... said the T-shirt of a man on the street.
We both found it very funny. Roufa was somehow reminded of somebody:
- Your mother has a very funny way of arguing... She starts it off like a game, like a little dance, kind of acting the emotions...
- Bend it like Beckham
- ...until she eventually gets angry for real. It's very weird.
- Yes, she can waltz herself into the emotions and then there's no stopping her.
- She's like a character out of a movie... Or an Azinuth book.
- Save your mama for the drama!
--
- Your father, on the other hand, if you let him be, he's so calm, so reasonable... Without your mother, if he had married a normal woman, he would be so easy going!
- He wouldn't have married at all.
- Right...
--
It's weekend! Again? Time flies! (Alas, during weekends too.) More coffee and waffles, anyone?
Showing posts with label Biko Azinuth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Biko Azinuth. Show all posts
Friday, June 6, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Amelican Plesidential Elections
Our notorious friend Biko the Azinuth, as much as he loathes blogging, he can't keep his mouth shut. You know that already. But we love his silly stories – fictional or not. The other day, for example, he was telling us what it was like to watch soccer – football, if you prefer – on TV in his home country, Belgium. Suppose you are watching on Belgian TV a Dutch team play against a German team and score a goal. The speaker will, as usual, rave about the beauty of it or highlight some dumb defense mistake or whatever. You can then instantly switch to a Dutch channel and watch the jubilations and then to a German one for some moaning. Sounds like good old innocent fun over little neighborhood rivalries! It's even better if, as a Belgian, you are watching a Belgian team score against, say, the Dutch, because you can switch to the Dutch channel and indulge in the misery you've just caused them. Unfortunately, you can do the same exercise when your team loses. If you are a masochist, that is.
A Belgian with good language skills can also follow the news that are broadcast in different neighboring countries – but that's less interesting, because there are no wars anymore. Who cares when the French are on strike and whether the number of registered unemployed Germans has dropped (because many sank into poverty instead)! As long as these two bits of information have nothing to do with each other, the entertainment element is lost and you'd better stick to the affairs that really affect you.
The extinction of war should account for the success, within Europe, of football and the Eurovision thong contest (or is it song contest?), at least to some extent. Hurrah and cheers for both of them then!
--
This bblogg, meanwhile, has been trying rEAl hArd to avoid talk of the American elections. Because there can't possibly be anything we could say that has not been said already. All day long, molning and evening, on TV and the pless and all alound us, Amelica votes, Amelica is plepaling fol elections. It's been years already, let's get it over with, please! Oh, it will be so great to finally have an American President again on this planet! We've been sitting on golden bananas -- and other fruit and veggies -- for ages! Why not award some already? For fear of inflation, that's why!
--
We've invented a new syndrome. The PMS, as in Pre-Menopausal Syndrome – the one that makes you enjoy Shoes and the City – or is it Sex and the City? Something like that. (Sorry, fans. Couldn't hold it back.)
--
Yes, we had some good coffee this weekend and we're ready for more! The only kinds of coffee that can do the trick in this heat are Italian freddo, for the refined palates, and Greek frappe, for the brutes whose top priority is really to stay conscious as the world melts into blazing numbness around them. Cool!
A Belgian with good language skills can also follow the news that are broadcast in different neighboring countries – but that's less interesting, because there are no wars anymore. Who cares when the French are on strike and whether the number of registered unemployed Germans has dropped (because many sank into poverty instead)! As long as these two bits of information have nothing to do with each other, the entertainment element is lost and you'd better stick to the affairs that really affect you.
The extinction of war should account for the success, within Europe, of football and the Eurovision thong contest (or is it song contest?), at least to some extent. Hurrah and cheers for both of them then!
--
This bblogg, meanwhile, has been trying rEAl hArd to avoid talk of the American elections. Because there can't possibly be anything we could say that has not been said already. All day long, molning and evening, on TV and the pless and all alound us, Amelica votes, Amelica is plepaling fol elections. It's been years already, let's get it over with, please! Oh, it will be so great to finally have an American President again on this planet! We've been sitting on golden bananas -- and other fruit and veggies -- for ages! Why not award some already? For fear of inflation, that's why!
--
We've invented a new syndrome. The PMS, as in Pre-Menopausal Syndrome – the one that makes you enjoy Shoes and the City – or is it Sex and the City? Something like that. (Sorry, fans. Couldn't hold it back.)
