|Paizo Pathfinder® Paizo Games|
|About Paizo Messageboards News Paizo Blog Help/FAQ|
Well, we'll find out which way it's gone at breakfast time. Exit polls suggest the 'No' side might have a very narrow lead.
I live in the Danelaw, so I should get to vote in Danish elections, which sounds like a euphemism.
"What are you doing in those bushes, sir?"
"Er, I'm voting in Danish elections, officer"
"Pull up your trousers and come with me, please"
Vive le Pays Maudit!
I bagged a beaut' today at the flea market - the British Edda, by L A Waddell. Unbeknownst to anyone except L.A., the Icelandic prose eddas were actually written in British, and tell the story of Thor (who IS Adam, who IS Mithra, who IS St George) and his efforts to bring manly Aryan civilisation to the world. It also turns out that the Sumerians were Goths, as were/are both the Welsh and the Anglo-Saxons, that the story of the garden of Eden is actually a corrupted account of a battle between cloth-wearing Thorean goths and fur-wearing Odinite worshippers of the Serpent-Wolf cult and that Christianity was a dreadful thing until it passed out of the hands of pesky Semites and into the clean-limbed grasp of flaxen-haired noble Northmen. Reads like a fascist rip-off of Thongor, with extra poetry. A biog of the author can be found here, which puts things into perspective.
Also, while I was sitting down with a small sherry and a copy of A La Recherche du Temps Perdu, someone snuck into my house, snatched the book out of my hands and replaced it with 'Priest-Kings of Gor'! I am very annoyed.
Including the 'Glory, Glory Hallelujah, Teacher hit me with a ruler' variation, or the 'They rubbed him up with camphorated oil, camphor-amphor-amphorated' one?
I read Marriage and Love by Emma Goldman this week, and have started on the Satyricon, in which two polysexual Romans go around stealing stuff. 'Salright, I suppose.
It's all consensual.
'Do as you would be done by' is my motto.
2013's English moustache champ was an AMERICAN!
The organisers of the above competition also seem to believe that Wales is part of England, which means they should probably avoid going out after dark in Swansea. Come to think of it, that's sensible advice for anybody...
Longears Investigation Bureau are proud to present THE SECRET HISTORY OF COSMO, or 'Cosmo's Cosmic Adventure', as found on page 60 of what is either the scratch 'n' sniff edition of the Book of Skelos or Dragon #197. Please note that we have only reproduced the less sanity-shattering items detailed in those dread paragraphs and a certain amount of redaction has had to take place in order to keep things even slightly family-friendly.
Before September 1993, Cosmo was a cheery, cheeky little leprechaun, skipping around Fairyland in a fez, a ginger chinstrap beard, nipple tassels and nothing else, comforting lonely kittens, distributing rainbow candy and hatching madcap schemes to solve complete strangers' romantic contretemps. Then, one day, his Fairy Line Manager (who was jealous of his success) hatched a villainous scheme to replace him as head of the Lollipop Guild, sending him on a Cosmic Adventure without informing him that it was also part of his annual review, the fiend. When Cosmo came back, his Line Manager gathered the happy-go-lucky fey's friends and family together and proceeded to read out his assessment of our hero's performance. Since Cosmo had been away on his Cosmic Adventure, who could contradict the Manager (who looks and sounds like Alan Rickman, only with butterfly wings and a translucent tutu. So exactly like Alan Rickman, in other words) when damning sentence followed damning sentence, leading up to the final devastating conclusion:
"Unfortunately, COSMO IS A FAILURE!"
Tears of mortification pouring in torrents down his elfin features, Cosmo ran from the room, leaving fairyland forever and pledging henceforth to only use his powers for Evil.
That quote is reproduced verbatim, and amongst the soul-searing secrets revealed within, we learn that ..."Cosmo is... IBM compatible". IBM, in this instance, stands for Imp's Bum Mustard, Fairyland's best selling condiment. Our agents opted not to pursue this line of enquiry any further.
