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Mordant Spire Elf

Limeylongears's page

Pathfinder Society Member. 716 posts (2,790 including aliases). No reviews. 2 lists. No wishlists. 2 Pathfinder Society characters. 29 aliases.


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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.


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Thankyou, Randy.

Is a worthwhile goal. I'd like to donate 5 shillings to it right now, as well as advancing the slogan SMASH PATRIARCHY THROUGH RESOLUTE BLOWS WITH CONVENIENT FOLDED GUSSETS FOR PURPOSE OF CARRYING LOOSE OBJECTS!


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:

Spoiler:
"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.


Halfing Rogue:

"TASTE MY HAIRY FEET!"


Bill Lumberg wrote:
Limeylongears wrote:
My parents, while despairing at my taste in literature (Michael Moorcock, etc), were never bothered about it and didn't have a problem with D&D , either. My mother did make me throw my Black Sabbath albums away, though.

Were these albums with Ozzy or Dio singing? It makes a difference!

One was 'Sabbath Bloody Sabbath', so Ozzy; can't remember what the others were...


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My parents, while despairing at my taste in literature (Michael Moorcock, etc), were never bothered about it and didn't have a problem with D&D , either. My mother did make me throw my Black Sabbath albums away, though.


Yes, but he's undead, so of course he gets negative rant points. He's healed, revitalised and empowered by them. THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE DOING!!


Mythic JMD031 wrote:
Limeylongears wrote:

OK. A certain amount of priming with Russian Imperial (spit) Stout was required, but here goes:

** spoiler omitted **...

I have no idea what is going on here....but I feel that because it is a rant I should give rant points. +1 rant point.

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.


Fusioon - Minorisa


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OK. A certain amount of priming with Russian Imperial (spit) Stout was required, but here goes:

Gor Blimey:

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!


Well, one of my jobs for this weekend is to revamp and expand my Gor rant which I posted on the Books thread, only with more bad words. That may help, or it may kill it off entirely


Doodlebug Anklebiter wrote:

I've been neglecting my reading, alas, but in my defense, we've recruited two more people to the Commonwealth Party of Galt (M-L)

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.


I was under the impression that, at one point, beer had hops in and ale didn't (or maybe it was the other way around). That doesn't seem to hold true today, however.


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I'm not going to click on that link, because it's Roxette.

I'm not going to click on that link, because it's Roxette.

I'm not going to click on that link, because it's Roxette.

I clicked on the link.


1 person marked this as a favorite.
Don Juan de Doodlebug wrote:
Mmmm, Gregor Samsa porn.

"You've got a hard shell, but your belly is soft

I'm trying to figure out how to get you off"

Interspecies love is wrong

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.


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For the supply of port to give out.


I was tingling with excitement at the thought that maybe someone had novelised 'Romantic Warrior'. Sadly not.

Kirth's right, though.


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.


1 person marked this as a favorite.

Full Brazilian time.

Som Imaginario

And

Bixo da Seda, which may be a bit too far down the jazz/rock route for some.


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."


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Ariesta Birawa Group

I was hoping this album was on Youtube. And it is!


2 people marked this as a favorite.

Dragonlords of Mystara by Thorarinn Gunnarsson; pretty unbeatable name for a fantasy author, but a bit so-so as a novel. Still, I know very little about Mystara, so interesting from that point of view.

EDIT: And, of course, Are you there, Lenin? It's me, Doodlebug, by Vanessa Pablovovich Shachtman


I like green peas, agents of Satan or no. Radishes and green peas are the only veg I'll go out of my way to eat. However, I will not eat cucumber or raw tomato under any circumstances.


Lord Snow wrote:

Might as well add Micheal Crichton to that list... Jurassic Park I remember reading and loving when I was 15 or so, and loving it. Lately I tried reading "Next" also be him, and it was not only terrible but actively offensive in how poorly it was written. I gave up on the idea of checking out any of his other books.

I also began to wonder if I merely liked Jurassic Park because I was younger back then, and my infatuation with dinosaurs.

Or Tom Clancy's Badger Sanctuary, or whatever it's called. Or the slew of Conan books produced from bits & bobs left over by REH (or constructed out of whole cloth). So far as I'm concerned, the more Conan there is the better, so hooray for that.

Nomads of Gor has now thrown a Mongol-type barbarian called Harold into the mix. I wonder why?


Good news (for me) - the stout I'd brewed turns out to be salvageable, so I decanted it into a pressure barrel today. Will be a good few weeks before I can drink it and I probably do need to keep it a bit warmer (heat pad?). Still, looking forward to my first pint from it...


The question is, can you use a pile of PDFs to get your pressure barrel up to optimum beer siphoning height? No, you cannot. One disadvantage of this method is that Andrea Dworkin is now covered in lukewarm stout, but it's all for the greater good.


