When a surgeon promised pain, he meant it. I chewed through several leather straps as he fished out the larger debris. When he flushed out the wound cavity with clarified spirits, my scream could have woken the dead. By contrast, getting stitched closed was nothing, though I may have passed out before he finished them. Apparently, the blade had run parallel to my skin, albeit on the wrong side of the surface. However painful, this wound was not as bad as it could have been. Infection was the only complication we needed to watch for. When I was finally freed from the surgeon’s ministrations I was summoned to the central pavilion. Because of where the wound was, it hurt less to lounge against a cushion than to sit upright and cross-legged. The pavilion was much as I remembered it, down to the mock-up of the ford and its environs.
“It is good to see you still among the living,” Hengist said, clasping my hand and shaking it before I fully registered his presence. He looked to have aged a decade in the past few weeks.
“Well, Azerion hasn’t called me yet,” I said. Past Hengist, the hollow, empty expression on Lenz’s face drew my attention. He sat down next to me.
“I think I finally understand,” Lenz said.
“Understand what?” I asked.
“Why you were not excited back in Ritterblume.”
“Lenz, what occupied my mind back in Ritterblume was the possibility of things like this.” I pointed at where the wound on my side was. “I don’t think that is what is on your mind.”
Lenz shook his head. “It’s not. But this isn’t the place to talk about it.”
A general malaise of fatigue filled the pavilion as the others arrived and took seats. Gebhard was among the last to arrive. He took his customary position and looked over the rest of us. “Tabris has quit the field and taken his army with him. Stefak has not, but he has also not tried to take the ford again. If he makes a move, it will be under the cover of night. It could be an attack, or he could try to withdraw unseen. The man is no fool. He may opt to consolidate his gains in Zesrin and leave the Drakoi to their fate.”
The drinks girl stepped in and began distributing libations. I watched her, because watching Gebhard speak was not as interesting.
“If Stefak decides to make one last fight, we must be ready to face him. If not, we will have to deal with the dead and prepare to march south.” Gebhard drew in a breath. “I know his majesty wishes to bring the war to the other side of the river and deal with the Iokathran king. But if we attempted our own crossing, at this point we’d have no better success than they did.”
The drinks girl turned to a small folding table as she filled some more cups. I reached out to take the beverage she offered me. Vogel’s hand snapped about the girl’s wrist before my fingers touched the metal. Everyone’s eyes went to the suspicious man as he lifted the cup from her grip. Vogel held it out to her lips.
“Drink it,” he said.
“No, that’s the prince’s cup,” she said. I think it was the first words I heard her say.
“What did you put in it?” Vogel snapped.
“J-just wine.”
“Then you should have no trouble drinking it.” He thrust the cup towards her face again, and she kneed towards his groin. The slippery man hopped away from the knee, but released the girl’s arm in the process. She tipped the drinks table at Vogel and fled from the tent. “After her!” Vogel commanded. Several men, conditioned to obey orders, hopped up and raced after the fleeing girl. Vogel set the cup on the table in the middle of the room. “Nobody drink that. It’s poisoned.” Drawing a short blade, he hurried out and joined the chase.
“Poisoned?” I asked.
“It would explain why you were the only one in the whole camp to succumb to your fever,” Gebhard said, his eyes on the cup of wine.
“And someone has been trying to kill you,” Lenz added.
“Wait, what?” Hengist asked.
“Then we need that girl alive,” Grandmaster Straub said, heading out of the pavilion in a vain hope of catching up with the pursuit.
***
Stefak slipped away in the night, leaving Altenheim to us. There were too many dead to dig individual graves, so we opened three long trenches deep enough that the bodies would not be uncovered by the weather. Prayers were said over each trench and markers set at either end. I stood by the plinth, no shovel in my hands, feeling useless. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to Soren, but he was the only one nearby.
“Which trench is she in?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Soren said.
“What happened?”
“She collided with a squire.”
“That’s not typically fatal,” I said.
“He was cleaning his master’s equipment at the time.”
“Including the weapons.”
Soren nodded. “She was impaled, and he was distraught, but there was not a whole lot to be done at that point.”
“But she ran.”
