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Grotesque, Unbelieveable, Bizarre and Unprecendented |
Posted by: Dartz - 12-18-2018, 02:21 PM - Forum: Politics and Other Fun
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Calm restored in Strokestowwn
So, to summarise:
A man who was a serial delinquent debtor. He was a financial clusterfuck. It takes a lot of fucking around to get a Judge to grant a posession order against you.
A bank that hired an unlicensed goon squad of gammon to enforce a court order rather than actually follow the usual proceedure.
An unlicensed goon-squad of gammon that went in like they were dealing with a bunch of terrorists, eager to crack skulls.
A bunch of actual terrorists who showed up to kick the utter shit out of them. This was far more organised than a bunch of farmers - most Irish farmers couldn't organised 2nd gear in a 2 speed box.
The blueshirts in Government are siding with the bank. The bank are acting like they did nothing wrong by hiring fomer British soldiers to turf a family out of a home in Roscommon. Sinn Fein are siding with the debtor - which they would since it was likely 'their friends' involved in the beatdown. Or as the 'Teesh' said, they're letting the balaclava slip.
And nobody knows who to fucking sympathise with. You just have a shower of cunts everywhere. KBC are already being called the Bank of You Vee Eff and are probably done as a business. They've used the goons before. You have a certain cultural resultance to turf people out of their homes. Hiring the British to do it is like hiring a bunch of lads from Alabama to run eviction squads in Harlem - there's a historical context there that makes it a bad idea. You have vigilante justice that was a bit of a slap as far as vigilantism normally goes - the gammon are lucky they're not in a bog somewhere.
You have a situation that truly, and totally qualifies for the GUBU moniker.
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Butterbeer (What, again?) |
Posted by: Bob Schroeck - 12-16-2018, 09:24 PM - Forum: General Chatter
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So yeah, I've been trying my hand at reproducing the butterbeer from Universal Studios and have had some success with a cream soda/butterscotch syrup blend topped with whipped cream flavored with more butterscotch syrup.
But that's not what this post is about. This post is about the video below, which YouTube just popped up as "recommended" for me. It's a guy making a genuine 16th-century butterbeer recipe. And he was so pleased with the result that now I want to try it.
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Insta-story off Tumblr |
Posted by: Bob Schroeck - 12-14-2018, 11:03 PM - Forum: Other People's Fanfiction
- Replies (8)
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wpsstories:
Quote:writing-prompt-s:
Quote:after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and “everyone sins, its ok”. instead the dead are sorted into six “houses of heaven” based on the sins they chose.
We arrived first at the House of Lust. “House” is a misleading term. It was more of a camp, spread over acres and acres of lush forest. There was a white sandy beach (nude, of course) full of copulating couples. There were little cabins sprinkled all along the path, from which orgasmic moans regularly came belting out. Men with six pack abs and women with perky breasts strolled by without even noticing me and God. They only had eyes for each other, tickling and pinching each other with flirtatious giggles.
“What do you think?” God asked as we passed a nineteen-way taking place in a pool of champagne. Little cherubs flitted overhead armed with mops and cleaning supplies, thankfully. “Lust is our most popular sin.” I eyed the supermodel-like figures of a couple passing nearby, and could easily see why. “You can look however you want. Hell, you can be whatever gender you want. No fetish is too taboo, and no desire can be denied here.”
It was quite tempting, but I wasn’t ready to make a permanent decision here. “Let’s see the others,” I told God.
We carried on to Greed. We passed rows and rows of mansions, each more opulent than the next. Some of them were so large that they would have had enough bed rooms to fit my entire hometown. And so many different styles: one second, we were in a beautiful French vineyard in front of a gorgeous chateau with the Alps in the background. The next second, a warm tropical beach with a modern mansion atop breathtaking cliffs. After that, a ski chalet in Colorado with a roaring fire in a hearth large enough to fit an ox. Each one had various Italian sports cars and Rolls Royces parked in front, with the occasional smattering of boats, helicopters, etc.
“Any material desire you ever wanted,” God explained. “Your own world, where you can have everything. You want the Hope Diamond? You can fly to Washington DC in your own solid gold helicopter and buy it from the Smithsonian. Hell, you can just buy the Smithsonian.”
Also tempting, but I decided to keep looking.
