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As últimas actividades da Gentalha, de carácter eminentemente formativo, gozárom de abundante assistência e fôrom de grande interesse para o público assistente

VICE correspondent Krishna Andavolu heads to Uruguay to see how the country is adjusting to a legally regulated marijuana market.

Along the way, he meets up with Uruguay’s president, José Mujica, to burn one down and talk about the president’s goal of a chicken in every pot, a car in every garage, and six cannabis plants per household.

VICE

En los centros culturales hay cinco y en la biblioteca Ánxel Casal seis

Who is Jon Snow's mother? What's up with the crazy seasons in Westeros? Why have the White Walkers returned after all this time? These questions and more have been the subject of much speculation and debate among fans of George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones / A Song of Ice and Fire / Dunk and Egg universe for more than a decade. Fans have published their theories in forums, on fansites, and even as the occasional academic journal article. (Spoiler warning: All sources -- show, books, cut scenes, DVD special features, pre-released chapters, interviews, visions you got from a tree, etc. -- are fair game in this thread!)

SCIENCE, RELIGION, AND MAGIC:

Why Are the Seasons of Westeros So Irregular?
Is it just magic? Or could there be a scientific explanation? One journal article posits that the planet orbits a pair of stars instead of a single sun, whereas some people think that the visuals of the opening credits suggest that it isn't a planet at all but instead a Ringworld or Dyson Sphere. (The official story is that the Dyson Sphere allusion was merely artistic license.)

Are Any of the Gods Real?
Just like in the real world, the different characters hold a variety of competing religious beliefs: the Old Gods, the Faith of the Seven (the "New Gods"), the Iron Islands' Drowned God, R'hollar (the Lord of Light), and more. While we may not get any definitive answers from the author, so far it seems that R'hollar is the god with the most tangible power in the world. But is he a good god as his followers believe, or is he actually an evil god leading them astray?

Why is Magic Returning to the World?
One way this series distinguishes itself from most other fantasy series is that most of the main characters don't believe that magic exists. However, in recent years magic has been returning to the world at an accelerating pace. Are the dragons responsible? The direwolves? Were the Masesters suppressing magic? Or the Night's Watch?

Why Are the White Walkers Returning?
Is the return of the White Walkers (known as the Others in the books) merely part of the general trend of the return of magic? Or is Craster inadvertently responsible for repopulating their ranks?


POLITICS:

Just Because You're Paranoid Doesn't Mean They're Not Out to Get You
King Aerys might have been mad, but he wasn't wrong when he thought he was being plotted against. The theory of "Southron Ambitions" argues that the Tullys, Starks, Lannisters, Arryns, and Baratheons were creating a unique web of alliances through marriage to possibly overthrow the Targaryens.

The Grand Northern Conspiracy
When looking closely at seemingly unrelated movements and motivations of major and minor players in the North, a picture begins to take shape: not everyone seems happy with a North run by Boltons, and the situation may soon come to a head as plans put in motion by Stark loyalists begin to play out. (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7)

The Winterfell Huis Clos
A very long set of theories and speculation about the simmering political intrigue in Winterfell during A Dance With Dragons. An ambitious take along some of the same lines as The Grand Northern Conspiracy, focusing mainly on the players within the walls of Winterfell at the time of Ramsay's wedding.

What is Littlefinger's End Game?
Of all the players in the game of thrones, Littlefinger is probably the most brilliant. What are his true motives? Does he really want to follow through on marrying Sansa off to Harry the Heir, does he want to marry Sansa himself, or does he want to sacrifice her to the Faceless Men? When Littlefinger says that he wants "everything," does he mean that his goal is to eventually sit upon the Iron Throne? Or does he actually just want to tear everything down by deliberately destroying the Westeros economy and smashing the system of nobility altogether? What might Marx say?


ASSASSINATION PLOTS:

How Many People Were Involved in the Conspiracy to Kill King Joffrey?
While the show has now confirmed that Olenna Tyrell did indeed poison Joffrey with the help of Ser Dontos, who else was involved? Littlefinger, clearly, but why? Did Tywin know what was going to happen? Was there more than one poison plot in play at the wedding?

Balon Greyjoy Was Murdered
Balon Greyjoy fell to his death after slipping off a bridge -- or did he? Was he murdered, as prophesy suggests? Did Melisandre's leech magic somehow cause his death, or just predict it?

Prince Oberyn Poisoned Tywin Lannister
When Tyrion shot his father with the crossbow, he only cut his life short by a few days -- Tywin was already dying.

Does Jon Snow Die?
Jon Snow is repeatedly stabbed by his brothers in the Night's Watch at the end of ADWD -- but did he actually die? GRRM has hinted that Jon survives the assassination attempt. But how? Could Melisandre resurrect him using the same magic that Thoros used to resurrect Berric Dondarrion? (Not if she was behind the plot to kill him herself!)


SECRET IDENTITIES:

Jaqen H'ghar is Syrio Forel
Despite GRRM's strong hints to the contrary, many fans still cling to hope that Syrio Forel survived that swordfight. Some go on to speculate that Syrio Forel was actually a Faceless Man all along, and that he continued to watch over Arya as Jaqen H'ghar.

Coldhands is Benjen Stark
Where did Benjen Stark go? Many speculate that he became the mysterious Coldhands, but that's just one of the several competing theories about Coldhands's original identity. Perhaps Benjen is just off having fun in a warmer climate instead.

The Gravedigging Monk is The Hound
When Arya last sees The Hound, he is dying against a tree. But many theorize that he survived his wounds and joined the Quiet Isle monastery. Meanwhile, his brother The Mountain may not exactly be resting in peace either.

The One-Eared Black Tomcat is Balerion the Kitten
The cat Arya chased into the dungeons of the Red Keep was a black cat. Seventeen years ago Princess Rhaenys had a black kitten named Balerion. Coincidence? I think not! Someday old Balerion might even play a role in either confirming Prince Aegon's identity or proving him to be a fraud.


SECRET HERITAGES:

Jon Snow is Jon Targaryen
Perhaps the most famous ASOIAF fan theory is "R+L=J": Jon Snow is not Ned Stark's bastard, but is instead the son of Ned's sister Lyanna Stark and Mad King Aerys's son and heir Rhaegar Targaryen. Furthermore, if Rhaegar wed Lyanna before Jon was born, Jon would then outrank Daenarys in the Targaryen line of succession. Jon might even end up as the most senior heir if Aegon Targaryen dies or is discovered to be a fraud. Could proof of Jon's heritage be hidden in the crypts of Winterfell? Will we one day see Snow on the Iron Throne?

Tyrion's Biological Father Isn't Who You Think Either
Jon Snow might not be the only one with secret Targaryen heritage. Some speculate that Mad King Aerys raped or seduced Tywin Lannister's wife Joanna and that Tyrion was born from that union. (Others strongly disagree.) If Tyrion does have Targaryen heritage, could he be one of the three heads of the dragon?

