I didn’t want to go to Stirnberg, but it seemed like I was out of options. I brooded all of the way to the city, with my moods growing more melancholic the closer we got. To get from Freinmarkt to Stirnberg by boat required going downstream, then upstream.[62] The city sat on a coil of the river, but had grown beyond any defensive benefit gleaned from the spot. Seated among rolling hills of rich black soil, its history was written in the pattern of its walls. One wall in particular split the city in two between the Imperial district and the holdings of the Herzog Zweitzer von Stirnberg. The sprawling municipality rivalled Freinmarkt as the largest city in the Volkmund. Five broad boulevards radiated from a central plaza. The spaces in between were engaged in architectural warfare to contain the most ostentatious structure. There was no unity of style, leaving the city a discordant cacophony of splendor. It was near impossible to tell which was the townhouse of a noble, a mercantile guildhouse, or a church. Well, unless they plastered their coat of arms across the facade of the building.
The basalt and marble rendition of the Raven Coast Roc had its wings down along either side of the gate arch, gilt talons gripping the keystone. It was more subdued than the other houses, but sitting on the edge of the plaza, it was hard to miss. The wedge-shaped lot was walled-in up to five stories. The front gate looked strong enough to withstand a battering ram. Soren dismounted and knocked on the wicket.
“We have to negotiate entry into my own house?” I grumbled.
“This is your first time here,” Lenz said.
“I’d recognize that horse anywhere,” the young man stepping out of the wicket said. “I mean, welcome to Stirnberg, Prince Kord.”
“Where have you seen my horse before?” I asked.
“We fought goblins together back in Ritterblume.”
I peered at the sandy-haired young man and prised a name from my memory. “Vinzent von Deithopf, correct?”
“Yes,” he said, brightening.
“How did you end up here?”
“Your uncle sent us here in case this is where you were going to show up.”
“Us?”
“The rest of the troop you didn’t take to Farcairn. Your Statthalter put us to work.”
“Can we bring our horses and carts inside instead of clogging the plaza.”
“Of course,” Vinzent said, setting about opening the main gates. The gatehouse filled the narrow end of the plot, with the main house running along the opposite end. The walls on either side had stables and storehouses on the ground floor, and what was likely servants’ quarters above. The courtyard in between was quickly flooded with servants and hirelings as we moved everything off the street and closed the gates behind us.
“Who did you just let in?” a stern-faced man with gray-flecked black hair demanded.
“Statthalter Eckler,” Vinzent said, “This is Prince Kord himself.”
I looked down at the steward who managed the Stirnberg household. It was hard not to, still perched atop Graymire as I was. But he looked to be half a head shorter than I was regardless.
“I was not expecting your arrival. My apologies.”
“No need. I didn’t exactly send word I was coming. I have come to Stirnberg to formally claim the Iron Diadem, so there will be a great deal of activity in the near future.”
“I understand,” Eckler said. “I believe this is your first time here. Permit me to show you around.”
I dismounted and let the grooms lead Graymire off to the stables. I took note of which appeared to be intimidated by the oversized stallion, and which realized he was just like any other horse. Eckler didn’t even bother to acknowledge the structures to either side of the courtyard, leading me instead to the main house. Liveried footmen opened the doors as we ascended the stair. The interior felt dark compared to the full sunlight of the courtyard, even as my eyes adjusted. The streaks of sunlight spilling through the windows on the far side diffracted into a mottled rainbow of splotches on the polished floor. Every diamond-shaped pane was ever so slightly different from its neighbors. The variations were too little to be noticed save by the light passing through the glass. The windows filled broad swathes of the far wall up two or three stories.
I stared into the shaded portions of the room until I could see what was hidden by the light. Lapis pillars held up vaulted and frescoed ceilings. Gilt-trimmed bannisters highlighted the stairs and balconies that ran up the sides of the hall. It was impossible to focus on the wall between the windows, but I could infer the shape of the Raven Coast Roc from the tips of the primary feathers protruding over the panes to either side.
“The north wing contains the reception hall, the grand dining room, and the staterooms. Some people will mistakenly call the reception hall the throne room, because…” Eckler hurried to catch up to me. I’d crossed the entryway and unlatched a door of diamond-shaped glass panes set into one of the walls of windows. He switched topics without sign of being flustered. “Through there is the garden courtyard. It is built for relaxation and entertaining guests.”
