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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!
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.