Tagged: Cloggo.


Only once a year does the Godfather of Tumblr Steampunk remove his mask.





This was that moment.


02:13 am, by kg13 11  |  Comments


Don’t ask. This one’s for Cloggo.

  09:28 am, by kg13 5  |  Comments


Tks to Cloggo (who else) for this carburettor.
I have yet to get my head round what a carburettor is but am assured a car won’t go without one or several. Since I don’t have a car I will put it to use instead as a combination pasta-maker, coffee grinder and hair-dryer.

Tks Cloggo!

11:48 pm, reblogged  by kg13 4  |
 Comments

Getting Pernickety


Cloggo writes:

I can see I’m on a long hard road finding footwear for pernickity Perky Boobs …

 

(Pic not suitable for my page)

 

… though I feel sure the riding crop that comes with them will appeal to Nana Tourettes if not to kind hearted Dink herself

zz


And tks, Cloggo. I now have a new nick for Dink — Pernickety Boobs

(captured your trademark zz too; always the sign of an authentic “Cloggo”)

 

09:48 am, reblogged  by kg13 4  |
 Comments
cloggo:

Mageina was really disappointed not to have one of Judefa’s Gold frames round her—-

Tell madam to get her butt over here and stop her bloody whingeing, Cloggo
 

cloggo:

Mageina was really disappointed not to have one of Judefa’s Gold frames round her—-


Tell madam to get her butt over here and stop her bloody whingeing, Cloggo

 

07:17 am, reblogged  by kg13 6  |
 Comments
Note to Cloggo:

I  wore a rather fetching pair of white linen pants with attached half-skirt to work yesterday!
My workmates were impressed, since they seldom ever see anything very “different” on me these days.

They were not exactly HOT pants, in spite of the split skirt.
More cold pants really, but ideal for the hot weather.

Can I feel you panting down my neck at the very description of them or are you still invested in Kahlila’s purple hot pants with the matching skirt unbuttoned though to the upper thigh?
It’s your choice, you know!
But you’re still No 1 with me anyhow — by a long shot, and I know K feels the same way.

Note to Cloggo:

I wore a rather fetching pair of white linen pants with attached half-skirt to work yesterday!
My workmates were impressed, since they seldom ever see anything very “different” on me these days.

They were not exactly HOT pants, in spite of the split skirt.
More cold pants really, but ideal for the hot weather.

Can I feel you panting down my neck at the very description of them or are you still invested in Kahlila’s purple hot pants with the matching skirt unbuttoned though to the upper thigh?


It’s your choice, you know!


But you’re still No 1 with me anyhow — by a long shot, and I know K feels the same way.

10:25 am, by kg13 2  |  Comments
stumbot:

“Can you tell me where I might find Mr. Cloggo?”
I think he’s probably just gone offline, babe.
I’ll tell him you called.

stumbot:

“Can you tell me where I might find Mr. Cloggo?”


I think he’s probably just gone offline, babe.
I’ll tell him you called.

07:53 am, by kg13  Comments

A Yorkshireman’s Cap


cloggo:


Yorkshire were playing Surrey at The Oval.A group of Yorkshiremen had taken the day off work and travelled down to see the match.It was one of those days of short sharp showers then sunshine.Everytime it started to rain all the Yorkshiremen took off their caps and put them under their coats,when the sun came out they put them back on again.

One of the Surrey fielders had watched this and during a break in the play he came across and spoke to one of them. “I cant help noticing that when it rains you take off your caps ,when the sun comes out you replace them . It’s left me in a state of puzzlement” (They’re posh who play for Surrey).

“Well it’s this way lad” answered the Yorkshireman ” Am in enough bother with the wife taking t’day off to see t’match ,If I go home and get into bed wearing a wet cap a’ll never hear end on it”



Hat tip to you, codger

Cloggo wears the cap under his top hat, you know


04:35 am, reblogged  by kg13 5  |
 Comments

cloggo:

kg13:


It’s good to open up and let it out.



Besides, it prevents wrinkles.

I have other reasons to scream though, and only one of them has anything to do with Stumbleupon and only one other has to do with Tumblr’s crankiest new arrivals and their resistance to change, Cloggo.

Cloggo :— I’m not really sure sure what is meant by :—-

“one other has to do with Tumblr’s crankiest new arrivals and their resistance to change, Cloggo.”

Clarifical please, am I being insulted or consulted ??



