I didn’t like the thought of wearing a dead man’s armor, but mine had several key pieces broken beyond repair. While the armorers adjusted it to fit my frame, I insisted they add a gorget to prevent someone else from doing to me what I’d done to Marcel. With the thickness of the dwarf plate and the weight of the individual pieces, I was convinced it would crush me. Instead, it was lighter on my body than in my hand. It didn’t take long to realize everything else I picked up was lighter as well. Marcel’s impressive strength had not been just from his muscle, but from his armor as well. That was not the last secret the armor held, as I discovered when I donned the helmet. Whether by magic, or the cunning use of optical lenses, the eyepieces of the helm projected upon the silvered interior an image of the peripheral vision stolen by the protective plate. It was almost seamless with the span seen directly through the crystal. From this side, it wasn’t even tinged blue.
Both the gaudy sword and Otto’s gift were in need of new blades due to the damage they took fighting the lindwyrm. They went into my luggage with the ruin of my tournament armor. My luggage was getting rather crowded. On my harness of blades, I replaced the fancy weapons with the simpler versions Zeelan had sold me in Farcairn. They were functional enough.
It would be impossible to tell how much unofficial plunder was taken from the Drakoi camp and the looting of Kydessa. The official plunder was divided among everyone who was there. Dwarfs didn’t ride horses, but knew humans valued them. We seized a good many horses, and the bulk of our share was equine. I was convinced there wasn’t a man in our army who had to walk. The extra horses I got were not of the light Drakoi breed. As best as we could tell, they had been sent as gifts from Stefak, so they were tall, sturdy chargers. Both were mares, one pure black, the other pure white. Neither was as tall as Graymire, but what horse was[48]? It did mean that I could rotate horses and didn’t have to slog along on foot for any of the trek. We took a different route back, one that had not already fed an army. Thankfully, procuring provisions was the job of the dwarfs.
Two days march from the Ironblood Spill, we came to the fork in the road. The council of war was held in the same tent where we’d argued strategies before Altenheim and consisted of many of the same men. I tried not to dwell on the notable absences as I stood in Gebhard’s place.
“Noble sirs,” I said quietly, still managing to get their attention. “I’m afraid this is the juncture where I can no longer continue with the army.”
“You’ve been less than clear on that,” Blutenblatte said.
“The dwarfs are insistent that the army proceed out of their territory with all due alacrity. They are equally insistent that I proceed to Kheimopolis and have an audience with their emperor. We are close enough to the edge of the Volkmund, and in good enough order that we should be able to complete the crossing without incident.”
“Why does the emperor want to see you?” Hengist asked.
“It was a standing order for whoever dispatched Marcel. It’s likely to be ‘thank you, goodbye’.”
“I want to go with you. I need his help with Stefak, and it’s hard enough to get an audience when I still have my kingdom in hand.”
“All right, I’ll see how many people they’ll let me take. I doubt they expect me to be alone anyway.” I looked at my drink, but it conjured up bad memories in this tent, so I didn’t take a sip. “Grandmaster Straub, once you’re back across the border, get your men back to Gefrah to recuperate and rearm. Once I have reached Stirnberg, I will send for you, and I need you to be ready.”
Straub nodded, but Appelblum spoke up.
“Are you planning another war?”
“Yes. I am going to reclaim my lands from one who would usurp the Iron Diadem.”
“If your lands are overrun, what are you doing here?” Grunwald asked.
“I had hoped to gain the aid of Freinmarkt-Ziegeberg, as the Herzog was a friend of my father. I couldn’t even ask before we ended this war.”
The room fell silent, and I found the courage to sip from my cup.
“Anyway, this army will continue west without me. Once across the Ironblood Spill, you are free to make your own ways home.”
***
Eight. The dwarfs permitted me a party of eight, including myself. Naturally, I took Lenz, Soren, and Johan. I sent Volwin west and wished him well. He had his life and a Drakoi horse, and I hoped to never see him again. Hengist brought Lothar and Andrei Banik, and Vogel of all people. The sibilant sneak simply smiled and said he was still in the king’s service. Separated from the army and surrounded by hundreds of dwarf legionnaires, I felt more like a prisoner than a feted guest. The road marched as unerringly as ever through the foothills as it had in more level terrain. Causeways and tunnels bored through the landscape without regard for ravine or mountain.
