oompilot
When it comes to matters of camouflage I prefer to skulk around the oceans of the world dressed in battleship grey. However on this occasion I threw my hat into your ring, hence my post about my past life as an inquisitor general teaching snotty little snooty kids in Cuernavaca, Mexico. Cuernavaca can be translated as the horns of the cow which is exactly what you find up the jolly old fundament, Edward II like, if you so much as pop your head above the parapet on matters concerning ink blot tests. With apologies to Freud and Jung of course and a doff of the hat to Erich Fromm, I shall now return to hunting the ghost of Eric Langsdorf in Montevideo in which efforts I derive considerable solace from Los Indios.