Aegon Targaryen is a Fraud
Varys smuggled baby Aegon across the Narrow Sea before The Mountain could murder him -- or did he? Perhaps "Aegon" is just the latest in a series of Blackfyre Pretenders, being groomed by Varys and Illyrio for their own agenda.

Varys is a Secret Blackfyre
Varys presents himself as selflessly serving the best interest of the realm but what if he is secretly working to restore power to his family's dynasty? He might even be lying about being a eunuch.


PROPHECIES:

Who is Azor Ahai?
Melisandre believes that Stannis is Azor Ahai, the Prince Who Was Promised, but Maester Aemon thinks it is Daenarys. Or maybe it's Jon? The debate rages on!

Tyrion is Not the Valonqar
Cersei has hated Tyrion ever since Maggy the Frog prophesied that "the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you." But Cersei has two valonqars (little brothers), for Jaime "came into this world holding [her] foot" -- Cersei exited the womb first, and thus is the eldest. However, some argue that Jaime now lacks the "hands" (plural) to fulfill the prophecy, and others theorize that the little brother could be a reference to Tommen instead.

Daenarys Can Bear a Living Child
Daenarys assumed that Mirri Maz Duur's prophecy meant that she could never bear children. But if the prophecy was meant to be taken figuratively instead of literally, it may have already come true. Did Daenarys miscarry Daario's child at the end of ADWD, and can now get pregnant again? Perhaps Mirri Maz Duur was just a liar.


CRACKPOTS:

Fans have come up with their share of silly theories as well, both to have fun and to demonstrate how easy it is to selectively read the text for clues that support your pet theory.

Varys is a secret merling! So are Illyrio, Biter, and Benjen, and Littlefinger is their king!

When the Mountain murdered Elia and her children, Princess Rhaenys warged into her kitten Balerion just before she died. Or perhaps baby Aegon did the warging, and the now-grown Balerion is literally "the king of the castle." Could the warged Balerion also be the sire of Tommen's three kittens, making those kittens the three heads of the dragon and Ser Pounce Azor Ahai, the Prince Who Was Promised?

Or perhaps the whole series is just the Book of Revelations.


CREDITS:

This post was a collaborative effort of several MeFites. A big thank you to Alterscape, Brandon Blatcher, corb, jason_steakums, lonefrontranger, lunasol, misha, nubs, Pink Frost, and restless_nomad for all your contributions and help. Apologies to anyone I've missed -- I don't know the MeFite handles for some of the Google Doc contributors.

All typos, omissions, and other errors are my fault.

Comedian Andy Daly is an expert at creating naive, offbeat characters with dark secrets. He has appeared in many places (and this AV Club article walks through them all in an interview with Daly), but now has his own show, Review on Comedy Central, in which his character, Forrest, reviews life experiences, from eating 30 pancakes to divorce to being Batman. All 8 of the episodes so far are now online, the funny/dark/uncomfortable parts really start with episode 3: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Andy Daly is also a comedy podcast regular, and ran a one-off series where he played a different character every week (the amazing one where he plays a German travel writer, with many other comedians as guests, is a good place to start).

someone ate this is a food blog that celebrates the hilarity of cooking mishaps, bad food photography, and the grossest things people shove down their throats.

via r/shittyfoodporn. much more at imgur.com/r/shittyfoodporn

Thanks sg

 

Para los que siempre encontráis excusas cuando se os propone preparar unas brasas para hacer una barbacoa, os presento Grillo Portable BBQ, la barbacoa más fashion, un práctico diseño de la agencia italiana FormAxion, con sede en Bolzano y propiedad de los socios Mirko Boček y Martin Oberhauser.

Qué alejado queda este modelo de acero inoxidable, que se abre como un paraguas con un solo movimiento, de aquellas improvisadas fogatas que preparábamos en la playa, cuando aún estaba permitido hacerlo, amontonando piedras sobre las que colocábamos una parrilla. Tenían su encanto, por supuesto, pero con Grillo Portable BBQ hubiera “molado” más.

Un dato importante es que la malla sobre la que se hace fuego es aislante, permitiendo así que la base de trípode se mantenga fría al tacto. A mí, el diseño de esta barbacoa, entre medieval y futurista, me ha encantado y espero que no se quede solamente en un prototipo después de ser presentada en la Semana del Diseño de Milán 2014.

¿Os daría pereza preparar unas brasas con Grillo Portable BBQ, la barbacoa más fashion? Ahora que llega el buen tiempo y solemos hacer más vida al aire libre, estaría bien poder disponer de ella ¿no os parece? pues sus creadores resaltan, además que, con este diseño, se reduce el riesgo de incendio, algo importante a la hora de pensar en encender una barbacoa.

Vía | FormAxion
En Directo al Paladar | ¿Nos vamos de picnic? Os presento Mon Oncle Portable BBQ
En Directo al Paladar | Cómo hacer salsa barbacoa casera. Receta

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La noticia Grillo Portable BBQ, la barbacoa más fashion fue publicada originalmente en Directo al Paladar por Maria Jose.

Argument Champion , a game that uses logical connections between words to pwn your opponent.

Неудачник 80lvl http://ift.tt/1incSpa

¿Qué es el Universo Expandido Star Wars? Toda aquella ficción relacionada con las películas y series de televisión de Star Wars que se han realizado bajo la supervisión y permiso de Lucasfilm. Existen cientos de novelas, cómics y videojuegos que relatan las aventuras de los personajes de la saga intergaláctica. Desde diversos puntos de vista y ocupando huecos que no son contados en las películas o en series como The Clone Wars.

Marvel Comics, por ejemplo, a finales de los 70 inició una colección de cómics que adaptaba durante seis números el Episodio IV de Star Wars, Una nueva Esperanza (la película original de La Guerra de las Galaxias). Como estos tebeos tuvieron éxito y todavía no se había estrenado el Episodio V: El Imperio Contraataca, Marvel y Lucasfilm acordaron seguir publicando cómics de Star Wars con historias nuevas creadas por los dibujantes y guionistas de la editorial. Estos cómics eran bastante locos pero no tenían nada que ver con la continuidad oficial de Star Wars.

Unos años después Dark Horse se hizo con los derechos de Star Wars y ha publicado ininterrumpidamente nuevas historias ambientadas en este universo. Esta vez las historias que contaban estos cómics sí que se consideraron oficiales y contaban detalles adyacentes a las películas ya existentes. Ahora que Star Wars y Marvel son propiedad de Disney, parece que los derechos de los tebeos volverán a la editorial de Spiderman.

También existen numerosas novelas que cuentan los acontecimientos posteriores al Episodio VI: El retorno del Jedi. Como George Lucas juró y perjuró que nunca más se volverían a hacer pelis de Star Wars, muchos fans compraron y leyeron estas novelas creyendo que así continuarían conociendo las aventuras de sus personajes favoritos.

Lo mismo podemos decir de los videojuegos, que han continuado expandiendo este universo, para regocijo de los fans.