I had been mistaken about the layout of the house when I’d entered the front courtyard. The house didn’t run along the back of the lot, it split the lot in two, with two wings running back along the sides. It framed an open trapezoid of land that was further subdivided by flagstone paths into other geometric shapes. The spaces in between were in full bloom, with brightly colored flowers displaying their myriad hues for all to see. A single fountain gurgled in the center of the space, and a small building sat against the back wall. It had a pilastered facade that imitated the wings of the main house, but it was detached and sat only about two stories tall.
“What’s that building back there?” I asked.
“The bath house. We will need forewarning to prepare the hot water should you wish to make use of it.”
“Understood. Now, you were saying about the reception hall?”
***
Over the course of the afternoon, I was shown three different dining halls. There were certainly more, as we didn’t go over any of the servants’ areas. I chose the most plainly decorated one for the evening meal. Because they were from noble families, the young men of our Ritterblume troop were seated in the same space for the meal. None of the household staff qualified. Having almost a score of young men around the table and no moderating influences, I feared a riot. It did not get anywhere near that bad, though I ended up being the moderating figure. I didn’t try to rein in the banter and jokes, or even the noise, but I couldn’t let them endanger the furniture.
“Don’t break my chair.” Though I didn’t raise my voice, it still cut through the conversation, and the youth in question climbed down. In the moment of quiet that followed, I finally asked what had been nagging the back of my mind. “What happened after I left for Farcairn?” I asked. There was still a pause, until Vinzent decided to respond.
“Well, at first we stayed with Graf Ritterblume, hunting goblins in the Slagveld. That went on for a while, until the ambush.”
“Tell me about the ambush,” I said.
“Well, we’d been spotting where the goblins were and where they moved to try to find their bases. The Graf thought he’d found one, and concentrated the army to destroy it. But you know what the land is like in the Slagveld. On the approach, we had to go through a couple of bottlenecks, so the army took several at once. The one we went through was blocked by a group of goblins with human allies behind them. Just as the front ranks got stuck in, we heard cries that we were being attacked from behind. Well, we couldn’t turn around and do anything back there, so we pushed forward harder. It was a confused mess, but we broke through. Everyone was running every which way, and we ended up back at the camp, small groups trickling in through the rest of the day. We heard some claims that Feyblooded betrayed us. Others that it had been Kirchner’s men. Some said the enemy banners had a mouse eating a snake.”
“Feyblooded?”
“I didn’t see it. I heard it secondhand. But he didn’t return to the camp.”
“I see. I knew Kirchner and Knochenmus were trying to have me assassinated, but I wish this news surprised me.”
“Knochenmus?”
“A family I hadn’t heard of before whose emblem is a mouse biting the head off of a snake. From what I’ve learned, they’ve allied to Kirchner to seize control of the north. They’ve already made several attempts to remove me as an obstacle. I wouldn’t be surprised if they recruited support from as many lords as they believe they can sway.”
“They tried to kill you?”
“Four times,” I said. “After regrouping at the camp, what happened?”
“Von Salzheim and Graf Ritterblume decided to withdraw us from the Slagveld. After we were clear, von Salzheim asked us to bring a box here for when you arrived.”
“He sent fourteen of your to deliver a box?” Lenz asked. “How big was it?”
“Not that big. It could fit in a traveller’s trunk.”
“I assume he had a reason,” I said, “Where did it end up?”
“We had Eckler lock it away.”
“I see.” I turned to one of the servants hovering just at the margins of the hall. “Would you kindly inform the Statthalter that after dinner is complete, I would like to see this box?” The man gave a bow and ducked out of the room. The moment I relinquished control of the conversation, we got peppered with inquiries about the assassination attempts, and what we’d been up to since we’d left the Slagveld. I let Lenz and Ritter field the bulk of them, save for where I had to speak up. This filled the time as the last of the meal was finished. Almost as soon as the last plates were cleared, Eckler arrived with one of the servants carrying a burl wood box with shiny brass fittings. They set the box on the table, and I recognized it at once.
“A portable desk?”
“I have to assume there is more significance,” Eckler said, handing me a small brass key. I unlocked the desk and folded down the top. Sitting on the angled writing surface was a letter with a wax seal. If I needed more indication of who wrote it, the salt blocks of the Salzheim coat of arms were pressed into the wax. I broke the seal and read my uncle’s neat handwriting. Everyone seated at the table watched me read, their own curiosity piqued.
