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Male Elf Rogue (pirate) 6/ Gunslinger 3
AC 20,T 17, FF 16; HP 53/53; Fort +6, Ref +14, Will +4
Sekathral eyes the bear's pelt, of a shade part-way between light tan and a deep yellow, and wonders whether it's a ginger bear or a wheat bear. He looks on in surprise and alarm as it eats a cake of soap and its master just sits there, watching the bubbles in his bear. His eyes widen as he notices that the beast has three upper limbs, then remembers Farshorian's inalienable right two bear arms and relaxes.
"They were just scrote-hairs, if you ask me. They ain't part of anything bigger"
Don Juan de Doodlebug wrote:
Mmmm, Gregor Samsa porn.
"You've got a hard shell, but your belly is softI'm trying to figure out how to get you off"
Please yourselves, though - it's no skin off my nose, as the baby boy said to the Moyl.
Since it's been warm, I've been out in the garden reading Thongor - Thongor of Lemuria and Thongor in the City of the Magicians, though I'm only halfway through the second.
I'm so, so glad that the [redacted] spangled [redacted] of PiPu still waves o'er this thread.
It's slave girls with fat ankles o'clock in Nomads of Gor. Also reading The Greatest Traitor - the life of Roger Mortimer, who fell in love with Queen Isabella (she wuvved him back, too), deposed and imprisoned (and probably murdered, although no-one can prove it was via red hot poker, as legend has it) Edward II, and generally had a right old time of it in 13th century England. Fewer 'sexual outsiders' than John Irving, but more public disembowelments/on-battlefield castrations, or so I should imagine.
Doodlebug Anklebiter wrote:
Good news! And it gives me an idea for a story about a vendor of exotic diseases in Nadsokor. Now all I have to do is get off my luxuriantly pelted behind and write it...
Just finished A Book of Voyages, edited by Patrick O'Brian - a compilation of traveller's/sailor's accounts from the 16th-18th centuries, including some pretty grim accounts of starvation/cannibalism/shipwreck, and so on. Fascinating.
Tammuz: "Hey, what do you call a dead body dressed in tweed plus-fours, a Pringle sweater, a Tam O'Shanter and brogues with little spikes on the sole?"
Tiamat: "A golf corpse!"
Ishtar: "Watch out for the nineteenth hole!"
Tiamat: "Why did the cremated Yale student have to leave Skull and Bones?"
Ishtar: "His membership had ex-pyred! I've got one - what do you call a dramatic production about the Black Death featuring plenty of cleavage?"
Tammuz: "A boob-onic play!"
Marduk: "What are you idiots all doing?"
Had a sh*t week, so decided to read Tarnsman of Gor this evening, on the same principle that punching yourself in the face will temporarily distract you from the pain of, say, a sore throat. Actually, (shamefaced whisper), I quite enjoyed it, thereby proving that I am a gruesome little perv with no critical faculties.
Our local ice cream van plays the theme from 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' to announce its presence. It's not that bad a neighbourhood...
Cybotron, right now. If you wanted to sum up prog in one image, you could do worse than a bearded, bespectacled man in a cape standing in front of a battery of monophonic synths. JEALOUS.
I blame Cosmo firstly for my overfilling my cup of tea, leading to potential spillage on precious computer. I then blame him for thinking that the obvious way around this problem would be to get down on all fours and slurp the excess out of the top of the cup like some sort of beast.
My thin veneer of civilisation stayed intact, you'll be glad to hear, and I didn't, but it was a damn' close thing.
Had a rest from Orlando Furioso, picking up a short account of the siege of Bradford (or sieges) during the English Civil War instead. The right side won eventually, even if the Royalists did manage to blow up Kirkgate.
Tomorrow, if the weather's decent, I'm going to sit out in the garden, drink beer and read Alan Burt Akers
Celeste Principe di un Giorno, which is quite chilled out and has lots of nice mellotron on.
After 8 hours straight going through comments about urinary tract infections, I need it - I also a) feel like the back end of an incontinent (or incompetent) otyugh and b) keep singing "Thrush, thrush, I thought I heard her calling my name now" to myself.
Doodlebug Anklebiter wrote:
And if you can keep track of what side Barbozo, Randipanti and Supermarte are on, who's a girl, who's not, who's got the magic sword, who's got the magic donkey (etc), you're a better man than I am, gobbo din.