Pues los fans ya se pueden ir olvidando de todo esto. Disney/Lucasfilm acaban de anunciar que toda esta ficción que muchos de vosotros habéis consumido desde hace años, a partir de ahora se consideran leyendas, fuera del canon y la continuidad oficial de la saga intergaláctica. A partir de ahora toda esta ficción se etiquetará bajo el sello LEGENDS.

Esta medida se debe, sobre todo, a que quieren dejar MUY CLARITO que las pelis y series que hagan a partir de ahora no tienen NADA que ver con lo ya publicado.

Todo está explicado de manera O.F.I.C.I.A.L. en la web O.F.I.C.I.A.L. de Star Wars

Pues mira, a nosotros esto no nos parece tan mal, ya que nos gusta Star Wars pero no tanto como para consumir toda la ficción que genera a su alrededor.

Y ya puestos… ¿No podrían considerar también a los Episodios I, II y III parte del Universo Expandido y borrarlos de nuestra memoria?

Este vídeo O.F.I.C.I.A.L. lo explica TODO:

The post Disney tira a la basura el Universo Expandido de Star Wars appeared first on Teenage Thunder.

How to drink all night and (mostly) not get drunk, advice from Jim Koch, co-founder and chairman of the Boston Beer Company.

“…El amor, como el arte –decía Óscar-, es bastante inútil. Es una de esas cosas inútiles que hacen que la vida merezca vivirse también: vino, amor, arte, belleza…Sin ellos la vida es segura…pero no merece la pena.”

 Stephen Fry

Amanece gris en Malasaña, los chinos vienen del DÍA cargados con productos que revenderán al triple de precio, algún rumano se despierta dentro de un bidón de reciclaje y las niñas atómicas del MDMA reciben los primeros rayos de sol en ese escudo que son sus iris en expansión.

Un piso de Chueca. Cualquiera. Posiblemente compartido. Nuestro protagonista se despereza al lado de una moza indie. Está sin bragas. No es un culo tan bonito como recordaba. Como recordaba luego de 30 Mahou. ¿Qué más da? El póster habitual de los Killers, los apuntes en la mesa de Publicidad (¡subrayado rosita y verde!) y las Vans tamaño geisha con un esparadrapo cubierto de sangre costrosa en el suelo.

Ahora ha bajado la mirada desde el culo nivel negra zumbona a los pies toscamente formados. Una especie de asco empieza a recorrer su garganta, cuyo olor podemos imaginar entre los pies de un asambleísta del 15M y un bote pasado de Danacol. Es la hora de la fuga. Antes, por supuesto, hay que mandar el WhatsApp al amigo gordo de tu grupo mod.

- Menuda guarra me follé…tío, la empuje toda la mierda jejejejejeje xdxdxd

- No jodas tío, ¿está buena…?

- Buaaah, modelo de IFEMA, pibón, melafo CON AMOR

Acaba de girarse, con el pelo deshecho, y se vislumbra un poco de caspa. La náusea se torna en vómito. El fucker malasañero ha de partir a otros lugares, y como leyó ese texto tan divertido de no dejar el cepillo de dientes, huye despavorido. Sus saldos del H&M reposan cómodamente en una butaquita muy cuqui, de estas que son basa de niñatas con bombín en Instagram, así que en un periquete, en lo que dura una canción de los Buzzcocks (chistes de 1º de Diego Manrique), está vestido como tremebundo modernito.

La casa, en penumbra, tiene varias puertas cerradas. ¿dónde estará el baño? ¿y si…? PAM. De una de esas puertas sale un hombre barbado, de pelo largo, con albornoz y una taza de chocokrispies. En la pantalla de su monitor, rodeado de Coca Colas, centellea Minecraft. ¿O era el World of Warcraft?

A decir verdad, nuestro protagonista nunca tuvo mucha cultura de lo suyo, del audiovisual. Empezó como todos en el ambiente, haciéndose fotos con los famosos, cubriendo eventos de toallas de bebé para una televisión local…Luego, ya saben, a un pope televisivo le cayó en gracia, puesto de coca faltaría decir (ese momento místico en que Monzones y Praderas ven gracia incluso a un notario de Ávila con manchas sospechosas)…y de ahí al estrellato. “A follar con gordas” piensa él, mientras se disculpa ante el compañero de piso del planeta gordopilia.

Ella, cree, no se ha despertado. O quizá sí. Notó como giraba un poco la cabeza, al levantarse. O quizá es que tenía chepa. Bueno, lo hecho hecho está. Cierra la puerta, vestido de inefable payaso de Micolor…y vuelve a la España real: la maruja que viene con la bolsa del DÍA repleta de puerros desde el ascensor. Conversación protocolaria:

- Vaya, con el tiempo

- Sí, hace mucho frío…

- Con la de bufandas que tienes puestas no lo notarás…”

El aguijón dialéctico, en esa cultura maravillosa de hijoputismo español que tienen las clases bajas, sólo se detecta al salir ya al portal…donde se encuentra EL PASADO.

BAR OBNI

El último fantasmita disuelto, el que le pasó ese bajista tan enrollado, hace su efecto y él observa atónito el cartel del BAR OBNI (sic).  Han puesto luces. O quizá es el fantasmita. Hace ocho años no tenía esas luces.

Ocho años. La primera vez que llegó a Madrid, con 21, ni siquiera tenía barba. Comía en el McDonalds, con un poco de dinero que había sacado de heladero en el Levante, y se había apuntado a una escuela de arte dramático. Poco a poco empezó a conocer gente variada, ecléctica, abierta…lo que equivale a actor medio español, es decir, gilipollas. Una de ellas era Cristina. Tenía el pelo de colores, aparato,  y vestía un poco desaliñada. Ella era actriz vocacional, le decía, y disfrutaba mucho yendo a la filmoteca a ver películas de Ingmar Dreyer. Buscó en Yahoo, todavía no conocía Google, el nombre y no le salieron resultados. Seguro que era un director finlandés, ella no podía fallar…era tan guapa.

La consiguió, como todos, por azar. Entre ex-argentinos, máquinas de folle con +70 en el la skill LIG, y homosexuales…un café en la bardemcilla, un paseo por el campo del Moro y la niña Cristina,  pizpireta, bajó sus bragas de Hello Kitty. Pero el OBNI….

Fueron tres años, dos años medio (¡todos nos mentimos en las relaciones!), que ella consideró un carrusel de emociones. Él, más mediocre, un polvo el viernes. Con la luz apagada. A la dependencia sexual se fue uniendo la emocional, y poco a poco conoció a su familia, sorianos, que la habían mandado a estudiar Turismo a la capital por eso de que no se quedara con olor a corcho en Castilla. De Turismo pasó a Arte Dramático, y de Arte Dramático a la ONG, y de la ONG a la profesión preferida de los españoles: el paro. Su pizpiretismo, sus mundos mágicos en una libreta, dejaron paso a cabreos constantes, evidentes, porque la niña tenía muchas pasiones…menos la más importante: ganar dinero.

