylandia, pues dineylandia–parís está abierta. Haber qué chingados pasa, eh‽

Dear, David Romo… fuck the front seat to a Revolución… right now i am trying to figure out cómo se traduce una “pamplonada” en el sistema francés…

“And did we tell you the name of the game, boy? We call it « Riding The Gravy Train »,” and then Mr. Roger said “aguas!!!”… ay’ vienen los Mazonis atras de los Piolines. Quick eye’mean get a brick from that Wall at the Burger King that used to be a Siege for Quick.

Anygüey, happening right now on channel 75 is,
“Welcome to the Union, have a cuernito”
Starring Angela Merkel as the French President… and on the Cinderella ride at Disneyland–Paris, Simone Fredericks is reading the news.

19 para las ocho…Blame it on the Kakémono[s] from mars

Previously on the Daily Beast, with Sam Stein:
It’s 19.41 and Cousin Joe is dumping the Number II after a night of Haggis and Water.

Mean, while Trump was taking a dump, Da’Muller was closing in… will the diaper Don

The following must be read in a
Brian Williams voice:

Good evening, we apologize to Sam Stein at The Daily Beast, who never reads this blog, —on the loo. And to the staff at Güilly Weist farm, sends a shout–out to Sam “the stain” Stein for that.

Earlier in the transmission, as diaper Don was taking a dump, a flock of Kakémonos from Mars with banners for tails disrupted the programming, and like Gremlins from the Golden Days of “the” WB, scrambled the code on the SINCGARS freq’s.

TimeNow, is 22.20 and the time machine is taking us back in time to diaper Don’s Golden porcelaine china throne, where shit[face] is about to be flushed, plunged and sceptically treated by somekind of probe.

Coming Attractions:
On the may–day mid–way marathon of fusion Westerns.

You’ve heard of Leone’s Spaghetti Cowboys, and if you are Turning Japanese, no doubt the Samurai in Kurosawa’s flicks is a familiar noodle. But, have you heared about the Macaroni Sushi?