Gluttony was next up. Tables and tables of the very finest foods: beautiful steaks cooked medium rare; butter-poached lobster tail; fresh oysters on a half shell; exotic wines in dusty bottles that had been hiding in the cellars of the world’s finest restaurants. Everyone had a glass of champagne in hand and simply lounged on couches and chairs near the tables, eating endlessly. As soon as the inhabitants took a bite, the food just instantly came back. My mouth watered even watching them.
“In every other House, the food is practically sawdust compared to Gluttony,” God explained. “You haven’t truly experienced heaven until you’ve been to Gluttony.”
I shook my head, and we kept moving.
Sloth was as you’d expect. An endless sea of the softest mattresses, stacked with cushions and pillows that made the story of the princess and the pea seem minimalist. Little angels visited each resident, giving them massages that made them all melt into their blankets.
Wrath was… well, a lot like what I’d expect Hell to be like. Fire, brimstone, whips, torture.. you know, the works. Except here, you weren’t the one being tortured. Every enemy you’d ever made in your real life was now under your thumb. “Lots of people choose their fathers,” God explained. “Lots of grudges against parents in general, you know. But you’re not limited to that. Someone beat you out for a big promotion back on Earth? Take your pound of flesh here.”
Then we arrived at Envy. It looked… well, a lot like home.
“Go on in,” God said, gesturing toward the door. I turned the knob and walked in… and found Emily waiting inside. She ran forward, wrapped her arms around my neck, and planted a kiss right on my lips. “Welcome home, honey.”
I looked back toward God. “Oh, don’t be coy,” he said. “You have no secrets from me. We all know that you were in love with your best friend’s wife.” She didn’t seem to hear him at all; she went back into the hall. “We all know that you just settled for your own wife while secretly pining after her. Well, this is your chance to live happily ever after.”
I peered into the kitchen. Emily was baking something, wearing nothing but an apron. Her curly black hair fell softly over her shoulder as she whisked ingredients. She turned back, noticed I was observing her, and an enthusiastic smile spread across her face.
“It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” God whispered in my ear.
I wanted to take it. God damn did I want to take it. But I shook my head.
God seemed puzzled. “You need to make a decision,” he told me.
“I haven’t seen Pride yet.”
He scoffed. “No one ever wants Pride, trust me.”
“Well, I want to see it.”
_________________________
Pride was boring. Just a row of workbenches in a bare white room.
“I don’t get it,” I told God.
“Yeah, no one does,” he answered. “That’s why no one ever chooses it. Doesn’t cavorting in Lust sound better than sitting here building little trinkets for the rest of eternity? Wouldn’t you rather gorge yourself in Gluttony? Or spend time with Emily in Envy?”
I considered the options again. “I pick Pride,” I finally told him.
He narrowed his eyes. “What? Look at it!” He gestured around the room again. There wasn’t much to look at. “Why would you choose this for the rest of time?”
“Because you don’t want me to pick it,” I told him. If he was really God, he’d know what a contrarian I can be. And I knew he was hiding something, trying to pretend like Pride didn’t exist. There was something special about it.
God scowled back. “Fine.” He led me over to one of the workbenches. In the center, there was a black space. A blank, empty void that went on forever. “Here’s your universe,” he said. “You’ve got seven days to get started.” He took his seat at the bench next to me and went back to tinkering in his own world. After a long pause, he finally spoke again: “You know, it might be nice for me to actually have some company for once.”
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Two Dead Links in the Concordance |
Posted by: DHBirr - 12-08-2018, 09:55 PM - Forum: Drunkard's Walk S: Heart of Steel
- Replies (2)
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As the title says. I'm getting "This site can't be reached ... server IP address could not be found" when I click on the links in this entry:
Quote:12-jo 1K
Standard Japanese real estate notation for an apartment with a separate kitchen(ette) and bedroom/sitting room, measuring about 200 square feet (or about 18.5 square meters, for my readers who don't use Imperial). "Jo" is an unit of measurement equal to one tatami mat. (And in Tokyo the standard mat is of course just a bit smaller than the one used elsewhere, because rents are based on the number of jo.)
In New York City this would be called a "studio apartment". If you're curious about how Japanese apartments are arranged and how they differ from American (or European) apartments, check out this page and this one.
I don't know if any other links have gone dead; I only checked these.
(I wanted to look at them because I was watching Hyouka the other day, and there's a scene in a room, estimated by the narrator as 15 square meters, of Chitanda's Big Fancy House. I wanted to see again what ordinary Japanese fit into an area only a little larger than that almost-completely empty reception room.)
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Up, lad, up! We've villages to pillage, maidens to slay, and dragons to rescue!
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