Hi guys, I need some help. I made a tactical error of failing to empathize with how busy my wife is what with her last day of clinical practice ending in a luncheon, and then she has to make dessert for the pot-luck her class has, and she has to assemble all the instructor gifts because she is President of her class. Anyhow, I pointed out that the house was such a wreck that I was going to spend several hours tomorrow morning picking it up for the cleaning people instead of working. Now she is storming around the house loudly cleaning stuff and I am bunkered in my office, hoping that she has to run an errand about the time I’m supposed to pick up the kids (which I volunteered to do because she does have some things to do). Why can’t we do all that stuff tonight? Oh, its date night. She’s totally gonna spit in my drink when I go to the bathroom tonight, isn’t she?
Hey guys, look at this hip chick playing beer pong! If my family was just featured for running a sex cult, I might tone down the drinking aspect of my persona.
Two judges shot in a “disturbance” at a White Castle near Indianapolis today. At 3am. “Police originally said the altercation began at a nearby bar before spilling into the White Castle parking lot, but then said the entire incident unfolded in the parking lot.” I like to imagine it was a duel over qualified immunity for government officials.
Custom built drone delivers donated kidney. Now they just need to automate the orphan organ removal protocol and we’ll be all set. Don’t ask Swiss, he already gave at the office.
“You’re the superpredator,” Joe said to his reflection in the mirror of his campaign bus. “You’ve still got a good head of hair and most women you touch don’t have a problem with it. Presidents have been made on less.”
“Is that enough?” the makeup girl asked.
she’s got nice tits they are right on the back of my neck i can feel the weight of them i can smell them
“More,” he told her. “More foundation. And maybe a little rouge to bring out my cheekbones.” He gave her a too wide smile in the mirror and she shuddered at his dead eyes.
she’s on her period I can smell it smell it smell it meat she smells like meat
“Superpredator,” he whispered as she worked, the brushes moving over his face. The comb going through his hair as she smoothed it against his head.
“Get it good,” he said. “There’s only room in this race for one crazy-haired old man and it’s not going to be me.” He gave a hollow avuncular laugh and winked at her.
“What do you think, Mr. Vice President?” she asked.
“It looks fine,” Joe said. He searched around his mind for her name and drew a blank. He reached to pat her hand instead but her chaperone reached forward and slapped his hand.
“No touching, sir,” the large woman said, her voice gravelly and thick.
fucken dyke fucken dyke fucken dyke can’t find a man that will fuck you
Joe bared his teeth in a smile at the chaperone.
There was a polite knock on the door of his dressing room, the thin door rattling in its flimsy frame.
“Mr. Vice President?” Michelle asked through the door. “Are you ready? It’s time.”
“OK, OK, just hold your horses,” he said, sliding on his folksy personality like an ill-fitting glove. Joe tore away the tissue paper protecting his dress shirt and put on his suit jacket.
“How do I look?” he asked his assistant.
“Just great, Mr. Vice President!” the girl said, shooting a thumbs up from behind the glowering chaperone.
“Michelle!” he said, opening the door. She backed away from his outstretched arms until he dropped them to his side.
“Make sure to hit all the points we talked about this morning,” she said.
yellow meat yellow meat that tiny little body i want her to land a triple axel on my dick
“Hit points,” he replied. “This morning. Hit.”
“Shake hands only. No holding babies. No hugs. Don’t autograph anyone’s cleavage.”
“Not even the guys?” he asked, hurt in his voice.
“Not even the guys,” she said firmly.
“And makes sure to launch the new slogan,” she said.
“New slogan?” he asked, lost in a fog of suck suck suck thoughts.
“Make America Moral Again?” she prompted.
“Is there a hat? I want a hat,” Joe demanded.
“No hat,” she said firmly. He had asked a dozen times already.
“Make America Moral Again,” Joe said, rolling each word around in his mouth. “MAMA. MAMA. MAMA versus MAGA.” He looked down into Michelle’s eyes and asked, “Did you like your mother?”
She ignored the question and turned, walking off the bus. Joe darted forward to smell her hair. Lilacs. Musk. Frangipani.
i want to jizz in her hair jizz jazz jism i jizz in her hair i was jazzing her hair i have jazzed her hair i have been jazzing her hair i will jizz her hair i will have jazzed her hair i will be jazzing her hair i will have been jizzing her hair
He was still savoring it the smell of her as he stepped out into the bright sun of the rally stop. The tepid roar of the crowd washing over him, faces turning to track him, hands out-reached. The pleading. The yearning. The need in them hitting him like a drug.
Good morning my Glibs and Gliberinas! And what a glorious morning it is for politicos as Barr is set to give testimony to the Senate today and the House tomorrow. On the eve of his testimony, the Washington Post dropped an article claiming that Mueller sent a letter to Barr being critical of Barr’s memo. The usual weasels took advantage of this interestingly timed news drop. Considering the Mueller report was released and had light redactions, anyone can compare Barr’s memo to the actual report and make their own determination, it is odd that a news story like this would drop on the eve of Barr’s testimony. It is almost as if the media and Democrats are trying to muddy the waters ahead of Barr’s testimony.
It’s that time again! I hope you all have a drink ready. I am not drinking today, but that’s okay because I’m currently high on cold meds and not sure what’s happening around me anyway. This may explain why I have absolutely no clue what happens in this episode. Maybe it would make more sense to me if my brain wasn’t marinating in a bath of mucus. Or maybe if I was functioning this would be even worse. The choice is yours!
We begin with a flashback to Before. Before their mom died, Before their powers awakened, Before Angela Wu fell into a Mysterious Coma and emerged possessed by a demon that feeds on the blood of virgins. Angela has come to Woke Feminist Mom with a report that Professor Rapey McRaperton has done something naughty to her, and she would like to consequently destroy him. Woke Feminist Mom offers her some “medicinal” herbs in a mug and tells Angela that she has her full support. She warns Angela that Professor McRaperton will undoubtedly frame this as a witch hunt, because, quote, “That’s what scared men do.”
Drink up, Angela! I promise that whatever is in this mug is 100% legal and won’t send you into a mysterious coma!
