Friday, June 30, 2017

Mixed Up Mother Goose: Tommy Tucker

So in cut 5 we skip right on past the serial killer rhyme (that's right, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater couldn't keep his wives for a reason- God Save England), and on to Tommy Tucker- because who doesn't love making fun of the homeless?

Little Tommy Tucker
Little Tommy Tucker sings for his supper,
What shall we give him? Brown bread and butter.
How shall he cut it without a knife?
How shall he marry without a wife?

Brown bread was the cheapest and hard to chew, and the peasants mock little Tommy for not being able to afford a wife. Redundancy is the greatest of the wicked British tools used to mock their culture into shape.

Don't get poor, kids. Don't get poor.





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Monday, June 26, 2017

The Prose Edda: Snorri Sturlson (Yes- this is a real thing)

War and Peace, Strife and Intrigue in the Warneedgen court.

As a save from my last explicit entry I decided to go old school historico-mythology. In the same way that the bible is affected by the meetings of the cardinals who decide cannon, our understanding of mythology is affected by those historical figures who take the time out of their busy days to collect, collate, and write down the various stories and oral traditions of their times. Generally they're imprisoned (Le Morte D;Artur, Maurice's Strategikon, the Whole Royal Society), but in this case Snorri was experiencing the glory of all that was the Norwegian Court.

Shortly after the Dutch withdrew (they left their royal family in charge of all of the Scand's royals, a note the editor missed, but which is of key political importance) Snorri the Icelander decided to go bounce around Norway and see if he could unseat every other House by betraying the Icelanders to the Weegians and selling out the whole country whole cloth. He didn't wind up going that route and instead explore the royal libraries, collecting various and sundry myths and updating them.

The beginning of the Edda explores the effects of Christianity. While Paganism tends to precede the concept of the One or Oneness, as evidenced in almost every religion except for Hinduism, in Snorri's tale it's woven in to the beginning with an introduction through a shortened version of Genesis. The Gods are placed as Greeks and are told as descendants from that region. Given that Norse runes (which preceded the Anglo-Saxon runic alphabet) are markers and attributed to the gods, this order and ordinal are unlikely, but as a historical text it has it's placement perfectly in the romantic style that is given as the setting for the collection.

As a historical text About historical texts it's rich and full of context, much like both the Warneedgan and Icelandic languages- as a history it's thin. But that's normal in an oral tradition- it's questionable whether all the begatting and knowing in the Bible was just a political way for the Jewish people to trace peoples of power, and their Talmud still continues orally. It's the difference between a religion and a history and is epic in the same way as the Odyssey, a way for a man to leave his mark other than leaving behind his children. Both the author and the subject achieve immortality that echoes through the ages (The Edda was written in 1220).

That's the setting for a book about Gods and Goddesses and their petty grievances and pettier affairs. Politics at its best.



Curious? Check it out Here.


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Sunday, June 25, 2017

Fifth Quarter : Tanya Huff

Took a walk on the wild side and went in for another one of LGBT author, Tanya Huff's novels. They're passionate, they're powerful, and holy shit are they ever adult.

Bannon and Vree were raised to be the best assassins since the time they were six. Never allowed to love or care about anyone else they shared a psychic link that was unbreakable. Assassins were never allowed to train together, but the Empire made an exception and they turned out to be the best. The course was brutal, the other was punished when one failed, but they survived- and now they ran missions and were allowed almost as much freedom as the average soldier.

Everything changed when Bannon died on a mission and Vree refused to let go. Sharing a body, with a botched assassination, they were forced to flee, and headed straight to the home of the Kai, the forbidden lands. Desertion earned you a death sentence and a team was dispatched to take them out immediately, after the job was finished the hard way. Magic was turning and the psychic pair didn't know how to handle it- magic was forbidden, but now it was being used to raise the dead.

Zombies and magic and love, oh my.




Morbidly Curious? Buy it Here.