“There was an empty vial on her person, along with another in her tent, and two full vials no one wants to drink.”
“I see.”
“The surmise is you only survived the first round of poison because you vomited most of it up. Otherwise… well, they’d probably find you your own grave rather than add you to one of the trenches.”
We fell silent, watching the ongoing mass burial by the side of the road.
“It does not feel like a victory,” I said.
“No, that it does not.”
We fell silent again, watching the bodies getting placed in the trenches. I noted there was no distinction being made over which side the fallen had fought for. Movement in the corner of my vision made me turn. It was Lenz climbing onto the plinth.
“Can we go home?” His tone and the expression on his face said the question was not being asked in jest.
“If we do, we’ll just go to a different war,” I said.
“I… I don’t want to come back to this place.”
“We’ll be marching south soon enough. Then we won’t return to Altenheim.”
“But Altenheim won’t leave me,” Lenz said. I put a hand on his shoulder and he lowered his head. “I’m all right.”
“No you’re not,” I said.
Taking hold of my wrist, but leaving my hand on his shoulder, Lenz looked up and met my gaze. After a moment he gave voice to the thought.
“Am I weak? I mean, even Johan is holding up better-”
“You’re not weak, Lenz,” I said.
He bit his lower lip and visibly debated arguing the point. In the end, he pulled away from my grip and straightened up. “I just need something to think about besides…” He left the sentence unfinished, his eyes looking off at the trenches.
“Then this is a terrible spot for it.” I turned Lenz back towards the camp and started walking. “All right, here’s a question for you. If I wanted to start raising horses with Graymire as their sire, what qualities should I be looking for in mares?”
“Well, his most remarkable quality is his energy for his size.” Lenz shook his head, “The perfect mare doesn’t exist for that. You’d have to experiment. See if the foals keep his traits or take after their dams.” Lenz looked at me. “But you knew that already.”
“Of course I did. I was trying to change the topic. Get your mind on something else.”
“It didn’t work, but I appreciate it.”
***
While Lenz’s days were haunted by what he’d seen, my nights were plagued by what I’d done. It wasn’t every time I closed my eyes, or even every night. But sooner or later the dream came along, and I was back upon the statue, or a bridge, brutally dismembering ever more helpless foes. None of my dream-enemies did anything but plead unsuccessfully for their lives. The dream would end whenever I realized it was a dream and wrenched my eyes open to stare into the darkness until fatigue took me again.
With the dead buried and the camp broken down, we marched south into Quendaverus. The Dwarfs referred to the land as the province of Quendaverus, as they maintained the fiction that all of the lands of the Old Empire were still theirs, just in rebellion. The province was named for the plateau, which spanned much of its territory.
“You speak Dwarfish.”
My attention jolted to the present. While I’d been letting my thoughts wander, Gebhard had ridden over to me and spoken. His moustache had not been waxed recently, and drooped towards his jawline. I corrected my posture.
“Was that a question?” I asked.
“Yes and no. King Hengist tells me you spoke Dwarfish to Ambassador Partanen.”
“Yes.”
“How fluent are you?”
“Conversationally.”
“Our translator has fallen septic from his injuries and may not last much longer. Even if he recovers, we still need someone who can understand the Dwarfs.”
“I speak the language, but I have to warn you my knowledge of Quendaverus etiquette and social customs is lacking.”
“That is not an issue. I don’t want you to speak, just to listen to them. Dwarfs are not prone to believing other races can speak their language, and are prone to duplicity.”
“Surely they would not plot in front of us.”
“Of course not,” Gebhard said. “But their unguarded words may give away such plots. Or at least warn us of their true opinion.”
