Duke Bushido

It's pretty similar to the core of a cheap golfball, actually.

That's not an Advantage; that's the norm. If you want to run out of bullets, you take "Real Weapon" or "Charges."

Before everyone leaps in talking about how many times a person can do this, and how many modifications and heavier parts can be installed and are readily available, let me point out that that was not the case here. This was something Wayne came up with playing around before the shooting when the director told him to try to come up with something unique and memorable for his character's introduction. This was a bone-stock rifle with a very heavy barrel doing something it would likely survive a few times, but still.... gad....

If we want to get into John Wayne doing considerable damage to weapons in order to look cool, look no further than his introduction to the big-budget movie-going public:

When? Soon?

"Horsesh*t." That was my first word. Most people don't believe me initially-- they usually have to speak with an ever-decreasing elder generation of my family who, through comments I've made in childhood, can confirm that, for whatever reason, the chemical baths that set and delete memories throughout various stages of brain development didn't work right for me. I've only had one, and I remember it quite clearly. Oddly, I had a complete "life flash before my eyes" event, and to this day, anything I did not remember in the moment, I do not remember. (this is only unusual in that it only happened once, and that it happened while I was conscious. It's supposedly normal, happens three to four times at various cerebral development stages during childhood, then never again. If you didn't know that before, now you do. ) That's not to say that I don't remember much from before that-- quite the contrary: having only gone through that once, I have a surprisingly comprehensive memory of my childhood. The part that no one ever believes until they speak to my mother is that I remember being born. No; she didn't believe it either, when it came up in conversation, at least not at first. I was five, and we were at her father's house and watching a television scene where the newborn baby is hoisted into the air, slapped soundly on the butt, and handed to a nurse who swaddles him up and runs away off camera. "Why didn't they do that to me?" "Hmmm--?" "Why didn't they spank my butt?" There was some teasing-- "maybe you were a good boy" "No. I was mad. I got more mad when they stuck that thing in nose. I hated it." This lead to confusion, which lead to a short conversation, which lead to her finally capitulating on an earlier claim: I remember being born. That claim had come up when I mentioned wanting my new sibling to be able to talk so we could compare notes about the whole being born thing. It was laughed off then, but it's not laughed at so much now. Honestly, I _feel_ like I remember shortly before being born, but I am going to just assume this is some fanciful fill-in-the-void stuff my brain does to keep things on a keel. But after a fairly lengthy discussion of the events of my birth (there were a couple of odd circumstances, such as one of the attendants tripping over her own feet and falling over backwards, making quite the ruckus), no one doubted that I remembered it anymore. In the grand scheme of things, it's pretty minor, and it's still possible to dismiss it as "memories of various discussions, etc," save that my memory had no vocabulary attached to it. At five, I didn't know the terms that would have been used in the discussion, and since the action at the time made no sense, it took lots of describing and pantomiming to get my description across. I knew the words at five, but I didn't know them at birth, and as such, the memory wasn't organized in any way that other memories-- memories with various labels-- were organized. Again-- That's neither here nor there, and I offer you the choice of forgiving or ignoring any of this and moving on. However, the last time I posted something big in my life, this thread was suggested as a harmless place to put it, so here it is. Lots of you know I'm from Alaska. Some of you know that my folks are from Maine. My old man, like many young men, dreamed bigger than the town in which he lived (which, oddly, meant going to a town significantly smaller and even more remote. Go figure). Off to Alaska he went. He got drafted shortly thereafter. Hurriedly, he married my mother and headed to wherever it was that draftees go (I believe he said Texas-- later, I mean; I think he told me once that he went to Basic in Texas). Then he shipped out. I was born nine months after the wedding, and my mother wasn't handling homesteading and child-rearing and she locked up the place and went to stay with her parents. She had a younger brother-- her only brother-- who hadn't quite left home yet. He was a senior in High School and was laying plans put a payment on a little house and marry his own girlfriend. I have no idea why, but he adored baby me and I loved big tall strong him. His name was Neil, and we would be the absolute best of friends forever-- so much so that my only son is Neil, too. Neil never left the house without "the kid." He'd holler out to my grandmother "Ma! Goin' to Madison. I got the kid!" and off we went. The bits of memory I retain from that era were filled with girls ooh-ing and aww-ing over the baby and Neil proudly proclaiming how he was helping to take care of his first nephew. I also remember not liking the cheese that peeled off of pizza. Neil was true to his word: he was going to be the best dad substitute he could be. Sort of. Every day, just before the sun started to set, one of the horses would walk to the small field atop the rise right next to the house. My mother and her father would hold me up to the window, encouraging me to talk: "Horse! Horse! See the horsie?! That's a horse!" Then one day the horse turned a bit and his tail went up-- and you probably know what happens when horses do that. Neil was right there. "And _that's_ horse sh*t, Kid." "ho-sit! Ho-sit! Ho sit; ho sit; ho-sit!" I was quite proud, and Neil's peals of laughter just encouraged me. "Ho sit! Ho sit, ho sit! Hoooo siiiiiit!" I didn't really understand why my mother and grandfather weren't as thrilled; I was amazing. It was perplexing, at least a bit. Didn't matter. Ho