Strange Company is still allowing the cats to read the archives of this blog.
It's still not going over all that well.
Here is this week's frolic through the frightening:
What the hell is...well, all this stuff?
What the hell did this airline pilot narrowly avoid hitting?
Watch out for those Icelandic elves!
Watch out for those Victorian Christmas cards!
Watch out for those Yule Cats!
Watch out for those Ptolemies!
It took EsoterX to point out to us that Santa Claus is basically just a sort of paranormal Godfather with some super-demonic hired muscle.
You doubt the truth of the link posted above, you say? Take a look at these Santas and you tell me he's wrong. (H/t Chris Woodyard.)
Worst Christmas present ever?
When good library books go bad.
Bluebottle and Crazy Bananas are mad. You won't like Bluebottle and Crazy Bananas when they're mad.
Well, someone new has claimed to solve the Dyatlov Pass mystery. Uh, well...maybe. *Cough*
George Bailey, Commie Stooge.
RIP, Hollywood Park, murdered by a long line of corporate idiots. Meanwhile, Keith Brackpool and Frank Stronach are doing an excellent job of driving Santa Anita down the same path...
Halley's Comet: Catalyst for plague and famine?
The one thing weirder than a Victorian post-mortem photograph? A Victorian post-mortem, period, of course!
So, in other words, we're all carrying around alien DNA. Which would sure as hell explain a lot.
Well, that does it for this week. See you on Monday, when I shall tell the tale of a lethal love affair that was...well...strange company, indeed.