Confucius says: sorry I haven’t been around much of late, kids, but these sorcery wars ain’t gonna fight themselves. Plus, the Czar seems to be on the upswing of his cycle of madness, so he’ll be really good fun for a while yet. When he starts muttering darkly about ’Puter’s not getting off the couch, a plastic piece, the perfidy of the Estonians, and how Gossip Girl has gone badly off track, you might want to back off. He gets a little shooty.
So, what have we got here stuck to the fridge at Castle Gormogon. GorT’s using magnets that probably can’t be moved by terrestrial forces, the Czar is using stilettos—oh, one with a severed hand still around it—the Mandarin some sort of green glue that’s doubtless a potent neurotoxin (don’t touch his stuff; he’s not kidding), and ’Puter has stuck his up with…oh, sweet mother of 正名, what the hell is that? Better not to know.
The ŒV got this submission from a member of the clergy:
My own pet specimen of loathsomeness is a number in the Gather Hymnal called "Sing Hey for the Carpenter." It might serve as a child molester's anthem. The refrain goes:
Sing hey for the carpenter leaving his tools!
Sing hey for the pharisees leaving their rules!
Sing hey for the fishermen leaving their nets!
Sing hey for the people who leave their regrets!
Verse two is my favorite, obviously strummed at many a retreat slumber party:
Come walk in my comp’ny come sleep by my side,
come savor a lifestyle with nothing to hide,
come sit at my table and eat with my friends,
discov’ring that love which the world never ends.
Your honor, the prosecution rests.
Man, first a bird takes down Capt. Sullenberger’s plane, now the LHC. You’d almost think they were pawns of a sinister conspira—Look over there, it’s Barbi Benton!
Yeah, the “PDW” category (for “personal defense weapon”) is sort of an answer to a question that no one’s sure they’re asking. Essentially, it’s a gun that’s light and convenient enough for support troops who have no expectation of combat to carry (instead of a heavy rifle/carbine or just a sidearm) and yet is lethal enough to off the enemy if he shows up unexpectedly. Confucius thinks a lot of them are cool, but given that most small-arms gurus have been preaching “the SMG is dead” for a while now, one doubts that anyone’s really going to buck the conventional wisdom and buy a bunch of submachine guns—which is what PDWs are: light, small submachine guns.
As far as the MP5 and the UMP, Confucius says: Yes, please. The MP5 is very easy to shoot and very, very accurate for a submachine gun (closed bolt, baby), but the UMP is a Cadillac in comparison. The Volgi’s not a good enough shot to judge their relative accuracy, but the UMP’s ergonomics and smoothness of action have the advantage of 30 years of design and materials advances. It’s really nice. We keep a bunch in .45 ACP in the umbrella stands around Castle Gormogon. So ring the f—ing bell.
Oh, and Mrs. V was firing a Beretta Model 12 in that picture. Between that and the leather jacket, she looked like some sort of sexy Chekist getting ready to liquidate some enemies of the people.
The Volgi is a keen griller, though not in the Czar’s league. He has, however, succesfully grilled any number of family Confuciorum Thanksgiving turkeys. Highly recommended. Also, if the Czar behaves and doesn’t decree the deaths of people he knows he shouldn’t, he’ll get to use the Volgi’s relatively new Weber 310 at Gormogonicon 2010.
Come for the beheadings, stay for the kebab!
Don’t ask impertinent questions like that jackass Adept Lu.