Angela is concerned about reporting anything because apparently Professor McRaperton is a world-famous geneticist whose discoveries have saved lives, which makes her feel as though she’s accusing Santa Claus of sexual harassment. (An odd comparison to make, since as I said before, McRaperton definitely resembled Jack Frost as portrayed by Martin Short, not Santa Claus. He was bony and angular, not jolly and round.) This left me with a lot of questions: McRaperton was shown to be a demon, not be possessed by one the way Maggie’s ex-boyfriend had been. So why would he be interested in doing Science that saves human lives rather than secretly unleashing plagues on the human population?
The flashback ends with Mel and Woke Feminist Mom assuring Angela that if she decides to take on McRaperton, they will be there for her and she won’t ever be alone. Now, in the present day, Angela has evolved into Samara Form and is screeching like a banshee while chained in the sisters’ attic. Mel ruminates that having her under guard 24/7 isn’t what she had in mind when she promised Angela she wouldn’t be alone. But, hey, at least you technically didn’t lie!
The sisters convene in the kitchen (excuse me, you’re not supposed to leave Demon Girl unsupervised? So unless Harry is up there, one of you should not be in this room) about how this babysitting assignment is seriously cramping their style. Mel says, completely straight-faced, “I blame the President.” [Side note: I am so used to this nonsense by now that I didn’t even register her saying this until the second time I watched it.] Maggie reveals that she’s failing her classes, to which Macy responds, “You’re taking classes?” Correct response, Macy. Maggie is offended by this flippancy, however — after all, if she fails she gets placed on academic probation, and if she’s on academic probation, she won’t be allowed to be in Kappa!
My sister, whose trademarked catch phrase is, “This is Trump’s America now, bitches,” screeched, “WHAT DID SHE SAY ABOUT MY PRESIDENT?!” when she saw this part.
Macy decides she’s had enough, so she calls Harry. Oh, okay. So no one’s watching the demon, then. All right. Macy wants to know where the actual hell the Elders (Silence!) are. Harry tells her that they’re busy analyzing a 5000-year-old prophecy, as if this is something they can’t do; 1. After they’ve collected the demon and brought it to Witch Jail, or 2. In the attic while babysitting her themselves.
I don’t believe in the Elders at this point. I don’t believe they’re real. I think Harry made them up and hired Orson Welles to portray them as a red herring.
The doorbell rings, but it’s not the Elders — it’s Niko and her detective partner. They’re here as part of their ongoing investigation into the disappearance of Angela Wu following her emergence from her Mysterious Coma. The sisters scramble to get rid of them before they decide to investigate the attic and find Samangela waiting for them. Unfortunately, they are the worst liars in the goddamn universe, so all they manage to do is make the cops more suspicious. Luckily for the sisters, they are rescued in the nick of time by the absolute most insufferable blonde woman, who is pretending to be an interior designer there to help the sisters renovate their attic. The obvious lie here would be to say that they wanted to convert it to an apartment to take in renters for extra income since, you know, who’s paying their mortgage now that Mom and her tenured faculty position are gone? But of course they pretend that they just want to redecorate it in Minimalist Scandinavian Farmhouse style to use as a chic winter den, and Niko apparently buys this.
Once the cops are gone, the woman reveals that she’s one of the Elders, because of fucking course she is. Of course the Elders are a group of quirky middle-aged women in white sequined pantsuits who watch HGTV on the treadmill and don’t appreciate being called Elders because that implies they’re old. Also, in her spare time, when she’s not being queen of the witches, this woman (Charity — seriously, her name is Charity) isn’t actually an interior designer, but rather the CEO of an investment company that uses micro-loans to help women in developing nations start their own businesses, thus tackling poverty and inequality through ethical, female-focused capitalism.
Real dialogue alert: That was the real dialogue.
I’m calling it right now: This Charity woman is going to turn out to be evil. Why? She’s a proud capitalist.
Mel wants to get right down to business and asks how they go about saving Angela. Charity replies that Angela can’t be saved — she needs to be killed, tonight, during the full moon, using a set of ritual killing sticks sacred daggers that she pulls from her Prada handbag.
Mel and Maggie try to protest this in hushed whispers while Charity inspects the demon in this weird perky way that kind of looks like she’s frolicking around it. I really can’t emphasize enough how much this show is filmed like a cartoon. Harry isn’t interested in their arguments, however, because he’s too busy trying to impress Charity. I don’t know if he’s angling for a slot in the Elders or if he’s just a brownnoser, but this is also just too over the top. He explains to the girls that the Elders are like royalty and must be deferred to. Mel tells him to take his monarchist bullshit and shove it, and for once I actually agree with her.
Charity informs the sisters that there’s no time to waste — another Elder has been killed, the third since the girls’ mother. The sisters protest that Harry didn’t tell them she was an Elder, and Harry says he did during his speech in the first episode. I’m with Harry on this one: I remember him saying that. They say he wasn’t clear enough, but he definitely said that was the second part of the prophecy, remember? Step one: Trump, step two: senior witches killed, step three: apocalypse. However, when Harry tries to remind them of that, Charity mutes him. Now his mouth can move forever, but no voice will come. LOL, isn’t she the best? She knows when those menfolk need to just shut their traps. Don’t all wish we had that power, ladies? Turn that mansplaining right off.
With Harry now duly silenced, Mel argues that if Charity was friends with their mom, she’d know that she would never give up on saving Angela. Why can’t they do an exorcism? Charity explains that in order for an exorcism to work, there has to be a soul still in the body, but the Harbinger is so powerful that surely Angela’s soul must already be dead or evicted from the body or whatever. Macy finds this reasonable and agrees they need to kill Angela. Mel wants to do everything they can to try to save her. And thus the series formula continues. Is it Mel’s turn to be right this week?
Meanwhile, Niko and her detective partner are discussing the girls’ shitty lying during their interview. The partner indicates he thinks they were up to something because they were so jumpy. Niko brushes him off as absurd: “Mel gets nervous around cops — as plenty of people of color do. Plus, she hates guns.”
Real dialogue alert: That was the real dialogue.
Niko appears to find her burger more suspicious than her girlfriend’s strange behavior.
