That’s The Spirit

In all the frenzy of Chinkvirus panic and the resulting pandemic theater (i.e wearing face condoms which, from all accounts, do little or nothing to actually prevent the spread of the virus, but like the TSA at airports, at least give the appearance of Doing Something ), we have this wonderful example of I-don’t-give-a-fuckitude from someone named Lana Del Rey:

Heheheh… if you’re going to show absolute contempt, then this is the way to do it.

Of course, the uproar has been intense:

Taking to Twitter to share their anger, one person said: ‘I cant belive lana is actually wearing this mask to…..socially interact with people..this is so irresponsible.’
A different fan put: ‘Why is she at an event with a bunch of people wearing a mesh mask??? I love Lana but this is incredibly irresponsible.’
Another follower commented: ‘LANA WEARING A MESH MASK TO AN EVENT FOR HER POETRY WTF So irresponsible.’

…etc. etc. etc.

Me, I’m just chuckling, because you know what’s coming up next, don’t you?

Wait for it…

Government regulations mandating a minimum thread count per inch for cloth face masks!

You heard it here first.

From Pretty To Peculiar

There’s this TV show called Love Island, where pretty young heterosexual things of all types get to hang around in seclusion somewhere and bonk each other.  (I may not have got this quite right, as I’ve never actually watched the poxy thing, but this seems to be what happens.)  After the season ends, the cast go on to make all sorts of money from endorsements and Instagram appearances and so on.

Nice work, if you can get it.

And to get it,  you need to be pretty, regardless of whether you have a pleasure pole or a love socket.

The men, needless to say, don’t do much to make themselves look more attractive to the women — ’twas ever thus, except for men of the Elton John persuasion — but the sluts women certainly do.  And of course, by today’s deplorable standards of beauty, a girl needs to have an ass of Lopez/Kardashian dimensions, and a face that… well, see for yourselves.

Here’s an article which shows Before / After pics of some of the girls’ faces.  Most of them are fairly plain, but one stuck out as particularly sad:

She went from being quite stunning to looking like a RealDoll.

Yes, that’s a RealDoll.  I challenge anyone to contradict me.

In describing my despair at our modern life, I often say that I’m just a 1911 man trying to live in a 2020 world.  And I’m not exaggerating.

Here are three famous Edwardian beauties (Gladys Cooper, Lily Elsie and Marie Doro).  Compare them (and their contemporaries) with the grotésqueries  in the above article, and I think you’ll get my point.

 

Not a stitch of cosmetic surgery anywhere.  And if you didn’t fall instantly in love with one or all of the above three, I don’t want to talk to you anymore.

Classic Designs

Just about every sentient human being has their own set of criteria for what constitutes a “classic” design.  My own are fairly simple, in that a classic design:

  • should make everyone who sees it go:  “Ah yes!  That’s  _____________”;
  • must stand the test of time — people should recognize exactly what it is, decades after its creation or even demise;
  • should be universally recognizable even to people not familiar with the product or product category;
  • should be beautiful enough so that one might desire to own it or view it in person, even when you’re not quite sure exactly what it is.

I (and others) might not even care for the stuff, but the iconic designs nevertheless need to be recognized as such.  Here are some examples of what I’m talking about.

E-type Jaguar

Walther PPK (“the James Bond gun”)

The Eiffel Tower

Volkswagen Beetle (old shape)

Cartier (“Tank”) Watch

P-08 (Luger)

Austin Mini (old shape)

The Parthenon

Winchester 1894

Omega Seamaster

1965 Ford Mustang

Spitfire

Those are just the first ones that spring to mind — I used the “five-minute” rule to establish which, to me, exemplify the concept.  Yours may differ, so feel free to comment.

AOBTD

Now it’s Diana Rigg’s turn to shuffle off this mortal coil (or, as the title suggests:  “another one bites the dust”).   In an email to me, Mr. Free Market included this pic:

…and I’m fairly sure this would be how we all want to remember her.

R.I.P. to one of the classiest and sexiest Dames ever.

Hopeless Crush

In looking back over the posts I’ve put up since I returned to blogging, I see that I’ve inexplicably given short shrift to a woman I’ve had a crush on since… well, since I first became aware of her back in the 1980s.  In fact, when I did speak of Olympic skating gold medallist Katarina Witt on these pages, I relegated her to a backup reservist among my Desert Island Dames.

That’s just wrong.

So herewith a short pictorial on this German hottie:

And of course, there was that unforgettable Playboy pictorial, at the ripe old age of 33:

I am so weak…

Change Of Pace

It occurs to me that of late this here back porch of mine has been too preoccupied with political shit such as rioters in Portland / Seattle, asshole politicians [redundancy alert] , the Chinkvirus and in general, the looming end of the world that is 2020.

So today I’m going to ignore all that, and put up some posts that are so trivial, so inconsequential and of so little lasting value that you, O my Readers, may be excused if you leave immediately for Breitbart, Insty or whatever, shaking your heads in sorrow while saying, “The old fart’s gone Biden on us.”

Enjoy…