“He’s sent me a ledger of everyone who owes fealty to the Furst of Karststadt, and any other active contracts.” Lifting up a panel inside the desk, I extracted the book in question. “I suppose I will have to inform all of these people of my intent to take up the Iron Diadem.” I looked up at the faces of the men seated before me. “After the coronation, I intend to return north and deal with Kirchner. My banner will undoubtedly draw his ire, as my mere existence moots whatever claims he has fabricated. Will you still ride with me?”
I got a chorus of affirmatives. The lack of hesitation made me wonder how much thought any of them put into the answer.
“Are the lot of you still using the armor you had the last time we rode?” Their expressions answered for them. “Soren, tomorrow I’d like you to find us an armorsmith. We’re going to need to be prepared for that attention.”
“Of course,” Soren said.
“I have a lot of letters to write and get dispatched, so I must take my leave of the rest of you. Herr Eckler, I believe I heard mention of a study earlier today.”
“The sun will set before long,” Eckler said.
“I can still get started. Besides, I have a prism lantern in my luggage. I do not wish to procrastinate any longer.” I packed up the portable desk. “Kindly bring this with us.” I rose and headed for the door. Lenz intercepted me and whispered a question.
“What else was in that letter? I know you well enough to know when you didn’t mention something important.”
“During the ambush, Jost was struck by an arrow. By the time they reached Salzheim, he’d developed a fever.”
Lanz’s face blanched.
“That was weeks ago, and the first letter I plan to send will be to ask for news of his condition.”
“When were you going to tell me?” he asked, grabbing the front of my shirt.
“When we weren’t in front of dozens of people.”
Looking down at the bunched cloth in his fist, Lenz let go. I put a hand on his shoulder.
“I know,” I said. “Right now, we can’t do anything but continue on. You know Roland will have done whatever is needed, and sooner than we can.”
“I- I know,” Lenz said.
***
My urgency in sequestering myself to write letters had nothing to do with the urgency of the letters. They needed to be written, but I didn’t want people to see me fret. Over the past few weeks, Jost could easily have recovered from his fever. It was equally possible that he had succumbed to it. So between sentences, my mind returned to a situation I had no influence over. Rereading every letter before signing and sealing it, I cursed the scarcity of Ivory wizards[63]. I’m not entirely sure when I finally fell asleep. I went through the early morning groggily, finally becoming alert once I found myself dragged into the practice hall.
“I want to see if you’re really as good as your stories claim,” a dark-haired young man, Dietz, said. He was dressed in a loose white tunic and had a practice blade lying across his shoulders. I scooped up my own practice sword and gave it a few test swings to read the balance.
“What rules?” I asked, stepping into the middle of the hall. The others made for the walls to clear us a space.
“First blow to the torso,” Dietz said.
“That it?” I asked. He gave a nod. I saluted with my blade and took up a ready stance. Dietz did the same, then lunged. Steel rang as I parried. His following slash closed a trap I hadn’t fallen for, as his lunge had not really rendered him vulnerable. He grinned as I ceded a few steps, judging his speed and aptitude. Judging him to be around Soren’s level, maybe a little better, I decided to end the fight. Circling around to his left, I struck an exposed flank and ended up behind him.
“You left the lane!” Dietz protested.
“I asked what rules you wanted. You said nothing of lanes or even a style that implied lanes,” I said. “If you intended a fight in a lane…”
“Fine, Valayan Fencing, standard fouls, first blow to the torso,” Dietz said.
“Very well,” I said. Finding the lane markings on the floor, I took up position at one end. We saluted, and Dietz surged at me again. My muscles were still somewhat sluggish from not having gotten warmed up, but I still moved fast enough to clear his blade and land a thunk to his ribs just below the right armpit. Dietz blinked, then laughed.
“All right, that wasn’t idle boasting last night,” he said.
“My turn,” Lenz growled, taking Dietz’s practice blade. “Standard fouls[64], first blow to the torso, no lanes, whatever style you want to use.”