Totalmente prendado, viendo el rostro de ella en todas las mujeres (el tipo no salía de la Casa Encendida, así que normal…), la mantenía en su piso con los curros basura habituales que siempre negaba en la actualidad. Si la niña quería una temporada de Lost, la niña tenía una temporada de Lost…Si había que comer con los padres en Soria, secundarios eternos del cine de Berlanga, nuestro héroe cogía el Alsa, y pasaba a contemplar esos desiertos mesetarios de lo imposible mientras ella leía a Paulo Coelho. O Dan Brown. Bueno, Arial 16 podemos resumir mejor. EL OBNI…

El protagonista, en medio de esta reminiscencia sin final, había vuelto un poco al mundo real gracias al grito de guerra de un basurero que pasaba:

- ¡TAS QUEDAO PASMAO CHAVALOTE!

 El OBNI… Al tercer año, ¿o era el segundo?, las cosas no fueron tan bien. La niña se había apuntado a un taller tántrico en la zona de Lavapiés. Las faldas multicolores dejaron paso a las babuchas de bollera, y los libros con corazoncitos a “Ocupa tu lugar ante el heteropatriarcado.” Como en un nivel del Contra, eso era sólo la fase de la Jungla, la primera, y pronto se encontró al Final Boss: el peruano poeta bisexual. De los chacras a los chochos, y de ahí a tener una cornamenta que por amor indisoluble, como el puto Cola Cao, no quiso ver.

EL OBNI…Fue aquí, claro, donde ella le dijo esa frase:

- Tenemos que darnos un tiempo, eres lo más importante que me ha pasado.

Recordaba, aún sin ser muy listo, que ella hablaba así de otro ex, el chaval de Soria de la Mountain Bike. Ella le cogió la mano, él lloró…y se alejó sin mirar nunca atrás. Ironías de la historia, serendipias que diría el retrasado de Piedrahita, al salir por la puerta sonó la máquina tragaperras. El dueño del bar gritó:

- Hostia, ya ha saltado con el magic clip. Cabronazos.

Lo que había saltado, más bien, era su ego.

LOS ONCE MIL COÑOS

El dolor, como la cintura de Falete con un cinturón de Calvin Klein, era inextinguible. Los amigos, como siempre, más que compadecerle le despreciaban. Después de seis meses de luto. y cientos de fotos de ella en su Fotolog a las que daba continuamente el F5, comenzó la caza en el chat de Terra. Cayó una mujer de 38 años, soltera, metro de Nuevos Ministerios: un chiste andante de salidez; bar caribeño y vinilos de Mecano. Todavía, por aquel entonces, tenía empatía y prometió escribirla al tenerla entre sus brazos. Fue el primer número que borró en su larga lista del Nokia. Poco a poco, a medida que sus rutinas cómicas y cinismo crecían, la lista de solteras fue inacabable.

La peluquera, la que era un poco bizca, media Facultad de Magisterio, aquella gira en Ciudad Real. Tenía, y quizá fue su única virtud, el ojo biónico para detectar la mujer más rota, más frágil, más jodida de la vida, más proclive a caer.

Con los amigos, al inicio, se cortaba. Con el tiempo, con la tecnología, llegó a crear un grupo de Facebook privado con los amigotes donde colocaban las frases, los SMS por aquel tiempo, desesperados de ellas. Los que más se reían eran su primo Rubén, asperger y virgen con 27 años, y PACORDO, contracción que creía ingeniosa entre Paco y Gordo. Nunca entendió muy bien porqué se reían tanto: creo que nuestros lectores sí lo entienden. Empezó, incluso, a conseguir chicas para sus amigos, para casos no terminales como los citados, y le llamaban “EL CHAMPI” en los bares que paraba. O quizá era por su pelucón emo.

Hace un año o dos comenzó a ser más selectivo y empezó a evitar Huertas, que le quitaba “caché” entre sus colegas del audiovisual. Las chicas se empezaron a espaciar más, pero los embustes no pararon de crecer. Ni siquiera disfrutaba follando, nunca lo había hecho, pero sí lo hacía con el sadismo hacia ellas. Le encantaba, era más esencial para su autoestima que su trabajo, crear escenas voltaicas, dejar inferir cosas…“tengo a siete detrás mío…”, “…no me gustan las relaciones cerradas”… para llevarlas a ataques de celos nivel película italiana de los 50 o, siendo menos gafapastas, soltero manchego modelo Fernando Esteso. Todo un Alfie con acento murciano.

Una casi le mata a paraguazos por toda la calle del Pez. Estas pobres chicas, algunas sin superar los 17 años, caían rendidas ante sus patillas…para quedar borradas o, si estaban buenas, reconvertidas en apelativos hilarantes en la agenda: “LA GUARRA”, “ZORRONA MURCIANA”, “PUTA A DESHORAS”, “ARRANCA TORNILLOS CON LOS LABIOS.” Esta última hizo que se le saliera a PACORDO una raba de calamar por la nariz en el Boñar una tarde de verano que contaba anécdotas sobre ella.

En su hipocresía, todas las que provocaban problemas eran locas, desequilibradas, daban guerra…que, por supuesto, provocaba él. Esas, si acaso salían de su puño de hierro, las ponía verdes en las incipientes redes sociales. Nada de mensajes cifrados: in your face. Poco a poco fue conocido en el ambiente como un cabrón, como un arrastrado, pero siempre había chochos frescos o pasados -nunca un margen de edad normal- que caían como moscas ante la miel. Ante la miel con atrapamoscas, porque guapo guapo no era. En ocasiones, cuando pillaba conversaciones de amigos sobre él, se consolaba mirando una fotito de la chica, de Cristina, que había amado. ¿qué sería de ella? ¿en qué país estaría? ¿salvaría monos en Nepal?

OBNI…Vuelto en sí, luego de esa reminiscencia, le sacó por fin de su ensueño el socorrido cani en moto, que pasó al lado de un charco provocando tremenda mancha en su jersey de rayas. Fuera del ensueño, vuelto a su mundo real, recordó lo más cercano: el pelo con caspa de la chica.

Abrió su móvil en la agenda, y por fin la tituló: “SEBORREA GIRL” Contento de su ingenio, que los lectores juzgarán, avanzó sus pasos hacia el bar más cercano.

¿Tendrían Estrella Galicia?

[box style="rounded" border="full"]Monsieur de Talweg. Señor del mal a tiempo parcial. Ubicuo en ningún lugar. Iconoclasta ortodoxo y francés agermanado. Hagan sus apuestas.[/box]

 

Hola, cuando creías que no podías ver algo peor que alguien comerse una hamburguesa con cubiertos y/o beber cerveza con limón, va la vida y te pone delante un tío que te habla de CALORÍAS, yo así no puedo, en serio, NO PUEDO.

Resulta que quedo con un tío para cenar; yo que no creo en las cenas sin vino y sin mantel y que llevo una dieta perfectamente equilibrada, comiendo la misma cantidad de hamburguesas que de pizzas a la semana y que la base de mi pirámide alimenticia la forman cervezas, chuches rosas y helados de sabores old school, me encuentro con un tío que pide coca-cola zero y ensalada para compartir, incluso después de yo responder “lejos” a su pregunta de “¿cómo quieres la ensalada?”, a ver que si Diosi quisiera que comiéramos lechuga sabría a bacon, no es tan complicado de entender.

