La gente que elige políticos corruptos no son víctimas, son cómplices.
George Orwell
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La gente que elige políticos corruptos no son víctimas, son cómplices.
George Orwell
Did Viggo Really Die? (RTTE Headcanon and Theory)
Well met, my fellow Furians! Today, we'll dive into a topic I've been sitting on for years since the show, particularly Season 6, back in 2018.
Did Viggo really die in "Triple Cross"?
Thankfully, several other people have had this suspicion besides me, from what I saw after googling it.
There's @kingofthewilderwest 's post here, though it's about Season 4, I feel it applies well here. There's also a discussion thread about Viggo's death on the HTTYD Wiki here if you feel like checking it out.
But I found it really odd that Viggo "died" so anti-climatically when he survived a BLOODY VOLCANO!!! (That still ticks me off, by the way.)
What makes it stranger is that we see Viggo acting injured in this scene when Hiccup turns to Viggo.
And what happens after Hiccup leaves? Viggo straightens, drops the facade, and does THIS:
White House X-Ray
trump admin weaponizes justice like Epstein weaponized girls: selectively. While DOJ "investigates" Democrats, Epstein's own 2025 emails reveal trump "spent hours" with victims—details Bondi buried after claiming "the list is on my desk." Accountability dies when prosecutors become accomplices.
THIS BLOG HAS MOVED!!!
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"No one can terrorize a whole nation, unless we are all his accomplices."
Edward R. Murrow, journalist (25th April 1908-1965)
The man on the radio is still absent from his perch ... so the stand in man on the radio is the gentleman who has trouble with which buttons to press ... makes for entertaining Monday morning mayhem. Weatherwise there's a whole load of canines and felines coming down out there and 'the umbrella' is very much in demand. The traffic lady says there's animals loose on the road again ... no specification as to what kind, but obviously the sort that can find their way out of a field.
Today's groaner: Why don't owls date in the rain? ... Because it's too wet to woo ;-D badoom tish ... here all week!!
Mr Snippy and the rest of the Hairy Horde have taken a real liking to their new doggy beds. Although, Mr Snippy can't quite let go of part of his old bed ... he apparently needs to be able to clutch his cushion in order to have the sweetest of dreams while blepping.
Much as it was fun, gone are the days of spare sofa cushions and old duvets being dragged around the floor. Mr Snippy is the best at rearranging soft furnishings in such a way that there's optimum blockage of things in the kitchen ... especially the fridge ... and even better when assisted by his all too willing accomplice, Betty. After all, who needs to get into the fridge? The motto is 'none shall pass' ... unless of course the hooman who wants to get into the fridge is doing so because they need to get sausages out to bestow upon the fridge blocker.
The new beds do not allow for such shenanigans ... so perhaps Mr Snippy is dreaming up ways that he can use his new bed in order to gain sausage supplies. :-)
A reasonable night for Biggest Dog and myself, about 5 hours of sleep before she began pacing ... so, with the right amount of coffee and keep telling myself 'I can do this', then we should just about make it through the day.
Monday, Monday, Monday and there's rain aplenty ...
I'm a little late, but Happy Galentine's Day to all the gals!