However much dwarfs and humans had in common, there was a marked difference in base mentality. Humans were drawn to water, dwarfs were drawn to mountains. The important cities of every human realm were situated on a river or shore, but dwarfs obstinately built in what struck me as the worst places possible. Kheimopolis was buried deep in the canyons of the mountains running along the southern edge of Quendaverus. The hills and cliffs flanking the approach to the city had been carved into colossal statuary over the centuries. The style and size varied from statue to statue, with smaller pieces tucked in wherever they would fit. Several had been abandoned partly complete, showing how the dwarfs carved the art from the head down. The stern visages looked more irate when attached to a head and shoulders only partly emerging from the ground. Outposts, villages and fortified manorial houses crowded the flat ground created from the tumbled down talus of the monumental art.
The Legionary fortresses where we stopped to rest and resupply struck me as empty husks. Hollow shells undermanned and overextended. If properly defended, they might be as hard to crack as Castle Gefrah, but the legions were gutted, faded echoes of their previous strength. The thick walls might remain standing, but there was simply too much to defend. That would explain why Marcel thought he had a chance to win in his rebellion.
To say Kheimopolis climbed up the back wall of the canyon would be wrong. Kheimopolis was the back wall of the canyon. Cut into the living rock, with the excised material used to build up its towers and walls, it sprouted from the landscape like a glowering temple relief. Tall, angular structures with an aesthetic that matched their colossal statuary and runic script filled in the upper tiers of the city. Along the floor of the canyon in between sat dome-roofed buildings similar to those in Oakenyoke. The road passed through gargantuan gates and became a broad processional boulevard between stone legionnaires a hundred feet tall. Each statue was depicted in an archaic style of armor more akin to the ceremonial plate of the lictor or Lawspeaker.
Our entry into the city was interrupted by a single figure in black armor. The Lawspeaker held up a hand and challenged Archelaus. “In whose glory do you return?”
“The Emperor and Empire,” the Protoarchistratigos said.
“Have you forgotten your duty to the gods? Turn back and honor them.”
“I shall make my offerings, and return.”
As the entire column turned, I rode closer to Ambassador Partanen.
“What was that?”
“Just an old tradition. A reminder to triumphant generals that they serve many powers higher than themselves.” He made a dismissive gesture. “It’s nothing unexpected.” Something about the Ambassador’s tone made me wonder if he wasn’t telling me everything. Our column headed away from the city for a few miles before stopping at a walled enclosure we’d passed earlier in the day. Like the city, it contained a mix of architectures, with older, runic structures sitting eave to eave with newer dome-roofed buildings. Dwarf priests with unbraided beards and simple robes directed us to our lodgings within the compound. As far as I could tell, it was a monastery. Like the legionary fortresses, the beds were too short to accommodate us, and I was stuck with a bedroll on the floor. I didn’t have much of a chance to settle in before I was disturbed by Soren’s arrival.
“What is it?”
“Am I the only one who gets the impression that the dwarfs are not telling us something?”
“You are not alone,” I said.
“Any idea what it might be?”
“Probably something to do with dwarven politics. What has you on edge? Something in particular that bothers you?”
“I’m hearing that we’re not going to be allowed to bring weapons into the city.”
“Hardly surprising,” I said.
“I doubt Kirchner and Knochenmus have given up on getting rid of you. Being defenseless is a bad idea.”
“And if we get caught with weapons, the dwarfs will treat us very poorly indeed.”
***
We were stuck at the monastery for several days, doing nothing but sparring and polishing up our gear. Ambassador Partanen arranged for us to be provided with new tabards, free from the rips and stains of battle. It was the first time I’d worn the Raven Coast Roc with the background blue running from shoulder to knees. I tried not to laugh at the fact that poor Ritter was again stuck with the incorrect livery he’d worn at Farcairn. A small chuckle did escape me, but I don’t think he heard it. Equally polished and shining, the legion representatives formed up and we began the march back to Kheimopolis. Helmets under our arms, we approached the gate again. This time, no lawspeaker barred our passage.
With a proud bearing, and his scarred visage stoic, Archelaus led the procession into the city. Drifts of flower petals thrown from rooftops filled the air over my head and those of the dwarven soldiery around me. Behind the parade of legion representatives came the wagons laden with choice plunder, and the chained Drakoi prisoners. Throngs of city dwarfs, fat and comfortable in over-decorated palanquins, cheered us on. Surrounded by their slaves and freed from any real labors, they basked in the vicarious glories of the legion’s exploits. I kept my expression impassive. However much their society had fallen, Quendaverus could still pour forth a sea of gold to buy whatever army they wanted. I wondered how much our services had been sold for.