--
Yes, we had some good coffee this weekend and we're ready for more! The only kinds of coffee that can do the trick in this heat are Italian freddo, for the refined palates, and Greek frappe, for the brutes whose top priority is really to stay conscious as the world melts into blazing numbness around them. Cool!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Freedom of Expression
We don't have an opinion anymore. We've set it free.
Quoting a cartoon by Kamagurka – Belgian cartoonist and impolite servant of magic surrealism.
You want change? I'll give you some change if you dance naked in front of me!
Quoting an impolite Biko Azinuth stream of consciousness.
--
Wouldn't it be great if we could fly south now?
South where? South of what?
We could go to Santa Fe. Where we could have coffee with an old native, who would remind you: This thing that you have achieved for yourself, nobody will ever take away from you. We could go to Marseille, unwind in the sun, savor the sea flavors.
We will go West instead. And then return North. Worse things than that could happen to a person.
--
Sven is doing great! We gave him his minerals and his vitamins again. Bundles of baby prickles are sprouting around his crown! If he blooms, though, we will have to reconsider his name and/or sexual orientation.
Our Frog Ted has a new friend, one to exchange endless traveling stories with: Welcome Knut the Sex Tourist! Oh, it's just a pet name. Knut belongs to an endangered species, you see, and he will have to travel half around the globe in order to mate and reproduce.
Quoting a cartoon by Kamagurka – Belgian cartoonist and impolite servant of magic surrealism.
You want change? I'll give you some change if you dance naked in front of me!
Quoting an impolite Biko Azinuth stream of consciousness.
--
Wouldn't it be great if we could fly south now?
South where? South of what?
We could go to Santa Fe. Where we could have coffee with an old native, who would remind you: This thing that you have achieved for yourself, nobody will ever take away from you. We could go to Marseille, unwind in the sun, savor the sea flavors.
We will go West instead. And then return North. Worse things than that could happen to a person.
--
Sven is doing great! We gave him his minerals and his vitamins again. Bundles of baby prickles are sprouting around his crown! If he blooms, though, we will have to reconsider his name and/or sexual orientation.
Our Frog Ted has a new friend, one to exchange endless traveling stories with: Welcome Knut the Sex Tourist! Oh, it's just a pet name. Knut belongs to an endangered species, you see, and he will have to travel half around the globe in order to mate and reproduce.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
So you think you have a mansion
Poor Marina, the little Nut.
She's had a White Easter. It's been snowing for days, as it hasn't snowed the whole winter, she said. And the traffic jam this morning was a killer. She was stuck for two hours. And she didn't even want to get there! She was heading to the dentist. Root canal.
Would you like to be Marina today? No? But she's pretty, intelligent, one could say successful,... No? Ok, we understand.
How about one-legged Jim the pigeon? No? But you could become famous! One-legged Jim is a friend of our friend Biko Azinuth the Belgian author. (He may have made him up.) He claims he encountered the one-legged pigeon during a stroll in the park, while contemplating his next book. He was considering to rewrite and improve a previous, unpublished book of his, which is very dear to him. A love story! A story about Love and Insomnia! There are not enough love stories written nowadays, is his feeling. Too much cynicism, too much naval-gazing and neurosis. He may be right. “Enough with contemporary friction.” he says. “It's high time for literary fiction!”
There is a pigeon in the book. It visits the young heroine every single time her friend is on his way to her house, as if to announce him, or worse, to vie for her attention first. The pigeon always precedes his visit by ten minutes or so, and she has noticed. "You jealous rat”, she says.
So Biko spotted the fat one-legged pigeon during his stroll in the park. It was a sign to him. He called the pigeon one-legged Jim on the spot and decided to use it in the book. A pigeon so obese, he cannot possibly fly anymore. It can't run fast enough for take-off, Biko says (which doesn't make sense, but don't forget he's Belgian).
“That's what I like to write. Magic realism – that's what I love! And isn't it a great idea? Funny, symbolic, magical... The one-legged pigeon? Eating and observing and spying and getting fatter and fatter?”
We've read the unpublished book and found this would serve it well. “Why yeah, it's brilliant” Roufa said. “The more I think about it, the more I appreciate it!” agreed Mimi. “Are we allowed to blog about it? Or are you afraid somebody would steal it?”