I backed up a few paces as Dietz found a spot along the sidelines. Lenz had tired, shadowed eyes, and a scowl normally alien to his features. As soon as I saluted, Lenz burst forward. I parried and spun aside, only to find myself parrying again as Lenz came about as quickly as I did. His inarticulate snarling and reckless assaults had me feeling less like a sparring partner, and more like a venator fending off an enraged beast. Reckless was sloppy, and I saw several openings to strike and win the bout. Something in the back of my mind told me not to. Lenz was frustrated to the point of anger, and there was only one thing that could have caused it. He needed to burn off his rage at being unable to act, and venting it in the practice hall was the safest course. As long as I continued to block, parry, and sidestep, no one would be hurt. Eventually, Lenz would exhaust himself, and lack the energy to keep being angry.
Eventually was a long time.
Steel sang in that hall as we danced around potential strikes against flesh. Even off-focus, Lenz was fast, and I could not spare focus for anything outside of that fight. No one else could either, as the young noblemen watched with rapt attention the blur of silver as our practice swords crossed with well-honed alacrity. A reckless onslaught used more energy than an efficient defense, but even I was gasping for breath by the time Lenz staggered and slumped. His sword arm shook with enervation as Lenz fought to raise it, but the tip of the blade refused to climb higher than his knee.
“We can… call it… a draw…” Lenz gasped.
“I could just poke you,” I said.
“A draw,” Lenz repeated.
A solitary fat man clapped in the doorway. “I did not get to see your fight in Farcairn, but I’m sure it must have been impressive.”
I looked on the familiar, blunt features and sighed. “Herr Zeelan, what are you doing here?”
“Your adjutant informed me that you are in need of an armorsmith.”
“I meant in Stirnberg.”
“I live in Stirnberg. I was in Farcairn to sell my services. Now I am home.”
“I see. Well, a good number of these gentlemen-” I gestured around the room, “-do not have suitable armor to serve as a cavalry troop. I have more time this time around, so I don’t expect it to cost nearly as much.”
“I’m sure we can come to an agreeable arrangement,” Zeelan said, interlacing his fingers in front of his gut.
[62] Stirnberg sits on the river Svartkill, a tributary of the Grunstrom that empties into the main stream between Freinmarkt and Zerhaltenberg. So Prince Kord is technically correct, but he should have mentioned the change in rivers.
[63] I hadn’t thought much about the distribution of types of wizard, and was unsure if this was even an accurate woe. I passed the question on to Eugen Sulzbach, and his response was thus: “There is an uneven distribution of wizards for a variety of factors, but the simplest factors are innate knack and academic rigor. Ivory wizards need to know a significant amount about anatomy and natural philosophy. This means fewer people are able to complete the program. The only other tower with as few members would be the Obsidian, but no one laments that scarcity.”
[64] Standard fouls more or less amounts to not striking for the face, throat, or groin.
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
“…discordant cacophony of splendor.” Nicely descriptive. I reckon ya fell in love with a phrase, and it’s fantastic in context. Both voice and description.
Onward, I read. Yoda, I’m not.
I’m afraid that particular turn of phrase spilled out in the moment and slipped my mind shortly thereafter. It was intended to highlight the organic nature of development in the town.
It’s a great phrase. Sounds great, too. I refrained from making ‘Band name’ jokes, but it can be made into several.
I’m pretty sure “Band Name Jokes” opened for “You Know Who Else” back in ’03.
““When were you going to tell me?” he asked, grabbing the front of my shirt.”
Lenz has yet to learn that the world does not revolve around his needs and wants. Something Kord is learning.
““We can… call it… a draw…”
But the Black Knight always wins!
Suspicious me wonders if the first practice bout was to learn Kord’s style of swordfighting.
“He sent fourteen of your to deliver a box?”
I fully expected the box to contain a nasty surprise, probably sorcerous, when opened. Wrong again. But I still expect another attempt on his life or two.
Nothing like a little steel-on-steel therapy to vent your frustrations.
And Kord seems to be coming to terms with (and growing into) his destined role.
Finally, as a wise man once said:
I have a mansion – forget the price.
Ain’t never been there. They tell me it’s nice. 😁
Still enjoying the story
#metoo
” I took note of which appeared 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 by the oversized stallion…” <–I believe auto-correct got you, there.
I enjoyed your previous architectural descriptions, but these seem much more arresting, AP-ish. Perhaps that's the point.
I *would* avoid using "box" in this. "What's in the box" screams out to this 37yo reader. I still think of Se7en.
