All of which reminds us of the redoubtable works of Ernest Pobely (1837-1909), to which we hereby draw members' urgent attention! Pobely is almost certainly alone in his time for having anticipated the 'happenings' (as we are reluctantly lead to believe they are so-appelated) of that execrable decade, the nineteen-hundred-and-sixties, thanks to his invention of the 'extreme salon'. Invitees to such events (usually in London, but often in the nether regions of Beljiume) would find themselves unexpectedly forced to recite Goethe in Irish accents, to wear and compare yellow underwear with certain of the Wagner family, and play Russian Roulette with assorted marqueses and other middle-ranking hand-me-downs of the newly-disenfranchised European aristocracy.

Mark well the date of his demise! For should it not now be evident from our sundry reports herein that a mere year earlier, the creative world had imploded and that the feeble 7th-rate scribblings of Herrs Stokkhousenn, Booless and Zenasskiss as for nothing count in comparison with this worthy gentleman's enlightened intellectual patronage?

Here's a pic of the geezer:

Aha! Another smell hallucination!
I smell lapsang souchong!

Enjoy yourself: it's later than you think

Cough cough

Ours not to reason why
Ours but to do and die

Everton mints?

I found the juxtaposition of barley sugar and Dolly mixtures with a menacing suggestion of  Pontefract Cakes to be deeply thought provoking and oddly moving. Certainly one of his more radical works.