Once Niko has finished educating her partner on his white privilege, we find Maggie in class, where the professor is lecturing the students on the very first line of Dante’s Inferno seconds before dismissing them, as you do. Regina George is also in the class, but she doesn’t sit with Maggie. She sits with her boyfriend, Conner or Parker or whatever his name was. Somehow Maggie managed to make it as far as midterms without ever noticing this guy or that he’s dating Regina George, the sorority president she’s been stalking for three months. She gazes longingly at him while the professor reminds them all that their midterm is on Friday and is worth 50% of their class grade. (Holy shit? Does that make the midterm worth more than the final, or is the grade in their class literally only the midterm and the final, in which case how is she flunking?)
After the class, Regina George skips over to Maggie and starts acting uncharacteristically nice. If she was like this all the time, I would see why Maggie is so invested in joining her sorority. She makes chit-chat with her about class and homecoming like a normal human being, and then when Maggie says she can’t help with the Kappa homecoming float due to her need to study for the midterm or risk academic probation, she calls her boyfriend over and asks if he could tutor her, since he’s one of Those Guys who like to sit around reading classic literature and sipping coffee while dressed in all black. Connerparkerdude is all too happy to oblige, IYKWIMAITYD.
Over at the Generic Science Lab, Macy is looking through a microscope at… something… that moves and changes while she looks at it. I have no clue what it is or where she got it or what its relevance to the episode is. When she exclaims, however, Friendzone (who appears to be back in the Friendzone after last week’s potential deflowering) asks her what’s wrong, and she attempts to distract him with a thought experiment: If you had to kill one person in order to prevent an entire town from potentially dying, which would you choose? Ah, the old Life is Strange dilemma. To Macy, the choice is obvious: kill the cunt! However, Friendzone disagrees — she said POTENTIALLY dying, which means there’s a chance they won’t die, in which case she should do everything possible to save both the one person and the town, and Kobayashi Maru this shit! Macy is flabbergasted by his lack of scientific objectivity, but also attracted to his James T. Kirk-as-portrayed-by-Idris Elba (the way it was always meant to be) style of “never say die.”
The face of a man who doesn’t believe in no-win situations. This must be why he keeps pursuing Macy.
Back at the house, Mel finds a spell in the Book of Shadows that lets her reveal the soul inside the Harbinger’s host. For a moment, the demon form peels away with a really bad CG effect. The inner Angela Banana inside the nasty old roten peel begs Mel to help her, before the Harbinger takes over again. Mel now knows that Angela’s soul is still trapped inside her body, and though the demon vows that she will never get her back, Mel is the brightest witch of her age, so…
Mel runs downstairs to where Charity is on the phone with one of her investors, admonishing them that her corporation isn’t just about the bottom line, it’s all about fostering a community of wamen supporting wamen. When she gets off the phone, Mel tells her about the spell she just performed which showed that Angela is still alive. Charity acquiesces that while she may have been wrong about the status of Angela’s soul, that doesn’t change the calculus: the ritual killing must proceed as planned.
Calculus…?
Mel tells her calculus (no, really, they said calculus) be damned, what happened to wamen supporting wamen? Charity tells her to fuck off and takes away her voice so that Mel can’t attempt an exorcism. She gives it back when Mel agrees to not perform the exorcism, though, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
This probably doesn’t look as bad in a still screenshot as it did in motion, but this was some Windows Movie Maker-tier FX.
Mel scrambles to rally her sisters to attempt the exorcism before the Elders can impose the ritual killing. She somehow manages to get Angela into the trunk of her car and goes to pick up Maggie, but before they can collect Macy, they notice Niko’s detective partner is tailing them. Mel decides to freeze time so they can escape, even though this will make it appear as though the car disappeared into thin air to the detective, because neither of them can think of a more suitable solution. Now detective partner is suspicious that Something Fishy is Going On.
Macy gets back to the house where she confers with Charity and Harry about the thing she saw at the lab, which I guess was the Harbinger’s murder spit or something. It apparently is similar in structure to smallpox, only much more dangerous because it kills instantly. Okay. She, Charity and Harry enter the attic with the ritual killing sticks, only to find Angela, Mel and Maggie gone. Maggie has brought them to a secret location, the place where the Kappa homecoming float is being constructed, and the two of them attempt to find an exorcism spell in the Book of Shadows. How they plan on making this work without Macy there to give them the Power of Three, I have no clue. Harry zips in, I guess having used his handy-dandy Witch Seeking powers, and Mel tells him about the revealing spell she performed which showed that Angela is still alive, trapped inside her own body. She also tells him that she blames herself for Angela’s situation because she talked Angela into reporting Professor McRaperton, the stress of which led to her OD’ing which is how she wound up in the Mysterious Coma.
Seriously? It wasn’t a mysterious coma, it was just a regular, drug-induced coma? That she fell into the night before testifying against Professor McRaperton? I thought we were going to get more plot intrigue than this, guys, come on.
Back at the house, Charity is telling Macy that her sisters are overly emotional, but that Macy, being a pure logical Vulcan, is a natural born leader — like her mother. Macy asks if her mother ever told Charity about her. Charity says no, but that many years ago her mother had asked Charity if she could perform a spell on her that would remove all of her pain and grief regarding a particular loss, and Charity believes that was the loss of Macy.
Up to this point, the discussion around Macy has been centered on, “Why would Mom give you up?” But literally no one has as of yet factored into the conversation the part where Macy had a dad — by all accounts her birth dad — who raised her and told her that her mother was dead. This screams “unamicable divorce” to me, but everyone keeps treating it as if Macy was put up for adoption. I don’t know why I’m still expecting this show to make any sense, but okay.
Speaking of not making sense, Macy excuses herself after this and somehow winds up over at the mystery location where Maggie and Mel are with Harry, Angela, and the Kappa homecoming float. She tells them she’s decided she wants to help, and she’s sorry she accused them of being overly emotional. She admits that she’s built up this logical Vulcan façade as a protection measure against… life or something, but I guess since it turns out that their mom had emotions, she can have emotions too. Or whatever.
As the sister join hands, the Book of Shadows opens to a previously hidden spell written specifically for the three of them in their mother’s handwriting. “It’s in Spanish,” Mel says.
Looks like Spanish to me!