Fun sparring session reveals character. Nice edition, and thanks. It's hard for me to comment without 'working,' I'll admit.
I’m not sure what you’re talking about.
Eek! I was in error with my original thought, but it *should* be “over-sized.” But that’s AP, and fiction (IMO) purposefully shouldn’t be.
I praised your description of architectural styles before. They helped create the atmosphere. These are soldiers without characters leaning towards such, but perhaps that’s the point – I’d enjoy a place, with a substantive character to narrate such, to add some flowery, expansive prose.
Perhaps I may have to wait in the story, to find such. Could be an interesting set-up.
Fiction generally goes by the Chicago style book. Hyphens (and, anciently, umlauts) used in that manner have been falling out of favor for years.
I haven’t read anyone’s manual of style, so what I write is a hodge-podge of vernacular and archaic from whatever random stuff I have read over the years.
A little escape is just what I needed today.
Thanks.
(I’m hoping for secret passages and maybe a ghostly apparition of a fair maiden who met an untimely end in the baths.)
😥
It’s too late to update the plot. The closest thing to a secret passage in this book was the dwarf palace.
I love love love it when footnotes are part of the storytelling.
👍
I’m reading this on my Kindle. Big fan of the footnotes – they add to the unreliable narrator thing.
I’ve seen fiction where the footnotes really are academic, and I liked that. For instance, a historical romance novel where the hero played golf, there was a long-ass footnote about golf. Took me out of the story? Sure. Interesting sidebar? Yup.
But footnotes that are PART of the story are next level. Love it.
Good Omens was brilliant with footnotes that were integral to the story.
When they turned the book into the miniseries, the tried to work the footnotes into narration, but wasn’t any where near a good.
generally tariffs are dumb, but I got to wondering how the Colombian tariffs would affect oil
oil’s a commodity; it’s fungible and ubiquitous; its producers are price-takers
so a tariff on Colombia would hit the producer; no one is paying more than a barrel is worth
so, would they would be forced to subsidize every barrel (export at a suitable discount) or would exports go to zero? Their lift cost is similar to ours, around $35, so, if they are willing to eat, say, 25% of a $80 barrel, they’re still in the black
or will fungibility simply mean the barrels formerly bound for the US simply go somewhere else, and water (oil) seeks its own level, zero impact on next other than some short-run frictions?
I suspect there will be some short term disruption as Colombian oil companies scramble to sign new, non-U.S. contracts, but otherwise I think you’re right that it won’t amount to much, in the long term.
A translation of the Colombian president’s response:
https://x.com/CitizenFreePres/status/1883630789725937943
Trump, I don’t really like travelling to the US, it’s a bit boring, but I confess that there are some commendable things. I like going to the black neighborhoods of Washington, where I saw an entire fight in the US capital between blacks and Latinos with barricades, which seemed like nonsense to me, because they should join together.
I confess that I like Walt Whitman and Paul Simon and Noam Chomsky and Miller.
I confess that Sacco and Vanzetti, who have my blood, are memorable in the history of the USA and I follow them. They were murdered by labor leaders with the electric chair, the fascists who are within the USA as well as within my country.
I don’t like your oil, Trump, you’re going to wipe out the human species because of greed. Maybe one day, over a glass of whiskey, which I accept, despite my gastritis, we can talk frankly about this, but it’s difficult because you consider me an inferior race and I’m not, nor is any Colombian.
So if you know someone who is stubborn, that’s me, period. You can try to carry out a coup with your economic strength and your arrogance, like they did with Allende. But I will die in my law, I resisted torture and I resist you. I don’t want slavers next to Colombia, we already had many and we freed ourselves. What I want next to Colombia are lovers of freedom. If you can’t accompany me, I’ll go elsewhere. Colombia is the heart of the world and you didn’t understand that, this is the land of the yellow butterflies, of the beauty of Remedios, but also of the colonels Aureliano Buendía, of which I am one, perhaps the last.
You will kill me, but I will survive in my people, which is before yours, in the Americas. We are peoples of the winds, the mountains, the Caribbean Sea and of freedom.
You don’t like our freedom, okay. I don’t shake hands with white slavers. I shake hands with the white libertarian heirs of Lincoln and the black and white farm boys of the USA, at whose graves I cried and prayed on a battlefield, which I reached after walking the mountains of Italian Tuscany and after being saved from Covid.