Bearded and bejeweled courtiers lined the long staircase at the end of the processional way. Each had their own cloud of lesser hangers-on. The further up the stairs they stood, the more littered they were with gems and jewelry. They glimmered in the midday sun as we ascended towards the imposing arch of the Imperial Palace. Porphyry columns wrapped in gold ivy held up the footings of the peaked structure. Within the curve of the arch, a brilliantly colored frieze drew the eye back down to the door – a thirty foot tall door clad in gold and embossed with reliefs extolling dwarven greatness. Figures I mistook for lictors due to the gilded hue of their ceremonial plate opened this gate before we came close enough to demand entry. A long courtyard lined in gilt-ivy-wrapped columns stood before us, another gilded gate at the far end.
With a glance around, I determined that we’d traded the wagons, prisoners, and the bulk of the legionnaires for the jeweled courtiers and their cronies. My sabatons rang on the mosaic walkway across the courtyard, a sound incongruent with the synchronized footfalls of the legion and the soft susurrations of the courtiers’ slippers. To match their speed, I couldn’t match their cadence, and the acoustic difference was jarring. The sound was only accentuated when we passed through the second gate into an enclosed hall. This space was clad in silver, with murals wrought from semiprecious stones layering the walls. Light spilling in through stained-glass windows gleamed off the walls and murals, making the chamber feel brighter than the daylight outside.
The splendid decadence of the hall paled in comparison to the throne room. Here, platinum ivy wrapped around honey-hued marble columns while the walls were clad in gold. Where the hall had murals in semiprecious stone, here the imagery was spelled out in true gems, each a fortune in itself. The floor was a single massive mosaic with tesserae so tiny that I could barely distinguish those at my feet from those around them. It formed a painting in stone that would have been a singular marvel were it not surrounded by the walls and vaulted ceiling of gem-murals. On a dais raised above the level of even my head sat the ivory and starmetal throne of the dwarf Emperor.
A line of gilt-armored Throneguard separated us from the foot of the dais’ stair. Their golden-hued armor was in the archaic dwarven style of the lictors and Lawspeakers, all angles and runic inscriptions. Each held a halberd in his left hand and had several axes on his belt. Their bearded masks only drew my attention to the lack of facial hair underneath. Upon his throne, Emperor Anastasios Nurmi the Eighteenth sat with eyes closed, his white beard all but invisible behind the array of jewels clasped to it. He gleamed as much as his throne room, ringed hands and braceleted arms resting upon his lap.
Archelaus fell to one knee, and I followed his example. The rest of our procession, including the courtiers, did the same. A pall of silence fell over the throne room as we waited for the Emperor to speak. As no sound came, the assembled crowd held their breath. Was the Emperor asleep? He looked pretty old, even for a dwarf. Who would dare wake him?
The voice that broke the silence came not from the throne, but from behind it.
“Protoarchistratigos Archelaus, your long service to the Empire is commended, but you have sullied it with your recent actions. Your reliance on mercenaries – savages no less – has undermined the Empire and its institutions. You are to be stripped of your post pending trial for sedition.” The speaker strode out from behind the throne and into full view. He wore the black armor of a Lawspeaker, save for the fact that the edges of every plate were chased in gold. Two more Lawspeakers in the classic black stood behind him.
“Arch-lawspeaker,” Archelaus said, “That is a matter for the Emperor to decide.”
“Ah, but I am now Interrex, as I fear Anastasios Nurmi is dead.” Reaching out, the Arch-lawspeaker gently nudged the Emperor’s shoulder. Anastasios’ head rolled forward and landed in his hands, revealing the clean stump it had been resting on. A collective gasp shot through the room. “Kill these savage mercenaries and throw Archelaus in the dungeons.” I dropped my helmet onto my head as the Throneguards advanced in unison.
“You have one chance to correct this mistake, Lawspeaker,” I said.
“Silence, human!”