El caso que ya se mascaba la tragedia pero, qué es una tragedia sin un buen drama???? ensaladita para compartir (en su imaginación) de primero, dorada a la sal para él (con coca-cola zero recuerden, en fins), huevos rotos, lasaña y ” sí pedí una copa pero deje la botella de Rioja” para mí.

Total que empezamos a cenar por aquello de no juzgar pero tras un “hidratos por la noche no deberías” y a los postres, con más de media botella encima y anécdotas estúpidas de gimnasio en mi cabeza (de verdad que no hace falta que todos seamos graciosos, no pasa nada por no serlo, de hecho la mayoría no lo somos, no insistáis si veis que no hacéis gracia) suelta la bomba “mmmm, tarta de chocolate, un segundo en la boca y toda la vida en las caderas” BASTA, “colega, no hay quien te soporte” dije mientras me levantaba y me piraba. El mundo se va a la mierda y YA TARDA.

Moraleja: Titis, la vida es mucho más mejor cuando lo que cuentas son polvos y no calorías, en serio. ^^

Photo by Bruno Bayley

I'm 26. Why does this matter? It doesn't, in itself. But we need to talk about age, because as a generation we seem to be suffering a collective delusion, convinced that we're old and past it long before we actually are. 

If you’ve ever heard a 30-year-old man in a baseball hat declare that he's "over" while creating Vines of a Seth Troxler Boiler Room show, you’ll know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, then it’s pretty well summed up in the most over-used and meaningless of all internet stock phrases: “officially old.”

Turning 22 and sleeping: sure-fire signs that you're old

Every hour, countless people on Twitter declare themselves "officially old." They use it to prefix anything they're doing that is remotely mundane, from buying running gear to boiling an egg, when really, all this is stuff people generally do way before they start worrying about cataracts and their own funeral arrangements. In some cases, the admission even seems to carry with it a sense of pride—history's most infantile generation of twentysomethings taking pleasure in the occasional sign that their lives aren't such irresponsible marathons of recklessness after all. 

Being a Justin Bieber fan: a sure-fire sign that you're old

That people with Justin Bieber profile pics are blind to the irony of declaring themselves "officially old" really isn’t their fault. Admen wield the threat of lost youth as a weapon; summer's arrival, for example, is always accompanied these days by ads pushing inner-city "festivals," sponsored by phone networks and beer companies while hot-pink signals flare over the heads of 10,000 exuberant 16-year-olds, all living their youth to the fullest. Of course, this is also the way you should be living your youth, but in reality jobs, hangovers, familial commitments, and the need to not completely piss your rent away often make this non-stop-party lifestyle a little tricky to achieve.

If you're measuring your life in rituals sold to you by vodka companies, it's easy to see why so many people live in fear of reaching "milestone" birthdays. We're constantly on the lookout for warning signs that our blessed fun—the thing that we live for above anything else—is being stolen away from us. Of course, advertisers have always employed this and similar tactics to it. What surprises me, though, is just how readily we now accept it. Rather than scoffing at the glitter face paint, the full-body animal suits, and the corporate-sponsored DayGlo that we're told will prolong our youth, so many of us submit to a perpetual fear of slipping into the next age bracket.

Getting up early and reading books: This his makes you officially old

If we continue down this route our lives will come to resemble weird double bills, where the first part of the show is a roaring, drug-fueled adolescence that lasts 30 years, and the second is a prolonged and timid surrender to Brita-filtered domesticity. The message is always the same: There is only a finite amount of time to have fun before the bar runs dry and you’re too saggy to wear that cactus-print high-waist bikini and oh, wait—no, you’ve totally fucked it now; your youth is gone, and all you’ve got to show for it are 25 ear piercings, some Instagram photos, and a colostomy bag.

Which brings me on to another thing, namely our hyper-awareness of our own stories, the kind fed back to us in Facebook movies—those weird "My top moments of 2013" things—and the inane #TBT. We feel the need to write our own autobiographies as we move through life, unaware that they're doubling as premature obituaries, into Saturday-night talking-head TV shows dedicated to us that, thanks to sun-bleached filters, are stillborn with the hues of nostalgia. We’re preoccupied with our own mythology: social veterans of 25 reminiscing about that time at Coachella two years ago when that thing happened, remember?

Overloading your tweets with emojis makes you old.

“A man is always a teller of tales,” wrote Sartre in 1938, a few years after you were born, probably. “He sees everything that happens to him through them, and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story. But you have to choose: live or tell.”

This is the crux: As long as we are consumed with telling our story, the less we are living. The more concerned we are with the narrative than the experience, the more aware we become of who we are at a given age and how we should be acting.  

Yet there are no "shoulds." Jarvis Cocker was 32 when His 'n’ Hers, the first Pulp record to receive any kind of notable attention, was released. Kurt Vonnegut was 41 when his first novel, Cat’s Cradle, was published. Alan Rickman was 46 before he got his first film role. Gandhi led the Quit India Movement at 73. Obviously we don't all possess the charisma or talent of these people, and the arcs of our lives won't exactly mirror theirs. But if all of that doesn’t make you feel stupid for declaring yourself old, past it, and on the shelf for submitting your first tax return, I don’t know what will.

While I was half watching his debate with Nick Clegg, half scrolling through his Wikipedia last month, I learned that Nigel Farage—2014's very own Toad of Toad Hall—had only just turned 50. Which makes him ten months younger than Johnny Depp, five months younger than Brad Pitt, the same age as Dr. Dre, and one year older than Björk. If it wasn’t already clear to me, I realized in that moment that age is completely meaningless.

Being really alt = officially old.

If you’re reading this, chances are you’re young. Even if you’re not, who cares? Growing older and becoming more confident in who you are is something to be enjoyed and to feel proud of. Despite what people want to tell you, there is a novelty to growing up.

That said, you’re probably still the same person at 30 as you were at 29. Yes, life changes and new responsibilities arise that we have to adapt to, but the idea of seeing one experience, one birthday, as a precipice between young and old age is ridiculous and puts a huge amount of pressure on us, which is only going to lead to disappointment. Spending as many of your post-breast-milk years in a haze of hedonism and irresponsibility as you can is impossible, unrealistic, and likely to lead to an overdose.

Also, if you’re more Keith Floyd than Chief Keef, it doesn’t invalidate your 20s; and the reverse goes for your 30s, 40s, 50s, whatever. There is no "right" way. Life is a series of mistakes, some of which give way to beauty. It's probably best to just ride it out and keep doing it however you want until it’s over.

Follow Nathalie Olah on Twitter.

Illustration by Sam Taylor

This month, in a “game-changing” development, the US Navy said it had developed technology that allows its ships to make fuel from nothing but seawater. In other words, we officially don’t need oil any more.