“I think I understand,” I said. In the aftermath of the short conversation, the Knight Commander properly in charge of ‘my’ squadron was identified to take over the role I hadn’t been fulfilling too well. I headed to join the vanguard, Lenz, Johan and Soren following. It made more sense for us to stick together than have them pretend to still be part of a unit exclusively made up of Knights of Gefrah. While my mind had been otherwise occupied, we’d advanced into a patchwork of pastures and cultivated fields. The land was still quite hilly, but the road made passage easy. Neatly fitted stone walls divided the plots. Curved tiles capping these walls gave their lines a ribbed appearance. I wondered if the colors of the terra cotta tiles meant anything.[39]
It wasn’t until the road passed through an angular cleft in a ridge that I realized the road turned for no terrain feature. Running roughshod over dells and dales, and carving through hills, the road did not deviate from its designated course. That course was straight to the gate of a walled settlement. Cyclopean blocks of blue-gray granite girdled the lower reaches of the walls. Above them were alternating rows of rose-hued quartzite and pale gray schist banding the city. The regular square teeth of the battlements were capped with bright blue terra cotta tiles in much the same manner as the walls dividing up the countryside. Domes of similarly vibrant colors capped in statuary finials were all but heaped upon each other within the confines of the city. The largest dome rose from the middle of the city, a brilliant brass stained with streaks of verdigris along the seams. Its finial was a gilt statue of an armored dwarf menacing the rising sun with his halberd.
Massive wooden gates shod in iron sat closed to us. Strung across the space in front of the gates was a line of dwarfs. Each had a coat of mail that reached the knees. Affixed to the rings of the mail were small rectangles of steel plate, maybe an inch and a half by two inches each. These plates were not scales, they did not overlap, and on a few of the dwarfs, the spacing was almost farcically wide. They all had simple rounded helmets with no face covering. The beards of those who had them spilled out as if crammed into too small a space. The central figure in the line had more ornate gear, possessing a breastplate and greaves. A single red plume attached to the brow of his helmet reached above the crown of his head. All of them bore halberds.
“Halt, the whole lot of you savages,” the fancy guard bellowed. I presumed he was the leader of the gate contingent. It was oddly predictable how that sort of thing went. Ignorant of the language, Gebhard continued riding forward. The guards’ halberds were lowered confrontationally, and Gebhard raised a fist to stop the column.
Gebhard addressed the dwarfs in volkssprache. “I am Erbprinz Gebhard Freinmarkt-Ziegeberg, here at the invitation of your Emperor-”
“I don’t understand any of your babbling,” the gate captain said. Turning his head to the side, he bellowed, “Doru, get someone who understands dog-talk.” A figure on top of the wall motioned in the affirmative and disappeared. I turned to Gebhard.
“He’s sent for a translator,” I said.
“I guessed as much.”
“He does not have a high opinion of us.”
“I could tell.”
“Do you know what city this is?”
“Why? Do you have some relevant fact?”
“Quite the opposite,” I said. “I asked because I don’t know what city this is.”
“On my map, it’s listed as Oakenyoke.”
I frowned. That was not a Dwarfish name. Then I realized it was likely translated into volkssprache. I had never heard of Oakenyoke, either by that name, or in any of the probable Dwarfish variations.[40] Then again, I was the same fool who didn’t know Zesrin had a border with Quendaverus.
My descent into potential self-castigation was arrested by the boom of beams being removed from the other side of the gate. With a groan that shook my bones, the massive doors began swinging open. Waifish figures in diaphanous, silver-threaded silk scattered white flower petals upon the ground before an advancing palanquin. The palanquin bearers were human youths in white tunics and short brown trousers. Their faces were obscured by bronze masks cast in expressions of joyous worship. The palanquin frame was made of iridescent opalwood set with garnets and chased in bronze. A white silk sun canopy extended over the figure lounging upon the satin cushions. The figure pretended to be seated in relaxed repose, but his amber eyes darted appraisingly over our column. The braids of his black beard only reached as far as the bronze pectoral hanging about his neck. Each braid ended in a garnet-encrusted ringlet. A single bronze cable wrapped about his upper arm, it’s end fashioned into the head of a serpent.
“Foreigners,” he said, “I am Archilogos Jaska Bedros. You have come to this city in an armed host and insulted my Duke. What say you in your defense?” Most dwarfs fluent in volksspache over-emphasized the guttural aspects of the language, and tended to growl their sentences. It was perfectly comprehensible that way. Bedros spoke it in a very breathy, glottal manner, making it almost seem like a different tongue entirely.
“I am Erbprinz Gebhard Freinmarkt-Ziegeberg, I have been invited by your Emperor. I have a sealed oath of aid from his subjects.” Gebhard produced a gold-capped, ivory scroll case with ornately carved faces. Bedros didn’t even glance at the proffered document.