The Throneguard must have been accustomed to immediate acquiescence, as they approached too close without bringing their halberds to the ready.[49] Seizing the wrist of the closest one, I delivered a gauntleted fist to his helmet. With his brain rattling around inside his skull, I grabbed his head in both hands and twisted it almost completely around.[50] The pop of separating vertebrae echoed through the throne room. The Lawspeakers and other Throneguards took a half step backward in surprise as I snatched up his falling halberd. Blocking a strike from one Throneguard with one end of the weapon, I took the knee out from under another with the butt end. I spun out of the way of a third and slammed the spiked tip of my halberd through the eye lens of the one I’d parried.
Pandemonium ripped through the throne room as courtiers fled for their lives, the Lawspeakers shuffled behind the throne, and the legionnaires looked to Archelaus for orders. I paid no attention to what the Protoarchistratigos was yelling at me as I brought the axe head of the halberd around to decapitate the Throneguard I’d tripped before he could regain his feet. Lenz snatched up a fallen halberd and covered my back, fending off hostile dwarfs. Swatting aside a downstroke, I kicked the third Throneguard away from me. He charged as I dropped into a crouch, and I speared him with the tip of the halberd. Plucking an axe off the belt of a downed Throneguard, I snarled at the throne.
“Lawspeaker! Azerion curses regicides!”
“I speak for Azerion!” the Arch-lawspeaker bellowed back, leaning out to be heard clearly. Whipping the axe overhead, I hurled it at the black-armored dwarf. I saw him start to flinch back as the rune-emblazoned weapon tumbled end over end through the air. The bit smashed through the beard of dangling metal diamonds and sank into the root of his neck. The Arch-lawspeaker clutched at the spurt of arterial crimson as he fell back behind the throne.
“Go see if he agrees,” I said.
“We can’t stay here,” Hengist called, having acquired his own halberd to fend off hostile Throneguard. Vogel slipped between dwarfs to deliver thin blades under armor plates with a speed and fluidity that said he was familiar with dismantling heavily armored foes. I can only assume he’d smuggled the weapons in on his person.
“Clearly,” I agreed. With a crushing downstroke, I cleft the shoulder of another Throneguard, but snapped the haft of my halberd in the middle. I ripped the head free and wielded it like a hand axe, with the butt end held as a baton in my off hand to parry with. Only we’d run out of attackers. The Throneguard were either dead or fled, and the stampede of courtiers had cleared the throne room. Of the lawspeakers, there was no sign. “Which way?” I asked.
“If we go out the front, the legion will swarm us,” Vogel said. “I spotted a servants’ entrance over there.” He gestured with a dagger, blood dripping from its tip.
[48] This was true at the time, but Graymire would sire an even taller stallion, Mistborn.
[49] At this point, the Throneguard had become a relatively safe posting for ambitious young nobles who wanted to gild their laurels with military service, but didn’t want to risk actual battles. Their martial traditions had become somewhat atrophied over the centuries.
[50] Without Marcel’s armor, Prince Kord almost certainly would have lacked the strength to break a dwarf’s neck this easily.
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
Any update on when the excerpt will show what we set in the article instead of skimming the start of the test? I get that this is a wordpress issue and not the most pressing one, but I noticed that it wasn’t what I’d put in the manual excerpt field.
Work around idea: invisible small point text at the start of the article that is the blurb you really wanted.
A: They’re all already scheduled so I can’t exit them, B: I’m not sure if I could get the current editor to obey, C: I’m not sure the length of the auto-excerpt would be the same as the manual.
But mostly A.
*can’t edit them.
Just like comments.
I was hoping someone would get a sword in their gob, but a halberd in the neck works just as good.
Anyone in particular, or just action?
Action.
I’m in a mood.
Also, I like the magic armor… armour… Kord is a TANK.
Which they did anyway.
To be fair, he didn’t know this was coming.
Soren turned out to be right to worry, but for the wrong reason.
Something tells me the others haven’t given up yet either.
One of the things about writing this chapter is that I managed to get an organic one-liner situation. Those are so rare.
Thanks UCS.
OT – Jimmy Carter just died. He and Biden being neck and neck for worst presidents of my lifetime.
I was born during Reagan’s tenure, so I have no strong opinions on Jimmy other than as historical reflection.
I was a kid. I just remember the malaise and the adults around me. Regan was like a weight was lifted.
I’m in Panama this week. They seem to like Carter here given how many times I saw his image in various museums and exhibitions in the last few days.
I’ve already driven twice from the Pacific to the Atlantic coast and back.