“Oh, no, of course you can! It's ideas, they are flying around, drifting in the air... Unlike poor one-legged Jim, who has eaten himself too fat to fly.”
--
Hopefully you are who you want to be already -- more or less!
We can't complain.
--
Dear readers, we are going to be very busy the rest of the week. You won't see a lot of us. So we will leave you with a fun suggestion – it's really super: Cribs with Louis XVI (from the extras on the Marie Antoinnette DVD, and now on YouTube).
If you are a celebrity and you think you have a mansion to boast about on MTV? Think again, because Versailles trumps it all!
She's had a White Easter. It's been snowing for days, as it hasn't snowed the whole winter, she said. And the traffic jam this morning was a killer. She was stuck for two hours. And she didn't even want to get there! She was heading to the dentist. Root canal.
Would you like to be Marina today? No? But she's pretty, intelligent, one could say successful,... No? Ok, we understand.
How about one-legged Jim the pigeon? No? But you could become famous! One-legged Jim is a friend of our friend Biko Azinuth the Belgian author. (He may have made him up.) He claims he encountered the one-legged pigeon during a stroll in the park, while contemplating his next book. He was considering to rewrite and improve a previous, unpublished book of his, which is very dear to him. A love story! A story about Love and Insomnia! There are not enough love stories written nowadays, is his feeling. Too much cynicism, too much naval-gazing and neurosis. He may be right. “Enough with contemporary friction.” he says. “It's high time for literary fiction!”
There is a pigeon in the book. It visits the young heroine every single time her friend is on his way to her house, as if to announce him, or worse, to vie for her attention first. The pigeon always precedes his visit by ten minutes or so, and she has noticed. "You jealous rat”, she says.
So Biko spotted the fat one-legged pigeon during his stroll in the park. It was a sign to him. He called the pigeon one-legged Jim on the spot and decided to use it in the book. A pigeon so obese, he cannot possibly fly anymore. It can't run fast enough for take-off, Biko says (which doesn't make sense, but don't forget he's Belgian).
“That's what I like to write. Magic realism – that's what I love! And isn't it a great idea? Funny, symbolic, magical... The one-legged pigeon? Eating and observing and spying and getting fatter and fatter?”
We've read the unpublished book and found this would serve it well. “Why yeah, it's brilliant” Roufa said. “The more I think about it, the more I appreciate it!” agreed Mimi. “Are we allowed to blog about it? Or are you afraid somebody would steal it?”
“Oh, no, of course you can! It's ideas, they are flying around, drifting in the air... Unlike poor one-legged Jim, who has eaten himself too fat to fly.”
--
Hopefully you are who you want to be already -- more or less!
We can't complain.
--
Dear readers, we are going to be very busy the rest of the week. You won't see a lot of us. So we will leave you with a fun suggestion – it's really super: Cribs with Louis XVI (from the extras on the Marie Antoinnette DVD, and now on YouTube).
If you are a celebrity and you think you have a mansion to boast about on MTV? Think again, because Versailles trumps it all!
Friday, March 14, 2008
Timequake
def.: ten years on automatic pilot.
--
Now imagine this: A man creates a hydrogen bomb for a paranoid Soviet Union, makes sure it will work, and then wins a Nobel Peace Prize! This real-life character, worthy of a story by Kilgore Trout, was the late physicist Andrei Sakharov.
He won his Nobel in 1975 for demanding a halt to the testing of nuclear weapons. He, of course, had already tested his. His wife was a pediatrician! What sort of person could perfect a hydrogen bomb while married to a child-care specialist? What sort of physician would stay with a mate that cracked?
“Anything interesting happen at work today, Honeybunch?”
“Yes. My bomb is going to work just great. And how are you doing with that kid with chicken pox?”
--
Thus spoke Kurt Vonnegut during the Timequake, ten and twenty years ago. We are quoting him, so that we don’t have to judge and be judged.
In any case: Nobody, even Kurt, ever asked Sakharov’s wife if she was planning to leave her husband. That would be ridiculous.
And when a blue-chip company CEO effectively steals from his employees and drinks their life savings for aperitif, nobody asks his wife if she could bear to stand by him, or if she was planning to leave him.