“My Emperor? He is the Emperor of all, including the lesser races.”
“Your trade is words, so quibble all you wish, but the fact remains – he invited me and swore aid for my journey. I require quarters for my men, stables for my horses, and supplies for my journey.”
“That’s nice,” Bedros said, picking imaginary lint from his beard and waggling his fingers into the breeze. “You will get neither quarters nor stables. Your army will not set foot within the walls of this city. If my Duke wishes to present you with tokens of goodwill, that is his decision. But if you cross this threshold, you will be regarded as hostile.”
“Then tell your Duke I am here.”
Bedros uttered his first oath in Dwarfish, “Gods preserve us.” He shook his head and resumed speaking volkssprache, “I am an Archilogos. That is not my job.”
I nudged Graymire into a slow walk forward.
“Where are you going?” Bedros snapped.
“If you will not act as your Duke’s messenger and inform him of our presence, I will act as Gebhard’s messenger instead.”
“You cannot simply barge into the palace and expect to meet with his Grace. Especially not… armed!”
Gebhard laughed. “Archilogos, this is easily solved.”
“I will have a messenger dispatched to his Grace,” Bedros said, bristling. With a snap of his fingers, he ordered the palanquin back into motion. It turned about and headed into the city. The waifs hurried to get in front of it and scatter their petals. The gates boomed shut, and the beams were set back into place. Gebhard motioned back at the split ridge.
“We set up camp on that hill. It should be out of range of anything they have on these walls.”
[39] The colors signify whose lands are contained by the wall in question. It aids the often absentee landlords in finding their own plots when they emerge from their cities to visit.
[40] It was actually mistranslated. The city in question is Polyarotron, more accurately translated as ‘Many plows,’ which is why Prince Kord had difficulty figuring out the proper city name. How it became known as Oakenyoke baffles me.
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
another enjoyable episode
I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Ostensibly just an attempt to distract Lenz, but I like to think it hints a warming of his attitude toward that damn horse.
…and Lenz is finally figuring out that war ain’t all dramatic slo-mo charges with a soaring soundrack.
Agreed. I think UCS did a good job depicting that loss of naivety.
People react differently when they meet reality. I try to keep them as human as I can.
Your Dwarfs are more than a little non-traditional, in my opinion. I like it.
A little bit of me hopes Kord insults the pompous one by referring to him as a ‘Dorf’.
I cribbed a lot of ‘dying empire’ vibes from a few real-world civilizations. The context their current civilization exists in doesn’t support the archtypical dwarf. Somewhere in the distant past, they might have resembled the archetype closer, but it’s been a few thousand years and societies change.
Elaborating on my statement from earlier. LED flashlights and other uses for leds are great (*), but they’re new designs not replacing an incandescent bulbs in existing designs. LED bulbs are overly complicated and expensive compared to incandescent bulbs. Just like fake meats trying to replicate real meat by chemical stew.
*leds in automotive applications are too often pure crap, by designers who never drive behind their crap
** even if Trump repeals FJB’s incandescent bans (or low flow toilets), it’s too late. Incandescent factories are shut down. They’re not coming back. One way ratchet won again.
Until people start importing them from places that did not ban incandescent bulbs, and retool factories if it’s financially fertile.
I like LED blubs as I have an older house. I replaced all of the wiring when we moved in, but there are some long, weird wire runs, so I like to stress the system as little as possible.
I disagree. I am pleased with the LED lights but flashlights have a problem as old as time. I cannot understand why it appears to be insurmountable: switches.
WTH? No one can make a goddamned switch that works? That doesnt make the light blink or go out if you move it just so so? Is this a law of nature? Some loophole in the physical laws of the universe? How about an on/off switch that. you click once and every time you hit it the light comes on or goes off? No strobes, high, low, fast strobe, slow strobe. I have one I have to click 6 times from on to off, when it works.
WHAT THE HELL? CANT ANYONE MAKE A SOLID, RELIABLE SWITCH?!
Mr. Suthen – you may want to check outside. There appear to be some youngsters congregating on your lawn.
Here you go Suthen On and off. No fancy settings.
