Scenes from my household on Easter Sunday

Mom, making her traditional Easter Bread: "I think the yeast I used is too old. The bread isn't rising."

Me: "That's okay, instead of Easter Bread it'll be Passover Bread."

Later, I discover that the yeast did manage to raise the bread. 

Me, thinking: "It would be blasphemous for me to say Hallelujah! The bread is risen indeed, wouldn't it? Best not risk it."

Fun fact: When I was little, I asked my good Christian mother why we were making deviled eggs on Easter, when the devil was bad. Shouldn't we call them angeled eggs? And thus they have been called angeled eggs by my family ever since. 

We also have a family tradition of serving a cake on Easter (I don't know why, other than "It's a holiday and cakes are yummy.") For the past I don't know how many years, the cake has been a Pepperidge Farm Classic Coconut Layer Cake, often decorated with jelly beans pressed into the top. 

Mom: "Here's a slice of cake. Or do you want two?"

Me: "I want all of the slices. But I will try to be satisfied with just the one."

Morgan Freeman: "She was, in fact, not satisfied with just the one."

May you who celebrate Easter have a wonderful holiday, and may everyone else have a good Sunday. 

I am Cubically Culpable

I am a fan of Sacred Cow Shipyards. 

One night, in a fit of fangirl inspiration, I wrote and recorded this... thing. I guess you could call it a fanfic?

Except that I then shared it with the Dockmaster, who liked it enough to publish it to his channel, so it's canon now. 

Anyway, I am responsible for this delightful monstrosity.  

The following synopses are all from Wikipedia:

Neusis construction

In geometry, the neusis (νεῦσις; from Ancient Greek νεύειν (neuein) 'incline towards'; plural: νεύσεις, neuseis) is a geometric construction method that was used in antiquity by Greek mathematicians.

Doubling the Cube

Doubling the cube, also known as the Delian problem, is an ancient  geometric problem. Given the edge of a cube, the problem requires the construction of the edge of a second cube whose volume is double that of the first. As with the related problems of squaring the circle and trisecting the angle, doubling the cube is now known to be impossible to construct by using only a compass and straightedge, but even in ancient times solutions were known that employed other tools.

Delian Problem

The problem owes its name to a story concerning the citizens of Delos, who consulted the oracle at Delphi in order to learn how to defeat a plague sent by Apollo.  According to Plutarch, however, the citizens of Delos consulted the oracle at Delphi to find a solution for their internal political problems at the time, which had intensified relationships among the citizens. The oracle responded that they must double the size of the altar to Apollo, which was a regular cube.

The answer seemed strange to the Delians, and they consulted Plato, who was able to interpret the oracle as the mathematical problem of doubling the volume of a given cube, thus explaining the oracle as the advice of Apollo for the citizens of Delos to occupy themselves with the study of geometry and mathematics in order to calm down their passions.

According to Plutarch, Plato gave the problem to Eudoxus and Archytas and Menaechmus, who solved the problem using mechanical means, earning a rebuke from Plato for not solving the problem using pure geometry. 

As for the "why"... I dunno, it seemed like a good idea. I even have a half-baked idea for how it fits into the SCSU (Sacred Cow Shipyards Universe): 

The Dockmaster has never specified, but I always assumed that the shipyard has some manner of AI drones to do the work. At some point the Dockmaster thought it might be useful to expose the drones to things like sea shanties on the assumption that it might make them work harder. At the very least, it would be funny to have them all singing "The Wellerman."

One of the drones apparently fancies itself a bit of an artist, dove down the rabbit hole of music to discover filks and fan songs, and ended up with singing The Delian Song.

The Dockmaster isn't sure how he feels about this, especially with that reference to Barney.

... Get Ahold of Yourself?

Earlier today I received an email about the Priapus Grip, a new product from Black Collar Arms. 

https://blackcollararms.com/product/priapus-grip/

The Priapus Grip is symmetrical with a mild palm swell, an arched backstrap that drives the hand into the correct position, and a nearly vertical, relatively square front strap that’s both comfortable and highly indexable. On any rifle or large format pistol, from full-size PRS guns to subguns, the Priapus Grip’s unique shape, angle, size, and grip textures ensure it feels right at home and outperforms the competition. It’s the best AR-compatible grip on the market!

At launch we’re offering laser-cut sand texture grip tape panels in Black, Gray, OD Green, and Brown, as well as rubber pebble texture in Black. One set of panels is included with each Priapus Grip, and additional sets are just $5. These grip tape panels are easily applied by the end user and are durable and reliable, yet remove cleanly should you want to swap them out.

We particularly like running a rubber pebble texture panel on the side that faces the shooter’s body when carrying the rifle on a sling, and sand texture on the rest. Sand texture is as good as it gets for maximizing grip — it does not slip — in any condition and is still comfortable in the hand, while the rubber pebble texture offers a medium grip level and is gentle on clothing and skin. 

If you aren't chortling to yourself at this, your education was deficient, and all will be explained in the email I sent in reply:

To whom it may concern at Black Collar Arms:

I received your email regarding the Priapus Grip.  

Are you aware that in Greek mythology, Priapus was a fertility god whose most prominent feature was an oversized, permanent erection? And that this gave us the medical term priapism, the condition whereby the penis stays erect for hours?

