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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"
Orfamay Quest wrote:
A pretty large proportion of the Army is Scottish...
I think, if independence does occur, it will be an SNP/Labour duopoly, though Labour will suffer as a result of their calling for a 'No' votes. The Lib Dems have a bit of a presence in the Highlands/Islands but not much in the urban areas (so far as I know) - be interesting to see who forms the opposition if Labour does diminish to any degree (Greens? SSP?)
If it results in more devolution of powers and a slightly less London-centric economy/political setup, it'll be a good thing whichever way it goes (not holding my breath, though). I would be very happy in theory with a federal republic; getting that to work in practice would be a struggle, I imagine.
Astral Wanderer wrote:
Have a go at a bit of Clark Ashton Smith
Hold The Lion.
And in the soon-to-be-jailed Zookeeper's songbook:
All in all, you're just another d*ck in the Walrus
"I suppose the royalties from 'Smooth Operator' wouldn't last forever, would they?"
"No. Still, her French tent hire business is doing well, which is nice. Look! There's an advertising billboard right over there!"
"Oh yeah. Er... Why is that woman in the rubber thigh boots doing... those things... to that Frenchman with those whips... and those squashes... and that pressure hose... and the corn syrup?"
"Corporate branding. The adverts have to be themed to match the company name,
Ambrosia Slaad wrote:
I blame Cosmo for only now discovering one of the cats is a superpowered villain. She parked herself in front of her usual chair but refused to jump up, instead staring at me contentedly and happily blocking the aisle. So I bent down and picked her up, only to discover she is the newest incarnation of Graviton; she increased her gravitational attraction by at least an order of magnitude, wrenching my back. The locking & jerking spasms have subsided enough I was only able to slowly stand up a few minutes ago, but even with the naproxen and acetaminophen it is almost excruciating... it hurt less after I fell down that flight of stairs a couple years ago.
You haven't been feeding them Starmetal again, have you?
(nb: Hope you're OK, or at least recovering...)
The neighbours have already called the Police once this year, because they thought I was dead (I wasn't). I don't think that would worry them. The cunning devils (cats, not neighbours, although... Waaait a moment...) always do it while I'm asleep, though, so tit might not work. I shall buy a replica of the Giant Rat of Sumatra instead and put that in the back garden . That'll learn 'em.
Judy Bauer wrote:
I have not - one more to add to the list now, so thanks! Reading some inter-war military lunatic's butchering of it has made me want to seek out the original, which is on Project Gutenberg, in various forms...
Have finished 'Battlefield Yorkshire', which was an eye-opener. Now started 'Zofroya, or the Moor', by Charlotte Dacre. Byron liked it, probably because of the interracial Lesbian/semi-Sadean elements that the blurb on the back alludes to, though seeing how those two themes blend will be interesting.
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.
Don Juan de Doodlebug wrote:
Speaking of which, Behold! A message from Wonder Norm!
Gor is a continent in science fiction. Many may wish it did not exist, but it is there.
It is not hard to find, really. Just look for a world that lies a thousand degrees north of monothink, a thousand degrees east of orthodoxy, a thousand degrees west of ideological conformity, a continent far from the placid waters of predictable mediocrity, a different world, one real, one like no other, one beyond the familiar world’s horizon, one emergent from far, tumultuous, untamed seas, a world alert to deep currents, which listens to secret whispers, which wears stars in her hair.
The maps of ideologically servile cartographers may choose not to show the Gorean world, but it is there, a wonderful, forbidden continent. Some of you know her, and have been there.
I think he may have meant to have written 'cheese' rather than 'seas', but nonetheless...
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...
Two and a half consecutive hours? Isn't that like your whole monthly allotment in the UK?
Certainly looks like it, if today is anything to go by...
Early night tonight. Considering whether to start reading all the Fafhrd & Grey Mouser books in sequence or carry on with Outlaws of the Marsh as a nightcap. We'll see.
Elves make everything better.
Two and a half consecutive hours of sunshine on Saturday enabled me to go outside and finish of Black Legions of Callisto by Lin Carter (smashing, of course) and Swords of the Barbarians by Kenneth Bulmer. Ken was having a bit of an off-day with that one, I think - also features a tonne of totally non-gratuitous nudity in the shape of a sexy female sorceress who can only cast spells when compleeeetly naked. Most of the book is taken up with her in various stages of undress, desperately trying to take her shoes off in order to save the day while her twin brother hews through legions of mooks in time-honoured fashion. C-.
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.
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!