“She wrote this spell for us,” Mel says. “But why?”
“So you three would find it,” says Harry.
Wat?
They get the items needed for the spell together, including an empty paint can to contain the Harbinger’s primordial form (it was either that or a crushed beer can). The only thing they need is antibacterial gloves from Macy’s lab in order to keep them from catching the supernatural smallpox. As Macy leaves to go get the gloves, Connerparkerdude shows up with a box of fireworks for the float. Maggie thought it would be a good idea to take Angela there to do the spell why? He tells her she’s smarter than she knows or some other such contrived bullshit designed to get into her pants. They start making out. What a great Kappa sister Maggie is going to make! What a great boyfriend Connerparkerdude is!
When she goes back inside, Angela has just finished breaking out of her chains and is preparing to eat Harry’s face. Maggie quickly summons Charity, who uses some kind of purple lightning whip to re-trap Angela. She attempts to hand the sisters their ritual killing sticks, admonishing them that as soon as the moon is completely risen, the Harbinger will be unstoppable. But the sisters, having plenty of time to waste on theatrics, solemnly shake their heads and refuse to take the daggers. Mel gives her a ham-fisted speech about “You knew our mom, trust her,” and Charity tearfully nods, dropping the daggers to the ground.
Thus ensues the most cornily filmed scene of this entire show (so far). Hipster music begins playing, the girls say the spell, Angela begins thrashing, all complete with weird close-ups and jerky camera and slooooowwwww motiooooooon to try to distract from the fact that the effects on this show are effing TERRIBLE. Maggie lays her hands on Angela and begins psychically telling her to come out and it’s just so freaking corny, guys. “I’m not strong enough!” “No, Angela, that’s not your story!” *gag*
Everything here is perfectly normal! It’s just a sorority initiation!
In the midst of this, detective partner shows up, looks through the window, sees lightning and a tornado and a demon coming out of Angela Wu’s mouth and thinks that the correct solution is to burst in with his gun drawn. Charity uses her magic to make his gun disintegrate, and he watches the exorcism, jaw dropped. So I’m thinking, “Okay, the detective guy knows about magic now, this is an interesting twist! Will they wipe his memory? Will he continue to be a thorn in their side all season, gradually uncovering the existence of magic? Will he somehow have something to do with Niko eventually learning about Mel’s powers?”
LMAO no. Because the camera pans to Angela puking out the demon, and when that’s done, they pan back and SUDDENLY THE DETECTIVE IS DEAD. WHAT? There’s a lead pipe across his chest. When did this happen? How did this happen? What killed him? Did the pipe hit him in the head or something? Like in the wind? But when the shitty special effects were going, the wind literally looked like it was just blowing confetti around. There did not appear to be anything dangerous flying around!
Charity says she’ll handle it, and the girls flee. Later Charity meets Mel in the attic and informs her that she disposed of his body in a way that will remove suspicion from the girls. Mel blames herself, but not enough to be sad about it for more than 15 seconds. Charity sends her downstairs, where she bonds with Angela, who has no memory of anything that happened over the last week, but is confident that whatever happened to her (she thinks she just had random blackouts from the time she woke up from her coma until now), she got through it because of these awesome sisters. Also, she seems to have no trouble adjusting to the existence of Macy, who was not there the last time she was conscious.
Episode wrap-up: More hipster music wails, Harry complains about tea because BRITISH, Maggie waggles her eyebrows and insinuates that Harry and Charity have a Thang going on, Charity takes the paint can to the mysterious other Elders (Silence!) and warns that there will be consequences for violating their orders even though she told them it was okay, Connerparkerdude comes over for Maggie’s tutoring session and she sends him away because Their Love Is A Mistake That Must Not Be Repeated Even If It Means She Fails World Lit, the girls all congratulate themselves on being the Best Witches Ever and that Mom Would Be So Proud, Niko comes over weeping that her partner hanged himself after evidence linking him to the Halloween murders emerged and she’s so upset because she thought he was her friend and Mel just stands there like a statue not reacting at all while her poor girlfriend is sobbing her eyeballs out, fuck this stupid show.
What a great girlfriend, so loving and sympathetic!
The episode ends with Charity in some?? Building?? With fluorescent pink and blue lighting?? I have no clue what this building is supposed to be or why she’s there??? She’s on a cell phone prattling to some other witch about how amazing the Charmed Ones are, they’re basically the best witches ever, while cradling the paint can with the Harbinger in it. Why? WHY NOT?!?!?!?! Some dude gets on the elevator with her and is like, “Would you mind” — glowing eyeballs — “switching paint cans with me?” And her eyeballs glow too and she just hands him the paint can with the Harbinger in it and off he goes.
Fin.
WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING ON THIS SHOW? WHO WROTE THIS? THIS READS LIKE THE SORT OF SHIT I WROTE IN MY COMPOSITION BOOK IN SEVENTH GRADE! NOTHING MAKES SENSE! THE WAY PEOPLE REACT IS NOT REALISTIC AT ALL!
Seriously, where even is she supposed to be here?! Just strolling around with her demon paint can!
If I was more lucid, I would have a better wrap-up for you that more thoroughly dissects the fact that, just as with all SJW media, the characters on this show don’t seem to really make mistakes or face consequences for their actions, and this whole program seems to be a vehicle for feminist wish fulfillment where everyone thinks you’re awesome and even if some things go a little wrong, at the end of the day, you’re basically the best. But I don’t feel well enough for that. So, see you next week, guys!
Good Afternoon, everyone. How are each and every one of ya? I’m a little bit down. Last year we inherited two old revolvers. I finally had them looked at, and neither one is in shooting condition. Both are also older than I thought. The .32 is a 1912 Colt. Unfortunately it needs a new barrel and some mechanical work. The guys at the gunshop were sorry that it had been used so well, because in better condition they would have tried to make me leave with a pile of cash instead of taking it home. They were still pleased to have met her. I also have a pre-1915 S&W M&P .38. It also needs some mechanical work before it will work again. They suggested I clean them up and take them to this other guy they know who likes working on old guns. So maybe I’ll do that.
It turns out that super-moron Jacob Wohl was behind the ham-fisted sexual assault smears against Buttigieg.
