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?

Roll over Shakespeare and tell Cervantes to move.

TimeStamp: 19 Hundred Hours
on a Mexican Pirate Radio dial
in Central NATO Time.

Roll Over “el bard–oh”… Akira is here

_and of course Ewe’all know that the following must be read in a Gene “Cisco Kid” Wilder voice:

People who know, dice un comercial en “los” MSNBC’s, “know BDO”… we too, mister, we the peoples of Rockridge know BoDyOdor, pretty damn well, heck, we [the staff] wouldn’t roll into battle without the whiff of Mango and a bit of “Eau de Buffalo*”.

Cruzando Las Cruces está Truth and Consequences y (el) Pueblo, White Sands — lest Ewe forget that, mi “rey” Lear.

* That’s a Rosanne quote Y’all,
But not the dear Rosannadana,
no, not her, but rather Bill Maher’s pal
over at the Barr’s clan.


In today’s Spectacle:
Who stoned Roger Pipeline’s frames? Seriously, Donnie Deutsch‽ Who d’FuNk stoned Mr. Wiki Pipeline’s frames?
but speaking of pipes, and not the fun kind (if Ewe, Willie Geist know what Eye mean, said Cousin Joe on his morning show).
in Tejas, Donald Trump wants to play full commando Netanyahu with kids that might throw stones at the soldiers that he, as President of the United States, is misplacing along that stretch.
On the minute–man front, you low–level hicks at the O.K. Corral should totally be able to recall that time in recent History (less than 100 years) when the leader with a loud-speaker invented a threat for his fucking Sheeple; heck, we [the staff] reckon that Mika Breziznski, wont let us lie, if Mika Brezizinski was at her post.

Anygüey, Mika would tell ewe Circus Animals that the last time that a demagogue invented an international threat to “his” way of life, Mika’s dad ended up being Alfredo Jalife’s worst nightmare. And then, a lot of Poles had to leave Poland; skurwysyn! WtF is up with that Cletus. Wasn’t your motherfucking “brand” of History,  while vacationing in Europe? It went kind of like this:

that your ”Grand Daddy” saved Europe from the PEOPLE THAT IS SUPPORTING DONALD “kurwa” Trump, right fucking now‽

What da’fuck is in you gun-powder? Are Ewe fuckers wearing a mask when you fucking idiots are re-loading your bullets‽

Or, have you cowboys become that Enemy from Within, The Enemy that your “grand daddy” warned Ewe fucking idiots about, don’t lie Cleatus!!! Are Ewe fuckers goose–Stepping out of step—and—out of time. Cows, you fucking Boys, have more courage and sense than y’all.

America is out of step and The Poles are talking… in New York is 06.20 in the a.m. dial and in Paris it’s only the 11th hour.

Sammy sang it best “Ewe miss a beat—EWE LOSE “el ritmo” and Eugene Robinson will tell ya’all… “that’s not really the Bossa Nova.

Armando Álvarez explains in the next segment with the help of “the” household name in America (sin acento), but right now: it’s all about THE RAGE!!!

TimeStamp: 14.20 in Central NATO Time
Ed’s note:
Fenster the copy editor
rearranged some icons and symbols on this page.

Hors–Série — Breaking el intermedio entre las news

TimeStamp: 21h00 in Central NATO Time

Paris, France _ AS3nEwes. Tens of millions of domestic species marched in different cities around The Globe to protest against unwanted groping and fondle.

Boston, Massachusetts__ Mean while over at The Boston Globe, the Mighty–Mighty Bostonnes learned an important lesson about wraslin’ with PIGS. John Cena, on the WWF is about to learn the same lesson when he oil wrestles for the Saudi Despot du Jour.

The global march was sparked following the revelation of an Instagram®️ account of what appears to be an MK—Ultra bleached blonde groping different pot–bellied pigs. On one of the posted videos, the female can be heard bragging that she is “about to make a gif” and immediately gropes and lifts a piglet by the belly with one hand. On the frame, a room that is set up to look like a “kitchen” can be seen in Plain Sight, even with Eyes Wide  Shut.

… naturally, Willie would not approve.

Gidget, the lesbian bitch who cemented her fame via the “Yo Quiero Taco Bell” commercials, and her long time squeeze, Tea Cup (Paris Hilton’s glamourous Chihuahua breed) joined in on the manifestation to show support for the #KEEPYOURHANDSOFMYBELLY and #LEAVEMYPOTALONE.