Funny Old Facts From a Funny Old World

.
.
.
Poland's Stella Walsh (Stanislawa Walaiewicz) won the women's 100 meter race at the 1932 Olympics in Los Angeles, becoming the first woman to break the 12 second barrier. After she was killed in 1980 as an innocent victim in a robbery attempt, an autopsy declared her to be a male.

.
.
.
aNOtHEr gOoBbLe iN tHe TURkEy pUdDle.

Facts from a Funny Old World

The very first recorded Ancient Olympic Games took place in 776 BC. The event was a stadion race (a foot race equivalent to 190metre or 208 yard dash). The winner was a humble baker from the Greek city state of Elis named Coroebus.
.
.
.
 cLIpPinGs fRoM saTanS tOEnAil.

Who Says Satire Is Dead?

Flash animation by my son. He's working his way through the government.

Proper Quotes From the Upper Crusties

"I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned."

Lord Byron

. . . aNOtHEr dIp INtO ThE mAGpIE mEMOrY pOOoL.

A Feast Of Posters

.
.
.
aNOtHEr dIp INtO ThE mAGpIE mEMOrY pOOoL.

A Smith & Burrows Merry Chritsmas to one and all...

God damn, this snow
Will I ever get where I wanna go
And so I skate, across the Thames
Hand in hand, with all my friends
And all the things, that we planned

My son's eyes in the outline of his hand
And even though I hate the cold
Constant reminder that I'm getting old
Another year draws to its close, entire London slows
When I dream tonight, I'll dream of you

When the Thames ... froze



God damn, this government
Will they ever tell me, where the money went
Protesters march out on the street
As young men sleep amongst the feet
Another year draws to its close, entire London slows
When I dream tonight, I'll dream of you

When the Thames froze

So tell everyone that there's hope in your heart
Tell everyone or it will tear you apart
The end of Christmas day, when there's nothing left to say
The years go by so fast, let's hope the next beats the last
Tell everyone that there's hope in your heart
Tell everyone or it will tear you apart
The end of Christmas day, when there is nothing left to say
The years go by so fast, let's hope the next beats the last aaaaaahaaaahaaahaaa



.
.
.
aNOtHEr FESTIVE dIp INtO ThE mAGpIE mEMOrY pOOoL.

Proper Quotes From Often People

     “Once I was a forty pound weakling. Now I am two separate gorillas.”

Vivian Stanshall

. . . aNOtHEr sLOw sHaG iN ThE seDimEnT oF lIFe.

A Feast Of Posters

. Some delightful line drawings sketched in blue making for an unusual visual
.
.
fAthEr'S tOe nAIl cLipPinGs.

Petit Pierre

One of the greatest short films ever in my humble opinion. A sheer delight of clanking junk and string!



SMALL STONE
The famous' carousel of Petit Pierre "is the jewel in the Fabuloserie , raw art museum located Dicy, small village near Chateau-Renard