…And this is why Trump is only my least-worst-option. $2,000,000,000,000 in infrastructure? For fuck’s sake. That should pay for a new bridge over every stretch of highway in America.
Jesus, did we learn nothing from the 90s? The economy is growing. Employment is at record highs. Why change any of the settings now?
I may have mentioned on this fair website that I hail from the magical lands of Romania in general, the capital thereof in particular. Bucharest can be a strange city. It is not always pleasant. It is loud, the air quality is quite poor, and the traffic is some of the worst in the world. The traffic contributes to both the bad air quality – lots of old second hand diesel cars for which the filters are not changed as needed – and the noise – Romanians do love to honk their car horns for no apparent reason. While some areas are green, overall it lacks in this department. The public transport is mediocre at best – unless you are lucky enough to be able to use the subway, and even then it is very crowded.
On the other hand, there was a bit of economic boom recently and there are still opportunities for the entrepreneurial types – as long as you don’t mind the prospect of occasionally having to grease a palm; the luxury clubbing scene can be great if you are into that sort of thing; the hipster clubbing scene is quite good if you are into that sort of thing. You can find plenty of craft coffee, good wine bars, decent beer bars, good if not spectacular restaurants, and the prices are overall decent. There are plenty of things in stores, but still not as many as in richer nations. It is generally quite safe, the education is good – as long as you do not rely on schools for it, and the healthcare is good – as long as you don’t get sick. The cinemas show – amazingly for Europe – not dubbed movies, there are sufficient number of theaters, shows, concerts. The gyms are plentiful as long as you are not looking for serious strength / power-lifting and you enjoy machine biceps curls and looking at hot young things in tight yoga pants.
For me it is home. Born and raised here. Probably the only place in Romania I will live in. This is generally true of most Romanians born in the few large cities which still have an economy. Especially true of Bucharest. I would find no reason to move unless I want to do so to a rural area – which I don’t – or abroad which I have not excluded yet. Most people in Romania move to Bucharest.
To get a bit of the old history in, Bucharest is, unofficially, the oldest city in the world. It was first built by the Ancient Dacians in 9560 BC. Their technology was so advanced the city was completely indistinguishable from a heavily wooded swamp. Camouflage, if you will… It is to keep the jealous foreigners away, you see. After the Ancient Dacians left earth to colonize Orion’s belt, their descendants lost some of the tech. As such, about 600 years ago, Bucharest was re-imagined as a bunch of hovels for shepherds. After that it continued in a haphazard fashion and became the capital of Wallachia.
It is not, geographically, a particularly good place for a capital. It is in the middle of what was an extensive forest and/or swamp and is now sort of a dry steppe. The Plains of Baragan. In the summer it can be scorching hot – 40 degrees of it – and the dust from the dry plains, plowed for agriculture, but insufficiently irrigated is raised by hot winds and dumped onto the city, doing wonders for air quality. The dust is compounded by all the building going on and, just for fun, we get an occasional dump of Sahara dust, migrating all the way from Africa. In the winter, it can get under -20 and the cold winds roar over the plains, unhindered by obstacles. It is, I believe, the EU capital with the highest difference between summer and winter temperatures. It was also not that easy to defend, which I assume is why the Ottomans liked it as a potential capital, compared to the previous ones which were in more mountainous terrain.
But a capital it is, since 1698 for Wallachia and the capital of Romania – smaller and greater – for as long as there was a Romania. Officially it has about 2 million people, unofficially probably quite a bit more, as people who come here do not formally change their residence in government records. It was the sort of capital that, throughout history, gave western travelers the chance to write the people back home about the quaint, backwards, chaotic little eastern town they are staying in. It was rather Balkan, if you will, and always a hundred years behind the west. The fact that the occasional earthquake leveled things, or, when that did not happen, a fire or plague did, was not…helpful. Romania was also a bit of a battleground for Austrians, Russian, Turks, Polish, Tatars and whoever felt like a little bit of ye olde invasion.
After Romania became Romania and the general industrial revolution started locally, things started to improve. Slowly but steadily, in local fashion. This was the time when the architecture and high culture brought about the name “Little Paris” (Micul Paris) of the east, to insult the French, I assume. It had some more advanced features, to be fair. It was one of the first cities in Europe to have horse drawn trams when in 1871, “Societatea Anonimă Română de Tramvaie”, with English and Belgian capital received permission to install the metal tracks. In 1893, electric trams came about. In 1861, it became one of the few cities in Europe to have gas powered street lighting, before Paris did. In 1882, the first electric street lights came about.
Things were not perfect and there were still plenty of slums – but things were constantly improving. Until communism came about and the improvements became clearing entire neighborhoods and building brutalist apartment blocks, close together, with few green spaces and little parking. They were poorly made, poorly insulated, with small cramped apartments which did not always have heat or hot water in winter. But they were needed to get the workers in, workers who were supposed to man the hastily built factories and give birth to the socialist dream. Mostly they became … what is the word… disillusioned, alienated… They were either from the old neighborhoods or from the country and apartment living was not always positively received. While country houses rarely had plumbing, they had some space, some green, some feeling of community which now was missing. The subway was built and the trams greatly expanded to cart the people from the apartments to the factories. And life was.
Fast forward again, communism fell and after the first 10 years of not much happening, a new construction boom took place. Newer – better, but expensive – apartment buildings were made, the suburbs expanded for those who wanted their own house rather than an apartment, the factories were torn down to make way for shiny office buildings. The old brutalist buildings where insulated and restored – which meant putting polystyrene on the outside and painting them.
Due to the difficulty of getting cars in communism, it became a status symbol and now everyone wants one. They are, to be fair, useful to have. But the communists did not design the city for cars. The streets are not large enough and parking is significantly below requirements. This led to cars being parked everywhere, further restricting traffic as at least one lane of a road is occupied by parked cars. People drive angry, park angry, honk their horns and swear, there are feuds so to speak over parking spots. But, in the end, people do have cars and the housing stock is improving. Some of the new ones are quite nice. And traffic and parking are, in the end, a huge problem in all large European capitals.