Was thinking of you reading this today.
https://www.dw.com/en/russia-man-accused-of-organizing-lgbtq-tours-dies-in-jail/a-71181424
Not that I thought this was you.
Hard to believe that what the guy did could violate any of the actual Russian laws. Yet he was arrested. And if asked, Putin would again repeat that homosexuality isn’t illegal, only its propaganda (to children) is.
It’s been awhile since I was in Panama – 15 years-ish. I liked it there – the people were very chill and friendly. Panama City was kind of a craphole, and the boonies were still kind of third world, but it was beautiful and, like I said, the people were good.
These days Panama City is rather nice. Sure, there are a few slum areas but they don’t define the city. Some call it–quite deservingly–Little Miami. Skyscrapers, restaurants, holiday decorations, reasonably clean.
But never visit Colon, the second largest city. Nothing but a slum.
https://x.com/HistoryBoomer/status/1873524581723718133/photo/1
I have no strong opinions on him. I vaguely remember the malaise but he was gone when I was 11.
Obama and Biden… hoo I will piss on their graves if I get the chance.
I am still enjoying the story. I look forward to the next installment.
😃👍
We’re home. I am a little trembly and my chest wall still hurts, but otherwise, we are only a tidge worse for wear.
Good to hear it.
Good to hear you’re home.
LBJ was the evil one for whom I couldn’t wait until he died.
I’m pouring one out tonight for Jimmy. In my belly. Tomorrow I will find a patch of hallowed ground, and promptly piss out the drink I had tonight.
Have some peanuts, too.
Watch out for attack rabbits, Spud.
They’re mean.
Fun reading, thanks. Happy everything to everyone.
From ded thred:
No tipped wage here, yet tip culture is just as strong. Result is waitresses making a career of waitressing and doing quite well.
Tokyo apartment prices- the weak yen is depressing the dollar rate. But Tokyo is a big place. You can get cheap apartments. They’re going to be either in poor condition or way the fuck out with hideous commutes. Or both.
If I had to do apartment living again, I’d still rather do it in Japan than in the US, even with garbage day, neighbors, and the NHK rats.
I think far more people live in “mansions” so apartment etiquette and issues have more solutions.
Two of my three Japanese friends in Japan live in apartments.
In context, what counts as a quote “mansion” /quote?
Masonry, higher end, higher square footage and amenities like elevators in apartment buildings in Japan are usually called “mansions”.
Smaller less luxurious and possibly non masonry constructed multi residential buildings are named apartments.
Both use the borrowed English words, but with different meanings from English.
I figured something like that was at play. Thank you.
Another exciting chapter. 👍
Nah, it’s just Dwarf politics. Always a dull moment.
😉
Until they dig too greedily, and too deep.
Anything about dwarves I would expect to be….shorter
What you did there. It was seen.
Carter was a bad president.
But Obama did far more damage to the country.
This. So much this.
Carter was an incompetent that didnt have the tools at his disposal that Obama did, after he weaponized various agencies.
I doubt Jimmy had any malice; Obama is evil. Jimmy should have stuck to peanut ranching.
Then again, he did greenlight the departments of Energy and Education.
Peanut ranching?
Is that like a dental floss tycoon?
Free-range, non-GMO, humanely-slaughtered, peanuts
HEY YUFUS!
Please pardon the O/T: From the Department of Dubious Achievements of Which the Achiever is Inexplicably Proud, I haz knitted a sock.
Now all I have to do is knit another one as similar to this one as I possibly can. 😕
That is all. We now return you to your regular programming.
I never understood how people could wear socks that low. Mine have to reach the botton of the calf to be comfortable.
This was from the most basic pattern and was mainly for practice. I have other patterns with longer and more decorative cuffs, so this first pair I’ll probably mainly wear around the house with slippers. (The cuffs are the easy part – turning the heel is the real challenge.)
I’m sure you’ll bring that problem to heel.
Sometimes when it is 100 degrees F out, you want some ankle socks.
Sorry, RJ does not compute. That doesn’t make things any more comfortable.
You should join Rob Brydon and his affinity for long socks. I strongly approve, especially of his utmost pride. He and Steve Coogan are remarkably good at their jobs. Brydon also makes a large portion of his money doing the voice-over for tons of Euro car ads. QI (with Fry) remains in my upper echelon: https://youtu.be/zxI-pcLj9XE?t=30
Ankle socks are worn with shorts. Longer socks are worn with pants. This is the way.