In essence, your new product's name means "big dick grip" to anyone with a classical education. 

If this was deliberate, then well done on the subtle penis joke. 

However, if this was accidental, you might want to hold an emergency meeting of the marketing staff in order to get ahead of this and potentially rename it.

To their credit, Black Collar Arms replied almost immediately:

Hi Erin,

LOL, yes. Everyone seems to love naming their firearm products after Greek gods, so we thought we'd get in on the fun as well and went with the most appropriate god we could think of for the product.

Jolly good,

Jeeves McSorely
Manservant
Black Collar Arms 

Golf applause to you, sir.

Perhaps Black Collar Arms ought to go, ahem, 'balls deep' and use the phrase "The Priapus Grip: For when you need to stay up" in their advertising? That would be the chef's kiss on this masterpiece.  

By the way, if you want to add testicles to your Big Dick Grip, you can purchase them in either dangling or rigid style and (ahem) mount them to your rail system. 

Gunsticles Tactical Testicles

The Tac-Sac

A Cornucopia of Christmas Cheer

Happy Hanukkah and Merry Christmas!

I've spent most of the day pleasantly exhausted, so here's a collection of random things which pleased or amused me. 

Hanukkah Harry Saves Christmas

This blast from 1989 was so hard to find, it makes me wonder if it's been expunged from the internet for some damnfool reason. 

Regardless, enjoy this funny and heartwarming story from when Saturday Night Live was still funny. 

Star Wars/Trek Holiday Funnies

I never realized I needed this last image until I saw it.

Remember, Worf's adoptive human parents were the Rozhenkos, and from what I recall of their appearance they had a solid Jewish vibe. Given that the origin of Hanukkah occurs during the Maccabean Revolt, that makes it 100% a War Miracle, and Worf would definitely approve.

These comments from Ori Pomerantz's share are pure gold and so I must share them. (His post is set to Public so I figure that's all right.)

Miss Ukraine 2022

Miss Ukraine brought a sword to a beauty pageant, and I'm obsessed. The vibe is just *chef's kiss*, and I'm certain the NATO symbolism on the wings isn't accidental. 

The «Warrior of Light» costume symbolizes our nation’s fight against darkness. Like Archangel Michael, who defends Ukraine with a sword, it protects us. Viktoriia has a weapon in her hands, her body is covered in armor, and at the same time, she carries light through the darkness that came to our peaceful lands with the aggressor.

The monolithic jumpsuit symbolizes armor and wraps Victoria like a second skin.

The white dress consists of a stylization of a vyshyvanka with puffy sleeves and a skirt that has more than 10 meters of fabric to it.

The headwear is decorated with spikelets, which are traditional in Ukraine.

Symbolic wings are burned in battle, framed in blue and gold armor in the colors of the Ukrainian flag, and decorated with various mirror ornaments, opened for the decisive battle.

The costume was created in Ukraine in four months in extreme conditions, to the sound of sirens, without electricity, and by candlelight.

This In Nomine reference is going to make sense to very few of you: 

And the Laurentines go, "Doo, do doo, do doo, do do doo..."

Finally...

Given what day it is, you can probably guess at whom this is directed. 

Peace (on Earth) out, y'all. 

Another Gaming Story

So, who wants to hear the story about the Traveller player character who took an anti-tank missile to the chest?

My use of Traveller setting and dress falls under
fair use guidelines for both Mongoose and Far Future Enterprises.

This is the same group as in my previous story, but it was earlier by several years. The PC we will call "murder machine" was your typical murderhobo who, during the course of play, had sold his soul to Naval Intelligence, and in return his brain was scooped out of his body and placed into the highest tech cyborg body possible. He then acquired a suit of powered armor which further enhanced his abilities. Basically, he wanted to be a Warhammer 40K Space Marine, and he got pretty damn close to that. 

In this adventure, the PCs found themselves up against a squad of trained commandos and their transport, a VTOL gunship which also carries troops, rather  like a higher-tech version of the Hind Mi-24.

This is the picture I used. Looks mean, doesn't it?

The player characters were hiding and under cover. The commandos fast-roped out of the gunship and set up lines of fire in hasty fighting positions. The gunship then flew off to blow up a compound (where the PCs had just been, and who had triggered the alarm which brought the gunship there in the first place) to erase evidence and leave no survivors. 

Once the gunship flew away, the players executed a fairly well-orchestrated ambush against the soldiers who had pretty impressive armor and weapons. It was a tough fight, but the players won, mainly by being smart. Then the gunship returned because its troops were dying. 

I, an intellectual, figured that the PCs know that they can't shoot this thing down, because it's armored like an A-10 Warthog (and they KNOW THIS because I've TOLD THEM) and they have no anti-aircraft or anti-armor weapons, just small arms and one SAW equivalent. The smart thing is to run away, seek cover, try to find another way to defeat it, and they've been smart so far. 

That's when Murder Machine decided to go full-on "STAND AND DELIVER!" by walking out from cover and shooting the gunship with the SAW.

He rolled. He hit. He rolled damage. I consulted the craft's armor, because vehicle-scale is different from personal-scale. 

I say, "You've chipped its paint."

