Category Archives: food & drink

Bubba à Genève

We find our man hopping on a Swiss Air flight to Geneva, with a briefcase full of cash, and a Lagarde list in his pocket. In this report, Bubba from follower becomes the followed.

Bubba arrives at Geneva airport on a rather smelly (because of the swiss-cheese “pizza” served on board… he’s not complaining since it’s rare nowadays to be given anything for “free” on one of these flights… just saying) flight, finds the 80-minute free Geneva travel ticket machine inside the arrivals baggage claim area, and prints his free ticket with a click of a big red button. When he gets to the train that will take him into the town centre (only 7 mins away), he notices he is being followed by a young couple. Not wanting to give rise to any suspicions that he is aware of being tailed by them, he boards the train whistling a merry Alpine tune, and takes a seat. The young couple sit a few rows away from him with their backs to Bubba (what amateurs!, he thinks), but soon another young couple get on the train and sit across from them, with a fine direct view of our hero.

He observes the young couple who were originally following him say something to the other young couple, and they get off at his stop! Bubba goes about his merry business of impersonating that he is unaware of the fact that he is being watched, and walks to his hotel, where he checks in and is given another “free” ticket, this time a Geneva transport pass for his stay in the city. It isn’t actually free, since he is charged 4 swiss francs (CHF) per day as a form of city tax, which isn’t that expensive considering that a daily pass would cost more than that in other cities, but is quite expensive, considering that he only uses it twice, and for quite short journeys, in the days that follow.

wire-mesh-device-smallThe next morning he gets his first look at the lake and is impressed by its beauty, but blinded by the low sun reflecting off its waters. So he wanders into the old town, up to the cathedral, but on the way comes across supposedly public “art”, a wire mesh sculpture of a bird sitting on an actual tree. Bubba doesn’t buy it one minute, this is certainly a monitoring device, receiving signals from the passers by and transmitting information back to headquarters. He makes a point of returning later, under the guise of darkness, to photograph the structure.

None of this distracts him from his original purpose of visiting Geneva however, and he investigates the various banks (swiss of course, not river) and their rates, to determine what is most beneficial for him. After thorough research, he decides on UBS, since its modus operandi is most clearly in sync with Bubba’s.

“A pleasure to meet you Mr. Tribunales”, says acting bank manager  Dimitri Al-Salimi. “Je suis enchanté de vous rencontrer, monsieur Al-Salimi”, responds our Bubba. The two adult males converse (in English) for about 15 minutes, then Bubba hands over the briefcase full of cash, which Mr. Al-Salimi duly grabs and hands over to another adult male, a young shaven-headed gentleman in a suit. Bubba, upon making eye-contact with the younger gentleman, attempts an inside (we’re all in this together/all living above our means) kinda joke: “Think of me when yur on yur yacht in monaco wont yu”, to which the gentleman replies (with disdain): “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, je ne parle pas anglais”.


Freed of the burden of lugging a briefcase full of cash around, our man continues wandering. This time he walks by the lake in the direction of the UN, where he comes across an apparently idyllic scene. To the untrained eye, it is just an old man, possibly a fisherman, possibly just a man with a love for boats and piers. This innocent looking man is in fact a highly decorated veteran operative and has just finished a meeting on a boat where he filled in some currently active agents about Bubba’s approach to the area!


The white house in the distance is stocked with a high-tech monitoring system interacting with the wire mesh bird, and with this other high-tech ‘live bird’ device in the picture on the left.

Finally, note the unusually large and electric-green headed “duck” in the picture below. This duck may seem different from the other ducks in the picture just because it’s older, or is an outsider, a pariah say, in the duck world, or even a leader of ducks… to the naive, but it is clearly a receiver transmitter of information.

ducks-smallAfter rigorous and thorough research, Bubba has determined that all the major control is in fact happening in underground/intermountain installations, in the area seen in the picture below. The mountains are hollow, the snow is fake, and the artifical reef of rocks (fake), is wired with fibre-optics.


But it´s never all just business and research with Bubba M. Tribunales, since he found the time to try some local delicacies such as rich butter pain au chocolat noir, entrecôte de cheval, and of course some fondue au champagne.


Fruit of the Year

And the winner is:

the cherimoya

Cherimoya cut in half

what Mark Twain called “the most delicious fruit known to men” and “deliciousness itself!”, according to the *free*-speech internet.

At number two we find a fruit that’s been in the top-ten list for 38 years:

the orange

end of blog.

Sex and the Tuna or “When Bubba met Juana, part 2”

Carrie is a fish journalist in the North Sea. She writes an article, all about the sex life of Tuna and other fish. She herself is a Tuna fish. Hungry?

