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My best ever was an LP consisting of recordings of steam trains with mechanical defects, from all over the world. A) Who would bother taping something like that, and B) even if they did, who would buy it (unless it was 50p in a charity shop) ? It actually sounds like avant-garde percussion music (Varese or something) - not bad, but still...
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!
Just finished The Faillible Fiend by L. Sprague de Camp, which I enjoyed; Vol. 4 of the Wheel of Time seems to be mainly about the protagonists' love problems at the moment. Hum.
Also enjoying Medieval Warfare magazine, which has an interesting article about an 11th Century Icelandic psychopath/poet in, amongst other things.
Kyrik and the Lost Queen, by Gardner F. Fox. Keeps up to his usual standards, i.e. lots of ridiculous fights, boobies and a plot as flimsy as the garment worn by the woman on the front cover, which also features a burly swordsmen wearing one of those darling little helmets with bull's horns on, both of them charging along in a chariot pulled by a rhinoceros. Nowhere in the book does anyone get to ride in a rhino-powered vehicle of any kind, which is disgusting.
I, too, have to read Lenin in preparation for the education element of tomorrow's [redacted] Party Blood-Soaked (not really) Fun-Fest (when it was my turn I had to do a presentation on Wages, Prices and Profit, so hoo-f***ing-ray for me). I also went to the library and got out vol. 4 of The Wheel of Time and a book called Battlefield Yorkshire, both which look good. I'll let you know.
Radishes with salt
Brown sauce will go excellently with any of these except the radishes.
Blast. Now I'm hungry :(
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.
The naive assumption is that either you're carrying everything you need around in the Tardis-like interior of your handbag/purse or Space-Colonel Pickering is teaching you to be a lidy and hence you have a robot butler to port things around for you. Still, contributing to the death of what I can't call fanny packs in public because that'd mean something diiiferent...
I've always wanted to try Spruce beer.
Something very odd I found reproduced in an old (out of print) home-brewing book recently - a recipe for cock(erel) ale. Still, chicken soup with barley's a classic, so why not barley wine with chicken?
Somewhat alarming original procedure reproduced below:
"Take 10 gallons of ale and a large cockerel, the older the better; parboil the cock, flay him, and stamp him in a stone mortar until his bones are broken (you must draw and gut him when you flay him), then put the cockerel into two quarts of sack, and put to it five pounds of raisins of the sun, stoned; some blades of mace, and a few cloves; put all these in a canvas bag, and a little while before you find the ale has been working, put the bag and ale into a vessel. In a week or nine days bottle it up; fill the bottle but just above the neck, and give it the same time to ripen as other ale"
The authors go on to update the recipe somewhat and do recommend it. Beyond my skills, for certain, but might be an interesting project for someone with adventurous tastes...
One thing that puzzles me about many male garments for the lower half is the superfluity of pockets. I thought this had gone out with the decline of Nu-Metal, remembering what were called either combat pants (which you had to wrestle into submission every morning before putting them on) or cargo pants (imported from Polynesia, where the natives enact colourful rituals resembling WWII combat operations in order to persuade the magic trousers to come down from the sky and return to them) with a shudder, but apparently not. It's hot, so I'm wearing shorts. How many pockets do I need in my shorts? Two? Three? Four, at a pinch? Apparently not - the manufacturers, helpfully warding off a potential attack of Pocket Envy, have supplied me with at least 15. What would happen if I filled all these pockets? They'd be pooled around my ankles and I'd be in prison or very badly beaten, that's what. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT, YOU BEASTS? Maybe this is an attempt to make me feel less like an underfed nerd and more like a rugged champion of the untamed wilderness - if so, it doesn't bloody well work and nobody is going to mistake me for this month's Combat and Survival centrefold or Ted Nugent no matter how many zips I have on my thighs. Grunters.
Bill Lumberg wrote:
One was 'Sabbath Bloody Sabbath', so Ozzy; can't remember what the others were...
Mythic JMD031 wrote:
That was a Public Safety Rant, showing the Dreadful Consequences of drinking and posting.
gran rey de los mono wrote:
Soooo...What exactly are the rules regarding raiding other ranters for their rant points. I'm seeing a few people besides myself with some, and I think I want all of them. Is this allowed, or this thread non-PVP?
All I can say is, find Lucky7's phylactery and destroy it, thus ending his reign of undead terror once and for all, and his entire hoard of rant points will be yours by right of conquest.
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.
Limey woke up one morning and, while absent-mindedly scratching his guiro, thought to himself, "I wish I had more avant-garde samba records with pig noises on". Little did he know that his guiro was a magic guiro! Imagine his surprise when, with a (what does that say.. puff of smoke? Good.) Hermeto Pascoal appeared:
"Seu desejo é uma ordem, oh Dominar!"
And gave him a link to Slaves' Mass!
Doodlebug Anklebiter wrote:
Hey, you've turned Hoxhaist!
I got to the end of Nomads of Gor, which could be a very decent cheesy S&P adventure story if he'd leave off the slave girls for 5 minutes. However:
Mini Gor rant:
I can see why people find these books misogynistic, but in the first one, it was kept discreetly below the surface. In the second, it's a bit more obvious - Trowel Cardboard is sent to a city which is, in defiance of all that is good and natural, ruled by women; hence, Love and Joy are banned and only when Our Hero puts the wicked virago in charge over his manly knee does everything turn out as it should. This time:
"It means, I think (...) that only a woman who has utterly surrendered - and can utterly surrender - losing herself to a man's touch - can be truly a woman, and being what she is, is then truly free"
In practice, this appears to mean being used, sold, flogged and tied up in sacks full of dung. Being "real" women, Gorean slave girls are ecstatically happy with this state of affairs, of course, even if:
"[b]"The Goreans recognise that the truth is hard for women to understand, that they will reject it, that they will fear it and fight it"
If all he was doing was setting a novel in a society where this state of affairs was normal then there'd be nothing to it, but I get the impression he really believes it, which will no doubt come as a shock to nobody except myself. Maybe I'll continue reading the series, maybe I won't - I can put up with a lot, but what's coming will have to be really good to make up for stuff like that.
Last weekend was cheeseburgers. Since these were British cheeseburgers, the recipe involved boiling them for three hours in a mixture of sand, diesel and Winston Churchill's tears, forcing them through a dozen consecutive pigeons and then nailing the remains to the Prime Minister. Suitable fuel for two and a half hours of sabre drill, but must do something a bit more creative this Sat/Sun.
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.
Raven: Swordmistress of Chaos, a woman who solves the vexatious boob-plate controversy by dispensing with the plate bit. Actually, she mostly manages to stay clothed during the book, when not indulging in a bit of hot barbarian-on-princess action. Good sabre work, too. I liked it a lot.
Also trying Teach Yourself Old English, without much success, so far.
Ask Uncle Limey.
Uncle Limey says:
"Take the lawn up, put the pinecones under the lawn, then put it down again. Get your whole family to come round and roll on it to level it out, and voila - problem solved. Or just get more pinecones, add them to the pinecones already there, and have pinecones instead of lawn."