Then, because I love drama, I give them a little cutscene. "Cut to the cockpit. The pilot says "We're taking fire!" and the gunner says "Nah, it's just small arms, nothing to worry about," and pulls up a video feed of the PC." (Who is in Battledress, which is what powered battle armor is called in Traveller.) 

The gunner goes "Holy shit! He's wearing Battledress!" 

The Pilot says "Kill it."

If you've played StarCraft 1, where there's a cinematic involving a Terran saying "Kill it!" and launching a missile at a damaged Protoss thingie, and when it explodes he goes "Yeah! YEAH! Feel that hot love right up your tailpipe!".... you've got the right idea, because the gunship is Not Fucking Around and launches what is basically a Hellfire at Murder Machine.

To our great surprise, Murder Machine DID NOT DIE. The anti-tank missile hit, and ablated his battledress armor to basically nothing in the chest area, but his augmented cyborg body is still functioning. Badly damaged, mind you, but  still functioning.

I said "The blast knocks you flat on your back. Your helmet is blaring all sorts of alarms as it suffers critical failure. But you're still alive, thanks to [all this stuff], although barely. In the gesture of universal defiance you shakily raise one hand skyward, then extend your middle finger." There is much laughter. 

I, an intellectual, figured that this has sent the proper message to Murder Machine who will decide discretion is the better part of valor. Murder Machine, a Marine, decides "I aiten't ded yet", so he STANDS UP AND TAKES ANOTHER SHOT AT THE GUNSHIP. 

Between his wounds and the full-auto penalty, he misses.

I decide that this stupidity must be punished. The gunship, now well and truly freaked the fuck out that someone survived an anti-tank missile, decides FUCK THIS and pulls a Kylo Ren on him. They launch another missile and follow up with the chin turret gun, which I think is a full-auto rotary-barrel grenade launcher.

They hit. The damage, when converted from vehicle scale to personal scale, is obscene. To use a D&D-ism, this would be well over 100 hit points worth of damage. 

I don't precisely remember what I said , but it was along the lines of "You explode into a fine red mist." Then I crack my knuckles, and in my cruelest Game Master voice I croon, "I've killed one PC. Who wants to be next?"

The other PCs wisely choose to learn from his example and unass the area immediately.

Post-Script: Murder Machine wasn't really dead, because a dead PC just means the player rolls up a new one. A crippled PC, on the other hand, is amusing and a learning experience.

Later on, the surviving PCs found that an emergency locator beacon was transmitting. Upon investigation they discover Murder Machine's head inside the battledress helmet, which ejected to safety and put his head into cryosleep. The thinking here is "Save the brain, and the body can be cloned later." Of course, that depends upon access to cloning technology, which the PCs don't have and is damned expensive, so they have to improvise. 

By "improvise", I mean that when they get back to the ship they assemble a basic life support system for his brain (remember, everything else on him was cybernetic) and mount it and his head to a maintenance robot, which is basically a Roomba with manipulator arms. Think one of the skutters from Red Dwarf, crossed with 790 from Lexx. 

What followed was a nearly year-long side quest where the PCs slowly upgraded can't-call-him-Murder-Machine-anymore's body into a less impressive, but at least bipedal humanoid cyborg, frame. 

To the player's credit, he learned his lesson and was much less foolish after that. Also to his credit, he had a sense of humor about being the ship's Roomba for a while. He's a Marine in real life, so he can laugh at himself. 

A Gaming Story

This happened back in 2017, when I decided to run a Pathfinder game using the D&D 3e module The Sunless Citadel, as it had been recently converted to 5e and republished under Tales from the Yawning Portal and the Virtual Tabletop version was available on Roll20. 

The PCs were either first or second level and were pretty beaten up, having just survived a tough fight against the boss of a dungeon level and his minions. The main treasure was in a classic big-ass iron chest. The Rogue checks it and finds it locked and trapped with the traditional poison needle trap. 

Unfortunately, the Rogue also can't roll high enough to disarm it. Taking 10 doesn't hit the DC, and because it's trapped she can't Take 20. But because she's rolling to disable the trap and not pick the lock, so long as she doesn't critically fail she can keep picking at it. 

(Some of you may be asking "Well, didn't they find the key when they killed the boss? Wouldn't that have bypassed the trap?" and the answer is that I honestly don't remember why that wasn't an option. I think it's because in the original adventure the boss isn't listed as having the key on him, so perhaps I ruled that it was hidden and the PCs didn't find it in whichever room it was stashed.) 

After 3-5 failed attempts, each roll edging dangerously close to the dread Natural 1, the Gunslinger decides to do the classic Hollywood tactic of shooting the lock off.  He rolls a Nat 1 and crit fails. 

I rule that the shot has mangled the lock such that it's now unpickable. Oh, and it's still locked.

The PCs then decide that the best course of action is to USE THEIR MELEE WEAPONS to damage the chest enough that they can access the interior.

I dig out the rules for item hardness and hit points, and they proceed to beat the SHIT out of that chest, a la Office Space and the printer.

 

When they finally broke it open, I was laughing so hard I could barely talk. Paraphrased from memory, I said something like this:

"OK, so what you see is... a lot of broken glass that probably used to be potions... which have soaked into the scrolls, making the ink run and ruining their magic. There's a couple hundred gold inside, but yeah, you destroyed 80% of your treasure."