They are the United States and before them I kneel, before no one else.
Overthrow me, President, and the Americas and humanity will respond.
Colombia now stops looking north, looks at the world, our blood comes from the blood of the Caliphate of Cordoba, the civilization of that time, of the Roman Latins of the Mediterranean, the civilization of that time, who founded the republic, democracy in Athens; our blood has the black resistance fighters turned into slaves by you. In Colombia is the first free territory of America, before Washington, of all America, there I take refuge in its African songs.
My land is made up of goldsmiths who worked in the time of the Egyptian pharaohs and of the first artists in the world in Chiribiquete.
You will never rule us. The warrior who rode our lands, shouting freedom, who is called Bolívar, opposes us.
Our people are somewhat fearful, somewhat timid, they are naive and kind, loving, but they will know how to win the Panama Canal, which you took from us with violence. Two hundred heroes from all of Latin America lie in Bocas del Toro, today’s Panama, formerly Colombia, which you murdered.
I raise a flag and as Gaitán said, even if it remains alone, it will continue to be raised with the Latin American dignity that is the dignity of America, which your great-grandfather did not know, and mine did, Mr. President, an immigrant in the USA.
Your blockade does not scare me, because Colombia, besides being the country of beauty, is the heart of the world.
I know that you love beauty as I do, do not disrespect it and you will give it your sweetness.
FROM TODAY ON, COLOMBIA IS OPEN TO THE ENTIRE WORLD, WITH OPEN ARMS, WE ARE BUILDERS OF FREEDOM, LIFE AND HUMANITY.
I am informed that you impose a 50% tariff on the fruits of our human labor to enter the United States, and I do the same.
Long winded and empty.
He seems nice.
The news is happening faster than I can keep up.
Apparently this started because he wouldn’t accept his countrymen who were here illegally?
And now he is?
He sounds like some of the posters here when they drink too much.
Shorter Petro: WE WUZ KANGZ!
Yawn. Your country still sucks.
I’ve been wondering, what happens if the US plane just lands, dumps the passengers, and leaves? What are they going to do, shoot it down?
Or, I gather Colombia has lots of, err, extemporaneous landing strips. I’m sure we have satellite imagery of plenty of those. Just land on one of those, etc.
Colombia can’t meaningfully retaliate, and it may be a 4-D chess balloon to see how tariffs, in general, are received.
Columbia already conceded.
Why would they do that? Numerous commenters on TOS assure us that tariffs only hurt U.S. consumers.
in a game of tit for tat, the little guy gets pummelled: all these little countries are playing chicken with a Mack truck
I studied tariffs and quotas over 30 years ago, so the theories and the histories aren’t news to me; that said, we should assume some elasticity in impact over the long run and throw Trump that tiny, pointless bone…don’t spend it all in one place.
But trade is a two-way street, so, especially in the short run, details matter. Imports are only 12% of US GDP; exports are 20% of Colombian GDP; they can’t go toe to toe with us long enough for American voters to wise up; Petro’s blast was unhelpful, and, ultimately, his concession was wise.
“these little countries are playing chicken with a Mack truck”
Precisely.
Think of Trump as a hockey enforcer. You may objectively hate him, and even have good reasons to, but it pays to have him on your team.
The US is still the single biggest consumer market in the world and Trump knows he can leverage that. Will it always and forever work? No. But when some pissant country is pulling dumb shit like not taking back their own citizens (who they likely facilitated entering the US illegally), you have my permission to be a bully.
Is allowing certain Colombians staying in the US part of the deal?
Big-tittied Colombians manacitas sounds like a trans Colombians with regrettable implants.
Or someone doesn’t know how to spell.
Oil prices are set globally. It would affect global oil prices, but not much.
Are State Farm commercials protected by the First Amendment?
We can get a judge to rule whatever way you pay for.
Unciv,, which format of the book nets you the most profit?
I tried to set them up to be equicalent. Though I couldn’t get all three to match. eBook and Paperback both net $3.46, hardcover nets $4.81, but it also runs $25 for the buyer.
Hardcover it is then. Thanks.
I’ve really enjoyed it, I love physical books, so there it is.
Oh, my.
Not that way.
The Bills can’t beat the Chiefs and the refs. And the Bills.
I’m rapidly losing interest in this game and the NFL in general.
What game? And who cares about the National Frisbee League?
Norville Barnes?