Overall, despite its problems, Bucharest is reasonably thriving right now, all things considered. I cannot say I have a bad lifestyle, although I would like better air quality and less noise. My commute to work is about 35 minutes each way, but 28-30 of that is walking, which I do not have a problem with and count it to daily exercise. I take the subway for two stops, and usually at hours when it is not crowded due to being a morning person. But even if crowded, 2 stops in 5 minutes is bearable. While this post may seem somewhat negative –and it somewhat is, there are many aggravating things about this place and people tend to focus on the negatives – it is not among the bad places of the world. It can be quite good, depending.
*109, according to Mercer ”Quality of living city ranking” 2019
Good morning my Glibs and Gliberinas! And what a glorious morning it is for those enjoying the Washington shitshow as the Democrat witchhunt continues apace with Trump suing two of his banks to prevent them from abiding by the Democrat’s subpoenas to hand over every sliver of banking information they have on him.
Ever since reading a mystery novel in which the victim lives on a narrow boat, I’ve wanted to tour the English countryside in one. This year, I convinced an old college friend to join me and off we went.
The canals of England date mostly to the 18th century. They were originally used to transport goods like coal and salt. Today they are part of Britain’s inland waterways and used mostly for pleasure. Narrow boats are designed for the canals. They are typically just seven feet wide and range from 48 to 70 feet long.
We rented a boat from Anderton Marina in Cheshire through my time share.
When we checked in at Anderton, they gave us a booklet with routes and points of interest along the way, as well as some brief instructions on how to run the boat. An octogenarian with dry wit named Archie showed us the most important valve on the boat (the propane valve), the most important rope (the center rope) and the daily maintenance we would need to do. Every day, we needed to grease the propeller shaft and make sure the propeller wasn’t fouled (and clean it if it was) and top off the water tanks.
He took us out on the canal to make sure we could steer. He was very nonchalant about two clueless middle aged American women taking a boat for a week and that was actually reassuring. When handing us the life jackets, he said, “We have to give you these, but if you fall in, stand up and walk to the side.” The canals are only about three or four feet deep. I wouldn’t want to fall in though, because ick. When we asked about what knots we should use to tie up at night, he said, “Whatever you can untie in the morning.” After about 15-20 minutes of steering instruction, he pointed us north, gave us a pub recommendation, and sent us on our way.
Our rental was one of the small ones, just 48′ long, and sleeps four – two in the bedroom and two on the pullout couch. It was quite cozy.
The kitchen had a little refrigerator, stove and even a microwave. It did not have a coffee pot or toaster.
It did have egg cups.
When you drive the boat, you stand at the rear and steer using a rudder. This means if you want the front to go left, you push right and vice versa, much like a sailboat. But, the sailboats I’ve been on are small and respond quickly. This…doesn’t. The boat is long and slow. Here’s what it looks like while you are driving.
Narrow boats go slowly. The speed limit on the canals is 4 mph, but you are not supposed to create a wake as it could damage the canals. In addition, you are supposed to drop to idle speed when passing moored boats. As a result, people walking their dogs, or pushing strollers along the tow path, routinely passed us. This lets you look around and enjoy the scenery.
We saw lots of ducks, swans and herons.
There were daffodils everywhere.
The point of a canal vacation is to cruise along, then tie up near a point of interest and walk in to see what there is to see, or visit a pub. Along the route we took, there really wasn’t that much to see. In a way, that was the point for me. I wanted to see the English countryside and this was it. Little towns with a pub or two.
We did stop near Massey Hall which is a country house with tours, a gorgeous garden, and a deer park.
We stopped at the Keckwick Science and Innovation Center in order to walk up to Daresbury – the home of Lewis Carroll. The Science and Innovation Center was nerd central. It had a building named “Electron Hall” and a Van De Graaf accelerator. The accelerator looked like an air traffic control tower. When we first saw it, we thought we were approaching an airport.
The booklet claimed there was a Lewis Carroll Center in Daresbury.
That turned out to be a corner of a church shop. But, the village was cute with a Tudor style pub, a Mad Hatter Cottage and a Dormouse Tea Shop.
We were definitely in horse country. Walking to Daresbury, there were horse crossings. One button at walking height and one well above my head.
In the town of Sale, we came across the worst named restaurant ever.
We later found out it’s a chain. Tells you all you need to know about British cuisine.
Along our route, we needed to go through tunnels. Because the tunnels are too narrow for boats to pass, the longer ones restrict entry to specific times. For example, the third tunnel we did restricts northbound entry to 10 minutes starting at the top of the hour. The tunnels are not straight and we were not good at steering.
Good thing I got that damage waiver.
Locks are another feature of the canals. Our route had only one, right before the third tunnel that only allowed entry for ten minutes. We ran into a traffic jam. After we cleared the lock, we had to wait to enter the tunnel. Someone else was coming through the lock behind us.
While we waited, five boats came out of the tunnel.
Since the boat behind us was still in the lock, there was nowhere for them to go. It was a little hairy for a while, but we managed without running into any other boats.
I had wanted to go during the summer, but now I’m really glad that we went in March, despite the cold.
On Saturday and Sunday there was a lot more traffic on the canal, which was a little stressful, especially when there were boats moored on both sides.
I suspect the canals stink in the summer and it would be much harder to find a mooring. As you can see in the photo, even on a weeknight in March, there a lot of boats tied up in the desirable places. Out of the week we had the boat, we were only able to tie up at mooring rings twice. The rest of the time we used the mooring pins. I also think routes with more locks would see long waits or traffic jams like the one we encountered. That wouldn’t be much fun.
This was a truly relaxing vacation. I got to see parts of England I wouldn’t have otherwise and from a different perspective. There was no Internet, no TV, and I ignored my phone. Instead, I got to read and draw in the evenings, as well as catch up with my friend. If I lived in England, I’d do it again.
Hi guys, Happy Monday. I’m celebrating being able to keep food down after the stomach bug my youngest had made its way through all of us. I don’t know who is in charge of my digestive tract, but that daemon decided to purge the whole system Saturday night, and I just had my first real meal today. Even then I didn’t eat much. I hope you all had better weekends.
Unlike our previous two historical studies, this one begins in Europe. The story of bolt-action guns begins in 1824, with a German inventor named Johann Nikolaus von Dreyse.