The players learned a valuable lesson that day.

WHARRGARBL

 As you've likely noticed, there was no episode of the Assorted Calibers Podcast this week. That was because Weer'd Beard was out of town on vacation and no one wanted the extra duty of editing an episode while he was away. 

I'm posting this here because

1. I don't like wasting good material on an "away game";
2. I wanted my readers to laugh at this idiot;
3. I didn't want to go a whole week without posting anything.

I don't know which is funnier: the whole "Someone mentioned guns, so now I'm thinking about your genitals, hah you have no comeback to that!" or the rapid, nonsensical goalpost-moving pivot which happens next:

So now that I've established this guy is either a troll, or a loon, or both and that his bait isn't going to work, I decide "What the heck" and throw out some bait of my own -- but unlike his, mine is rooted in fact. 

"???" is shorthand for "I don't want to argue in good faith, I just want to spam memes at you and call you names." Cool, dude, right back atcha. 

Ooh, he didn't like that. Facts and attribution are "being silly". 

Ah yes, the much-lauded "Nuh-uh" tactic! Honestly I'm surprised it took him this long. 

And then, after telling me "Bye Felecia"... he starts talking to me again? And bringing up the same tired old argument? This guy is clearly not interested in anything except trying to make me mad, and I'm pleased that I didn't give him the satisfaction. 

Was this a great victory? No. But I had fun, and I was proud of myself that I was able to irritate the troll into blocking me, and hopefully you all had a good time laughing at him. 

My Toons, Let Me Show You Them: Bad Touché

What do you get when you cross Pepe Le Pew, Batroc the Leaper and Cyrano de Bergerac?

 Zut alors! 'oo is zis 'andsome fellow?

Hon hon hon! Eet ees I, ze Bad Touché -- mercenarie extraordinaire, pireet of ze 'eart, and mastaire of ze witty rapière!

I make ze pun, no? Ze rapière wit? Ma swoord, eet ees la rapière?

...

Ma 'umair, eet ees wasted upon you Americains.

Yes, I just now realized that "sacrebleu" is misspelled. 

Bad Touché is one of my exceptionally rare boy toons, and you can see why: the concept of "Comedically Sleazy" just wouldn't work with a girl, who would instead just appear slutty and not very comedic. 

As an aside, his name in the game is Bad Touche' because I figured people wouldn't want to hunt for the é character to message him and/or invite him to teams. 

Luc-Maël Thierry Balzac's life was changed the moment he watched the fencing scene in The Princess Bride. He swore that he, too, would one day become a fencing wizard to equal -- nay, surpass -- Inigo Montoya and Westley the Dread Pirate Roberts, and after many years of wheedling his parents finally acquiesced and bought him lessons. 

You've seen the meme "While You Were Partying, I Studied the Blade"? That was Luc-Maël. He studied fencing at the expense of everything else, including social skills. Especially social skills. 

In short order, Luc-Maël earned a spot on the French Olympic Fencing Team at age 18, the youngest fencer to ever compete at that level. This is where he learned some interesting facts about himself:

• He was a sore loser, prone to sulking and scheming revenge. 
• He was an even worse winner, going out of his way to humiliate his opponents. 
• Playing by the rules doesn't guarantee anyone except the rule-makers a victory, but playing outside the rules earned him a victory in every way that mattered. 
• Cheating is only cheating if you get caught. If you're good enough, you can cheat and not get caught... and if you're good enough not to get caught, you deserve to win. 
• As much as he liked girls, they didn't like his boorish behavior and lack of social awareness. 

If you are thinking "This guy sounds like he's heading towards being a serial rapist," well, you're not wrong. He was headed that way, but someone influential got to him first and set him on a slightly different path. 

That someone was an Fortunata Fateweaver accompanying the Arachnos Olympic Team. (Well, technically, the Rogue Islands Olympic Team, but the Rogue Isles are run by Arachnos, so it's the same thing.) She saw the potential within Luc-Maël, both as a budding villain and even perhaps as the Destined One. It took very little effort to convince him to abandon France and travel back to the Rogue Isles with her, as he thought he was going to live a life of lawless luxury, surrounded by a bevy of beautiful babes. 

What he got, however, was a crash-course in survival of the fittest, as the moment the Arachnos transport touched down Luc-Maël was kicked out into the unforgiving streets of Darwin's Landing. The Fateweaver told him that he now had ultimate freedom, but everyone else did too, and if he wanted to live he'd need to be better than everyone else. 

Much to Luc-Maël's surprise, he succeeded. At first he was a petty thug fighting for food and shelter, but he quickly built a reputation as a skilled swordsman. He adopted the name "Bad Touché" as a double entendre: "touché" means "touch" in French, and signifies landing a scoring strike on your opponent, but it also makes him sound like a pervert molester. You wouldn't think this would be a benefit, but there's a certain psychological advantage to having your opponent think you're going to do terrible things to them, especially if you're so skilled that you can cut away their clothes to impair and/or humiliate them. 