KG (Jude):
How you forget!
Note the date on that, Cloggo — December 8. It was a different world then.
You were extremely reluctant about this Tumblr lark until you’d had your arm practically twisted off, and were giving me hell about it at the time.

And now you think you’ve been Tumbling forever, and go round proselytising!
Now that’s a sign of a codger who’s thoroughly settled in.
What’s more, you have one of the best blogs I’ve seen on Tumblr, as I have noted here just tonight.
No-one can keep up with you!

01:31 am, reblogged  by kg13 4  |
 Comments

Ever Wondered How GIFS work?

cloggo:

There’s a wooden handle inside your PC turned by a computer mouse.

Everybody’s heard of a computer mouse surely.

















01:11 am, reblogged  by kg13 5  |
 Comments
There is a picture that hasn’t quite gone viral yet of “me” poured into a slinky lame number, please read lame with an accent on the e.
If that’s not bizarre enough for you (it certainly is for me), it is accompanied by a tall story about a Mrs Hugh-Cry — allegedly an alias of mine — a python and a pedagogue, and ends rather badly.
Or happily, depending on your point of view.
I have analysed this story at some length and asked myself how such an idea got put about. Whether, for example, it could all be lightly dismissed as an old man’s fantasies.
Now if I am to be cast as any of the three characters in this modern variation on the lessons of Eden, it would not be as Eve!
Eve, turned into the personification of evil, gets the worst deal in every interpretation of the Bible and I simply will not play along with God on that.
I can see myself as a hapless and probably becardiganed professor and certainly identify with the slitherer but a bold Shirley Bassey entrance, I can assure you, is not me!

So I can only surmise that this pythonesque nonsense was the result of false logic and assumptions along the lines of the following:  Jude has in the past made up a bored 13-year-old and a 19-year-old flower child – and yes, I did – therefore, ipso facto, she also (would have) created a wishful-thinking illusion of herself as the middle-aged but nicely toned Mrs HC.
But dear readers, I can tell you now, and don’t believe anyone else, she is more likely  to imagine herself as a fuddy-duddy bookworm.
From her point of view, HC is a handbag and perhaps a trophy for the unphotogenic Mr Pickett, who is so easily overlooked with his quiet demeanour.
~
Please stay on the page, guys. There is more.
I may not know any more than you do why Mrs HC had to be invented or what the next hue and cry will be about, but if I am anyone in that story I am the python. Or the pedagogue.
I am, you see, both a skin-shedder and a creature of voracious appetites, not to mention cursed with a natural ability to set people on their mettle.
I do need to be handled with kid gloves sometimes, and was born in the Chinese year of the serpent.

And I am the pedagogue as well, in as much as:
~ I do rather fancy myself as an unkempt academic who observes life rather than living it and also doesn’t know danger when he’s in it.
~ I feel comfortable saying “he”.
~ I would rather be swallowed by a python than make an entrance as Shirley Bassey.
The story alluded to by “Cloggo” mentioned how the quick-thinking HC (couldn’t have been me) claimed “Mr Pickett” back from the snake by commandeering a steamroller and, “starting at the tail”, driving the roller  along its length and squeezing him back out of its mouth.
She probably saved ITS life too, as the cardigan would have been indigestible.
The steamroller proved useful again later, when the lame (accent on the e) diva needed a costume change but I don’t know who would have driven it the second time as Mr Pickett wouldn’t be capable and I don’t have any other characters to work with.
~
I know a bit about Pickett, as a matter of fact.
He can’t drive and is quite useless in the practical sense. I, I mean he, couldn’t save anyone’s life to save myself.
I I mean he am or is, on the other hand, quite comfortable stepping into the shoes of a man who loves nothing more than to read books about (other people’s) adventures out in the wild.

So I came to my own conclusion about the origins of HC: either Clogiron or an equally eccentric gentleman called Stumbot (pictured above) invented her with the purpose of coming to her rescue.
It was Clogiron’s background in engineering and problem-solving that gave me the clue: he would wrap her in lame knowing she would need help getting out of it.
When the time came he would roll that steam thing over her very gently, starting at the feet, and squeeze her out through the top as if squeezing a  man out of a python, until she was all but standing there stark naked.