But when a politician uses his own money (until proven otherwise) to have luxury sex with a consenting, non desperate, and adult set of limbs, don't let the apparent lack of a victim deceive you: things change drastically! To quote our dear friend Biko Azinuth, It's everybody's business now! It's not hard to imagine the faint spark of life inside the mummified bellies and mucus membranes of the Desperately Cruel, upon uncovering the titillating (?) details. Those C- students who have dated themselves to lobotomy, only to end up having instant soup every evening alone in front of the TV, and on the phone, and the computer, finally get the chance to dance their ecstatic dances of boredom-avenging around the “Harvard educated wife” - in a moment of glory they have to ask: Are you going to leave him?
And we were not quick enough to zap away in time.
But things could be worse. At least according to the quintessential Disgusted Person, Phillip Roth. In other words: it's been 10 years since 1998. Below we are giving you a piece of Roth to indulge, dear readers!
And do have a lovely weekend! If you really have to use the TV, phone, computer, etc, at least please try to use one at a time! Otherwise, really, you don't know what you are doing.
--
...
Ninety eight in New England was a summer of exquisite warmth and sunshine, in baseball a summer of mythical battle between a home-run god who was white and a home-run god who was brown, and in America the summer of an enormous piety binge, a purity binge, when terrorism – which had replaced communism as the prevailing threat to the country’s national security – was succeeded by cocksucking, and a virile, youthful middle-aged president and a brash, smitten twenty-one-year-old employee carrying on in the Oval Office like two teenage kids in a parking lot revived America’s oldest communal passion, historically perhaps its most treacherous and subversive pleasure: the ecstasy of sanctimony. In the Congress, in the press, and on the networks, the righteous grandstanding creeps, crazy to blame, deplore, and punish, were everywhere out moralizing to beat the band: all of them in a calculated frenzy with what Hawthorne [] identified in the incipient country of long ago as “the persecuting spirit”; all of them eager to enact the astringent rituals of purification that would excise the erection from the executive branch, thereby making things cozy and safe enough for Senator Lieberman’s ten-year-old daughter to watch TV with her embarrassed daddy again. No, if you haven’t lived through 1998, you don’t know what sanctimony is.
...
--
Now imagine this: A man creates a hydrogen bomb for a paranoid Soviet Union, makes sure it will work, and then wins a Nobel Peace Prize! This real-life character, worthy of a story by Kilgore Trout, was the late physicist Andrei Sakharov.
He won his Nobel in 1975 for demanding a halt to the testing of nuclear weapons. He, of course, had already tested his. His wife was a pediatrician! What sort of person could perfect a hydrogen bomb while married to a child-care specialist? What sort of physician would stay with a mate that cracked?
“Anything interesting happen at work today, Honeybunch?”
“Yes. My bomb is going to work just great. And how are you doing with that kid with chicken pox?”
--
Thus spoke Kurt Vonnegut during the Timequake, ten and twenty years ago. We are quoting him, so that we don’t have to judge and be judged.
In any case: Nobody, even Kurt, ever asked Sakharov’s wife if she was planning to leave her husband. That would be ridiculous.
And when a blue-chip company CEO effectively steals from his employees and drinks their life savings for aperitif, nobody asks his wife if she could bear to stand by him, or if she was planning to leave him.
But when a politician uses his own money (until proven otherwise) to have luxury sex with a consenting, non desperate, and adult set of limbs, don't let the apparent lack of a victim deceive you: things change drastically! To quote our dear friend Biko Azinuth, It's everybody's business now! It's not hard to imagine the faint spark of life inside the mummified bellies and mucus membranes of the Desperately Cruel, upon uncovering the titillating (?) details. Those C- students who have dated themselves to lobotomy, only to end up having instant soup every evening alone in front of the TV, and on the phone, and the computer, finally get the chance to dance their ecstatic dances of boredom-avenging around the “Harvard educated wife” - in a moment of glory they have to ask: Are you going to leave him?
And we were not quick enough to zap away in time.
But things could be worse. At least according to the quintessential Disgusted Person, Phillip Roth. In other words: it's been 10 years since 1998. Below we are giving you a piece of Roth to indulge, dear readers!
And do have a lovely weekend! If you really have to use the TV, phone, computer, etc, at least please try to use one at a time! Otherwise, really, you don't know what you are doing.
--
...
