Bendito Machine stands as a lesson to us all. Do not anger the gods of pinata excretions, for their wrath is a terrible one. Hit the jump for another of these quirky sillhouetted animations from artist Jossie Malis that all seem to focus on the excrement of inanimate objects.

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Imagine my sopping wet glee, when going through the rigmarole of avoiding accomplishing anything of merit at my job, that I discovered a vinyl toy version of my favorite tiny rhythmic geisha.

It’s obscenely easy to justify purchasing a lump of injection molded plastic when simply gazing upon it’s shiny visage induces excitement to the point of micturation. I first discovered my beloved geisha several months ago during an evening of drunken internauting and was immediately enamored. It’s difficult to quantify why I find myself revisiting this strange animation so often, yet every time I do I am once again transfixed by pint sized geisha braining themselves on equally miniscule drums as their overlord weaves back in forth from the safety of her toothy orb. While the above video is relatively good, the animation is best seen in it’s original table breaking form here.

Rhythmic Geisha [ToyTokyo] : WarrenEllisWire

Since I’m absolutely crazed packing (this is the last week of this, I promise), Eliza’s gallantly trying to carry Ectomo today without me, even though she’s just as busy if not more so. But it’s unfair that as fine a moustache as the one belonging to Gogol Bordello’s Eugene Hutz should pass entirely without comment.

So here’s my follow-up anecdote to Eliza’s last post. I’m passing acquaintances with Eugene through my friend Kathy, who was one of Gogol Bordello’s dancers. The first time I met Eugene, I struggled to remember where I’d seen him before: his boggling eyes, his leathern face, his bad teeth and his glorious moustache all seemed hauntingly familiar.

Later on, it suddenly came to me: two years previously, my friend Kathy had sent me a picture of her urinating into a dixie cup held by a leering, brown-toothed gypsy. Finding nothing on Earth more disgusting than a woman micturating, I spent ten minutes dry heaving, then deleted the email without opening the second image attachment (ominously entitled “drinking.jpg”). Nevertheless, that gypsy and the twisting helix of urine that counter-gravitationally leaped out of the small plastic cup in his hand and into my friend’s urethra was the sole ocular trauma that caused my recurring palinopsia.

Eugene Hutz of Gogol Bordello? He is the urine-drinking gypsy of my nightmares. It is only by dint of the devastating charm of his moustache that I have forgiven him. His music’s not too shabby either.