Of course, this may be bullshit. Theplan is nowhere near as green as it sounds and is also pretty impractical, but it did get me thinking. Oil is often stuck under pristine locations or countries that necessitate some kind of invasion before we can get to it. So what would it mean for world conflict and international relations if, thanks to future technological developments, oil were no longer such a big deal? Would we still be friendly with dodgy oil-rich regimes? Would “No blood for oil” stop being a protest slogan and simply become a political reality?

I spoke with Dr. Walter Ladwig III, an international relations professor at Kings College London, to find out.

Navy experts trying to power a tiny aircraft with a liquid hydrocarbon fuel. Photo courtesy of US Naval Research Laboratory

VICE: I want to begin with the idea that this new seawater-based technology could power sea vessels without their having to refuel, meaning they could theoretically run for years. What effect do you think this would have on the world’s naval conflicts?
Walter Ladwig III: The first thing to say is that there are already ships in the world, nuclear-powered aircraft carriers, that have a power source that would allow them to operate, in theory, indefinitely; but they don’t. And the reason is because fuel is obviously a very important part of the equation here. But there are a lot of other things that affect how much endurance a naval vessel has.

There are other things a ship needs [for its endurance], like the crew. You also need lubricants and spare parts, and things break constantly on ships, so if you solve the fuel problem, people expect ships to run forever, but that's not the case.

If ships were to become less susceptible to damage as technology improves—and then could run indefinitely—how could that affect naval warfare?
Well, if you merge it with drone technology—there are stories out there that people are investigating the idea of largely autonomous cargo ships, so if you solved the crew problem that could be part of it.

The second thing to say is that, right now, it's just the big five—the nuclear powers, plus India—that even have naval nuclear propulsion. So if the technology is simple and could be replicated by a lot of other countries, the real change is going to come with smaller nations, such as the Philippines, Malaysia, and Vietnam, who will be able to have naval vessels that stay at sea a lot longer. That's where you'll see a big change.

At the end of the day, the use of naval force and skirmishes is all driven by politics. I don’t know to what degree there are skirmishes that are not happening that would occur if the technology were there, but maybe we’d be seeing more action and territorial disputes in the South China Sea between Chinese vessels and Malaysian, Filipino, and Vietnamese [vessels].

I also think there could be room for more [confrontation] if you look at the US and China; if two vessels come close to each other, or if Chinese and Indian vessels began to shadow each other or bump up into each others’ territory—and the Financial Times runs a story about the "dangerous games in the Indian Ocean"—there would certainly be more opportunities for those to happen. There would also be more opportunity for states to signal or maybe send messages to each other by moving their vessels here and there, which could contribute to a broad escalation, but I think you would still need the politics in which to do it.

If this technology could also be used to power cars, homes, and businesses—if oil became obsolete, basically—what do you think the geopolitical ramifications would be?
Well, it would certainly be the case that oil-producing nations would be far less important to the United States. Since the Carter administration, the US has undertaken a strategy to try to safeguard, in its view, the stability of the Middle East, and to protect tanker lanes and ensure that no hostile country could dominate too high a percentage of oil production. But [ if that were to happen, the Middle East] would be a region that would be far less important.

Do you think America would maintain its close relationship with, say, Saudi Arabia?
The actual importance of Saudi Arabia would decline significantly, because the utility of its oil would go away. I also feel its endemic social problems would rise. That’s the other thing: From a geopolitical standpoint, I think we would see an Arab Spring on steroids, when a lot of these conservative Gulf monarchies—which basically use their oil wealth to buy off political dissidents—are no longer able to do that.  

Illustration by Sam Taylor

What effect do you think this new energy technology would have on the developing world in nations that rely heavily on oil?
That’s a tough call. For countries like, for instance, Nigeria, which gets so much of its wealth from oil, you think there would be significant [damage to its economy]. That being said, if unlimited energy was suddenly available to everyone, we're talking about electrification, so there is some kind of trade off there. In the short term it probably would be pretty bad, in the sense that the money they are getting from oil would go away right away. The benefits from this would probably take longer to roll out.

Also, another argument: in some of these places in Africa, China, and South Asia, you're already in a place where roads in major cities are gridlocked, and we haven’t got to the stage where the average man owns a car. In Delhi, it’s already practically impossible to get from one side of the city to the other. You could imagine that if everyone had access to cheap fuel some of these major cities would grind to gridlock.

Russia’s economy is obviously very dependent on oil. What effects do you think it would have on them?
It's a bit silly that Russia’s economy is lumped into this [group of wealthy countries], because Russia’s growth and development over the last decade or more has almost only been on the back of commodities: oil and gas. If those are suddenly largely worthless, with a massively shrinking population, it’s hard to see what kind of diversification Russia could do. It will still be, for a time, important, because of its nuclear weapons and its large conventional military. But those things would suddenly be unsustainable if the government can’t pay the bills.

We would expect to see a big drop. At the same time, we might reach into the problems of the early 90s, with loose nukes around the various ‘stans. Suddenly Russia can’t keep the lights on, then we might be majorly concerned by this nuclear arsenal. What would happen to it? So Russia could become a major problem zone.

Do you think maybe terrorist groups could become more powerful as the government becomes weaker?
It depends—certainly in places like Chechnya, where there are already undercurrents of dissent.

Do you think, without oil, Russia would lose its grip on Eastern Europe? How would it change what’s happening in Ukraine, for instance?
It would become much less able to influence affairs. But when you talk to Eastern Europeans, Russia’s military power is a lot closer to them and they are a lot closer to Russia than the West.

Do you reckon the UK might move closer to Europe and further from away from its "special relationship" with America?
I don’t know if it would lead to a significant change in relations, either to the US or to Europe, in the sense that the Anglo-American alliance is as much about a shared vision for the world and its supporting institutions. Oil is probably a significant part of the alliance, but I don’t think it's anywhere near the sum total.

Thanks, Doctor.

Follow Jack Gilbert on Twitter here and Sam Taylor here.

Thomas Piketty speaking to the faithful (mostly dudes). Photo via Flickr user Parti Socialiste du Loiret

Many Americans continue to delight in ridiculing Karl Marx—a German philosopher who died 131 years ago—because revolution failed to overwhelm the rapidly industrializing world as he so famously predicted. Leaving aside the fact that this mockery often reeks of spiking the football decades after the end of the Cold War, and for a while there, Marx's critics had a point. The emergence of the modern welfare state, along with the incredible destruction of two world wars and the disaster that was the Soviet Union, seemed by the close of the 20th century to herald the "End of History" and the permanence of a globalized free market economy.

These days, of course, Marx is looking pretty fucking spot on. Our century has been defined so far by exploding income inequality both in the US—where it's gotten way worse under Barack Obama than George W. Bush—and around the world. Welfare regimes are being cut back across Europe, leaving the EU's brand in tatters and its future murky at best.

