Showing posts with label kittens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kittens. Show all posts

Wednesday, 18 February 2015

SAW IT. THOUGHT OF YOU: A Cornucopia of Delightfully Entertaining Complete Bollocks

Hello, You! Yes, You! Long time no blog: I've missed you, you know. No, that's the wrong way round, isn't it? It is you who should have been missing me, being as this is my blog and all. But then, you haven't clamoured for your occasional dose of Mu-Nonsense, so I conclude that my first statement was correct. It is I who have missed you. Commence talking bollocks...
because you know I love Science and shit

A few things have happened that have made me want to bite on spoons again, but there's no need to dwell on those. If I were to write a blog on Why Fifty Shades In Any Of Its Forms Is A Pile Of Fucking Old Wank*, well, I may as well write a blog on Why Hurting Kittens Is Mean. 
I had a birthday; birthdays are not my favourite, but some of you did give me very lovely presents. Thanks ever so much! You are far more generous than I deserve.
because you know I love Octopuses and crazy undies

But no. Instead of spoon-chewing, or birthday gifts, I'm going to share a collection of pictures and clips that you've been sharing with me, in those saw-it-thought-of-you moments. You do know me: lately it's been Chemistry; Bosoms; Grammar; Fancy Shoes; Swearing; Filth; and Octopuses. Sometimes you tell me that I've been in one of your dreams! I LOVE that! And they've all been really cool dreams too, making me quite envious that I wasn't actually there... there was the holding-hands-on-the-bus one; and the carrying-my-luggage-in-LA one; and the drinking-tea-with-Russell-Brand one (no-one's hinted at anything too filthy. That's probably a good thing. But, you know, if it ever happens, keep it to yourself, there's a love. And besides, I'd feel sorry for you). 
because you know I love a bit of Filth

Whenever anyone sends me something like this, though - some little inconsequential item which brought me into their minds - I'm always immensely happy. Perhaps that makes me needy; rather, I hope it means I look for pleasure in small things. If that's true, it means you've seen it too. Thank you. Here they are, dotted about - just a few recent ones. 

There's also this song,which I love, and this blog post, which is just delicious. I want to be her.
www.thebloggess.com
Okay - one spoon-biting moment. For undisclosed reasons, I've been obliged to make my Instagram account private. A private IG profile! Oxymoron much? There hasn't been a greater vehicle for displaying images of narcissistic optimism since the Great Pyramids of Giza. I'm rather fond of my IG account, and I post in there quite frequently. There are many others which would register far higher on the -ometers of Art, Poetry, Beauty, baked goods and Ass-Selfies; still, if you don't already follow me, I'd love it if you would. Otherwise, you won't be able to see my pretty stuff. And that would be a shame. 
Instagram. It makes your eyes go funny
*That's not to say that much has not been written on this subject that isn't well-presented and valid. Here's my favourite. Plus there's this, which about sums it up:

Sunday, 12 January 2014

Oh, Godddd... She's At It Again

Thank Goodness I'm Pope


Jesus didn’t look like Jesus. I think we’re all grown-up enough to admit that now. So why does Jesus look the way he does?  Perhaps we can put that down to the early European artists who wanted European (that is, white) Christians to have a figure they could identify with. Look at the pictures above. Yes, go on – treat yourself. Any or all of them would attract comments of ‘he looks like Jesus’. I dare say they’d attract other comments, too, but I have a separate Beard Porn board on Pinterest for that (by the way – here it is. Well worth a look. For, like, half an hour). 

I do have experience of this phenomenon, as I am married to a man who fits the long-brown-hair-blue-eyes-nice-beard profile and gets very tired of kids mumbling look, it’s Jesus when he walks down the road. The image is powerful enough to reach teenagers who can’t see past their own Wii, and so enduring that no-one has successfully sought to update it for a thousand years. Though it might be fair to say that that is usually The Way Of Things when it comes to religious matters. 

In short, if you’ll forgive me – when did Jesus get hot? 
We were mulling this over, the girls and I… it stands to reason that an attractive and charismatic Messiah will fare better than an awkward and bumbling one (Oh, is that you, Russell Brand? Wait, who do you remind me of? No - no, it’s gone). 
 And we concluded this: 

"Go to Church! Free Wine – Hot Guys!"*
  
I thank you. Now, here is an entirely gratuitous photo of me with Trygve Seim. Because Trygve Seim.

