My Buddies: Sparky, Percy, and King.

Sparky, the elder statesman{at 15 years of age…}; Percy, the wondrous 9 year old Frenchie; and the mighty King, checking in at 3, represent the towering brilliance of noble canininity at its very apex.

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๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘ƒ๐‘ข๐‘Ÿ๐‘’ ๐‘ƒ๐‘œ๐‘ ๐‘Š๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘š๐‘’๐‘›๐‘ก.

An ever-so-haphazard—yet, not— collection of songs/performances which bring one to the trancelike state of what is called, by some, Pure Pop Wonderment. These things avoid syzygy. Itโ€™s not an excuse; itโ€™s a vigorously researched excuse. Linear-ness is overrated. Enjoy.

We hand-skewer…I mean, hand-craft our previews for display-time on, well, certain places frequented by bipeds. Mass hysteria generally results.

๐ด๐‘™๐‘™ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘ก ๐‘š๐‘Ž๐‘ก๐‘ก๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘‘…..

Sixteen days passed. Then! Ah! Bright wings.

And, that was all. All that mattered, though, was that it existed. I have yet to be refuted.

The following is here appended for reasons I shan’t disclose. Maybe later.

Upon hearing of “what either of the two Thomases **might** have been willing to call…” {one might now fathom the hesitation of using the term in connection with ligature/grapheme-like scenarios}{this hesitation was mentioned in a now deleted, and rightly so, prose miasma…}, the great director and actor Orson Welles fulfilled his obligation to film a few commercials. And…

๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘€๐‘Ž๐‘™๐‘ก๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘’ ๐น๐‘Ž๐‘™๐‘๐‘œ๐‘› {1941}.

Scenes and images from one of the finest films ever made, which also constituted the star-making of Mr. Bogart. This happened to be Sydney Greenstreet’s first film appearance.

๐‘บ๐’•๐’‚๐’“ ๐‘ป๐’“๐’†๐’Œ: ๐‘จ ๐‘ป๐’‚๐’”๐’•๐’† ๐’๐’‡ ๐‘จ๐’“๐’Ž๐’‚๐’ˆ๐’†๐’…๐’…๐’๐’.

Mr. Spock makes a spot-on distinction between two states/conditions which are not at all necessarily synonymous. Kirk is gobsmacked, and none too pleased, by the manner in which the Eminiarians conduct their “wars”; and Anan 7 {David Opatoshu} is titanically sangfroid-y, as per.

While the mighty Anan 7 is comprehensively beguiling Diplomat Fox with almost disdainful ease, Mr. Scott is *not* buyin’ it. When the utterly hoodwinked Fox gives his extremely dubious order (which would have meant the summary destruction of The Enterprise, including all crew), Mr. Scott yields not an inch. No. No. No. I am *not* following your jackass order. The screens stay up. Big points for Scotty.

Mr. Spock dispatches a guard in quite amusing (and utterly efficient) fashion; he also references noted existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre. Touching many a base in this episode, is the Vulcan.

And now the scene the fans paid their money for. The truly great Anan 7 displays his almost preternatural poise, sangfroid, and unruffle-ability, as Captain James Kirk (William Shatner) does his level best to rattle and intimidate the First Councilman. He uses every trick in the book, and even a few others, generally stored in private reserve; almost anyone else in history would indeed have been unnerved. Anan 7 not only utterly maintains his calm, but also his courtesy. And, for that matter, his humour. Even Kirk seems a bit amused/impressed by the epoch-defining aplomb and self-assurance that easily withstood the heavy artillery.

One would do well *not* to miss the Trek-oriented posts available over at The Creator’s area, Bideodromage.

๐™‡๐™–๐™ง๐™œ๐™š-๐™ž๐™จ๐™ ๐˜พ๐™–๐™ง๐™ฃ๐™ž๐™ซ๐™ค๐™ง๐™ค๐™ช๐™จ ๐™ˆ๐™–๐™ง๐™จ๐™ช๐™ฅ๐™ž๐™–๐™ก๐™จ.