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Monday, June 19, 2017

Nobunaga's Ambition

If your life sucks as much as every other thirty-something whose kids are home for the summer, their minds are education free, their little darling feet pounding around the house and outside, then you need a trip in the wayback machine. Before first person perspective induced a barf worthy experience while watching your sibling play PC Games, kids used to laugh and play and grow together.

Grow. With wholesome, yet educational experiences, such as conquering feudal japan and differentiating between samurai and the rogue ronin. Overtaxing peasants and throwing them rice because it's more efficient. Great parenting fell off the wagon in the year 2000 with Morrowind and Ultima IX.

So park your kid on archive.org and pull up the old greats. Believe it or not, a crash course in tactics, polysci and waste management actually better prepares them to be a responsible citizen then the newest crap from Disney- whatever the rando guitar playing princess with the pegasus has to impart, it's certainly not practicality.

Bonus: They also pick up boss catch phrases like "The enemy has turned tail and run, Ha ha ha, Yuk yuk yuk" to console you in your adage, and for use in estranging them from their annoying friends who refuse to be politely disinvited from visiting again. Ever.





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Play it Here

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Bo Peep and Her Sheep: The NSFW Brit Rhymes (2)



Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,
and doesn't know where to find them;
leave them alone, And they'll come home,
wagging their tails behind them.

Little Bo Peeping was, back in the day, a reference to being stuck in the stocks. You've seen them at Disney (odd reference, right?) where your head and arms are locked in and small children use you for a stumping point.

Returning your sheep to Bo was just herding the little boogers back to their parents so that they no longer innocently tortured the victims of slightly more than Facebook shaming.

South of the Border it had more to do with returning things (and stories) to their rightful place and less to do with the Brit version that was sung in the streets to herd the avenging little angels back home (or to the square if it was a child) as it was adopted into a novel.

The things you learn when you study Brit Lit.

To keep things even with the mudslinging- A Fun Fact:
When the cult formed to drink the Kool-Aid and guide the brilliants who partook to the Mother Ship behind the Hale Bop Comet (still couldn't make up stuff this good) the guide was named Bo and his invisible counterpart (I'll repeat that, as it bears repeating) his INVISIBLE counterpart, was named Peep. God Bless America as well :)




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Friday, June 9, 2017

All of the Nursery Rhymes Explained (NSFW - Couldn't make up stuff this good)

So in the interest of explaining how modern mythology blends through Christian mythology, the Bible and Politics, I took on Mixed Up Mother Goosed.

That's right, Mixed Up Mother Goose. The 80s Sierra PC Game. The level of NSFW should make you laugh hysterically as you slowly comprehend all that is Brit and how they used to pass the news (Newsies and Horatio Alger, move Over, we are talking social capital here).

While the narration is totally kid friendly we are talking a Ren and Stimpy level of adult entertainment, and I'll spend the next couple weeks walking you through it. Mother Goose's collection of nursery rhymes were some of the best compiled (arguably) by Newbury.



And here they are in Hi Def (j/k we're talking 16Bits of love).

We kick it off by returning to Mary Mary her watering can. I don't even want to KNOW what that signifies in semiotics, because Mary Mary Quite Contrary was Mary I o'England, a devout Catholic and the political party responsible for the beheadings of many a Heugenot. Beheadings weren't her only method of religious dissuasion, the diplomatic girl loved crucifixion, complete with immolation. That's right, M I o E was so thug as f--- that she not only crucified those who chose religious freedom and reflexive thought on prayer (didn't Jesus give us that?) she pulled a Guy Fawkes on them.

Her reasons? Her dad dumped her mom, and when the Holy Roman church talked back he kicked them out of their own party and started the Anglicans (this, incidentally led to the KJV Bible, but not for decades). She got disowned. And apparently resented that. Psychology in the 1500s? Not on point.