At this point in his career, Bad Touché has completely thrown himself into his caricature persona of "Very Frawnch Pervy Swordsman" and enjoys every glorious, hammy moment of it. He's successful enough and rich enough that he doesn't need to work, and so he takes whatever jobs challenge or amuse him. In short, he's not so much evil (although he's done bad things) as he is extremely self-centered, self-indulgent, and arrogant, making him less of a supervillain and more like the fencing version of a heel wrestler keeping kayfabe. 

Other notes of interest:

• He used to fight with a rapier and main gauche, but quickly developed the skill to fight with paired rapiers to take advantage of the extra reach. 
• The rapiers he has now are made of impervium and have monomolecular edges to them, making them incredibly sharp.
• He stole a gravity-reducing belt early in his career, giving him the ability to make tremendous leaps and move with surprising grace. 
• He has advanced, lightweight body armor build into his costume, which he thinks makes him look like a cross between a dashing pirate and a handsome musketeer. 
• The beret? Well, he's French. 

Hon hon hon!

You Have Milk

It's 1997. Rammstein's most popular song has debuted, and I know just enough German to be dangerous. 

My friends and I hear the music on the radio for the first time, and we start headbanging. Then the lyrics begin, and I start laughing so hysterically that I have difficulty breathing. 

When I've recovered my composure enough to explain to my friends why I'm pissing myself with laughter, I explain "Du Habst Milch" in German translates to "You Have Milk" in English. 

Not once do I ask myself "Why would a hardcore German metal band write a song proclaiming that someone has milk?"  No, I just take it as a given, because in my world this makes perfect sense. 

Needless to say, I was EXTREMELY DISAPPOINTED to learn that the actual lyrics were "Du Hast Mich" which, translated, means "You Have/Hate Me". *

I still prefer my version of events.

* Before anyone gets all "Well, akshually" on me, let me explain that the song is more complex than people realize. 

• Du Hast = You Have
• Du Hasst = You Hate 

Hasst and Hast sound a lot alike, especially when sung aloud. 

Also consider that the chorus, Willst du bist das tod euch scheidet, treue sein fur alle tagen, which means "Will you stay true to each other for all of your days until death separates you," is the German version of wedding vows, including "Till death do you part." 

Put it all together and it's pretty clear that, as someone said on Facebook, the song is clever wordplay regarding the dichotomy of love and hate in marriage. 

Blue Check Erin?

 So the other day I received this notification on Facebook:

I found this funny, because this is the same platform which censured me for daring to suggest that people who were committing arson should be shot to prevent such arson in the first place. But hey, let's find out what it takes to be a Bluecheka, maybe it will help me get my message out to more people. So let's click on Start Request...

"Please attach government-issued photo ID that shows your name and date of birth."

Yeah, that's a "No" from me, dawg. Even if my photo ID didn't have my deadname on it, I still wouldn't do it, because no way no HOW do I just give Facebook, Facebook's employees, Facebook's employees' spouses, and anyone else associated with Facebook a way to collect personal information about me that could be used to violate my privacy or screw with my credit or expose my location to others. 

They'll just have to buy my information from the Chinese like everyone else. 

Padraig O'Malley

I have wanted, for quite a long time now, to make a halfling bare-knuckles brawler in either D&D or Pathfinder. I have wanted this mainly because I think it would be hysterical to play what is essentially the embodiment of the Notre Dame mascot -- for some reason, halflings always have Irish accents in my minds -- but also because it would be a challenge to make an effective fighting character when starting from the standpoint of "penalty to strength and lacks reach."

Unfortunately, the challenge proved too great for many years. The closest I could come was do dual-class between Barbarian (for the Rage) and Monk (for the martial arts), but those had the twin problems of conflicting alignments and reduced progression in both classes. I tried it with straight Fighter, but while the extra feats were nice, the standard D&D Fighter tended to be an armored tank, not a supple pugilist. 

Then the Advanced Class Guide introduced the aptly-named Brawler class, and I knew I'd found my holy grail. A hybrid of Fighter and Monk, it gave me the best of both worlds: a good Base Attack Bonus progression, d10 hit points, and slew of class features specializing in unarmed attack (Improved Unarmed Strike at lvl 1, Flurry of Blows at level 2, etc). Then I discovered the Mutagenic Mauler archetype, whereby the Brawler would drink an alchemical elixir to make like Mr. Hyde and gain bonuses to a physical stat and natural armor. 

Then things got crazy. The campaign I was in used the World is Square rules, which does away with a lot of the annoying Feats that you have to take to get to the good stuff, like Weapon Finesse or Improved [Whatever], and that made the idea of a halfling Brawler not just viable, but downright deadly. Now I could make attacks based off Dexterity instead of Strength and being small was an advantage due to the AC bonus and the Underfoot alternate racial trait. 

But what made me laugh hysterically was the realization that my bare-knuckles brawler could also be a _wrestler_. Halflings with the Brawler favored class can get a +1 to the Combat Maneuver Bonus to Grapple... and I could take a feat at second level to make me a nasty grappler... oh, and did you realize that not only do Dan Bongs give you +2 to Grapple, but that bonus is untyped? Meaning that it stacks if you have a second dan bong in your other hand? And that all Brawlers get Two-Weapon Fighting for free at second level? And that there's no restriction on what size creatures you can grapple?