Ninety eight in New England was a summer of exquisite warmth and sunshine, in baseball a summer of mythical battle between a home-run god who was white and a home-run god who was brown, and in America the summer of an enormous piety binge, a purity binge, when terrorism – which had replaced communism as the prevailing threat to the country’s national security – was succeeded by cocksucking, and a virile, youthful middle-aged president and a brash, smitten twenty-one-year-old employee carrying on in the Oval Office like two teenage kids in a parking lot revived America’s oldest communal passion, historically perhaps its most treacherous and subversive pleasure: the ecstasy of sanctimony. In the Congress, in the press, and on the networks, the righteous grandstanding creeps, crazy to blame, deplore, and punish, were everywhere out moralizing to beat the band: all of them in a calculated frenzy with what Hawthorne [] identified in the incipient country of long ago as “the persecuting spirit”; all of them eager to enact the astringent rituals of purification that would excise the erection from the executive branch, thereby making things cozy and safe enough for Senator Lieberman’s ten-year-old daughter to watch TV with her embarrassed daddy again. No, if you haven’t lived through 1998, you don’t know what sanctimony is.
...
Monday, December 31, 2007
Such a Belgian's Mother!
Last day of the year. The anticipation is killing us. Will we make it to the next?
Meanwhile, what better opportunity than this, to remember and catch up with some of the things that have preoccupied us in this rather young bblogg.
(Some links may not work, temporarily, presumably because the google geeks are playing again - or not. No wonder we are not charmed by computers or impressed by geeks, to say the least.)
We watch many movies and have commented on some of them, from a silly scary movie about carnivorous sheep, to a pretentious nonsense, to Marie Antoinette. We read many books, but haven't written much about them.
We are intelligent for no obvious reason.
We are not the only ones who like to poke innocent fun at the beautiful little Germans. Garfield shares our weakness. Here is a recent strip featuring Greta the pet sitter.
The situation in Pakistan was a cliff hanger on the 28th of November. It is still troubled. Benazir Bhutto regained her freedom and people's support, but lost her life. Don't worry, though, her son will lead the party -- after he completes his studies. Meanwhile, his widowed father will take over. The crowds cheer, etc. Not only Musharraf and the military, but also the Bhutto Dynasty verify what the King of Jordan once said, that "democracy will mean different things to different nations".
We appreciate Italian design, as does our petite cousin Marina the Nut. Our wish to her for the new year: to find her dream shoes in size 34 1/2.
We are fun-loving people and many readers seemed to have enjoyed our household jokes.
Our friend Biko Azinuth, the non-neurotic Belgian writer who loves animals, visited his mother for Christmas. She is a funny woman living with a sweet dog at an insignificant Flemish village. She embodies Belgian surrealism as much as any Belgian. She went out with a younger friend, and as the sun shone behind the friend, outlining her profile from an unfortunate angle, Biko's mother noticed a long curly hair growing on her friend's chin. She said so. The friend panicked, "pull it out", she begged. "I can't", said Biko's mother. "I'm not wearing my glasses."
Remember the Azinuth's coffee addiction? His mother has now also picked the habit of having a cup of coffee after dinner. Poor Biko was so worried when he first saw her do that: "What if you cannot sleep!" he protested. "Well," she said, "at least I've had my coffee".
Our nephew says he is studying math right now. We don't believe him.
Can talent kill you? There were two children once. The youngest, a
boy, pointed his water pistol to his head and said "I'm trying to destroy my brain without dying." The girl remarked: "That's the best way to kill your ideas without dying for them". Bless them, wherever they are.
In 2007 we gave one golden banana, one leaden cucumber, and one golden apple. Sven, our beloved cactus, and his friend RockFrog made it into Frog's DAFTS gallery.
We have offered free advice.
We get easily disgusted and appreciate the company of other disgusted persons. But we can be very thankful too. We are thankful for our new friends! And we thank you for reading us!
It is fitting to close with something funny that Kurt Vonnegut wrote, as a moral lesson:
Money, position, health, handsomeness, and talent, aren't everything.
Hurrah!
Meanwhile, what better opportunity than this, to remember and catch up with some of the things that have preoccupied us in this rather young bblogg.
(Some links may not work, temporarily, presumably because the google geeks are playing again - or not. No wonder we are not charmed by computers or impressed by geeks, to say the least.)