So what's up with her silver bells, her cockleshells and her pretty maids all in a row?
Believe it or not, that's a toned down version of history. Silver Bells were "putting the screws to people" (real thing, there goes your ability to give a thumbs up) Cockleshells are pretty self explanatory (and you thought Aaron and Moses went at it over the golden calf), and pretty maids... well lets just say there was a long line for the two blade guillotine... Maybe they just didn't have euphemisms for non-spontaneous human combustion involving holy symbols. Creative.

So there you have it, we're aiding and abetting by helping Mary water her "garden" (see also: graveyards). Ladies and Gentlemen, Mixed Up Mother Goose, a walk on the wild side that your kids won't notice and you'll never forget.


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Monday, June 5, 2017

The Origin of Love Someone who Makes you the Best Version of Yourself?

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I love you not only for what you are,
but for what I am when I am with you.
I love you not only for what you have made of yourself,
but for what you are making of me.
I love you for the part of me that you bring ou

Saturday, June 3, 2017

SAS - At the Warehouse

Yegor drummed his fingers heavily on the steering wheel of the van. Ba-da-dump. Ba-da-dump. It was one thing to find himself suddenly in the middle of a street fight, but this couldn’t be called anything other than a shadowrun. His first real shadowrun.

The Amerindian sat calmly in the seat next to him, his shotgun resting across his lap, the barrel pointed toward the passenger door. Yegor went through a checklist in his head. It was a nervous habit, but it passed the time, and helped to reassure him that he hadn’t missed anything. Changed our commlink access IDs. Spoofed our comm numbers. Registered the Flash-Paks. Registered the commlinks. Registered my drones. Doberman in the back of the van. Lynx in the back of Smith’s pickup. Mossberg loaded and calibrated. Magazines in my jacket.

Ba-da-dump. Ba-da-dump. Ba-da-dump.

He looked at the glowing amber clock in the corner of his AR display. 4:12 AM. He was glad he went to bed early. He was feeling well rested, at least. Hopefully most of the punks in this hideout would be passed out drunk right now.

There was going to be shooting tonight, there was no doubt about that. There were too many guys inside for there not to be. Even if they were tired, they were going to know they were under attack soon enough. Lokk was creeping up to the warehouse even now.

Lokk was a pro – despite his propensity for extreme violence, he was a skilled infiltrator. The old warehouse had an external power connection. Lokk cuts the fence, disables the power, and opens the main garage door manually. Everyone slips in nice and quiet. From there, take out as many people as possible while they are still groggy, grab the bossman, and get out before Lone Star shows up. Simple.

Yegor’s ear twitched. His drumming fingers stopped.

He heard something.

“Faaack! They facking saw me!” Lokk’s voice rang through the teams’ commlinks. Automatic weapon fire rang out, creating an odd echo as it rang loudly through the commlink  and was also heard a few hundred meters away.

Yegor threw the van into gear, chirping the tires as the van lurched out of the alleyway and roared out into the street. The warehouse was the only prominent structure on the street, and it loomed ominously in the darkness ahead. Muzzle flashes from the second floor flared brightly in Yegor’s thermographic vision. He could see the heat of other figures rousing themselves through the windows as the van hurtled down the street. The parking lot of the warehouse was blocked by a tall chain-link fence and gate, which they were rapidly approaching.

“Hang on!” he barked to Joe.

Cutting the tires sharply, Yegor felt the van lean heavily onto the driver’s side tires as he whipped it into the chain-link gate. Spinning the wheel sharply in the opposite direction, Yegor maintained the perfect balance of speed and control as he brought the van to bear on the rickety metal garage door. He squared his shoulders and braced himself as well as he could.

With a cacophonous crash, the van punched through the metal strips of the garage door and into the warehouse. Yegor’s eyes darted around the room, but didn’t see any warmth in the main garage. Good. We should have a few seconds.

In the rearview mirror, Yegor saw Smith’s pickup pull into the lot behind him. Smith jumped out and whipped the tarp off of the flatbed of his truck.



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