Yeah, I’m fine with LEDs too. I haven’t crunched the numbers but I did get a discounted case of them from the utility some years ago.
lol
Anything Donald repeals will simply be reinstated on day one by Next Democrat. It is the nature of American government now. Yay us.
Maglites are still a thing, it these new fangled, compact, and efficient lights irritate you so.
https://www.amazon.com/MagLite-ML300L-2-Cell-Display-Black/dp/B00O47Q3HO
Just got here. I swear by LED Lenser from Japan. You will not have switch issues. They do not leak current and drain either. This one has a great focus system for up close. Just under $20.
https://a.co/d/40XbYxU
When we moved into our house 2 years ago I replaced the ceiling lights with an LED version. We lost about half of them from a power surge this year.
I installed LED Cobb lights in my barn this spring. 2 of the 4 have already failed.
I’m not a fan of LED. Complex, expensive and fragile compared to incandescent.
I prefer the color of the blue-white light from LEDs, versus the brown light I see from incandescents. I hate the failure rate of the LEDs. Some of them were literally too heavy for their own construction and separated from the base in the socket.
I had wondered whether the earlier drink had been poisoned. There seemed to be something missing between the scene when the girl fled and then she’s suddenly dead in a trench.
Aloysious:
“A little bit of me hopes Kord insults the pompous one by referring to him as a ‘Dorf’.”
I suspect Kord & Company aren’t interested in a last stand against overwhelming odds.
True.
I’m just curious as to how UCS would write a scenario like that.
😏
No spoilers.
I’m more curious as to how he’d write a sex scene.
@ TED Here’s two:
From Beyond the Edge of the Map
And a sneak peek at On Unknown Shores
Now if you meant an explicit scene rather than a fade to black, well, that would be awful. Not sure if funny awful, or just awful awful, but it would not be good.
Please try, and be sure to use both “manhood”, “bodice”, and “flower”. I will pay you $20.
🤔
I don’t know if
A: I should accept the challenge.
B: If I should go for the most serious or the most absurd interpretation of the challenge
C: Ether Nick will pay out.
D: Where to deliver.
The Cowboys are pathetic.
Oh boo hoo hoo.
This is news?
The new hotness: Digiornio Thanksgiving Izza.
Selling points are that it has green beans, cranberries and a gravy like sauce. The best part is the Detroit style crust.
Just for the record, no I won’t buy it for$10.
🤢
Green beans are only palatable if thoroughly coated with cheese sauce or golden mushroom soup, and they must be canned, not frozen. Hard pass.
Although if my BIL hasn’t recovered from his post-election meltdown by Thanksgiving, we may take a miss on going to their house for the holiday dinner…
Oh, no! Green beans and Lamb are one of the great culinary wonders!
A little onion and tomato over rice and you got some good eating. https://yulinkacooks.blogspot.com/2006/07/green-beans-with-ground-lamb.html
I do not like green beans and lamb,
I will not eat them, Zwak-I-Am.
@ Ted S.
Sigh, let’s try that again:
@Ted S.: *rousing ovation*
Agreed. That’s stellar. *bravo*
Had a bit of lamb with green beans and potatoes last night. It was also stellar.
I would try it and I might not even pick the beans off. Green beans are one of the less objectionable beans.
Green Bean Hotdish is the best part of Thanksgiving. Fight me!
Also…
Jimbo, that’s not even part of Thanksgiving.
Also, the best way to prepare green beans is in garlic herb butter.
I assume that’s Minnesodan for green bean casserole with the fried onions and mushroom soup. If so, you’re not entirely wrong, but… pumpkin pie! 🥧
Yeah… green beans are much better fresh ans sautéed as noted.
But as casseroles go, that one is less objectionable.
Our can’t miss hot dish of that variety is a corn casserole based on jiffy cornbread.
That one never fails.
UCS:
You are correct for fresh green beans. Like GT said above, GBHD can only be made with canned green beans. It is really the only way those can be made edible.
You people and your continued efforts to gaslight me into thinking there is some crazy food called a casserole. I didn’t fall off the sugar beet truck yesterday!
It could be. My Mom’s is pretty much mush.
It sure could be elevated.