Not too bad - I've been reading it in spurts for 3-4 days solid and not got bored of it yet, but it's not going into my top 10 straight away. Poor chap seems to have spent most of his time in jail (and got mildew at one point, he was in there so long).
Am also having a go at the second volume of Orlando Furioso, as a sort of aperitif for playing around with polearms tomorrow.
Anyone who objects to the contents, or worse, has never even heard of, such instructive works of mine as Les Pants de Malodor,The 120 Days of Noddy, Dialogue Between a Priest and a Dying Grade 5 Tuba Instruction Manual and How to Find a Disease-Ridden French Aristocratic Pervert- And Make Him Keep YOU!. For La Comtesse de Malodor, it's disease-ridden French aristocratic perverts. For my freedom-hating Elven oaf of a steward, it's women with insufficiently overdeveloped behinds who won't go to bed with him, the sexist Silvanesti pig.
David M Mallon wrote:
Gone off on a bit of a latin thing as a result - right now, Caravanserai by Santana (Mid 70s jazz-rock Santana = best Santana).
Cosmo fires up the steam-powered Cosmograph and calls the UK
Cosmo: Hello! Hellohello! Agent 666349! Come in Agent 666349! Do you read me?
Limey's Next Door Neighbour's Cat Eh? Wait a minute... H'mmmno. That particular part doesn't require any more licking. Alright. Who is it, and what do you want?
C: It is I, your dark Overlord, and I have a mission for thee! Goest thou into Limey's back garden, find the patch of weeds he is about to pull up with his bare hands and crap right in the middle of it!
LNDNC Yeah, but I'm sleep -
C: IN THE NAME OF BESHABA I COMMAND THEE!
LNDNC OK, OK. (mutters under his breath)Anything for a quiet life
*Scampers off on his errand of misery, Cosmo cackling down the Cosmograph in the background*
I buckled a couple of weeks ago and bought the Le Orme box set - 11 albums for £23 (good for me, not so good for Le Orme). Mostly great - the one that surprised and delighted me most was Florian, which sounds nothing like their early '70s stuff, being more... Penguin Cafe-ey? Gentle Giant-esque? Don't listen to the 1990 comeback album, btw.
I've also recently found out about the Darkscorch Canticles, a comp of 70s/80s super-obscure HM which also incorporates an original RPG. Am listening to snippets from the comp, which sounds pretty good - not played the game, but the idea's a beaut, either way.
Comrade Anklebiter wrote:
En garde! Foutez le camp! Zut Simms! L'honneur de la Troisième Internationale doit rester intacte!
Start using it, little green phenomenon, and find peace and tranquility the WRP way. Or, if you prefer, guzzle a bucketful of pickles 'n' Buckfast and go and set fire to your feet (or someone else's. So long as it's consensual, everything's fine)
Don Juan de Doodlebug wrote:
Talk about Stalinian deviations, as I believe you people like to, there they are.
Bedtime reading at the mo consists of a second run through Outlaws of the Marsh. Good, wholesome, manly, Confucian stuff without so much of a veiled hint of nipples, if you can have a veiled hint of nipples. It sounds like a Strawberry Alarm Clock lyric, so maybe you can.
It's bard time again, and I've used some sort of 4e power to automatically gain an audience with the local baron
DM: "And Lord XX is so impressed with what he's heard about Kezia's beautiful singing that he agrees to see the party..."
Me: "Actually, her act consists of her blowing up balloons with her a*se"
DM: "OK, he's so impressed with what he's heard about Kezia blowing up balloons with her bum that he agrees to see the party"
Me: "I'd be impressed too. Does she get a Diplomacy bonus?"
That's what we thought, and that's why we deliberately lost the War of Independence and dispensed with the USA. Deliberately, do you hear, just so we didn't embarrass all the other nations of the world.
Why not an elected king? For that matter, why don't we Proddies get ourselves a nice Pope to be going on with? Regarding the first point, we'd be stuck with whoever the US electorate chose for us and anyway [devastating satire] all our government's important decisions are already made for them in Washington or Brussels anyway [/devastating satire] so there'd be no point. What I say is NO GODS NO MASTERS, and if we must, can we please have either:
1) A statue of Stalin carved out of earwax
Pillbug Toenibbler wrote:
I blame Cosmo for doge poopsies, which brings back bad memories of my time in Venice. Why can't he go in the canals like everybody else?!