sit! I've been told it took several weeks of deprograming to get me to stop pointing at horses and gleefully exclaiming "Ho sit!" I learned other words. I learned "Mama" and "Gumpa" and "Gamma," but the very second word I learned with "Unkoh." Unkoh Neuw. Before he died, my grandfather let it slip that while she loved her brother, it broke her heart that I learned that before I learned "Mama." It wasn't on purpose; I promise. Mama was-- mama was feeding and bathing and changing and all the unfun things that a living, breathing thing requires, even when it can't do them for itself. Unkoh Neuw, though-- he was all the _fun_ and exciting things the world had to offer. He'd swoop through the house-- even after he moved out-- and off we'd go, looking for adventure. He taught me to tie my shoes. He was notoriously short-tempered, but even after everyone else had given up, he kept on going, and going, and going. I don't know how long it took-- kids don't pay attention to time. I know there were several attempts because I remember sitting in different places and looking down at different pants, all being given very patient lessons on tying shoes. The maddening thing is that I remember _getting_ it, but the _fingers_ didn't understand. I met my father some time after that. I remember meeting him and being told who he was, and I instantly remembered all the stories I had heard about him being in a war overseas. (For the record: kids have no idea what that means, okay? You can describe it all day long; they aren't going to get it. The entire idea is so unimaginably stupid to a child's mind that we just can't process it). He didn't stay long, I don't think, and he had to go back to whatever "war" was. Neil was done with school, and he went back to Alaska to help my mother and the sibling that was going to arrive in nine months or so. My first betrayal was from Neil. Neil was bound and determined to teach me to ride a bicycle before my father came home. He did, but my biggest takeaway from that was _not_ "I'm doin' it! I'm ridin' a bicycle!" like you see in the movies and like you pretend that you remember and like you pretend was the big takeaway your children had. I _knew_ going in that I was going to get it eventually; I just needed help. My big take away, though, was that he let go. You all did it; all of you that taught your kids to ride a bike. I don't want to sound stupid or high-falutin, but I didn't do it. I couldn't do it, because to this day I remember that betrayal. Instead I was running far harder and faster than I could sustain, waiting for them to yell "let go!" I couldn't simply let go after telling them I wouldn't. Neil did it, though, and I was devastated. He laughed about it, the way that adults do when they don't remember having that feeling themselves, but when he saw I was really, truly upset, he took the time to calm me down, apologize, and spent I-don't-remember-how-long explaining to me that sometimes adults have to break a promise to give you the confidence you need to do a thing. He went on and on to explain that this did _not_ excuse doing it, and that this was _only_ acceptable-- if awful-- when it was truly helpful to a child to briefly deceive them. He then went on to explain all the ways that were _not_ okay for an adult to break a trust or a promise, and we talked and talked and talked until I really _did_ understand. I know all the experts tell you that kids aren't capable of understanding X concept until Y years and a lot of other nonsense, but I am here right now to tell you that they _can_, if you are patient enough to understand them, and patient enough to present it in a way that they can understand. I understood it. I didn't _like_ it, but I _understood_ it. He told me that was good, and that I should _always_ remember how it made me feel, even when it was for the right reasons, and that it was absolutely imperative to remember it when I was considering doing it "for the right reason." Comparing the reason I was doing it against how I would make someone else feel would be the best measure of whether or not it was really for the right reason. My father came home after that, and Neil went back to Maine. We stayed in touch through letters, and every couple of summers we'd travel back to Starks and and visit, and in spite of being related to every single person in that town (my parents' wedding joined the two largest extended families in the area. Even if we hadn't gone to Alaska, I'd have had to leave town just to date! ), and while I had cousins my own age to go lots of cool things with, I always made it a point to hang out with Neil just as much as I possibly could. Even after I left home, I would, every few years, manage to swing through Maine and see Neil for a day or two. Chris, if you're reading this: remember when I told you that until recently I had to make arrangements to get Moxie shipped out of Maine? Neil was my connection Neil loved his hometown. He didn't travel, _ever_. He left Maine three times: once with me and my mother, to take us back to Alaska and stay with us until my father came home from war. Once, when I was in high school, he came and stayed two weeks because he wanted to see just how "the kids" had turned out, and the last time for my wedding. I tried so hard to get him to come see us after my son was born, and he said he'd really like to, but he just didn't like to travel, and hated not being home. Today is my mother's birthday. I was rushing the kids through their little chores so that we could hurry up and go see Grandma for her birthday. Before we made it to the truck, she called me. Neil died in the wee hours of the morning. It's been a pretty crap day.

I enjoyed Rolemaster myself-- Spacemaster in particular. I remember when HERO's 4e was being published by ICE and I thought "Wow! The big leagues!"

Really? No love for "R2-D2, we Wish You a Merry Christmas"?! Don't blame you really. That's still painful to think about....

Sorry for the confusion, Sir. I am familiar with his unconscionable actions. I was referring to calling it "poetic justice" as opposed to the cheering and gleeful celebrations found elsewhere on the internet. I one-hundred percent think these people need to be held accountable for such blatantly crass action. I just don't think killing them-- while quite final, as solutions go-- is really going to help.