Swooping in to the rescue is French economist Thomas Piketty, picking up where the Left's heavily bearded intellectual Godfather left off. His new book, Capital in the Twenty-First Century, uses reams of income tax data to show that the planet's wealthy will continue to accrue more and more assets and pass vast riches on via inheritance, far outstripping the ability of economic growth to distribute income as it did during that unique, magical stretch between the late 1930s and mid 1970s that Americans tend to be super nostalgic about. During that time the smell of the Great Depression's bread lines still lingered, which helped convince many to ditch their qualms about European socialism and embrace programs that might keep them alive, along with the labor unions that could agitate for their interests in Congress. Marxist clubs and parties popped up around the country, which would ultimately get a lot of people in serious trouble when the Red Scare took off in the 1950s. For a time, though, life was good—assuming you were white and male.

At a mid-April lecture in Manhattan with a coterie of fellow white male economists like Paul Krugman and Joseph Stiglitz, Piketty was greeted like the global celebrity he has become since the book was translated into English earlier this year (it's on the New York Times bestseller list and has been sold out on Amazon for days). Indeed, the excited stories about the French intellectual's meteoric rise to fame are coming out at a rapid pace, heralding the arrival of a new economic prophet.

But at the risk of being a buzzkill, I have to say Piketty's prescription for stopping the inexorable march toward oligarchy with a global wealth tax strikes me as rather naive (even he acknowledges it is a lofty, utopian goal). For one thing, if the rich are hoarding their money and we hope to drastically alter the economic landscape, a tax on wealth—even an annual confiscatory one like Piketty proposes—that pays for public goods like healthcare may not be enough. When millions are out of work or barely scraping by, why not cut to the chase and have the government give poor people money directly?

During a brief press availability following the lecture, I asked Piketty that very question: Why doesn't he support a guaranteed basic income, or income floor—an idea that none other than Richard Nixon tried to push through Congress in 1969?

"I talk about a social state for the 21st century and I talk about access to basic goods such as education, health, pension, social security, and so forth," Piketty told me. "I am more favorable to this approach—financing access to basic goods—than the income floor. Yes, the income floor approach was defended by Nixon, but also by Milton Friedman. The problem is that it can be good if it's a complement to access to basic goods, but very often the way it is sold is as a substitute for access to basic goods. And then I am a bit skeptical."

The Friedman reference is interesting, because to some experts on the Left, that's exactly the kind of figure Piketty is beginning to represent: a spokesman for the once excluded fringe who has the credentials and star power needed to elevate the cause into the mainstream.

"Piketty is the Milton Friedman of our moment," said Todd Gitlin, professor of journalism and sociology at Columbia University who served as president of Students for a Democratic Society in the 1960s. Which is to say Piketty offers something you just can't find much of in most economic discourse. The entire field seemed to lose credibility, in fact, after many of its leading figures failed to anticipate the financial crisis (some of them even profited).

"If you take an Econ-101 course, chances are you're going to end up in a class that is completely out of touch with reality," said Kshama Sawant, the Indian-American economist and Seattle City Councilwoman who made national headlines when she won election as an avowed Socialist last year. "It doesn't even matter which side of the political debate you're on, it really doesn't match up with what you see out there in the real world."

That the word "capital" appears in all caps on his book's title has invited many comparisons of Piketty to Marx, whose most important work may have been his epic tome Das Kapital. But Piketty makes no bones about the fact that he is no Marxist, and instead is interested in finding a way to make capitalism more sustainable. In that sense, he is looking for ideas that can pass muster not just in continents and countries with a history of flirtation with socialist revolution like his own, but even strongly individualistic cultures where "freedom" reigns, such as the relatively fat and disengaged one that is still obsessed with race across the Atlantic.

The US conservative movement has thrived for decades by stoking resentment of the poor and brown, who are supposedly chilling around the house on your dime watching Richard Pryor (or maybe these days it's Key & Peele). These are the so-called "welfare queens" Ronald Reagan loved to talk about on the campaign trail in southern cities with a history of racial terrorism, and while the right's leaders aren't quite that shameless anymore, they continue to dominate the rhetorical wars.

"It's much easier for people on the Left to want to take money from the rich than to give it to the poor and working class," said Michael Kazin, a social-movement historian at Georgetown University and co-editor of Dissent magazine. "Democrats are spending more time attacking the Kochs than they are talking about how we need to restore unions and institute a $16 minimum wage."

But while cartoonish plutocratic villains like the Republican Party's 2012 nominee Mitt Romney are fun to laugh at (and the idea of taxing their wealth year after year sounds awesome), what remains unknown is how to propel change through a rigged system that—breaking news—works primarily to serve the rich. I don't think it's a coincidence that Piketty's book is being received so warmly a few weeks after the US Supreme Court handed down yet another one of those depressing opinions that will make it easier for the rich to dominate our political system. Many on the Left, it seems, would prefer to stop worrying about what the world is like and go back to thinking about how it should be.

The reality is just too unpleasant to bear. Self-proclaimed progressive saviors like Barack Obama sold themselves as agents of change but quickly became creatures of the establishment. More broadly, the Democratic Party's future—at least in the short term—is really just a blast from the past in the form of Hillary Rodham Clinton, an unabashed neoliberal whose husband hangs out with shady Eastern European business tycoons while she rakes in $250,000 per paid speaking engagement courtesy of banks like Goldman Sachs. (That whole Elizabeth Warren thing doesn't seem to be panning out, at least not yet.)

So to some campaign finance reformers, the Piketty boomlet is kind of irksome in the sense that he's providing an outlet for escape, even avoidance.

"He's returning us to a world in which the political problems have hypothetically been solved, and now comes the question of what policies are needed," said Gitlin, "which for a rationalist is a more joyous prospect than imagining how you get a grip on the plutocratic money-politics nexus, how you rouse a cynical and rearguard people."

None of this is to deny Piketty's incredible contribution to the field of economics. His valuable provision of a model and the hard data needed to show that capitalism inevitably breeds inequality ought to be celebrated. But if we're serious about figuring out a way to stop the past from devouring the future—a formulation Piketty uses to describe old wealth begetting future inequality—we need to get a handle on our corrupt political culture. The problem is an urgent one that cannot be delayed until the citizens of Earth (or Europe, as Piketty concedes is more realistic) join hands in favor of taxing wealth.

"The Occupy movement, politically speaking, was far more significant than Thomas Piketty's book," Sawant, the Seattle Socialist councilwoman, told me. "What we need is a fundamental shift away from capitalism. And for all the people who are skeptical about that or find that insurmountable, let's not forget, we have another ticking clock that is climate change. Capitalism has shown itself to be completely incapable of solving that problem."

To his credit, Piketty did devote a small subsection of his book's final chapter to climate change, but man, getting those politically hyperactive oil barons to part ways with $10 trillion in wealth in a system where money counts as speech is going to be a slog—even with the Frenchman's book in hand.

Follow Matt Taylor on Twitter.