I don’t dare try, though.
Other people have: https://www.thepalatablelife.com/elevated-green-bean-casserole/
Not sure my home crowd could be persuaded
PON – one simple green bean casserole upgrade is golden mushroom soup instead of mere cream of mushroom. Also, there’s no such thing as too many French fried onions.
/points out the Thanksgiving Dinner pierogi in my freezer right now
Melt traditionally did a Thanksgiving Dinner sandwich with stuffing, turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, and cranberry chutney.
What is in the “Thanksgiving Dinner” pierogi?
What time should I be there, I’ll bring beer.
What is in the “Thanksgiving Dinner” pierogi?
Maize and chopped up bits of Indians? Oops, I meant Guardians (before PC Neph can correct me).
This is why we are having turkey pot pie for t-day.
Bitcoin is over $81k. Damn.
Shoulda held on to those i had at 70 cents…..
The restaurant has ‘Where Is My Mind?” playing.
Now followed by “Psycho Killer”.
No complaints.
Stupid actress I had a crush on when I was a teen makes political declarations:
“I do not care about political teams. I’m merely in favor of each individual freely living a life however they want, without impairing any other individual from freely living their own life”
Stupid Hollywood hacks telling us what to….. wait. Hold up. That sounds like us….
https://x.com/JustineBateman/status/1855777663127863631
I feel like we are having an Alice’s Restaurant moment, except for liberty instead of anti-draft.
I can’t even tell what her politics actually are.
She is a delight.
I can’t believe Mallory is the conservative…
Just a reaction to finding out her mom is a lesbian.
Thanksgiving dinner saver
BJs wholesale has a special, spend $150 all in one go and get a free Butterball turkey.
My old business partner would complain about how bad his m-i-l was as a cook and how bad the food at T-giving was. One year, he won one of those “complete T-giving meal” deals in a raffle. So he brought it to the inlaws and everyone was so happy.
Since then (and it has been at least 15 years now) he has “won” another meal every year. Everyone is so happy with the charade that they have not questioned this run of luck at all.
The hard part of a big meal like that is the timing.
I can cook each individual element well, but I can’t orchestrate it so that they’re allready to eat at the same time.
lol
My mom bless her heart was not an amazing cook… or was she? Her Thanksgiving dinners were spectacular.
I was sad when I realized I had become a better cook than my mother was.
It was more of a blow to my memories of childhood than an objectively sad moment. The difference is I keep trying to do more and expand my skills, which I don’t think she kept up much at all.
My mom raised four boys largely on her own after 1973 so I cut her a lot of slack on the cooking front. I can totally understand if she just didn’t have it in her to come up with something great more than a few times a year.
One of the big surprises after my parents divorce was that my father was a better and more adventurous cook than my mother.
Zwak:
When we were still pretty little my mom decided she hated cooking (she was a very good cook) so she stopped. My dad was a better cook and enjoyed it, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.
We grew up associating food and comfort to my dad. When he was away on some hunting or fishing trip my sister and I would joke about needing to forage for food on our own.
Blow jobs for $150??
That free turkey better be a big ass-turkey.
Have a crime show on for background noise. The case is one where they found burned bodies in a torched RV. In one of the “foresnsics stuff” cutaway shots they have someone dusting a skeleton for fingerprints. (It’s one of those supposedly true crime shows with documentary-esque elements, rather than a narrative mystery show)
UCS: You don’t know! Maybe the killer kept pressing his thumb on the skeleton in an attempt to tell when it was medium rare?!
“Someone removed the skeleton and replaced it with an exact replica!
That sounds like some real skullduggery there!
I hope the forensic diverse person said, ‘I have a bone to pick with you.’
(•_•)
( •_•)>⌐■-■
(⌐■_■)
YEAAAAAHHHHHHH!
@ Slumbrew: Damn. I’m sorry it took a sec and then, yes, *I* did get it. Modern hieroglyphics work. I legit laughed.
That was a fine sample, y’all. Slick.
Beware those serving wenches! Back then and now. Crazy Karens are plotting to poison men now post the election. Luckily I cannot afford to go drink and a bar and get poisoned.