One is about to engage in a journey that shan’t leave one unchanged. Rather large-ish carnivores—and Marsupials, at that—await. Fear not. I shall be with thee. My nonpareil prose style shall soothe one’s….bosom. Good luck!!

Good god!!! What **are** those crazed, fearsome creatures?? Well, they happen to be the world’s size-y-est carnivorous marsupial—a position once held by my belovรจd Thylacine—until extinction occurred, in 1936—they are Tasmanian Devils.

Is there no end to the unprecedented savagery?

So, basically, I shall now quote a self-styled “expert” who specializes in “these types of things” (and also operates a fine blog, The Ferret-Badger of Borneo): “These predators (/scavengers…) are capable not only of generating one of the strongest bites per unit body mass of any beast, but also—arguably—possess the goods to produce the 5th highest rating on the ร†ternal Indices of The Cuteness Scale (higher even than Kristen Stewart), as compiled and tirelessly evaluated/re-etc.’d by the 3rd cousin, twice removed, of the co-author of The Golden Age of Ballooning, vol. 43. Guess it runs in the family. At *any* rate, these fierce marsupials will tear your throat out for you, and are also cute as hell.” Pretty Spot-On, I’d have to say.

Well. Upon reflection, I’d wager the above “expert” to be on the precipice of…something. He was close on the Bite Force Quotient, but…” The scientists discovered that the Devil has, relative to its size, the most powerful bite of any mammalian predator alive. Its “bite force quotient” is nearly three times greater than a domestic cat, twice that of a fox or black bear and a third greater than a tiger or wolf.” Ye gods. That is *some* bite. Three times greater than a Tiger! Furthermore, guess who has the second most devastating bite, pound for pound…the Tiger Quoll, who is next up on our bite parade.

It would appear that your Tiger Quoll possesses similar characteristics to the Tasmanian Devil: they are both frighteningly savage; they will predate on you and tear your throat out, for you; and, they are ridiculously cute and beguiling {when not instilling sheer terror}. One last bitey quote, from expert actuelle Steve Wroe: “At 1.5kilograms the spotted-tailed {or Tiger} quoll can kill a seven-kilogram swamp wallaby,” he said. “That’s an animal five times its own body mass. Tasmanian devils can kill wombat-sized animals.”

Malleodectes mirabilis, here depicted, is apparently unique among all beasts, extant or extinct, in that it has blunt, hammer-like teeth. It is believed they dined mainly on snails, 17 million years ago.

We conclude with the mighty Marsupial Lion. You want to talk about sheer biting power? “The jaw muscle of the marsupial lion was exceptionally large for its size, giving it an extremely powerful bite.ย Biometricย calculations show, considering size, it had the strongest bite of any known mammal, living or extinct; a 101ย kg (223ย lb) individual would have had a bite comparable to that of a 250ย kg (550ย lb)ย African Lion.” Thus spake Dr. Wroe, againe. I, for one, am goddamn impressed. It lived 1.6 million to 46,000 years ago. But it had its moments—and many of them—during its day.

๐‘ท๐’†๐’“๐’„๐’š {๐’•๐’‰๐’† ๐‘ญ๐’“๐’†๐’๐’„๐’‰๐’Š๐’†} & ๐‘บ๐’‘๐’‚๐’“๐’Œ๐’š!

“A+”
“A+”
“A++”
“A++”
“A+”

These characters are simply the best. I really do not know what I’d do without ’em. The apotheosis of dog-dom.

๐“๐ก๐ž ๐‚๐ก๐ซ๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ๐จ๐ฉ๐ก๐ž๐ซ ๐–๐š๐ฅ๐ค๐ž๐ง.

Winning Ways.

The Christopher Walken. Like unto a god.

๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘€๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘Ž๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘œ๐‘› ๐‘€๐‘Ž๐‘›.

Christian Szell III
Christian Szell

{Note: This post revised on 7/20/2019}

Mighty practitioners at work here in Marathon Man {1976}; Olivier and Scheider are in particularly formidable, even iconic, form. A taut, well-directed thriller.