Its called the disc golf pro tour,
Try to keep up with the scene bro!
They seem to be fighting themselves the most.
No shade: It looked to me like they came in already shook. I’m like, that’s not the Bills I know.
I’ve never seen that much OTHER color in Arrowhead ever. From the air it looks purple.
They’re still in it 🙂
Yep! I always enjoy the Bills.
Um. They’re doing really, really well.
As in, winning, as of posting. (Tenuous lead…oh, it’s fun watching sports when you don’t have a vested interest…)
Unbeknownst to us, we were behind.
That pass interference call was bullshit.
I watched Wash and the Eagles, I don’t know why. Self inflicted
Wal
Walsh with the Eagles is much better.
I was nine when the first superbowl was played between the AFL and the NFL. We watched the the pros and the college bowl games religiously. New Year’s Day as a celebration of football.
I completely gave up a decade or more ago. I no longer give a shit about college or pro ball.
I keep saying. I think its fixed.
Former patriots fan
One has to wonder if this is the case given the massive proliferation on online gambling and the relationships the league has with the platforms.
One could wonder.
Everything is voluntary.
Maybe it’s my limited understanding of sports booking but I’ve always thought that they tried to set the spread so that they had roughly even money on both sides and they lived on the vig. It never made sense to me that “Big Sports Book” would want one team or the other to win.
Also this has been a hell of a game.
Yeah, not everything is a conspiracy. I certainly have my beefs (boy, do I) with college and pro football, but I’m far from convinced that the games are rigged.
Hype: In principle that’s what the sports books aim for, but I think that if their spread is off, more money goes to one side than the other and they are then vulnerable. They can adjust the spread on the fly to try to compensate, but it’s not always enough.
Not watching it that close, but I can’t say the calls have been egregiously one-sided. I’ve seen a few close calls go both ways. If the refs are trying to throw the game, they’re doing a shit job of it.
That was one entertaining game. I would have been happy whichever team one.
I just want the Eagles to lose in a couple of weeks.
RC:
Yup. I hope the Eagles get trounced.
Oh, well.
KC better beat the Eagles now.
I’m happy that KC won. I only watched the last few minutes.
Poor Josh Allen. How many times does he have to watch Mahomes win the AFC championship from the sidelines?
I was rooting for the Bills, and against the Eagles.
I’m petty enough to not want that. If I even bother to watch.
I’m a Giants fan.
I’m not a strong enough fan of the game so whatever rivalries exist, other than Bills/Dolphins, I’m pretty much unaware of them.
To wit… after 25 years in NYC I never gave a flying fuck about either the Jets or Giants. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
F no.
Now I want to support the Eagles just to be contrarian.
I’ll join you.
A contrarian? At Glibertarians.com? Well, I never!
I don’t care about sportsball, but as a resident of the Commonwealth, I’m obligated to say:
“Go Iggles!”
OMWC marked safe.
And she probably thinks she’s not the racist here. 🙄
Lol
That’s the sound of all white men breathing a sigh of relief.
I was really hoping for a Chiefs/Redskins SB but I’ll have to settle for Chiefs vs. Nightman.
https://archive.is/MkAsE/9255bc2b7233a970b7a4fa6eb43a0c0b9505945a.jpg
Slutty Sunday After Dark.
NSFW.
https://archive.is/NOslk/fdac0b1e10e47db894361fc10b16b4d45d63eae4.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/6AmxO/bac02c6e52c412d71d27799bd23cc77f1308e985.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/Z1Fpi/8923d9940b1c467778beb421f344356cbd30527f.jpg
NSFW.
How about a hot red head with a sweet Ass?
Yusef:
Work Enacted
@Pope, larf!
Yusef:
https://forum.xnxx.com/attachments/amateur-redhead-wit-perfect-ass-jpg.1173419/
NSFW.
I’ll take the trio
Yes. All.
Me too.
Only thing better would’ve been Chiefs/Cowboys.
Fuck the Cowboys.
Is that so the Chiefs would be guaranteed a win?
Hey RJ, sorry wasn’t here for anniversary. I’ve been buried in a ton of shit lately.
No, because it’d be “cowboys’n’Indians.”
Cowboys don’t love Indians.
“Fuck the Cowboys.”
I think Jerry Jones has had you covered for quite some time now.
Oooh, that hit my aural sweet spot.
