Quite the droll one today aren't we Baron? Not that I'm gonna disagree. AsThe Baron wrote:I think it's fairly safe to say that our Quickfire experiences reality somewhat differently.
once told me in an OP on the way to Stanley, or was it in the Pampas, or even on the Galapagos after an iguana ate my last German-English worterbuch...?"When the mind's free,
The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else
Save what beats there."
Aye, indeed, there's the rub: was not until I re-read all the comics online at http://www.bloodforthebaron.com that I remembered that the guys his nibs
blatted in his youth - with a goddamn grenade, oh the vulgarity - were indeed the Tongs and not Shoalin monks. http://www.bloodforthebaron.com/Blood/B ... %2058.html
Speaking of OP's, my turn on stag again on some god forsaken Munro in the Highlands waiting for Shads to roll up tomorrow in drag, sorry seasonal eighteenth century Scottish garb. See you down the pub later in the meantime then Baron? Christmas truce and all that. Mine's a pint of McEwans and a quadruple Laphroaig or Bells or whatever as I need to work quickly. As I'm sure you'll appreciate. If I bring Haggis make that two more large scotches. Am sure it will be your pleasure.
http://www.bloodforthebaron.com/Blood/C ... %2062.html
PS. Black Major did take on and outsmart
in one of those stories much later that didn't really happen 'cos it was in the AF vs. Cobra yarns later and as of the most definitive Christmas of all time - 1984 (1983 is second) - albeit a mere 22 years ago as it is that particular parallel universe did not exist. I think that's good enough for everyone all round, innit?http://www.bloodforthebaron.com/Blood/Shadow%2008.html
I shall thus take the opportunity to reiterate that the opening of the wormhole into that particular parallel universe (I shall not repeat here the banal horrors of which it consisted) little more than two months later was of course a completely unknown quantity to kids under 10, existing only in the minds of fiendish managers at Hasbro looking after the Palitoy bankruptcy the filthy Scrooges. Little did we know then that we lived at the end of an age. Oh, how it brings back such memories of Z Force APC's and Roboskulls carefully arrayed under the Christmas tree that snow-driven morning (went sledging after the present-unwrapping festivities, how perfect that was).
Thus the innocents applying luminous stickers to
's pride and joy had no idea that come Xmas 1985 the whole social construct of 
would be gone, the last remnants shovelled up into discount bins whilst 
and 
pranced like tits on the toy-shelf stores. Adult life would spontaneously begin with the knowledge that those fighting the most profoundly wicked arbiters of international terror would be ultimately unloved. Unless they were American and had funny names for each other as if they were all bourgeois frat boys in a wannabe NFL team. How could the burning necessity of slotting multiple 
ever be replaced? I think that's when
's PTSD first kicked in, unloved by his masters in Coalville he felt the first inimical icy blast of official indifference to those who must take the lonely road as he most melancolisches-ly put it whilst hypothermic in the Andes on Op Bloodhound. "We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go
Always a little further: it may be
Beyond the last blue mountain barred with snow,
Across that angry or that glimmering sea,
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men were born: but surely we are brave,
Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand."
Which all reminds me that am just back from rapid Central Asia deployment investigating the deployment of new
kit created by some fiendish engineering genius by the name of Red Jim-Bo. A pic or two to follow on that particular string once the headshed on Ascendancy Island clear it for limited release, non-AF eyes only as it were. FROHE FESTTAGEN UND FROHE WEIHNACHTEN MEINEN KAMERADEN!