We watch many movies and have commented on some of them, from a silly scary movie about carnivorous sheep, to a pretentious nonsense, to Marie Antoinette. We read many books, but haven't written much about them.
We are intelligent for no obvious reason.
We are not the only ones who like to poke innocent fun at the beautiful little Germans. Garfield shares our weakness. Here is a recent strip featuring Greta the pet sitter.
The situation in Pakistan was a cliff hanger on the 28th of November. It is still troubled. Benazir Bhutto regained her freedom and people's support, but lost her life. Don't worry, though, her son will lead the party -- after he completes his studies. Meanwhile, his widowed father will take over. The crowds cheer, etc. Not only Musharraf and the military, but also the Bhutto Dynasty verify what the King of Jordan once said, that "democracy will mean different things to different nations".
We appreciate Italian design, as does our petite cousin Marina the Nut. Our wish to her for the new year: to find her dream shoes in size 34 1/2.
We are fun-loving people and many readers seemed to have enjoyed our household jokes.
Our friend Biko Azinuth, the non-neurotic Belgian writer who loves animals, visited his mother for Christmas. She is a funny woman living with a sweet dog at an insignificant Flemish village. She embodies Belgian surrealism as much as any Belgian. She went out with a younger friend, and as the sun shone behind the friend, outlining her profile from an unfortunate angle, Biko's mother noticed a long curly hair growing on her friend's chin. She said so. The friend panicked, "pull it out", she begged. "I can't", said Biko's mother. "I'm not wearing my glasses."
Remember the Azinuth's coffee addiction? His mother has now also picked the habit of having a cup of coffee after dinner. Poor Biko was so worried when he first saw her do that: "What if you cannot sleep!" he protested. "Well," she said, "at least I've had my coffee".
Our nephew says he is studying math right now. We don't believe him.
Can talent kill you? There were two children once. The youngest, a
boy, pointed his water pistol to his head and said "I'm trying to destroy my brain without dying." The girl remarked: "That's the best way to kill your ideas without dying for them". Bless them, wherever they are.
In 2007 we gave one golden banana, one leaden cucumber, and one golden apple. Sven, our beloved cactus, and his friend RockFrog made it into Frog's DAFTS gallery.
We have offered free advice.
We get easily disgusted and appreciate the company of other disgusted persons. But we can be very thankful too. We are thankful for our new friends! And we thank you for reading us!
It is fitting to close with something funny that Kurt Vonnegut wrote, as a moral lesson:
Money, position, health, handsomeness, and talent, aren't everything.
Hurrah!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Such a Belgian!
Our friend Jeannette Eats Spaghetti did it again. With this innocent post she reminded us how, besides oxygen, coffee is also essential to life in our Silly World.
Our notorious Belgian friend Biko Azinuth is also a proud member of the coffee club. And because he's Belgian, he really has to take that one extra step further: Biko needs coffee to wake up, to stay awake, AND to go to bed. He has the strongest coffee of the day right after dinner, or he can't drift out of the day and fall asleep. (We don't think he needs it to stay asleep – that would be impractical, unless he installed a caffeine IV next to his bed.)
We would love to go on forever about coffee, but we could not do a lot better than this article, so read that. It should do for now. We need to rest too, we have just explained Pakistan to you, after all. To prove you we are really lazy today, here are some Garfields from our enormous collection (if you click on them, they will appear larger, hopefully):
If you enjoyed them, ask us for more, we have many! The complete archives you can find on the official Garfield site -- click on "today's comic" and from there to "the vault" and from there any date you want! As long as it's after Garfield was born. For the above, we picked: August 7,2000; February 17,2007; August 7,1994.
We should add that chocolate is also an essential element in our world. All kinds of chocolate, but if it only contains cocoa butter rather that crappy fat, even better. Like real Belgian pralines! By the way, our special Belgian friend the Azinuth can only eat chocolate with pure cocoa butter, otherwise he gets enormous pimples. At his age! What a man!
If you also love chocolate but you worry about pimples, whatever your age, there's a tip for you too!
Our notorious Belgian friend Biko Azinuth is also a proud member of the coffee club. And because he's Belgian, he really has to take that one extra step further: Biko needs coffee to wake up, to stay awake, AND to go to bed. He has the strongest coffee of the day right after dinner, or he can't drift out of the day and fall asleep. (We don't think he needs it to stay asleep – that would be impractical, unless he installed a caffeine IV next to his bed.)
