So Anyway

I finally started my own myspace page.

Whoopie!

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Quote of the Day

We don't want to nuke everyone, only our enemies.

-- Admiral Elizabeth Weymouth, UMC Navy.

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Quote of the Day

"The Freyani are really into that 'pour encourager les autres' thing."

-- Some Historian.

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And Now...An Update

From Things 1101 Through 1125 That Mr. Welch is not allowed to do in a roleplaying game:

1101. I will not cut the vault guards in on the haul instead of fighting them.

1103. Just because I was paid in advance doesn’t mean I can let the incompetent expedition leader die.

1104. There is a limit to how much innuendo I can fit into one combat round.

1107. I will not attempt to clear out the dungeon using only Bangalore torpedoes.

1108. Picking his pocket means more than just turning him upside down and shaking him vigorously.

1113. I will not shoot vampires in the chest with a large pistol just so they have to explain the embarrassing sucking chest wound.

1114. I will not take a phobia of anything that doesn’t exist in the game world.

1117. Can’t strangle a werewolf with a roll of Kodak film, no matter what we all know it’s made out of.

1118. In the middle of a black ops I will not use up all the claymores just because I don’t want to take them back with me.

1119. I cannot have my mercy surgically removed.

1120. Even if I’m in charge I can’t order the Assault Lance to perform West Side Story dance routines.

1123. In the middle of a black ops I can’t call my girlfriend to remind her to pick up some Chinese on her way home.

1124. I will leave out mating rituals when presenting a cultural exchange with diplomatic ambassadors.

1125. Letting the Red Shirt guard the plane is really frowned upon as it doesn’t leave anybody to sacrifice to the Shoggoths.

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And Now For Something Completely Different

Advice for the youth of The Far Future:

"Respect your parents, go to school, and stay out of trouble."

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Motivation for the Day

Someone Else's Thought For The Day

Someone on an obscure forum had this thought:

Had a fun thought- if Monthy Python had been in charge at the (British) Admiralty, you might have seen BCs (battlecruisers) with names like Inadmissible, Inapplicable, Incontinent, Incurable, Indefinable, Indifferent and Wombat.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled reality.
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Legacy

Chapter Five



January 2008



Susan Korrel barely paid attention to the flat screen televison set playing in the office of her patroness the junior Senator from New York.

Until someone said, “who’s that?”

Susan looked up to see the image of an old nemesis shaking hands with the acting British Prime Minister. The television set was showing the Fox News Channel’s coverage of President Bush’s arrival in the United Kingdom.

“That’s Tom Makepeace,” said Susan, “he was Urquhart’s foreign secretary.”

“No,” the other staffer said with a tone of annoyance, “who the guy shaking hands with him.”

“Doctor John Andrew March.” Said Susan with a discernable tone of anger. “Formerly of the Collage of Saint Anthony, presently the Republican Governor of Minnesota. He’s Urquhart’s nephew.”

It was at this point that Hillary Rodham, the junior Senator from New York, interjected herself into the conversation.

“You’re angry at him.” She said. “Why?”

Susan decided to answer the question with a more level tone of voice.

“He’s the only teacher I had in my entire life who ever gave me the grade of F.”

“What for?” Said Hillary.

“For speaking the truth.” Susan replied. “For standing up for the helpless and underprivileged. But as far as he was concerned I was only a robot who was parroting ‘Marxist trash’ and that I should pull my head out of my ass!”

Hillary was shocked.

“He actually said that?” She asked.

“Yes.” Said Susan. “He also told me that the only way that I could undo the fail grade was to write a paper comparing the platform of our party with that of the Nazi Party.”

Eyebrows went up and jaws dropped throughout the room.

“That,” said Susan, “tells us what he really thinks of our party and progressives in general.”

Another staff member spoke up.

“How could he have been elected Governor... of Minnesota?”

“The God-squad and the other fascist filth love him.” Said Susan. “And I’m certain that he’s started his own American branch of the Urquhart Machine.”

Hillary leaned back in her chair. She was firmly convinced that the late Francis Urquhart was the initiator of the chair of events that forced her husband into a New York state mental hospital and caused her to drop her married name in order to continue her quest for the American Presidency. Nothing short of her own death would stop her from obtaining her ultimate goal. She had hoped that she would use her power as President to bring down Urquhart and his regime. Taking down Urquhart’s American nephew would be almost as satisfying.

“So.” Said Hillary. “What else do we know about him?”

Another staff member, Emily Redmond, spoke up.

“He’s hosting the Republican National Convention in Saint Paul.” She said. “And there’s rumors that some of their candidates are thinking of asking him to take the VP slot on the ticket. We’re certain that he will meet with Senator McCain after he returns from London.”

Hillary smiled.

Crushing them in the upcoming general election would just be the start. There was so much more that could be done once the Justice Department was back under her control.

It was once said that revenge was a dish that best served cold. This was sensible advice but Hillary, being a proper Democrat, would insist on ignoring it to her peril.

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