Short pants are even less comfortable than ankle socks.
I wear the shortest “crew” I can find. Like these.
Anything longer and the “leg” falls down which drives me bonkers.
Congratulations.
Does the other one have to be mirrored? Or a duplicate?
Do you sort your left and right socks at home?
I figured a high class bespoke pair might be different from the generic off the rack stuff I sport.
My wife has a circular knitting machine for doing socks. Carpal tunnel keeps here from knitting by hand these days.
But, yes they are made like normal socks. They are interchangeable left and right.
I have 14 pair of custom fit wool socks now. Which is really quite miraculous since I wear really non-standard size shoes. And the socks fit perfectly.
A duplicate. Either sock should fit either foot if I’ve done it right. 🙂
🧦
I want one of those! They are engineering masterpieces.
They are finicky machines that require constant maintenance. Not a lot of work actually, but if you don’t do it, the machine runs like shit.
My wife has helped many people get started and fixed a lot of bad habits.
My favorite part of laundry is matching 20 pairs of socks in many colors. The fun is finding all 20 matches, I got 19 yesterday and found the last match today.
My strategy for that is to own twenty pairs of identical socks. Doesn’t matter if it matches with the same sock as last time, they all look alike.
I’m with you, UCS but I’ve been known to wear unmatched socks since who really cares? I’ll save one sock and one day have another ‘save’ and wear them. Who really cares? My feet don’t know the difference.
Hat’s off to GT and Mrs Kinnath though
Same here, UnCiv. Although now I have all matching (gray) socks in two lengths. Duluth Trading sells excellent socks.
yup
over the calf
Gold Toe, both calve length and ankle. My wife fights this tooth and nail, buying me various wool socks in various colors.
The Struggle is Real.
What kind of socks does Kord wear under his armor?
🤷♂️
I used to buy all black but now I go half black and half white, the latter for shorts days.
Agreed. Who cares about your socks ‘matching?’ I just have dark socks, all the same size. Black, grey, blue. Grab two and go. How often do ya look at someone’s socks? FAR more true than Shawshank Redemption’s shoe-quip. An old best friend swears by his one white/one black combo. Works for him.*shrug*
Damn, some of you Glibs lead wild lives!
You have no idea.
Since I never got a response from the two Glibs I tested this on….
“On Christmas morning I made eggs Benedict served in a shiny hubcap. Because there’s no place like chrome for the hollandaise.”
Booo!
👎👎
OK, Dad.
NewWife groaned
I like it in a dad sorta way
Because there’s no
placeplate like chrome for the hollandaise.Missed it by that much.
Guess who now has a 5 foot wide, 46 horsepower snowblower?
Le tits now!
So, you’ll get dustings all the rest of winter until the motor seizes up inst storage and you get buried?
Is this a hand held or lawn tractor mount?
3 point tractor mount
The tractor that won’t start?
It started tonight.
Step-dad suggested looking at the choke cable.
Great news
On X Nancy Rommelman posted the question: ham or pie?
I want ham pie… in the form of the quiche. Topped with Gruyere.
Neither. Too many prok farms are owned by Smithfield, a subsidary of the CCP. And pies have too many carbs.
Here you go:
https://acornblufffarms.com/collections/all
Fuck the CCP and their disgusting pork.
😮 Did not know that.
I only bought their bacon once and did not care for it.
Wegmans doesn’t sell the brand I liked most in NYC but whose name I can’t remember. Lately I just go with regular Oscar Meyer – it’s pretty decent.
“Farmland”
North Country Smokehouse is damn tasty, albeit a bit spendy.
I believe they’re distributed in NY.
Target. I’ll look for it next time I’m there.
*stands in line behind Aloysious, plate ready*
We had smoked ham for dinner tonight. No pie.
Final Slutty Sunday After Dark of 2024.
https://archive.is/Qpucc/b9771a84ec075d967fb0225cf8f70f9ae6ac3e4a.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/8087X/d0b35f746665bb6764343fb83c7b4ffa08eebeaa.jpg
NSFW.
https://cs5.pikabu.ru/post_img/big/2014/05/12/6/1399882109_1956508451.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/gCvha/3d2a4bcdcc53645726e50871e92c7e8278e8b725.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/XY4Sj/9c0ee4e6ca13370a2a4b4e25f908a9ae0dc18f06.jpg
NSFW.