We would love to go on forever about coffee, but we could not do a lot better than this article, so read that. It should do for now. We need to rest too, we have just explained Pakistan to you, after all. To prove you we are really lazy today, here are some Garfields from our enormous collection (if you click on them, they will appear larger, hopefully):
If you enjoyed them, ask us for more, we have many! The complete archives you can find on the official Garfield site -- click on "today's comic" and from there to "the vault" and from there any date you want! As long as it's after Garfield was born. For the above, we picked: August 7,2000; February 17,2007; August 7,1994.
We should add that chocolate is also an essential element in our world. All kinds of chocolate, but if it only contains cocoa butter rather that crappy fat, even better. Like real Belgian pralines! By the way, our special Belgian friend the Azinuth can only eat chocolate with pure cocoa butter, otherwise he gets enormous pimples. At his age! What a man!
If you also love chocolate but you worry about pimples, whatever your age, there's a tip for you too!
Monday, November 5, 2007
Angels stole your missing socks
Good day, our dear readers! We hope you had at least half as lovely a weekend as we did. And that you've aired yourselves sufficiently. Always important. We'll keep on telling you until you have to run out for air.
We had a visitor in the weekend, our friend Biko Azinuth. He's quite a character. And Belgian, which is how we got hooked, see previous post. Biko is an aspiring writer, and full of stories. But he wasn't there to impose on us with the characters in his fiction, he's not the obsessive-neurotic type of author. (Not that we would mind. Those guys maintain very popular blogs about how they cannot sit down and write. Traffic guaranteed.) What he talked about was his childhood pets! Dogs, cats, turtles. As a result, it's impossible for us to post anything sharp today.
We started talking about dogs, because we are planning to have one. Biko is a fan of boxers and has had almost half a dozen of them up to now. Sweet, playful, funny creatures – we are enchanted ourselves. One of his boxers would get so melty when he cuddled her, that she fainted. Another one was extremely stubborn, impossible to train, a very strong personality, but still sweet. She wouldn't let him pack for a trip – she would poke into the suitcase and steal his socks all the time. All boxers were fascinated with the birds in the garden. They would watch them attentively as they chirped around the bird house.
Biko has also owned a cat, Prutz. A crazy creature, really crazy. She would attack you out of the blue, while (you thought she was) napping in your lap. When she died, the doctor discovered her brain was full of sugar crystalls. She had been a diabetic nut. Prutz was a merciless hunter too. She would give the family a scare by bringing in a bug or a mouse, proudly laying them dead or half-dead at their feet. She'd take a nap on Kika the boxer, planting her claws in her skin so as not to slip off. Kika did not mind.
He's also had a German Shepherd, Tina, when he was a very small boy. He used to lay on her in the garden and watch the sky. At the same time he owned a turtle, Piet. Piet would listen to his name. You could call him and there he would set off slowly to nibble on his tomato. Later he would take a stroll in the garden, dumping his excess all along, so that next thing you knew, tomato plants would sprout all over the place. They didn't know what to do with all the tomatoes.
Piet was not afraid of coming down the stairs. He would go for it. Jump he'd go, land on his back, and then wait for Tina to arrive and turn him over, back on his feet. Time and again.
In the winter it was hibernation time for Piet. He would lay in the basement, inside a box cushioned with leaves.
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Our brains soothed by these stories, we slept like babies. And that's the best way to sleep. I, Mimi, dreamed of a heaven, where all our thought-to-be-dead pets and animals of all sorts played happily together, sniffed and cuddled, jumped in ponds, examined the cacti over the hill; skipped around poking toys, chasing one another, some waiting for their owners, some already spoiling theirs. Biko's joyful boxers ran after tennis balls and wild birds and chickens, and funny heavenly creatures I could not quite make out, then rested in their nests full of his missing socks and underwear. That's where all your missing socks have gone! The heaven of boxers.
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Our new landlord does not allow big dogs – heaven knows why he should prefer us to have a handbag-sized, neurotic bundle of barking hell -- so instead of a boxer we will settle for a French Bulldog. Aren't they, after all, “a big dog in a small package”? Looking forward to it! We'll let you know!
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