This was a time when the percussion ignition system was just beginning to replace the flintlock in the game fields and militaries of the civilized world. Most of the guns using the newfangled fulminate ignition systems didn’t change much from the flintlock pattern; they were still single-shot front-stuffers, differing only in a slightly cleaner and more reliable means of igniting the powder charge. Across the Atlantic, the Rocket Ball self-contained cartridge was not yet a gleam in Walter Hunt’s eye, but Johann von Dreyse was already thinking of what the percussion ignition system might allow one to do.
It’s important to note that, at this time, breech-loaders were hardly a new thing. Henry VIII owned a breech-loading fowling piece. In the American Revolution, some British troops were even armed with Ferguson flintlock breech-loaders, a single-shot affair where the trigger guard rotated to lower a plug to allow ball and powder to be loaded. In 1811, an American named John Hancock Hall invented another breech-loading flintlock, this one using a lever to raise a portion of the breech that loaded from the front.
In 1824, in his home stadt of the Archbishopric of Mainz, von Dreyse started a factory to manufacture the new percussion caps. Not content to supply the demand for fulminate ignitors, Von Dreyse wanted to make a breech-loader for sale to the Prussian Army, but the new percussion system led to better ideas than the previous flintlock breechloaders were capable of; what von Dreyse came up with was quite a bit better, in fact, than Hunt’s anemic Rocket Ball.
Needle Gun Cartridge
The cartridge resulting from von Dreyse’s work was a real oddball by today’s reckoning. The new round used an 15.4mm (roughly .60 caliber) egg-shaped bullet held in a paper sabot, with a black powder charge in a paper case behind the bullet. The percussion primer was placed at the base of the bullet, requiring a striker to pierce the paper case and pass through the entire powder charge to ignite the primer. This required something longer and thinner than what we are accustomed to nowadays as firing pins; it was, in fact, something very needle-like. What von Dreyse came up with in 1836 and the Prussians adopted five years later (apparently military procurement in those days was several orders of magnitude more efficient than today, requiring only five years to test and approve a new service weapon) was the Leichtes Perkussionsgewehr Model 1841 (Light Percussion Rifle Model 1841) but which became better known as the Zündnadelgewehr, or Needle Gun.
The Dreyse Needle Gun had several virtues. It was simple, the breechloading mechanism being a cylindrical receiver in which the breechblock rotated and drew to the rear to load the paper cartridge; the breechblock was moved with a simple projecting handle with a round knob, forming the first bolt-action breechloader to be adopted by a major military. The Dreyse breechloader allowed Prussian troops, no slouches by any measure, to increase their rate of fire and therefore be even more efficient at slaughtering their enemies.
The needle gun cartridge even had an advantage that cannot exist with metal-case ammunition. Igniting the powder charge at the front of the load actually results in a more efficient burn, with the propellant gas expanding from just behind the bullet and consuming more of the charge within the barrel rather than blowing a portion of the unburnt powder from the muzzle, making the flash so characteristic of black-powder arms.
Dreyse Needle Gun
But the Dreyse Needle Gun likewise had several weaknesses. The needle, while designed for easy replacement, was fragile and prone to breakage. The gun, like most black-powder pieces, fouled quickly. When hot and dirty from repeated firing, the bolt took considerable strength to open. But the needle gun was successful enough to warrant an upgrade to cast steel barrels and a stronger action in the 1862 model, and eventually the factory in Mainz was cranking out 30,000 rifles a year; all in all the various militaries of the German states fielded over a million needle guns, and orders came in from as far away as Romania and even Japan.
In one of history’s little ironies, it was in a Prussian triumph that the Dreyse needle gun saw its end. In 1870 the Franco-Prussian War broke out. While the Prussians won that war, the French Chassepot breechloader, also based on a turn-bolt action, proved so superior to the Dreyse as to make the German states look to upgrade.
How they would do that would lead to the rise to prominence of one of the most famous names in gun-making. But before we examine that, let’s look at the French pieces that led to this decision.
The French? Yes, the French.
In the 1870 Franco-Prussian war, the Prussian troops found themselves facing French soldiers armed with the Chassepot rifle. That weapon’s history has some interesting parallels with the Dreyse.
Chassepot Rifle and Cartridge.
In the mid-1850s, a French inventor and gunsmith named Antoine Alphonse Chassepot was, like the German von Dreyse, messing about with breechloaders. Like von Dreyse, he had ambitions of selling a breech-loading rifle to the military, albeit the French Army rather than the Prussian.
What he came up with was the single-shot bolt-action breechloader adopted by the French Army as the Fusil modèle 1866. Like the Dreyse, it used a paper cartridge, firing an 11mm (more or less .44 caliber) bullet at a higher muzzle velocity than the bigger bullet of the Dreyse; this led to greater accuracy at longer ranges. Like the Dreyse, the Chassepot was technically a needle gun, using a long, sharply pointed firing pin to fire the primer located inside the paper case, although in the French arm the primer was loaded at the rear of the cartridge.
Unlike the Dreyse, the Chassepot had a better gas seal in the form of a rubber “obdurator” on the bolt, which along with the lighter bullet led to higher muzzle velocities. The French rifle also had sights marked up to 1,600 meters as opposed to the Dreyse’s 600 meters. However, like the Dreyse, the Chassepot rifle was prone to fouling in the action, making the rifle difficult to use when heated and dirty. This was in large part due to the paper cartridge’s inability to form a good gas seal. The addition of the rubber gas seal helped, but the paper cartridge was the problem.
Because of this, the Chassepot rifle was only used in its original form for eight years. To properly examine what came next, we must first look across the English Channel, and across the Atlantic.
A New, Better Cartridge
Paper cartridges had several disadvantages. They were fragile, unsuited for use in any kind of repeater, primers were difficult to fix in place, and they could not form a good gas seal in the action. In the Americas at this time several gunmakers like Spencer and Henry were experimenting with rimfire cartridges, but those also had the limitations of only being suitable for low-powered rounds due to the weakness of the case head and not being reloadable.
But in 1866, two men were working on a solution to that problem and, in an inarguable case of convergent evolution in technology, the solutions they came up with were very similar.