I guess we’ll have to use an alternate plan.
https://youtu.be/3EkF_vZKQzY?si=PfikN5hBLJeZ_zg1
My favorite one op is the woman encouraging wives to sneak some estrogen-like hormone into their husbands drink so they they might become sterilized.
I made the Alton Brown Aged Eggnog recipe today, thanks to someone (Neph? not sure) pointing to it about a week ago. Luckily no one filmed, since I didn’t have a mixing bowl big enough (well, I have a bowl big enough, but then I can’t pour it), and the shenanigans of pouring three different bowls around to mix everything must’ve been Comedy! Eggnog is now safely tucked into the garage fridge to await christmas. The Appleton Jamaican Rum we got for it is pretty tasty. Never had it before. Now I have twelve egg whites to do something with.
Our plans for Thanksgiving are to go meet our kid up in Seatle, then have a late one I make here on Sunday with my mom and SIL’s family that’s nearby. If anyone has a rec for a Seattle restaurant, lmk. I’ve already done the Yelp thing the last two years.
RC Dean is a devotee, as I recall. And maybe Neph too
Might I suggestmeringue cookies?
If you don’t like them, I’ll eat them for you at great sacrifice to my health.
pistoffnick’s Minnesoda rifle opener deer camp update:
Only 3 of us this year.
Beef Stroganoff for Fridee night. It Slayed. Everyone had seconds.
Satdee Eggs, precooked bacon (the host doesn’t want to smell like bacon in the field), and hashbrowns. I made myself a hashbrown and cheese sandwich (my little brother ordered this after every church service in our youth)
Competitive Blokus games. Loser drinks a shot of Fireball.
The boys who hunted (I opted out this year) both shot bucks before 7:30 on opening day.
Lunch was Colorado green chili and Texas Red (no fucking beans!) with rice and Krusteze corn muffins. Brownies for desert. Much heartburn after.
Satdee Dinner was lasagna, with salad and dinner buns. Everybody had seconds.
Competitive ring toss games. 2 Live Crew on the radio. Competitive 456 dice games. Loser drinks a shot of Fireball.
Sundee morning was late because the boys already got their deers. The biscuits and gravy sold out.
Sundee lunch was marshed patatas with Mississippi pot roast and dinner rolls. Very good!
Watched the Vikings squeaked by.
All in all, a good weekend.
I warned them that next year I expect to make them Guinea pigs for new dishes.
The chilis gave everyone heartburn. THAT is going to be the first change.
Welcome to old(er) age.
Those batches of chili would have been better with the addition of my peppers.
Weather could not have been better. We went 1 for 2, I didn’t see anything but I have 2 more weeks to sitting. Weather looks good for this time of year.
Weather was pretty medium for us (9 miles north of 4score).
We’ve had years where the snow was 3 feet thick.
We’ve had years where it was too hot to hunt in t- shirts.
/I prefer the t-shirt weather
/bring on the climate change! Bucks are still horny!
I thought they were antlery
The range was aged 2 (spike buck, at least 3 inches) to 4 points (at least 3 years old) for us this year.
The two Altar Boys got skunked, but the other person in our hunting party shot a doe and a spike buck. The other guy is the landowner who wants to keep hunting so he told the Boys to take the two deer and he’d keep hunting.
I told them to hold some venison in reserve, so if by some insane set of circumstances he doesn’t fill his tag, they could fill his larder.
This man right here knows how to eat chili.
Good morning you wild and crazy peoples!
🌄☕🤪🖖
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=dfi83HLLE8A
🎶🎶
Good morning, Sean and Suthen!
https://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2024/11/arizona-counties-pima-yuma-now-cochise-mechanical-malfunction/
Chain the doors and lock the bathrooms until all ballots are counted on election day. This is bullshit.
Does anyone ever pay a price for these shenaningans?
I hear about this kind of stuff but no one ever seems to know who is in charge, who is responsible and the descriptions about what is actually happening is always vague.
Same for the NGO’s and their various schemes. No one ever seems interested in finding out the details. Maybe congress could form a committee to design a team to put together an investigation for a plan to study an investi…..never mind.
I am reminded of my English friend Phil. What happened to your empire Phil?
“You’ll see.”
Yes, I do now.