RIP Jimmy
https://x.com/flapprdotnet/status/1873568143215632444/photo/1
Two years max on Biden. He’s in a bad way already.
Jimmy Carter claimed to have witnessed a UFO, and promised disclosure upon taking office. Then they got to him, and he did a 180 on it.
Also, someone posted an article about a book detailing what presidents were really like according to their SS details. Carter was apparently a fraud who played up the everyman persona in public, but treated his underlings like dirt. If memory serves me correctly, he’d pretend to carry his own luggage but it was really empty while the SS had to carry the real shit.
I’ve heard the same about every Democrat now since Carter. Dunno if it’s just confirmation bias or what. Can’t say I’m surprised, though.
I heard his pockets were filled with peanuts and he let squirrels suck his cock.
It’s 56 out, but the winds are making the house creak.
🙁
We’ve been under a wind advisory all day, and apparently it’s caused some power outages, but we’ve been okay. ::knocks wood::
It’s windy up here in the (216)
Poor Tracker John was getting knocked all over I-71
It’s 56 here in San Diego, consider yourself lucky,
/ shivers under blankets
We hit 60 in upstate NY. Fucking global warming.
(We bottomed out around 8 last week.)
High 0f 84 here and expect an ungodly 73 for the low. At the store today I saw somebody wearing a down coat.
It’s a new ice age I’m telling ya!
When I moved from Wisconsin to Vegas I didn’t take a coat. When it dropped down to 70 F I went out and bought a winter coat I continued to wear once I moved back to Wisconsin for the next decade.
Wake up peeps! It’s time to kick some ass.
☕️😎🤘🏽
https://youtu.be/PbgKEjNBHqM
🎶
No time, I’ve got to get everything in order before going to work.
Good morning, Sean and U!
How goes?
Pretty well, thanks! Main order of business today and tomorrow morning is payroll, so I’m just hoping I don’t run into any issues with it before we close at noon on New Year’s eve. How about you?
Well, we don’t close early on New Years Eve, but I do have an appointment with my barber to trim my hair and curtail this beard that has gotten out of control (my beard trimmer broke and since I had the appointment anyway I figured I’d pay him to deal with it and shop more leasurely for the replacement).
If I’m going to get neatened up to take pictures for my permit application, I might as well get my passport renewed while I’m at it.
Have to schedule a safety class, then start chasing my character references for their paperwork. Typewriter ribbon should be arriving today so I can finish the forms.
Since I pulled together all the paperwork I needed to get my “Real ID,” I keep wondering if I should go ahead and get a passport…but I have no prospects of international travel in the foreseeable future. 😕
I already had the passport from my two trips to the UK in 2012 and 2013, and since it expired less than five years ago, I can renew online, but I do need to upload a new picture of me. I’m still debating if I want to join the eclipse cruise (if there’s room left) which would require a passport for Icelandic entry.
Even if I don’t go on that trip, I’d still like to visit Iceland some time.
https://pjmedia.com/sarah-anderson/2024/12/28/cops-shoot-florida-man-with-his-own-gun-n4935488
😳🫣
Once upon a million years ago I helped deputies with firearms training. When they went from revolvers to autos (Glocks…I am not a fan) it was explained to them repeatedly that the safety was on the trigger. Do not put your finger on the trigger when you draw. It was explained a hundred times before they put their hands on them.
Thankfully I was not there the day that one of them….you can guess….
The bullet went lengthwise down his right thigh, exited above the knee then went from left knee down his calf to his foot. They told me the bullet was just under the skin of his left heel. He bled out before the ambulance could get there.
Two things cops should not be allowed to do: Drive a vehicle or possess a firearm. That’s just my take on it.
Good morning everyone!
Already tragedy has struck here in the woods. The filter tipped over in the mini coffee pot and I had to wait an extra five (5) minutes for the home brew to drain through.
I hate that when it happens!
Good morning, 4(20) and Suthen!
A harbinger for the day? Go back to bed, sleep a while and then start over.
Sometimes I can tell it is going to be one of those days I should not drive, operate machinery or climb any trees. I just park on the couch before I cause a disaster and dont even think of plugging in the table saw.
Suh’ fam
Whats goody
I picked up a six pack of diet dew this morning and it had plastic holding the bottles together instead of that dreadful cardboard nonsense. I can only hope it stays this way and they don’t switch back to cardboard yet again.