One of my very favorite bands from that era.
That’s my favorite sorority
Is that hooker the owner’s wife?
I’m guessing his daughter.
Well that is the last time i am rooting for the Bills.
LOL it’s not for the faint of heart.
Super Bowls in February… 🤦♂️
I am not typically a conspiracy theorist. I tend towards skepticism in all things.
But reading today about another friend’s strep throat leading to hospitalization and possible organ damage reminds me of 2019.
My engineering team and I were working on a project at Dugway Proving Ground in Utah. I came down with a fever and terrible tummy ache and went to the urgent care in Tooele Utah.
I described my symptoms, and the doc immediately called for a strep test. I told him I didn’t even have a sore throat, but he said “Trust me; this is what’s going around.”
He put me on amoxicillin and bed rest, and I recovered.
Later on, out of boredom I looked at maps of where we were working at Dugway. It was the “former” Biological and Chemical Warefare testing area.
I don’t know what to believe.
At least it wasn’t small pox.
WebMD told me it was lupus.
Happy Monday, Glbs!
Get out there and ruin someone’s day!
😂✊☕
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=eYRmU7xcWKw
🎶🎶
No.
The only day I can reliably ruin is my own.
Get out there and ruin someone’s day!
[ orders well-done meat for Sean ]
No one wants pink chicken.
Good morning, Sean, U, Ted’S., HE, Bro, and TAFKALack!
Morning, how goes?
So far so good! Today I’ll be continuing to train our newish CFO how to process payroll so she can be my backup for the rare occasions when I’m off on a payroll processing day. Unlike the last two payrolls, there aren’t many changes to check for, so I figured it would be a good one for her to practice on.
How about you? Feeling any better?
Well, I still had a cough when I woke up, but my sinuses were clear(er), so I’m not going to go through the awful draining of the sinuses as the ascetaminophen kicks in (a thoroughly disgusting hour or two after waking up when I am congested). I’ve dragged myself into the office, but still hope I don’t have to speak at all today.
🤫🤞
Morning, Glibs
How do you know what kind of god damn morning it is?
🤨
I only stated that it was morning. It is up to you to make of the morning what you will.
Lol, a swing and a miss.
It’s a good morning because I’m the kind of firster who can make it one.
There are no bad mornings. Everyday starts a new adventure but not until I have a cuppa coffee.
Morning Glibs!
Morning World!
Good morning, 4(20)! ::raises travel mug in salute::
Fourscore is correct answer. Any day your eyes open is a good day.
So, saturday when I woke up after noon was a bad morning, since my eyes stayed closed?
I didn’t specify any particular time of day now did I?
I’m just trying to narrow down the parameters.
The deciding parameter is being not dead you pedantic rascal.
I saw The Pedantic Rascals open for…
Never mind.
For UCS, the opportunity to be a pedantic rascal makes it a good day.
Curse you HTML typo! Curse you!
/tag
Indeed. UCS can be counted on to rise to the ackchually bait nearly every time.
I have to amuse myself somehow, I can’t expect anyone else to entertain me.
https://nypost.com/2025/01/26/us-news/calif-pho-restaurant-workers-stop-would-be-thief-from-kidnapping-their-18k-robot-co-worker/
“Kidnap” ?
Perhaps it’s like the chess-playing robot the Turk, and there’s a small person in there running the thing.
Can you kidnap a remote control serving tray? Steal is the more appropriate word but good on them for stopping the thief. Didn’t read the article but I’ll just assume martial arts were involved?
Pho-Phu, obviously.
Interesting word choices here:
“He then double-backed from the bathroom and tried to pick up one of the restaurant’s three robot servers. He wrapped his arms around its middle as if he were attempting to suplex it before hauling it outside, practically waddling as he struggled under the pressure of the robot, the footage shows.”
Don’t want to short shame the workers.
If I must shuffle around on the slave compound that is a Chinese factory floor I at least want my eventual replacement, which will condemn me to a slow death via starvation in some back alley in Guangzhou, I at least want to look down on the damn thing.
Jeez, I murdered that sentence. I’m going back to bed.
suh’ fam
whats goody
TALL ERIE CANS!
You’ve been sent to Ireland?
Worse, Cleveland.
I’ve been in worse towns than Cleveland.
Hey Tres!
Thanks for the recommendation on the Livewire.
Love it.