© Ash Springle Photography for Captain Fawcett

 *Note to the Offended: Why are you even here? Did you not see my last two blogs? Have a look, there are pictures of minge on them! Oh, just go and look at Tea and Kittens, or something. Really. Pfffft.

Saturday, 28 December 2013

If You Are Shocked, You Have Missed The Point. But Jane Austen Invented Minge Topiary



WARNING: IF YOU SCROLL DOWN THROUGH THIS BLOG YOU WILL SEE EXPLICIT PICTURES**.

One is l'Origine du Monde, by Gustave Courbet, 1866; the other is Le Sommeil, also Courbet, 1866. They’re worth seeing. Unless intimate female nudity and/or mildly homosexual activity offend you; in which case, Go Away. Go away now: you’re reading the wrong blog. There’s another blog just over there about kittens, or prejudice, or something. You’ll like that one better.

Meanwhile, for the rest of us…

A Collection of Musings on the Entirely Imaginary Rude Bits in the Novels of Jane Austen

Chapter One: Mansfield Park



My name, if needs I must become a Lady of the Night

Would be not Belle du Jour, mais non, but rather, Fanny Price

© Muriel Lavender, Summer 2013 

Jane Austen invented Minge Topiary.

Regency Ladies. Genteel.
The clues are everywhere in her work. From Mr Bingley’s home in Pride & PrejudiceNetherfield – to Marianne Dashwood’s exclamation in Sense & Sensibility, ‘I can barely keep my hands warm even in my muff!’ I could go on; but Mansfield Park is the champion. It’s stuffed with minge jokes. No? Well, here you are – these are quotes:


"My Fanny, indeed, at this very time, I have the satisfaction of knowing, must have been happy in spite of everything"

"William… more than once tried to make his father think of Fanny"

And my personal favourite,

"Come, mother, you have hardly looked at your own dear Fanny yet"

The novel was itself named after a particular 18th-Century fashion in minge topiary.  Capability Brown may have started out as a landscape gardener, but after he collaborated with Austen, he found considerable success amongst the fashionable ladies of society as a LadyGardener.  For evidence, there’s the letter Austen famously wrote to her sister Cassandra from Bath, in 1802:

“I have an appointment on Thursday next, to have my grounds laid out by an improver [see?]. Miss Perkins favours the Brazilian, but I do not care for these Colonial fashions. I shall get a Mansfield Park, as I always do.”

She wrote thus, while staying in Queen Square – which is, incidentally, another style she could have gone for.  Or a Trim Street. Or a South Parade. Or a – [that’s enough, Mu]

Austen scholars debate the potential rude bits endlessly – did she mean this, was she talking about that; from the 'well-hung curtains' of Persuasion, to the 'Rears and Vices' again of Mansfield Park. They have all overlooked the filthiest joke of them all, which also occurs in Mansfield Park. Considering how desperate some factions seem to be to prove that Jane Austen was engaged in an incestuous Lesbian affair with Cassandra*– considering how much they like to say it, I’m surprised no-one seems to have noticed this particular little pleasure but me. I don’t agree with them; but I wrote this anyway. I call it  ‘Love and Freindship’, because I consider that to be an appropriately provocative title.

A delicious fact, to me
From Gray’s Anatomy:
The soft cup in front 
Of which sits 
The clitoris
Is quaintly named;
Jane Austen writes
Of the delightful
“Sight of Miss Fanny Price
Dripping with wet
In the vestibule…”
Scholars long to imbue
Miss Austen’s works with a Sapphic hue
Perhaps a very gentle blue
Forgive me
But it’s true

© Muriel Lavender
July 2012 - November 2013



Le Sommeil, Gustave Courbet, 1866
l'Origine du Monde, Gustave Courbet, 1866


 *Seriously? Because she never married? Oh, of course that makes her a Lesbian. I believe there is a certain variety of internet meme wherein such a statement would be followed up with the phrase, ‘Bitch Please’

**Incidentally, do you know how hard it is to find pictures of Regency ladies getting it on?  You know, without having to search for a particular kind of niche porn? I am grateful to Mr L who spent some time searching for suitable artwork with with to illustrate this blog entry; I’m delighted with those he found. I love Courbet. And footnotes.