I was whining the other day about Google ™ (hi Sergey and Brin) sending me an RSS feed with a provocative picture, but I couldn’t read it because is was written in a language I can’t read.

I tried Babelfish and all I got was Garblefish.

Nancy told me in fact it was Spanish and that Babelfish just screwed up.

So with a few choice words translated, here is my version of the blog post that accompanied this photo.

Si en un anterior post titulado “Mordiendo el polvo” escribía que la gente por Madrid, ayer fue si cabe, más surrealista todavía, una pena ir sólo y no pararme a hacer fotos.

Yes, my butt has a name “biting the dusty road” written that gentle way that you find only in Madrid, I think it was yesterday, more surreality it was like today, but it was such a pain I took photos.

Al salir de Moncloa, el alto contraste de temperatura “Calor de verano” – “Frío invernal con niebla”, sumado a mi empanamiento mental hizo que andase a casa medio mareado y sin saber muy bien que es lo que hacía. Incluso parado por unos segundos me quedé al observar… ¡un dildo para hombres! abandonado en su caja en la repisa de una ventana del antiguo Hospital General Franco (no sé si lo habrían utilizado)

As I got ready to leave Mongolia, there was a great difference in the temperatures from “Hotter than Hell” to Freezing My Ass Off, but that just gave me the super power to wander by the mental hospital which I didn’t know my way around very well.

And what to my wandering eyes should appear but a dildo some guy had left in a box like a lonely old queer.

Blah, blah, blah, Franco is still dead.

Rápidamente y después de pestañear varias veces, reaccioné y seguí andando. A los pocos metros unos gatos comiendo en el antiguo jardín del hospital abandonado (cosa normal, lo de los gatos digo), sigo andando un poco más y antes de girar la esquina… ¡pioo! ¡pioo!, ¡ostias que susto! un pollo que aparece de la nada, y menos mal que había valla para protegerme si no seguramente me hubiese atacado. Empiezo a plantearme que en ese hospital pasan cosas muy raras.

I blinked. A lot. But I kept moving. I was looking for the little gate where I could find the trains and I saw a gate that lead to the abandoned garden for the hospital (the cats were OK so I kept walking to the corner….”On ¡Stewie!, on ¡Louie!, on ¡Chewy!” then I heard him swear, all I could think of was get the crap out of there. I was glad I had mentos and diet coke to protect me from the wild chickens. If I didn’t have that weapon, those hens would have gotten to me. It occurred to me that mental hospitals have been a haven for some very rare meat.

A mi mente atrofiada sólo le dio por pensar: y si junto estas dos cosas…

Since my mentos had atrophied, and two things: I’m glad the hen didn’t become a cock.

Now that’s funny, I don’t care who you are. I really like the way this blogger tells a story and I can’t wait until they make this into an animated short subject. (Cortrometrajes) He’s a film-maker. I’m going to offer my translation services when they accept the Oscar.