Bubba bumped into Juana again, this time at a Jonathan Richman concert. It was really strange the way it happened, because when he sang: “Because her beauty is raw and wild“, a inebbriated Bubba thought, “hey, this song sounds like it was written for that chick I had met… what was her name… Juana or sumtin…” and he looked to his right and there she was! Dancing away… Strange chick though. I mean, why was she covering her ears during “Vampiresa Mujer?”

Special Issue Ι – Άνοιξη (Spring)΄09

In this special issue of Spiro’s blog we have a very distinguished guest. At the time of writing we are unaware if the writer would like to be named or remain anonymous. In our rush to present to you the information as quickly as possible we present the original here, but be informed that we have given the text to our international desk for translation and it will appear shortly in English.

Στην Ελλάδα δεν έχει πια γυναίκες. Μόνο κάτι ασεξουαλικά όντα με βυζιά. Αλλά ούτε και άντρες έχει. Να λέμε όλη την αλήθεια. Αυτοί είναι οι παραγωγοί καταναλωτικών οικονομικών μονάδων. Κουβαλάνε κάτι σακουλάκια ανάμεσα στα πόδια και ένα σωληνάριο για εξαγωγή των περισσευούμενων υγρών. Μόνο εγώ έχω γκαύλες? Μόνο σ’ εμένα δεν αρέσουν τα διάφορα πορνό αλλά θέλω φρέσκια σάρκα? Ούτε φίλους θέλω. Μόνο συντρόφους. Για τον πόλεμο και την ειρήνη. Για την δημιουργία και την ηδονή. Αυτά τα garage που κατέβασα από το ινδερνέτι μ’ έχουν σώσει απ’ την πλήρη πνευματική κατάρρευση. Δόξα στα Peebles και στους ανώνυμους rockabilly hillbilly partabilly kai valta ekei pou xereis. Γίνομαι ανήθικος? Μπορεί. Δεν πήγα ****. Ήμουνα κλεισμένος σπίτι. Το μυαλό μου και τα άυλα παράγωγά του είναι σαν τα μακαρόνια. Τα βρασμένα. Όπου δε μπορείς να βγάλεις άκρη. Και για να μη βλέπεις το χάος, πασπαλίζεις θρυμματισμένο τυρί και μπόλικη σάλτσα. Όπου βέβαια και πάλι δεν είσαι σίγουρος για το τι περιέχει. Και τελικά για να βγεις από τον κόπο της προσπάθειας να καταλάβεις, πίνεις κρασάκι. Αθάνατο σπέρμα άγνωστου πλέον θεού. Και πάλι γκαυλώνεις! Μα που είναι η Αφροδίτη? Τι να πω? Βλέπω γυναίκες κατά τύχη ή όταν σκάω ένα κάρο λεφτά σ’ αυτά τα άθλια στέκια που λέγονται καφέ-μπαρ. Κι ακόμη προσπαθώ να βγάλω άκρη του τι μου συμβαίνει, τι θέλω – αν θέλω κάτι – γιατί η κυρία κοινωνία επιμένει πως πρέπει να θέλω κάτι, αλλιώς δεν είμαι φυσιολογικός. Κάτι πρέπει να κάνω αλλιώς θεωρούμε άπραγος – κι αυτό είναι κακό και επικίνδυνο για ολόκληρο το σύμπαν και τον κύκλο της ζωής. Γάμα τα. ακόμα δε ξέρω τίποτα. Εκτός απ’ το ότι έχω γκαύλες κι ότι ζω μια καθημερινότητα που δε μου λέει τίποτα.

Su amigo.

Educational Toys

Toy of the month.

Educational Toys

Educational Toys

Some of the reviews are quite funny…

Been thinking about beans. Here’s a recipe I made up (and never tried):

1. Soak a cup of coffee beans in water overnight.
2. Make some caramel, however it is you make caramel, in a pot and add the beans.
3. Add water and bring to a boil. Keep adding water until the beans are cooked.
4. Serve on a bed of whipped cream.

Goya Burger


Goya Burger, sponsored by Carrefour

Dia de los Reyes in Spain tomorrow. The Kings came from the East today and arrived in Madrid and all over Spain bringing gifts to the children that have been good all year and coal (!) to the nasty ones… It’s a big carnival-like parade in Madrid. Apparently a lot of children cry in awe when they see the kings (the wise men). I hate to tell them: It’s all a damn lie!

Meanwhile, Israel continues bombing the fuck out of the Palestinians.  It’s no lie. It was planned a long time ago.

Going to Lisbon on Wednesday for a few days, then London on Monday for a week. Bubba has a son. His name is Herbie Tribunales Ramirez. Sorry I hadn’t told you earlier, I just recently found out myself.