By David Christopher Bell  Published: April 25th, 2014  For celebrities, Twitter can be a fantastic way to connect with enthusiastic fans and promote upcoming projects. It can also be a smashing means to showcase the fact that you are losing your mind, 140 characters at a time. Just who are we talking abo

quevidamastriste:

silosenovengo:

#AcademicaPalanca

Hola esta vez os dejo la coleccion "Chicha, Tato y Clodoveo" creados por Ibañez. Estos personajes nacieron en un momento convulso dentro del panorama del comic español de la epoca debido a una guerra abierta entre autores editoriales y derechos de autor y lo cierto es que tampoco gozaron de mucho exito por su poca originalidad en sus viñetas y demasiadas similitudes con otros de sus personajes,  pero no deja de ser una coleccion interesante... Disfrutarlo.

SINOPSISChicha, Tato y Clodoveo son personajes de historieta creados en 1986 por Francisco Ibáñez. El título completo es Chicha, Tato y Clodoveo, de profesión sin empleo y muestra las desventuras de tres desempleados. Los personajes reflejan el paro español de la época mediante el humor característico del autor, presente en todas sus obras.

En estos nuevos personajes Ibáñez parodió algunos de sus clásicos personajes. Clodoveo es similar a Mortadelo porque es capaz de disfrazarse de lo que sea. Tato es similar a Rompetechos porque es tan bajito y tan miope como él. En los cómics de estos personajes, vemos gags que normalmente veíamos en los cómics de Mortadelo y Rompetechos. Chicha tal vez sea el personaje más original, y además es una mujer (no demasiado frecuente en las historietas de aquellos tiempos). Es una chica pasota, a la que le encanta la marcha, y lleva un peinado punk característico. A estos personajes les acompaña un gato llamado "Salmoneto" y frecuentan el bar "Snack Joro Bar" dónde recurren a diversas argucias para irse sin pagar la consumición.

Ibáñez suele fijar el contexto de sus historietas en la realidad que le rodea. De ahí que en muchas de sus historietas el paro sea un tema demasiado recurrente, y esto se ve especialmente en Chicha, Tato y Clodoveo, pues con frecuencia incluye al resto de sus personajes en situaciones de precariedad laboral. En esta historieta se puede ver a Mortadelo y Filemón limpiando cristales de coches en un semáforo o a algunos de sus personajes en la cola del paro, en una referencia velada a la pérdida de los derechos sobre sus personajes en aquella época.De hecho, toda la historieta de Chicha, Tato y Clodoveo es un reflejo de la situación personal de Ibáñez y su visión del entorno a mediados de los años 1980.

Sus aventuras fueron publicadas tanto en Guai! en forma de coleccionable como en Tope Guai! con las aventuras completas. De las 18 aventuras que hubo de la serie, solo 11 se llegaron a publicar en forma de álbum en España, aunque sí se llegaron a publicar todas las historietas en Alemania.

Idioma: Español.
Editorial: Grijalbo, Ediciones B
Guion: Francisco Ibáñez
Dibujo: Francisco Ibáñez
Tradumaquetadores: NoXoN, Ramola, Meisenhauser, Migsoto, Jaleb, jlcb78, elteclista para el (CRG)
Archivos: 11
Formato: CBR.
Tamaño: 322 Mb



Descargar comics:

• Chicha Tato y Clodoveo

Bienvenidos a la ciudad de Bete Noir. Bete Noir es una ciudad lo que se dice bien organizada. El Magistrado Juris, ayudado por el Jefe de policía Boxer y el Detective Slate, se ocupan de que el delito esté perfectamente bajo control, por el ocurrente método de ponerse a su cabeza. Junto con lo que podríamos llamar sospechosos habituales, o sea, el narco Asia Minor y la misteriosa Black Mariah, los días en Bete Noire transcurren lenta y perezosamente.

Pero... algo ominoso vive en la ciudad. No se recomienda a los turistas que salgan solos de noche. Algo acecha en la oscuridad. El Fallen Angel, Lee, ha llegado a la ciudad, para ayudar... a aquellos que considere dignos. De acuerdo, sus métodos son poco ortodoxos. De acuerdo, parece poderosa, aunque no sabemos exactamente cuánto. De acuerdo, es posible que su moralidad sea un tanto dudosa.

Pero es la única fuerza del bien que puede oponerse a la perpetua oscuridad de Bete Noire... ¿o no?

Idioma: Español.
Editorial: DC 
Guion: Peter David  
Dibujo: David Lopez 
Tradumaquetadores: Jotace_DT [CRG]
Archivos: 20 
Formato: CBR
Tamaño: 159.2 Mb



Descarga:

• Fallen Angel

Lo último que he comido han sido unos FILETES de pollo empanados con patatas fritas, ¿Que si me gustan?. Muchísimo.

I <3 FILETES

Día del Libro Clásico de Terror 2014

2001 - Nací en Madrid. Fue mi cumpleaños.

2002 - Cumplí un año. Dije mi primera palabra.

2003 - Nació mi hermana. Dije que la cuidaría el resto de mi vida.

2004 - Cumplí tres años. Me pegaba a la pared porque pensaba que se caía.

2005 - Entré al colegio.

2006 - Me contrataron los vampiros de la noche para hacer el bien en la Tierra.

2007 - Me empezó a gustar el mundo de la música.

2008 - Me enseñaba mi abuelo a cantar todas las tardes.

2009 - Nació mi hermano y para dormirle le cantaba una nana que me inventé.

2010 - Me dijo la luna que cuando iría a visitarla. Que me esperaba.

2011 - La profesora Ana Molina me hizo ver que también me gustaba la música clásica.

2012 - Inventé raditreco con la ayuda de mi amiga la luna.

2013 - Vi una película que me enseñó qué sentido tiene vivir.

2014 - Quiero cumplir el deseo de que nadie tenga presidente ni nada por el estilo.

Hola, la movida esta del no-novio se nos está yendo de las manos así que os dejamos una lista de cosas que son de novios y punto, digáis lo que digáis:

1.  Si nunca has usado su polla para simular pedir un whopper con patatas fritas, no es tu novio.

2.  Si llegas a su casa te quedas en bragas, abres la nevera, coges una cerveza y te sientas en el sofá antes de decirle hola, es tu novio.

3.  Si dormís toooooda la noche abrazados no es tu novio. Los noviosnovios se abrazan un ratito pero para dormir, se dan la vuelta.

4.  Si nunca le has pedido hacer la catapulta infernal, no le llames novio. 

5.  Si te habla y le escuchas, es tu novio.

6.  Si nunca ha oído un pedo tuyo, estando despierta, OJO, no es tu novio.

7.  Si sueñas que te engaña y al despertar le das una ráfaga de puñetazos mientras le echas la bronca porque MIRA LO QUE HE SOÑADO, es tu novio.

8.  Si duerme en el lado de la cama más alejado de la puerta por donde entrará el psicópata que os apuñalará en plena noche, no es tu novio y ni te quiere.

9.  Si quedáis tres días seguidos, es tu novio. Ya puede decir él misa.

10. Si cantas dándolo todo (coreografía incluida) en el coche con él “Dime” de Beth, es tu novio.

Moraleja: Coleguis, no importa lo que seáis, lo importante es que sois, no sé si me explico. ^^