We also discover that "(Cosmo) eat(s) fruit and stars, and bounce(s) on the heads of squiggly alien monsters". Perhaps his co-workers at Paizo would be best placed to comment on this.
In addition, "Cosmo has... eye-plants that follow your every move... (He) parades back and forth but takes breaks to slaver and threaten... (He) progresses from level to level, bouncing on top of monsters, eating fruit and collecting (...) rather ineffective bombs..."
Shocking stuff. Image Here, for those of adamantine will. It would suggest that Cosmo is one of the fell Serpent Kings of ancient Lemuria, which explains a great deal.
I likes elves. And I probably should wear an elaborately carved mask at all times, even if I don't.
Also, as the elven inhabitants of the Mordant Spire are the (self-proclaimed) heirs to the treasures of the Azlanti, so we in the Breetish Isles are the inheritors of the fabled secrets of Sunken Atlantis, which is why we rule the world in secret. Just ask Lyndon LaRouche.
The second of those is actually true.
Mary Poppins was originally called 'Morvel I. Rocwell', but that got cut in production for being too obvious an anagram of Oliver Cromwell.
Illegal Puritan tracts used to be distributed by itinerant birdseed sellers, for 'Tuppence a Bag', an event commemorated by the song 'Feed the Birds'
'Chim Chim Cheree' shows why the Revolution was necessary, since before the execution of Charles I, everybody used to speak like Dick Van D@*~.
Incidentally, should you watch the film with the sound off while listening to New Model Army's greatest hits, you will be very bored and develop a severe headache.
However, staying on topic. Sid James of the 'Carry On' films was apparently born Solomon Joel Cohen, in South Africa, in 1913. That *is* true, and I had absolutely no idea.
Poll: In general, would we all prefer to be a) slain by a little-known South American poison that is instantly fatal and defies detection or b) transfixed by a dagger of oriental design?
Got Gulliver of Mars by Edwin L. Arnold off Project Gutenberg, myself. Looking forward to it!
If I want breakfast, I strip naked, break the ice on a lake and then wrestle an Arctic Plesiosaur into submission. Or I may stun a polar bear with one punch and then use it as a furry greatclub in order to kill several other polar bears and then consume their reeking carcases raw, even the livers. In the unlikely event that I eat, wear or use anything that I haven't slain myself in unarmed combat, I will gnaw it out of solid granite. At night, I stand proudly beneath the great, yellow moon, bellowing "I live! I LIVE! I LIIIIIVE!!!", basking in the awe-inspiring immensity of Savage Nature.
Does that count?
Chert the Barbarian and his roguish friend sat across the table from Mordenkainen in the Bella Furyondy restaurant in Greyhawk City.
"I hope you enjoyed your garlic bread", said the archmage. "Now I have something even better for you!"
He gestured to a waiter, who bought over a flat box, opening it to release a delicious odour and reveal a flat disc of dough, covered with tomato sauce and melted cheese. Then, suddenly, it began to speak!
"HORNED SARDINE BARKS DILIGENTLY!"
The jaws of Chert and his companion dropped. "Wha-huh?!"
"PLACARD BABY'S MARBLE APPLE MELTS HAPPINESS STRING YODELS!!"
Chert raised his mighty axe above the dish, shouting "FOUL WITCHERY!", but Mordenkainen simply raised an admonitory eyebrow and shook his head. The small, dark man sitting by the barbarian put a calming hand on his comrade's brawny arm and eased him back onto his seat.
"Mordenkainen, what was that?!", he asked, and the wizard replied:
"That is the pizza, Gord, that passeth all understanding"
Those Ranger levels were worthwhile after all - thanks to taking Favoured Enemy (low grade 70s fantasy paperbacks) I was able to track down and subdue the following today:
Wizard of Lemuria - Lin Carter.
I also got hold of an old D20 sourcebook called Arrows of Indra, setting out rules for running a 3.5e campaign in ancient India. Pretty cool, but loses points for describing tulwars as two-handed weapons. Tsk tsk. And I read 'Jirel of Joiry' on the train there and back, which was first-class.