For the final stage he would get a grip (an engineer’s vice-like grip) so as to prise her out with a firm tug, and there he’d have it, a real coup for the recently restructured and renamed Clogiron Appreciation Society for SU Drop-Outs.
(The link takes you to a dreadful picture of what look more like Stumblers than Tumblers, accent on the TUM.)
Readers, there is a bit of me in her, TUM and all, but you don’t want to see that.
And she’d be high maintenance wouldn’t she whereas I’m so much more comfortable in a cardigan, and perhaps putting questions to people.
Something I actually intend to do soon, in a formal classroom arrangement.

There is a picture that hasn’t quite gone viral yet of “me” poured into a slinky lame number, please read lame with an accent on the e.

If that’s not bizarre enough for you (it certainly is for me), it is accompanied by a tall story about a Mrs Hugh-Cry — allegedly an alias of mine — a python and a pedagogue, and ends rather badly.

Or happily, depending on your point of view.

I have analysed this story at some length and asked myself how such an idea got put about. Whether, for example, it could all be lightly dismissed as an old man’s fantasies.

Now if I am to be cast as any of the three characters in this modern variation on the lessons of Eden, it would not be as Eve!

Eve, turned into the personification of evil, gets the worst deal in every interpretation of the Bible and I simply will not play along with God on that.

I can see myself as a hapless and probably becardiganed professor and certainly identify with the slitherer but a bold Shirley Bassey entrance, I can assure you, is not me!


So I can only surmise that this pythonesque nonsense was the result of false logic and assumptions along the lines of the following: Jude has in the past made up a bored 13-year-old and a 19-year-old flower child – and yes, I did – therefore, ipso facto, she also (would have) created a wishful-thinking illusion of herself as the middle-aged but nicely toned Mrs HC.

But dear readers, I can tell you now, and don’t believe anyone else, she is more likely to imagine herself as a fuddy-duddy bookworm.

From her point of view, HC is a handbag and perhaps a trophy for the unphotogenic Mr Pickett, who is so easily overlooked with his quiet demeanour.

~

Please stay on the page, guys. There is more.

I may not know any more than you do why Mrs HC had to be invented or what the next hue and cry will be about, but if I am anyone in that story I am the python. Or the pedagogue.

I am, you see, both a skin-shedder and a creature of voracious appetites, not to mention cursed with a natural ability to set people on their mettle.

I do need to be handled with kid gloves sometimes, and was born in the Chinese year of the serpent.

And I am the pedagogue as well, in as much as:

~ I do rather fancy myself as an unkempt academic who observes life rather than living it and also doesn’t know danger when he’s in it.

~ I feel comfortable saying “he”.

~ I would rather be swallowed by a python than make an entrance as Shirley Bassey.

The story alluded to by “Cloggo” mentioned how the quick-thinking HC (couldn’t have been me) claimed “Mr Pickett” back from the snake by commandeering a steamroller and, “starting at the tail”, driving the roller along its length and squeezing him back out of its mouth.

She probably saved ITS life too, as the cardigan would have been indigestible.

The steamroller proved useful again later, when the lame (accent on the e) diva needed a costume change but I don’t know who would have driven it the second time as Mr Pickett wouldn’t be capable and I don’t have any other characters to work with.

~

I know a bit about Pickett, as a matter of fact.

He can’t drive and is quite useless in the practical sense. I, I mean he, couldn’t save anyone’s life to save myself.

I I mean he am or is, on the other hand, quite comfortable stepping into the shoes of a man who loves nothing more than to read books about (other people’s) adventures out in the wild.


So I came to my own conclusion about the origins of HC: either Clogiron or an equally eccentric gentleman called Stumbot (pictured above) invented her with the purpose of coming to her rescue.

It was Clogiron’s background in engineering and problem-solving that gave me the clue: he would wrap her in lame knowing she would need help getting out of it.

When the time came he would roll that steam thing over her very gently, starting at the feet, and squeeze her out through the top as if squeezing a man out of a python, until she was all but standing there stark naked.

For the final stage he would get a grip (an engineer’s vice-like grip) so as to prise her out with a firm tug, and there he’d have it, a real coup for the recently restructured and renamed Clogiron Appreciation Society for SU Drop-Outs.

(The link takes you to a dreadful picture of what look more like Stumblers than Tumblers, accent on the TUM.)

Readers, there is a bit of me in her, TUM and all, but you don’t want to see that.

And she’d be high maintenance wouldn’t she whereas I’m so much more comfortable in a cardigan, and perhaps putting questions to people.

Something I actually intend to do soon, in a formal classroom arrangement.

07:37 am, by kg13 4  |  Comments