For Pierre Avezard, nothing is lost: cans, pieces of metal, wooden stakes, tires. Everything changes once cut, filed, hammered, and planed assembled a wonderful ride. He began building it in 1937 when he was riding cowboy on a farm in the town of Fay to Lodges in the Loiret. He devoted his leisure time to explore landfills. He collected everything that people get rid, it took almost 40 years to overcome. Pierre Avezard, said Pierre Petit (1909-1992) The "Carousel of Petit Pierre" is a work quite exceptional, that is to say a masterpiece comparable to those masterpieces of the Companions of Tour de France. (...) The work of Pierre Petit, a lifetime of work, is a kind of popular song, of romancero, ballad, made ​​by laminations, son of iron, brightly colored paintings, and a snook grinning at the atrocity of his disabled status and as proletarian. deaf and dumb and blind, Pierre Avezard, very small and sickly, was all his life cowboy, lumberjack and a farm in the Loiret. By 1937, he began in the barn of the farm building a ride that allowed him both to distribute the beet to cows and deserving of protection from blows and jeers of his colleagues by hacking a suspended bed beam. In 1955, he sets up a mud house. Then his boss who has granted a small plot of land and a house he built a wooden tower Eiffel twenty-three meters high. Carousels stacked and animated topics are multiplying, the visitors start to rush. In 1970, led by a small electric motor, the work has more than one hundred figures carved and painted metal, with a remote mechanical system that Petit Pierre, perched in a booth, operates with malignancy: water jets on visitors too curious, noisy bombing sheets. (...) Hospitalized after a first attack of hemiplegia, Pierre Petit, however, went every Sunday at Carousel to operate it and welcome visitors from growing. In 1982, a combination of backup avoided the Armoury destroyed by the route of a new highway. (...) However, sufficient funds could not be released by the Ministry of Culture, the Armoury, lack of maintenance, deteriorated and was vandalized by neighborhood children. A whole team of volunteers helped Caroline Alain Bourbonnais and dismantle, transport and restore parts of the Manege who now works in the park of La Fabuloserie. (From the side of Art Brut, Michel Ragon, Albin Michel) Fabulous FabuloserieEn lovers and unusual works of artists Outside the standards, Alain Bourbonnais (1925-1988), architect and designer by profession passion, n ' ceased to collect, gather, accumulate numerous finds: votive offerings, fairground art, folk art, outsider art ... insatiable man, jovial and merry prankster, has created a museum to show its fascinating collection. Thus was born, in 1983, the Fabuloserie. This place, the Fabuloserie, is not a museum in the conventional sense. The visit is conducted with a guide who takes care of us about the artists presentations, we tell the story of their life as much as we reveal the secrets of the works. The visit starts with the garden where you can see the sculptures of Camille Vidal. Characters form a reinforced concrete dreamscape where one crosses Fernandel but Adam and Eve, Professor Nimbus, his wife, his dog ... These figures are imbued with humor in mind of their creator. Equally remarkable is the ride Petit Pierre. This work consists of multiple debris, salvage. Dumb, Little Peter was speaking to visitors through signs, signs indicating hours of operation, the amusing figures. Beyond the playful spirit that comes out, this ride is a real plot, interlocking parts linked by heterogeneous and noisy machinery driven by motorcycle tires. Animated, moving figures: the farmer milks the cow, a man drinks, the fire engine ride ... Every detail is important. This garden reflects the mindset of Bourbonnais, creators of love "popular" invaded by the spirit of invention. Inside the museum, filled with pieces of sculptures, paintings, drawings succeed. The enumeration of all authors is impossible, so they are many. But they include, among others, Verbena, Chichorro, Amate, Podesta, Pesset ... and Francis Marshall. A room devoted to it. It contains a series of characters in grotesque shapes, burlesque. These figures are "jams" dolls stuffed with sticky synthetic fabrics. Sketches tell the story of Mauricette girl a little wan and gourd but oh so endearing. The Turbulents, works of its owner Alain Bourbonnais, end the visit. The titles of these sculptures are crazy: Am I, am I beautiful, Chouchou duplex, Desire whoopee ... As for the carnival figures, Alain Bourbonnais played with them. He climbed up, made ​​them move and live. Celestine, mother of the tribe, with its large size and her breasts forward, leads the viewer. These are sculptures of celebration, laughter, where we imagine the silhouette of their creator with delight the handling, manipulating these machineries. The Fabuloserie is now run by Caroline Bourbonnais, wife of Alain, which preserves and animates mind and soul of the place. The Fabuloserie - Tel. 03 86 63 64 21 Open from April 1 to November 2, Saturdays, Sundays and public holidays from 14h to 18h and daily in July and August from 14h to 18h Website: www.fabuloserie.com

Suicide in the Trenches

I knew a simple soldier boy.....

Who grinned at life in empty joy,

Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,

And whistled early with the lark.



In winter trenches, cowed and glum,

With crumps and lice and lack of rum,

He put a bullet through his brain.

And no one spoke of him again.



You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye

Who cheer when soldier lads march by,

Sneak home and pray you'll never know

The hell where youth and laughter go.

By Siegfried Sassoon

.
.
.
 tHe wAr tO eNd aLl WaRs.