Kajehase wrote:
Yup. It's supposed to help you figure out how high the saddle should be.

Oookay.. So, driving as in driving a Leyland Imp up the M62? Stuffing down your shorts in case something decides to crawl up the frame and have a nibble, or to protect against chafing? Volume 3 of The Wheel of Time gives the optimum distance between man-parts and pedal powered conveyance? What if you don't have a scrotum, for whatever reason?

I've heard of ye olde Bible in top pocket deflecting bullet schtick, but this is something else entirely (try doing that with an iPad)


Kajehase wrote:
The instruction manual for my bicycle recommends driving a book up your scrotum.

What?!

Kajehase, are you *sure* that's a bicycle instruction manual you're reading?


I agree - novelty value only. Beer itself not that great. £1.20 (ish) at B&M Bargains or I probably wouldn't have bothered.


Things that you don't get with PDFs:

1) Cover art (I suppose you do... not the same, though...)
2) Weird things left over by previous owners - receipts, train tickets, laundry lists, comments scribbled in margins...
3) Blurb at the back - my favourite was after the end of a Gardner F. Fox novel, offering various sleazy early '70s delights including a super book of Turkish Love Secrets, which I wish I could get hold of.

Having said that, ebooks do make it one heck of a lot easier to find stuff you'd be very lucky indeed to come across in print, plus I like having books on my phone. Hooray for the modern world, where we can have both!


To celebrate DN's trip to Peru:

Traffic Sound

We All Together, doing Badfinger

St Thomas Pepper Smelter

'This is a tale of MYSTERY, ACTION AND WITCHCRAFT!!'

Have a good time! :)

EDIT: More St Thomas Pepper Smelter. Is this a cover?

EDIT 2: Yes, it is.


Drinking Bateman's Black Pepper Beer at the moment. Odd. An acquaintance who worked in a steel mill in less health and safety conscious days used to drink several pints of beer with salt in of a lunchtime (to replace lost fluids), but beer with pepper in... Interesting, but probably just a one-off.


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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.


Mongrelman

Sekathral doubles back, running towards the (closer) sounds of struggle he hears.

Going to help Linah/Kyson/Khaz


At the moment, Mount & Blade - Warband. I've been playing the original and that one for months without getting tired of it, despite the somewhat (!) primitive graphics.


962. Mediocre

Pity my parents weren't Tamil, otherwise I could have been called Salakeshwar, thus becoming 533 more sexy and Lord of Everything to boot.


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Sun Ra's Arkestra in session (available until 11pm GMT tomorrow

Shabaka Hutchings of Sons of Kemet is with them too. Huzzah!


The Suns of Scorpio, by Alan Burt Akers - superior S&P, best I've read outside of Edgar Rice Burroughs, anyway, and possibly edging ahead of Lin Carter, too...

And Nomads of Gor: the first book raised unrealistic expectations, I think, and this one is less fantastic adventures of twit from Brizzl and more catalogue of ways to humiliate attractive young women (there are no old, or even middle-aged, women on Gor, apparently). Still, only 40 pages in, and a plot may develop if I persist with it.


Savage Sons of Ya Ho Wa

Less culty unhinged wigout, more psyche-y country rock, a la Workingmen's Dead/American Beauty era Grateful Dead or A Jug of Love by Mighty Baby which is also well worth a listen, if only because it's the only actual Islamic country and western (ish) album in existence, so far as I know.


1 person marked this as a favorite.
Doodlebug Anklebiter wrote:

My local comrade buddy is entering a contest on Michael Moorcock's website to write Eternal Champion fan fiction. I think. Apparently, you can compose your story on the website and then others (Michael Moorcock?) can comment on them as you write, but he isn't brave enough to try that.

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.


I'm gonna take you home, by Ya Ho Wa


Swordsmen of Mars, by Otis Adelbert Kline, a sort of mashup of ERB and The Prisoner of Zenda. Average.

Also, The Pearl, a big ol' compendium of Victorian porn, which is ace. Has some very funny limericks and other stuff alongside the grumble-tales, none of which are quotable here without the Wrath of Chris falling upon us, unfortunately.


2 people marked this as a favorite.

About time I made a contribution to Funk for Friday.

So:

Lyn Christoper - Take me with you

Melodiya Ensemble - The Big Search

Babe Ruth - The Mexican


Cosmo wrote:
Tels wrote:

I blame Cosmo for chainmail bikinis.

Warning! Mildly NSFW!

Mildly?! Those are VERY not safe for work!

It provides no protection whatsoever, pinches, rusts... OSHA would have a field day if that saw a workforce trying to work in uniforms like that!

Silly things.

If Cosmo is responsible for chainmail bikinis, then thankyou Cosmo. THANKYOU, THANKYOU, THANKYOU.

Now, how to get these officially approved in my workplace? H'mmm...


Cosmos, by Zombi


3 people marked this as a favorite.

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.

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