With that, I present to you Padraig O'Malley. He's currently 3rd level in our game, and if he can't punch it unconscious, he'll grapple it... and even if it's able to escape the grapple, that's a good way to tie up the enemy's actions so that your party can retreat/regroup/heal. Oh, and it's a REALLY good way to prevent spellcasters from casting spells. My ultimate goal is for him to grapple something ridiculously huge, like a dragon or the Tarrasque. He'll be the guy trying to headbutt it into submission as he clings tenaciously to its ear. 

Here's his character sheet (PDF).

Here's the image I used as inspiration:

And here's his backstory, as requested by the GM (he wanted plot hooks and why we were adventuring in a hive of scum and villainy. It's worth noting that this game is set in the World of Greyhawk. 

Padraig O'Malley was born in the Shireland, a halfling community in the Duchy of Tenh, to an impoverished family of farmers and sheepherders some 31 years ago. He was the oldest of three boys, and while not the strongest or the smartest of the lot, he was certainly the quickest. The rowdier boys in the Shireland did their best to pick on him, but they quickly discovered that he had a quick jab, a nasty right hook, and a wicked eye for shot placement, and he was soon left alone. 

However, his younger siblings were not as skilled as he. His middle brother Coinneach was fair of face and slender of build, and was often the target of jealous rage by the jilted suitors of the girls he was wooing. Ronan, the youngest, was small and weak but had a sharp mind, and his parents hoped that he could be apprenticed to the Church, or perhaps even to a wizard. They couldn't have seemed more like victims if they'd tried, and Padraig spent much of his early life trying to protect them both. 

One day, while driving the sheep to market, both Coinneach and Ronan were assaulted. Ronan was beaten unconscious, and  Coinneach had his face disfigured by a club. They both lived, but  Coinneach was blind in one eye and Ronan was left traumatized by the assault. 

In the words of Padraig, "This be where ah lost me fookin' temper." He went to the local tavern and... spent all the money he had on the most expensive bottle of liquor he could find. Then he went into the forest, found a faerie ring, and stepped into it. 

When he woke up the next morning, he was a different man. Older, meaner, sharper around the edges. The years spent in the faerie mound had taught him the secret fighting art of Boo-Tin as well as the knowledge of how to mix Poitín, a special liniment guaranteed to relax aching muscles and strip paint off walls (90% alcohol by volume). Padraig then went back to town, found the villagers who had assaulted his family in a nearby inn. He drank the Poitín, kicked the door open, and shouted "Me name's Padraig O'FOOKING Malley, and I'm here to kick the arses o' the blaggards what hurt me brothers!"

Padraig doesn't remember much after that. It's all a red-coated haze. He knows that he beat several of them to death, and one of them was the son of the local Sheriff, and so he regretfully went on the run. Several villages over, he settled in a part of the Shireland near the border to the Bandit Kingdoms, doing menial farm work.  He met a bonnie lass named Dægeseage (Daisy) and settled down with her. Padraig and found contentment. 

One day he came back from a hard day of work in the fields to find that the cottage he and Dægeseage lived in had been ransacked, the front door hanging open. He rushed inside, fearing the worst, only to find that the woman he loved was gone. The local constables weren't of any help, stating that it was likely a slaving party from the Bandit Kingdoms and that his wife was gone forever. 

Padraig quietly mixed a fresh batch of Poitín, locked up the cottage, tendered his resignation to his employer, and walked into the Kingdoms. He didn't know where to look, but that kind of thing never stopped him before. He'd walk until he found someone and ask them if they knew anything, and if they gave him any trouble he'd kick a mudhole in them. If he has to punch everyone inside the Bandit Kingdoms, that's fine with him; it keeps his mind off his grief. 

Why yes, I do speak with an outrageous Irish accent when playing Padraig. However did you guess?

Wednesday Night Wackiness: Speaking of Les Stroud...

... he is doing a Survivorman web series on COVID-19. It's basically Les satirizing himself.

I found it funny. Check it out!

My Appearance on "This Week In Guns"

A few days ago I was a guest on Shawn Herrin's This Week in Guns. In case you missed it, here's a YouTube link.

And yes, those "Hello from Planet Lovetron" shirts are real and they're spectacular. You can order them here: https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/7409655-hello-from-planet-lovetron

And Now, Your Moment of Zen

My glitter toss in DC proved so popular that a friend made it into an animated GIF. Thanks, Sheryl!

Use it to indicate fabulousness. Use it to piss off humorless transphobes. Use it in whatever irresponsible manner you like, I'm not your mom.

Miniature Black Holes

I don't mean black holes that exist only in a quantum state; I'm talking about the miniature black holes that exist in every one of our homes. We all have them. Yes, even the neat freaks.

What are they, then, if not what Hawking theorized? I'm glad you asked. MBH's are gravitic anomalies which only affect objects, never living beings. Much like regular black holes, you cannot detect them directly, but you can determine their presence based upon the persistent accumulation of clutter in an area despite your best attempts to clean or organize it. Sure, you can disperse one by removing the detritus surrounding it, but it's impossible to eliminate an MBH; you can only hope that it evaporates on its own. Of course, I suppose you could move to a new house, but that just makes the MBH someone else's problem, and you'll soon discover new MBH's in your new home.

Here are some MBHs spotted within my home, along with my observations upon their appearance, persistence and behavior.