I am really glad you said that; I coupsnt figure out how to do that in a non-offensive manner. 😕

"Poetic" I can accept. While I one-hundred-percent cannot see anti-vax and anti-mask sentiment as anything less than a conscious, willful decision to embrace total ignorance, fueled by both the misguided desire to be seen as some sort rugged individual and play the odds to look as if you never had any doubt (and because of this very thing, being dome by so many, those odds have gotten far, far worse) and the truly reprehensible drive to be seen as fitting into part of some clique of tough guys or cool kids-- the whole thing is bogglingly nonsensical- And while I have fanciful moments of a world twenty years on future with so many of this sort of person effectively dead by their own hands- Well, the fact is that I don't want people to die, especially not od monumental stupidity or of willful ignorance. And I certainly can't stand that the people who have chosen to play games with death want to chicken out after it is too late, and brong death to others by clogging limited medical resources. I get the current trend of blaming extroverts via memes and stand up comedy, but damn, that's just feeding more misinformation and causing problems, too. I am an extrovert, as are,obviously,most of the people I know, yet everyone in my social circles has done "what you are supposed to do:" no social contact other than the grocery store and paying bills and going to work. Masks all the time, every time, Even meeting with Chris- my first social anything since Day 1,would not have happened if even one of us was without either masks or vaccines. Other than that, I have suffered through every palpable moment of the "quarantine" with the understanding that if everyone else would, then things could be normal again. I am starting to think that will never happen, because there will always be "those people." There isnt any one group of types of people- it is not "just extraverts" or "just racists" (though that wouldnt be so bad I kid,of course: I genuinely dont want people to die, even if it means massive social improvements). The problem is that for some reason, people believe the nonsense. Until we can cure that, it isnt going anywhere except around and around again.

This could go into pretty much _any_ social or political thread these days, but of late, this is where I run into this person the most. Please enjoy this candid photo of an anti-masker hard at work studying.

Sarah Connor has been found, apparently.

Okay, that's all resolved. If you are inclined, enjoy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTPdOi64JWk If you are not inclined, don't enjoy. If you are inclined to watch and complain, naaah... This is the _internet_! _NO ONE_ does that on the internet! Right? oh-- any questions, feel free to field them here or there. If they are for Chris, I would encourage you to field them here, obviously. Chris: If I knew what I was doing, I'd put your smiling mug as the thumbnail.

Problem solved: new options on youtube upload tick list were ignored; video defaulted to private. Given all the technical issues above (ie, I can't get in and fix that), it was easier to re-upload. In progress now.

The museum we visited had a considerable amount of Civil War relics, but this LeMatt revolver looked like all it needed was a quick reload and it would be ready for action. Given that most western movies feature on the well-known guns of the era-- the Colts and the Smittys, etc-- it seemed criminal to pass up shots of this LeMatt.

Phone says video is up. Computer won't acknowledge its existence. It demands "update your browser!," which is not possible, since my hardware is so far behind I can't get an OS that supports any of the updated browsers.

Okay, Chris-- the Go-Kart is cleaned out; laundry is done; Noisy is poring over her Apocryphal Texts.... And the video is uploading now. For anyone else who might want to watch a sealed set of vintage miniatures being defiled, it's nearer the end of things. There's a laundry list of "please bear in mind" before anyone choses to complain, so I'm just going to suggest reading the description first to get a context for the video itself. It's not like we wanted to do anything but meet up. For anyone disappointed about the continued (relative) lack of faces-- well, since most of the videos involve an ugly old man and a bunch of minors, my camera man is trained to avoid filming actual people as much as possible. It shows here. And finally, this one will probably have a different look, as well. This one was filmed with a phone. It's not bad, I don't think, but it's not the same, either. Link going up shortly for the three or four people who care. (Oh, and the Leviathan isn't in it. Wife was concerned she might have to drive, and she hates to drive the Leviathan. This was filmed entirely on the hood of her Ford Go-Kart.)

Also forgot: As we were leaving (and Chris: I really hope you get a chance to try that Venezuelan joint because it was amazing!), K says "wow! They were really nice people!" To which I responded "uh... Yeah. I don't drive six hundred miles to meet up with jerks......" Really wish we had taken the truck though; my back is killing me....

I curtsied; that was okay, right? Seriously though: yes; wonderful people, Chris and his family. Not only that, Christopher, but I believe Chris managed to snap a photo that pairs well with Western HERO. Almoat forgot: As promised, we ripped op3n a set of vintage minis, only to discover that weren't nearly as white as I had thought they would be after all these years. I have to assume that the cellophane, even with a few holes here and there, really slowd oxidation to the lead; it is not like I was particularly careful with them.

I have never- not even once- doubted that moat of the membership of this board is far, _far_ better educated than am I. But it Just kills me that such an obvious and beautiful job of trolling goes unappreciated. There are too many perfectly wrong rapid-fire ideas in just a couple of sentences. There is _zero_ chance that all of that was not one-hundred percent intentional, and the reactions all suggest that it worked exactly as intended.