Shuttling between two IT support companies all morning, each of whom insisted that whatever was going wrong was the other's problem, only to get it sorted out in around fifteen bleeding minutes once I'd got hold of someone who knew what's what? This is the sort of thing Cosmo brings about with a contemptuous flick of his elegantly manicured (?) fingers (?) - kindergarten stuff. However, what one of them decided I needed to keep me company while waiting for some yawking putz to come on the line and tell me it's got nothing to do with him and what the hell is this server thing you keep talking about anyway was a looped version of 'Another Day in Paradise' by Phil Collins, played on the electronic panpipes, and it's those little details that are the hallmark of a true professional.
OK. A certain amount of priming with Russian Imperial (spit) Stout was required, but here goes:
Cards on the table time - I like dirty books and I like Sword and Planet, so when I saw that there was a 20+ novel series that combined the two, I nearly had an embarrassing and messy accident. Silly me. The first in the cycle, Tarnsman of Gor, was reasonable; I always thought 'Tarn' referred to a small body of water. Maybe 'Pond Straddlers' or 'Drippy Waddlers of Gor' didn't quite create the atmosphere of exotic, savage adventure the publisher was after, and anyway, a Tarn is apparently a vicious flightless bird which only a true granite-jawed hero can bend to his will. Various things happen in the mean time, mainly involving incredible fights against impossible odds and gorgeous young ladies who only require being crushed in the sweat-glazed embrace of a rhythmically farting gurgler dressed up as a hoplite to discover true womanly happiness, which (of course) involves gleefully submitting to their every wish without ever complaining, getting headaches, getting pregnant, getting old, having a will of their own, etc. Most of this is implied in many other S&P/S&S novels; however, Le Maitre Norman decides that what he's doing is not merely immature male wish-fulfilment (which does not bother me in the slightest) but a grand fillustuflickal crusade to slay radical feminism once and for all and re-establish gender relations on a Truly Natural Basis. The websites set up by his disciples prove that some people take this very seriously indeed, although the gay ones seem to solely involve men with no hair in night combat gear punching each other. I dunno. There was a group in Doncaster (a grotty post-industrial town in South Yorkshire, UK) who got in trouble when one member decided to take his girlfriend around the shops on a dog leash, incidentally, but other than that, they keep out of the public eye, being properly ashamed of themselves. You might say that if they were spouting Marxist dogma along with the sword fights and bottoms I wouldn't mind at all, and all I can say to that is YES YES ***K ME YES LEAD ME TO IT. I have just given myself a job, so watch out, you objects.
Following up on this, I'm afraid we're too late, as this leaked excerpt from the screenplay of the upcoming super-collosso blockbuster, 50 Slaad of Gary, Indiana proves:
Pamela, supine and immobilised, moaned softly. Owing to budgetary constraints, Mr Gurgle had been unable to truss her to a four-poster bed with silken ties and had instead blu-taked her to an ironing board, but the effect was just the same. His glacial blue eyes bored her Editor: Bored into her, you moron! FS: Oh., and a cruel smile animated his rugged, masculine features as he gazed hungrily at her, the clinging PVC Thomas the Tank Engine onesie he wore outlining every contour of his superb body.
"You've been a very naughty girl, haven't you, Pamela?", he purred. "And do you know what happens to naughty girls?"
Pammy felt an ecstatic terror arise within her, thrilling her every nerve, writhing and twisting and filling her like a noodle made of honeyed fire, up, down, forwards, backwards, port, starboard. She ran a pink tongue along her moist, full, tempting, lips, hardly daring to speak.
"Are... Are you going to starch my moo, Master?"
"Ha ha! No! Only good girls get their moos starched. No indeed - you're going to lie there, and we're both going to play F.A.T.A.L"
Male Elf Rogue (pirate) 6/ Gunslinger 3
AC 20,T 17, FF 16; HP 32/53; 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.