This is a nascent MBH, only a few hours old. It is easily disrupted by taking the containers to the garage and dumping them into the recycling bin. However, it reappears on a weekly basis, thereby demonstrating that even baby MBHs are quite tough.

The increased size, spread and disorganization of the clutter indicates that this is a juvenile MBH. Though not quite a hardy as an adult, it nevertheless is much harder to disperse the debris surrounding it as said detritus is too useful to just throw out, yet not valuable enough to have a place of its own. It is theorized that MBHs form when clutter accumulates past a critical mass. This serves to draw in more clutter, since the semi-useful not-trash "must be put somewhere" and "this is as good a place as any to put it". It reforms near-daily.

Vain attempts at organization have only delayed entropy, not prevented it. Soon this clutter will collapse into a full-scale adult MBH and only violent action will remove its debris; even so, it will reform within the day. Drastic steps must be taken to remove it permanently, such as removing the table from the house. Even so, it is entirely possible that such a tenacious thing merely relocate... especially if a similar surface exists nearby or another table is brought in to replace it.

Flat surfaces are not the only places MBHs form; they also prefer corners. Despite being in bins and placed on shelves, my preps aren't neatly as tidy as I'd like. Perhaps the disorganization provides a nurturing environment for this juvenile? We may never know.

The rarely seen catty-corner MBH. Unlike the one on the table, these do not appear to be in a state of eminent collapse; rather, they have achieved a stable orbit around each other. This stability gives them a form of harmonic resonance, making it impossible to disrupt one without disturbing the other, and the size of the adult makes that a daunting task. Thus, the smaller MBH shelters in the lee of the larger. Perhaps this is a mother and child?

Finally, we see the effects of a supermassive MBH. Over four feet long and at least three feet high, this beast is impossible to clean up, let alone disperse. For scale is my dog Daisy, a West Highland terrier who is my rootie-tootie cutie patootie. As you can clearly see, she is herself unaffected by the MBH and can move from it at any time.


Further study into the creation, persistence, and dispersion of miniature black holes is desperately needed. If you have observed any forming in your houses or places of work, please submit your data for analysis.

I Made This

Well, to be correct it was started by Aimee Morgan and contributed to by Mark Gipson, and the image made by Gordon Mac Promish. I added the rest of the words and arranged it.

Yeet is a versatile word. It is an excited shout; it also means "to throw something at something else". For example, if a basketball player were to shoot a three-pointer that they are sure will go in the hoop, they will yeet (shout) while yeeting (throwing the ball). Others watching the shot may also yeet if they wish, although they should be careful not to yeet and spoil the shot. However, the yeeter's opponents may also try to yeet (while yeeting) the yote before it yites the yute.

This reminds me of something I wrote back in January.

For those who don't speak the lingo:

• To be "fleek" or "on fleek" is to be impeccably groomed; stylish; fashionable. 
• To "skeet" is to ejaculate.
• We've already covered "yeet". 

You may now hate me if you must. 

The Mithril Duck

Mithril Duck
Wondrous Item

https://tinyurl.com/yaytw4j2

Aura: Faint divination
Caster Level: 1
Slot: None (held)
Price: 700 gp*
Weight: 0.5 pounds

This small statuette (no more than 6 cubic inches in volume) of a duck is much lighter than it looks, suggesting a hollow interior. Beautifully detailed with exquisite attention to detail, if skillfully painted it could easily be mistaken for an actual duck, especially if put in water (it floats).

Effect: To use the duck, hold it in your hand and ask it a question. It will answer by quacking (as if a masterwork duck call) and cast the Guidance cantrip upon the questioner.

Construction Requirements: Craft Wondrous Item; Guidance or Master Craftsman; Masterwork mithril duck (DC 20 to craft; 250 gp for 0.5 lbs mithril)


* The Mithril Duck is a level 0 use-activated item.

• Use-activation is Spell level x caster level x 2,000 gp x 2 (1 minute spell duration) x 2 (slotless magic item)
• A 0-level spell is half the value of a 1st-level spell for determining price, so spell level x caster level = 0.5 x 1 = 0.5
• So cost is calculated as 0.5 x 2000 x 2 x 2
• The Mithril Duck ought to cost 4,000 gp
• However, this is ridiculously over-priced for a magic item which casts a spell that any first-level caster can perform an unlimited amount of times per day, so I apply a GM fiat ruling of dividing it by 10.
• I mean do you really want your players to be able to sell this for 2,000 gp? I think not. However, 350 gp seems about right. 
• 400 gp + 250 gp for 1/2 pound of mithril + 50 gp masterwork artisan's fee = 700 gp.

For those of you who don't get the joke: it's a magical fantasy version of rubber duck debugging.

Don We Now Our Gay Apparel

https://www.123rf.com/photo_69713519_stock-vector-kids-in-elfes-costumes-going-christmas-caroling-flat-vector-illustration.html

Deck the Halls exhorts me to don my Gay Apparel. Okay, but is Gay Apparel light, medium, or heavy armor? I need to know this so I know how many turns it will take me to don (or hastily don) it!

Of course, given that people wearing said Gay Apparel are singers, that means they're probably bards, and bards only wear light armor because that doesn't interfere with their spellcasting.

