Years In, Years Out
Year 74. The actual shindig was on Tuesday but I haven’t felt like celebrating all that much (courtesy of the IDF and the Butcher of Beirut) so here’s the related doodle, a wee bit late. The party was OK if a bit low key, in the spirit of the past year, when most flags have been flying at half mast if truth be told. Still, there were the usual highlights. A very stern-but-nice insectoid lady manifested early in the morning bringing a bagful of the most precious of commodities in these godawful days. A couple of freshly evolved Shoggothic ! things also attended and were introduced to the rest of the company by the merry Voodoo Poppets. And while nobody was paying much attention, having been diverted by the music, the food and the ineffable drugs, a couple of hybrid Cagnolitos of…fuckknowswhere, really (the Tindalos High Commission denies any kinship with or even knowledge of the nonconformist beasties), infiltrated the festivities and proceeded to do a rain dance in the kitchen. No, I don’t know why, either. Cagnolitos, of Tindalos or Elsewhere, are laws onto themselves and they are seldom willing, or even able, to give coherent explanations for their behaviour. Me, I think “The more, the merrier.. Have a good weekend, when it comes, if it comes.