Mtobo, amici, und willkommen bei dem Mbashtablog, as we, stranded as we are in the frozen climes of Babylon-Ruritania, are permitted by papal decree to call it on those Sundays easterish in nature. Today’s promises to be an good blog, replete with foolishness and nonsensical gibber such as is pleasing to the alienated, drug-addled ne’er-do-wells that do populate the streets of sundry sub-Saharan slip-knot sesame. But to dwell on such things were folly; rather, let us hie us unto the scented pleasure drome that is Blenheim Gardens. Home to The Untogether, this notorious inner-London gaff has witnessed scenes of debauchery unknown since the times of Tiberius. Was it not here that George of Cheddar Gorge did deflower that most pure of maidens, Carmen “The Barman” Jarman? Did not said abode bear witness to the naughtiness of the amoeboid plectrum? We should be told.

That being as it may, the fact remained that Ezekiel and his Icky Stooges did lurk in doorways dank, rapacious and lupine in their recently loaned cloak of hemp. Sticky McGrew avoided them as a point of principle, hackles up and eyes a-smouldering, yet could but incline heathwards upon hearing the plucky semi-conductor/newt cantata of Johann Sebastian. “As an molten epicentre were’t,” averred Heisenberg 'The Uncertain' Chessington, lamenteur professionel de Crackenthorpe, and it followed that all around did make merry, as was ever the case northwest of central South Carolina in the latter part of the early nineteenth century. Paddock, and all that he represented, could but fritter and phlegm: this was at last made clear to Frenk and her “Ethereal Toadies” of the swampy region. Heh heh heh. Clump and fungus, arguably the only true survivors of squander 67, were seen to limp asunder for the benefit of the assembled “There is no true beauty without decay” throng, and all was as July 4 save for the wailing of an infant child (comparatively unencumbered and unassailed).

It had by now come to the attention of the Committee of the Odd that the intelligentsia held that we inhabit a random and indifferent domain and that subsequently we were free to do whatever we pleased, the committing of mindless acts of racist violence included. T’committee put out a pamphlet or two to staunch the flow of withered despair, but ‘twas as the insertion of the finger in the dyke; and so the requisite avatar was dispatched and the two-steps-forward-and-one-step-back process lumbered along. The hegemony of the Wissenschaft geezers was subject to a full-frontal assault, and once the dust had settled it was found that something rather intriguing had arisen in its stead. This, however, was in time perceived to be an Obstacle to Truth and itself done away with.