In the United States, the man in question was a New Yorker named Hiram Berdan, who patented a solid-head brass case with a centerfire primer. Berdan’s primer was a simple cap that tightly fit the aperture in the case head, forming a good seal, while the anvil for the primer formed part of that case head, while the flash from the primer entered the case through two small holes on either side of the anvil.
Meanwhile, in Great Britain, Colonel Edward Mounier Boxer of the Royal Arsenal in Woolrich, came up with a primer that, like Berdan’s, fit tightly in an aperture in the solid brass case head; unlike Berdan’s primer, the anvil was contained in the primer, while the flash entered the case though a central aperture. This made the Boxer primer better suited for reloading, as the central flash hole made de-capping much easier.
In one of life’s little ironies, today the Berdan primer is used primarily in Europe, while modern American ammunition uses almost exclusively Boxer primers.
As was true with lever guns in the United States, the advent of brass-cased, fixed ammunition would have significant influence on the development of bolt guns in Europe.
The French Adapt
In 1870 the British Army adopted the famous falling-block Martini-Henry rifle, immortalized by Rudyard Kipling in his poem The Young British Soldier:
When ‘arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don’t call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She’s human as you are — you treat her as sich,
An’ she’ll fight for the young British soldier.
1874 Gras rifle
Cross-eyed old bitch the Martini-Henry may have been, but the .450/577 paper-patched brass cartridge it used caught the attention of the French. France responded by adapting the Chassepot design to use a new brass cartridge, the 11x59R Gras, resulting in the Fusil Gras Modèle 1874. This was a singular improvement over the paper-cartridge Chassepot, and Gras rifles were used up until the Great War, at which point 140,000 or so Gras rifles were modified to use the 8mm Lebel cartridge then in front-line use.
The Gras was a very successful single-shot bolt gun, and there was even a repeating version, wherein the regular Gras rifle was fitted with an awkward, cumbersome gravity-feed hopper. That part was not successful; but the Gras saw service with many armies besides the French, including Greece, Monaco, Russia and Spain, among others.
But while all this was going on, across the Rhein in Bavaria, two brothers were looking at the success of the Gras and thinking they could go one up on the French designers. Those brothers were Paul and Wilhelm Mauser, and theirs was a name that would end up as one of the most significant in firearms history.
Back to Germany – Two Brothers Named Mauser
Paul and Wilhelm Mauser
Back in Germany, in the little village of Oberndorf am Neckar, two brothers were getting into the gun business. Paul (given name Peter Paul, but generally referred to as Paul in documentation I’ve seen) and Wilhelm Mauser were a good team of industrialists; Paul was the engineer and designer, while Wilhelm was the businessman.
I’ve had the good fortune to have visited Oberndorf. It remains a pleasant, scenic little town along the Neckar River south by southwest of Stuttgart, home not only to the original Mauser-Werke but also to the Heckler & Koch plant – or, at least it was all those things in 1997 when I was there. It’s a typically beautiful little Bavarian village, set in a valley in the Bavarian forest; the Neckar river winds placidly through the town, and there are several wonderful gasthauses where one can enjoy a plate of schnitzel and an early-afternoon pilsner. I was lucky enough to have done so and would love to do so again.
I think the H&K works has moved, but Mauser is still there, now part of the enormous German Rheinmetall complex of factories. It’s an interesting note that the main guns used in the American M1A1 and M1A2 main battle tank is a Rheinmetall design, making that formidable 120mm smoothbore main tank gun a first cousin to the Mauser bolt guns found in armies and game fields all over.
Oberndorf was no doubt an equally pleasant place in 1870, when the brothers Mauser put the finishing touches on a single-shot bolt rifle intended for the various German militaries. Their final design became the Infanterie-Gewehr 71 (Infantry Rifle 71) and was the first commercial success for Mauser in a rifle design. Firing an 11mm (.44 caliber) black-powder cartridge, the single-shot 71 Mauser didn’t look much like the iconic Mauser rifles of later years. The action lockup was accomplished by combining a single locking lug with a bolt guide rib, and of course the piece had no magazine. The one feature the Model 71 had was the over-the-top Mauser wing safety on the bolt shroud, which would eventually become one of Mauser’s more recognizable features.
The 1871 Mauser would see several modifications and variations over the years, until it was eclipsed by later designs. But the famous name Mauser started here, with that single-shot 11mm infantry rifle. Wilhelm Mauser died in 1882 but lived to see the 71 and its variations used all over Europe, by the Ottoman Empire, Serbia, Austria, by the Irish Volunteers and in as far-flung places as China and Uruguay. His brother Paul would continue designing bolt guns, eventually coming up with the model that would set the standard for bolt rifles until… well, today.
For the best history on Mauser rifles available, I cannot recommend Ludwig Olson’s Mauser Bolt Rifles strongly enough. A copy of that work is in my permanent arms-reach desktop reference collection.
And Then This Happened
All over Europe, the various militaries were switching to single-shot bolt guns firing brass black-powder cartridges. But in Switzerland, a nation better known by most folks for discreet banking and chocolates, the Swiss Army was quietly adopting a different kind of bolt gun, one that borrowed an idea from an American design. We’ll examine the rest of Europe’s forays into bolt guns in Part Two.
But there was another big change in firearms technology on the horizon. Remember the big impact smokeless powders had on the development of sixguns and lever guns? Well, the impact on bolt guns was no less profound, and while many manufacturers were about to spring on this new technology, when it comes to bolt guns the designers at Mauser-Werke were ahead of the pack. But that’s a subject for Part Three.
But a capital it is, since 1698 for Wallachia and the capital of Romania – smaller and greater – for as long as there was a Romania. Officially it has about 2 million people, unofficially probably quite a bit more, as people who come here do not formally change their residence in government records. It was the sort of capital that, throughout history, gave western travelers the chance to write the people back home about the quaint, backwards, chaotic little eastern town they are staying in. It was rather Balkan, if you will, and always a hundred years behind the west. The fact that the occasional earthquake leveled things, or, when that did not happen, a fire or plague did, was not…helpful. Romania was also a bit of a battleground for Austrians, Russian, Turks, Polish, Tatars and whoever felt like a little bit of ye olde invasion.
