Tag Archives: minifigures

Last Cat On Mars Presents: The Trouble With Geometry

Euclid – it’s all his fault, friends. Far be it from me, or meow, to finger an ancient angler, but hey, why not? Personally, I like the odd shapes and I’m guessing you might, too.

Euclid is known as the ‘father of geometry’ – imagine giving all those sharp little shapes and corners and angles a kiss and a hug before bedtime. Imagine the damage to the porcelain at bathtime as a 45 degree introvert collides with its obtuse over-achieving sibling. What fun, eh, Pythagoras!

The sofa, by the way, is a lovely replica of a design by Irving Harper who worked for George Nelson’s company. It’s called a marshmallow sofa – positively edible. Thanks to the talented Lorrie for her miniature replica and permission to use in this presentation.

Figure sitting on lounge made of circles discussing going around in circles with her friend

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Last Cat On Mars Presents: The Mumbo’s On Us, Jumbo

Did you know that alleyways really are quite the thing nowadays? Even here on Mars. They are. Formerly places my old friend, Top Cat, and his pals called home, they’ve been given the fad-on-a-stick treatment and prospered mightily.

I don’t know about you, dear reader, but I like my tuna bagels in a nice tea-room with delicate crockery and catnip on tap. I’ve done my time on the mean streets of the third and fourth rocks, and I like the friendly salons, heavens, I like Gertrude Stein and Alice B Toklas. What I really, really like is a bowl of plain ice-cream with a happy drizzle of genuine Canadian Maple Syrup, preferably served by Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in his very nice suit.

Man eating mumbo jumbo with extra yoghurt while a cow editorialises

Last Cat On Mars Presents: Origins OR Where In The Leggy, Heady, Arm-y, Wiggy World Did I Come From Professorial Parents and other Dear Departmental Heads – #5

When I was a graduate student at Pranceton, I well remember the Snarkinpiffle brothers. They were an unfortunate mix of stumbling, bumbling, cat tail stomping dunderheads with genius level IQs. I have no sympathy whatsoever for Helen – she should know by now what my sainted mother, Mrs On Mars taught me, Never work with siblings and never work without tuna crisps.

A professor in her lab attempting to create humans despite her incompetent assistants

Last Cat On Mars Presents: Origins OR Where In Legless Legumia Did I Come From Oh Podless Podcastoff Parental Types – #4: Rory the Head Cyclist is Kidding

While I sympathise with the peladophobics of the world, I’m not one to spend my time doing anything but grooming my luxurious fur coat. Fortunately, I am not now, nor was I ever, a doraphobe, nor an ichthyophobe – for someone of my species, that would be, well, unacceptable, also chilly, and hungry-making much. My gratitude knows no bounds.

Pod people growing from pea pods to adulthood section by section

Last Cat On Mars Presents: A Question Of Interpretation

I would simply like to point out that Jibber Jabber is a preferred language at the Ye Olde Mars-y Tavern, Bistro, Grill & Tuna Tagine on the shores of the beautiful Erythraean Sea here on the fourth rock. Especially after midnight.

Man lecturing on jibber jabber the indispensable language of the century

Last Cat On Mars Presents: Origins OR Where for Glory’s Sake Did I Come From, Delightful Panna Cotta Papa and Mama and/or Ice-Creamy Custardy Carers – #3: What With All The Climate Change

While I’m the last to approve of babies in cold places without their soft little bunny rugs, it appears that some babies thrive in such environments, even when they are wearing stolen hats that are possibly a tad too large for them. Warm, though.

It may be the case that when I was but a teeny, tiny kitten, I thought the Abominable Snowman was actually the Abdominal Snowman – a common misinterpretation, and loss of a syllable, from what I’ve heard.

But, even so, and however, and yeti I say unto you, would it not be far more enjoyable to be discussing haute cuisine and cucina culture with an expert so expert she or he was named for it? In the early days, I called it the Abdominal Identity. As time went by, it morphed into The Abdominal Supremacy, then the  Abdominal Ultimatum (it was often given to hyperbolic tendencies), and finaly, naturally, the Abdominal Legacy.

I must say that’s an awful lot of abdominal tuna under the bridge, folks.

Abominable snowmen and babies growing in a freezer