The way they did it in the good old days.

I agree, the Persian boats beat that every time.

 

Ah, pardon. I have now "tried again later" and the link does, in fact, work as advertised. I should have known better than to doubt the Dark Elf.

(And if you would hie thee to a monastery, or at the very least the D&D character thread type thing, you'd notice that I am among the eviler sods in this merry place.)

In fact, now that I have briefly perused the link so kindly provided, I sense that the discussion, at least as outlined in the first post, is a little on the wide-eyed internet look-at-me-I-know-cool-stuff side. I hesitate not when I say that any one of us here could come up with more intricate and/or factually correct methods.

But I digress. Is it as rainy up there as down here?

 

And public apologies is exactly what is not on the table this horrid morning. I fear the gentleman is labouring under the misapprehension that I referred to the opening post of this thread when I was in fact referring to said piece in the link so opulently furnished to my shivering browser. As the gentleman of the opposition has willfully, and with malice aforethought, decided to twist my abundantly clear language in order to impugn my appreciation of his writing perfection, I see no other recourse than challenging him to a duel. Have at you, scoundrel, and feel my gauntlet drop heavily at your foot this very instant!

It is a shame, however, that we must fight on such a dreary day when you could place a small child on my balcony and half an hour later find him drowned from over-ingesting the most abundant heavenly outpouring seen in many an age. (Snow? Oh how I long for it!)

 

I will have the esteemed gentleman know that we had abundant snow right outside the very window of the room the present writer happens to sit in as recently as last November! What is more, it lay virtually undisturbed for nigh a week, so I think that will dispel the argument over whether precipitation of such calibre is to be found here in this most glorious of royal capitols.

As for this unprovoked sword-thrust through my right thigh, I will merely advice the abhorrently Elfin One that it is customary to first arrange for witnesses, a suitable place of duelling à outrance, some time allotted for the writing of one's will, and other sundry matters. With that said, I will now see to the loading and priming of my favourite flintlock blunderbuss, so if Mynheer would be so kind as to grant me a few minutes I will get to the aiming and discharging of said device as soon as is dogsbodily possible.

 

Alas, would that it were so! But I have it on absolute authority, viz. the charming proprietor of the local corner shop, that the weather is bound to be ever more clement this coming century, willy-nilly dispensing abundant rain one day and the next day sunshine glaring enough to cause a drought across the continent.

Now that the pleasantries are over and done with, I ask the honourable gentleman whether the load of nails and pebbles I just discharged perchance hit some vital area at all? It is rather difficult to peer through this confounded powder smoke (oh! I long for the day when some smokeless alternative might be conjured up in a laboratory in Berlin, or wherever these hellish inventions are made) and I wish to know whether I should have my dogsbody find the reloading apparati. Pray tell, while I remove my ample frame behind this rather convenient oak.

 

Oh blast and bother! I knew I should not have included Viagra among my comestibles this fine day.

Now look here, sir! There was no reason to virtually emasculate me in so cruel a fashion when I had yet to place afore me the body of my dogsbody, that lazy hound. I fear this will inevitably lead to an escalation of hostilities, especially seeing as how I just dispatched my coach and four back to the mansion in quest of the family twelve-pounder. If the downstairs staff can just locate the accoutrements of said infernal machinery, then I have grave doubts concerning the good gentleman's further wellbeing, and may in fact have to close my eyes as my loyal servants operate the contraption.

Though never fear, this is by far a better day for splattering insides across the grove than it were previously. A leaden sky, perhaps, but not a drop of manna from heaven thus far. And the field hands all sing that cheerful song, you know the one, what was it called again? Hmmm... Do your balls hang low, or some thing of that order. Oh well, it always made the old juices ferment on the grand strumpet-hunts of yore. Hmmm, twiddle-dee, twaddle-- oh yes! Do your balls hang low, can you swing them to and fro? Can you tie 'em in a knot, can you tie 'em in a bow? Do you get a funny feeling when they're hanging from the ceiling? Oh you'll never be a sailor if your balls hang low!

 

I bear witness, honorable sirs, though it may be to the demise of both of you distinguished gentlemen.

 

Oh... Er, it seems shagging the scullery maid in the hawthorn bushes took rather longer than expected, so pardon my lateness in arriving at your "flute party" -- but then I don't really swing that way. (Thank God the arrow did not permanently affect performance, though!)

Sadly, the servants seem to have run off with my equipage, so here I stand sodden and limp, nary a field piece in tow. All that remains of my armoury is the old blunderbuss, which I suppose could be used as a club. So will you kindly stand firm, sir, while I swing it in your general direction? That's a good fellow.

 

After swinging my blunderbuss at DE for a solid week, I guess I've emerged the winner of this particular duel, so why not do something useful, like steal a post from another forum? Ahem...