And there's probably a benefit to singing while wearing Gay Apparel, because otherwise the carolers wouldn't be doing it as a group.

You know where this is going, right?


Gay Apparel
Light Armor
Aura: faint illusion
Caster Level: 6th
Cost: 4,150 gp

Gay apparel is a +2 reinforced tunic of red, green and white, usually decorated with bells and festive designs of snowflakes, candy canes and reindeer. Because it is essentially a shirt, gay apparel can be donned or doffed as a move action (this is a specific property of the item). While wearing gay apparel, the wearer gains a +2 circumstance bonus on Bluff, Diplomacy, and Sense Motive checks made specifically to attract, flirt with, or romantically influence a creature. The GM is the final arbiter of whether a given check qualifies as seduction.

When worn by anyone possessing bardic performance, gay apparel grants the Lingering Performance feat. When worn by anyone with at least one rank in Perform: Sing, it grants the use of the Basic Harmony teamwork feat even if they lack the prerequisites.

Construction Requirements: Craft Magic Arms and Armor, auditory hallucination, heroism; Cost 2075 gp

Special: The creator must possess the Lingering Performance and Basic Harmony feats.

Gay Apparel, Lesser
Light Armor
Aura: faint illusion
Caster Level: 3rd
Cost: 1,150 gp

Lesser gay apparel functions as gay apparel, except it is a +1 reinforced tunic and does not grant the Lingering Performance feat. In addition, the circumstance bonus it grants on Bluff, Diplomacy, and Sense Motive checks made for seduction is only +1. 

Construction Requirements: Craft Magic Arms and Armor, auditory hallucination; Cost 575 gp 

Special: The creator must possess the Basic Harmony feat.

 

Gay Apparel, Greater
Light Armor
Aura: moderate illusion
Caster Level: 9th
Cost: 24,150 gp

Greater gay apparel functions as gay apparel, except it is a +3 reinforced tunic, its circumstance bonus on Bluff, Diplomacy, and Sense Motive checks made for seduction is +3, and it possesses the harmonizing special armor ability.

Construction Requirements: Craft Magic Arms and Armor, auditory hallucination, heroism, major image; Cost 12,075 gp

Special: The creator must possess the Lingering Performance and Basic Harmony feats.

 

Don your bard-assisting tunic!

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!

It's very quick, no need to panic!

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!

It doesn't take a Standard Action!

Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la!

Just a Move, so get to crackin'!

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!

Thank You! & a video

A big THANK YOU to everyone who donated to my #GivingTuesday fundraiser! We didn't hit $2K, but we got within $232 of it!

Last year I asked for $1,000 and got more than that (I don't recall how much... I think it was about $1300 or so). I figured I might as well shoot for the moon this year and ask for double that. Go big or go home, right?

As far as I'm concerned, it was a success. We hit 88.5% of a goal that was twice as big as last year's. Amazing! Wonderful! Thank you so much!

You can even help support us Operation Blazing Sword with online shopping and it won't even cost you a thing. Not only are we a registered charity with Amazon Smile, but OBS also has its own Amazon Affiliate link! That means if you use Amazon Smile and our link, you can donate to us twice while shopping online and without costing you anything!

If you follow that link, you'll see it leads to what could be called an influencer page. I call it an "Operation Blazing Sword recommends these products". Not only are they quality, but they're a good starting point for the new shooter or concealed carrier!

And so as a thank you for all your support, I give you this very fun video.

A Funny Story

The CEO of a Fortune 500 company was having trouble with his Human Resources department. For whatever reason, his company could just not hold onto employees, and whenever they left they listed HR as the main reason why.

Distraught, the CEO went to see his monsignor in search of a miracle, or at least advice. "My son, I have just the man for you," he told the CEO. "I will send him to your company first thing tomorrow morning."

Sure enough, at 8 am the CEO is buzzed by his assistant saying that the interviewee is here. Upon entering, the CEO is flabbergasted; he expected a young man in a suit, but standing before him is an old Hispanic man in a work shirt and overalls, stained with grass and mud and smelling of a front yard.

"The padre, he say come speak to you today," says the man in a thick Spanish accent. "My name is Jesús García. I manage the peoples."

Naturally, the CEO doesn't think the old man is capable of working in HR at all, let alone running the department, but he's known the monsignor for decades and values his wisdom, so the CEO takes a leap of faith and takes the old man down to HR and explains what he needs done.

The old man takes to it like a fish to water. His techniques are old fashioned -- a bulletin board instead of a schedule program, an abacus instead of a calculator, pencil and paper instead of a computer -- but he works a literal miracle inside HR, adeptly managing hiring, firing, transfers, promotions, and vacations. He's so good that the boss loves to show his rivals his "new old system", and they are so impressed that they also try turning over their HR departments to old Hispanic men and women. However, their attempts fail miserably.

One day, the CEO's godson comes to him, fresh out of college with an MBA. He says, "You know I respect you and would never try to compete with you in business, but I must know how you managed such an HR miracle. I promise to you that I will never work against you in this field, but please tell me where to get a man like Jesús García when all your rivals failed."

The CEO smiles and says "Go talk to the monsignor of our diocese. He will help you find your own personnel Jesús."

[Erin exits stage right, pursued by a shaggy dog]