Bubba goes to the fair

Bubba: “Ok, I think I get it now. I come out of the house and go to Sabará, there I turn right, cross the road and take the first road to the left and that’s the fair?

Nujor: “Yeah, just make sure you go to the people on the right-hand side to have your pastel, not the left-hand side. The people on the left-hand side will start hassling you, calling your attention to them, like they do in Morocco or Brick Lane

Bubba: “Oh, ok, so because they are so loud, I should ignore them and go to the people on the left

Nujor: “Yeah, that’s right. Well, at least that’s what I always do

Lanja: “Nujor takes the side of the weak and the oppressed

Bubba: “Oh, and where can I find an ATM near here?

Nujor: “On Sócrates. After your pastel you keep walking until the end of Sócrates…

Bubba: “Ah! The fair’s on Sócrates?

Lanja: “No, the road the fair is on leads onto Sócrates

Bubba walked out of the house, to loud fucken’ barks from Nujor’s crazy fucken’ homosexual dog, and made his way, panting, up-hill to Avenida Nossa Senhora do Sabará. He smelled the familiar smell of toasted ham and cheese sandwiches being cooked at Bienal, the padaria on the left, mixed with the sweet smell of coconut bread and super-sugary coffee. He turned right onto Sabará. The air was polluted as the sun was struggling to shine through the clouds and the smog of Zona Sul of São Paulo. Housewives and maids were out shopping and gossiping. Just the way Bubba likes it…

The people on the left didn’t even look at Bubba as he sneaked a peak at them on his way straight to the friendlier looking people on the right. “Um de pizza, um de frango com catupiry, e um caldo de cana“, he said, in his gringo accent. “Com limão?“, asked the nice lady. “Huh?“. “Do you want lemon in your sugarcane juice?“, asked the lady, in Portuguese, of course. “Ok“, said Bubba. “Would you like to take a seat?“, she asked and Bubba said “yes” and just stood there. “Well, take a seat then…“, she said and pointed to the plastic chairs and metallic tables next to her deep fryer… “Gringo estúpido“, she thought, and smiled to herself…

Soon the pasteis and caldo de cana were brought over. They were delicious. Just the way Bubba had expected. He had had it described to him many times by his drinking buddies all over the world: “You haven’t lived if you haven’t had pastel and caldo de cana in a fair in São Paulo, man!“, was a typical line he would hear on a drunken’ Wednesday night in any Irish pub in New York… And here he was, finally sampling it.

He was also very careful to not get burned. Another drinking buddy, this one he had met in a strip joint in Singapore, had told him how when he first tried pastel, he bit straight into it and got burned on his lips, then turned the pastel around, bit into it again, and got burned again! So Bubba was careful when eating the pasteis. Oh yeah, and he added a little bit of cachaça to his caldo de cana. That’s something that no fucken’ drunk Dutch guy had ever told him to do, it was all his own idea.

He sat sipping his improvised cocktail while thinking how clever he had been. A bit like fried chicken breast with a sliced egg on top. Two different food products from pretty much the same source. A bit like publishing a bunch of academic papers based on ONE idea. That’s not something that Bubba would’ve thought of though, but does it really matter, for the purposes of our story and Bubba’s adventures in São Paulo?

There wasn’t much else happening in the fair. A couple of fruit stalls and one or two people selling made-in-china plastic shite. So, he sat a bit, enjoyed the food and the drink and headed back to Nujor and Lanja’s. Walking back, down Pajaú, minding his own business, a tennis ball fell out of the sky and almost hit Bubba on the head. Bubba picked it up and walked a bit, looking for an opening among the trees to throw it back into the tennis court. As he threw it, a middle-aged woman walking just ahead of him started talking.

Lady: “You should’ve given me the ball. I would’ve taken it home to my dog, ha ha, he he. They’re rich, they’ve got enough balls…

Bubba: “Oh. You should’ve told me…

Lady: “They have enough balls. BLOODY RICH BASTARDS. You know how many balls fall here? They don’t even come to pick them up… they’ve got so many.

Bubba: “Well, you should’ve told me before…

The lady shows Bubba a bag of some powdery stuff: “you know how much I paid for this? 7 reais, for fucken’ flour! My master is gonna have a heartattack…

Bubba: “That’s expensive

Lady: “7 FUCKEN’ REAIS! Fuck me!

Bubba got back to Nujor and Lanja’s house, stuck his head up above the garage door just to piss the fucken’ dog off and then walked in through the front door to watch the maid do her stuff: pick up each item on the bookshelf, remove dust, place back in original position, repeat for next item until there are no more or it’s 6 o’clock: time to go home and do same in own house…