Walsingham

It is a truism of military science that success in battle depends on calculable strengths such as mass and firepower. My observations is that for this reason strategy plans around this truism, anticipating success. However, this is not always the case. My question is: would the forum agree that wars are won when battles defy the outcome dictated by calculable strength?

Man, when you people build a bird feeder, you go all out!

I would caution against calling them a dumbass. I'd say they were resisting groupthink. EDIT: Up betimes, and into the garden with a bowl of porridge. level teaspoon molasses Butter as for two slices of toast A thinkly sliced apple porridge oatmeal Put the butter in a small nonstick saucepan, and melt the molasses into it. Allow this to form a kind of toffee. Add the sliced apple and cook until it softens Add hot/boiling water Add oatmeal According to my calculations this is less sugar and fat than two slices of toast and jam, and considerably more filling and delicious.

In the memoirs of a UH-1 pilot who served in Vietnam, "Chickenhawks", the supply sergeants of his regiment often distributed surplus gear to the men. However, the Army being as tightfisted as it was, nonetheless demanded what was the fate of the gear that had gone missing. This conundrum was solved whenever a helicopter was shot down, as the supply sergeants would say that the missing inventory had gone down with the aircraft. One report had said five tons of equipment had been lost with one Huey; the Huey has a nominal load of one ton. Heh. Good book, Chickenhawk. I love the description of how to fly a helicopter at the beginning.

"There are two kinds of officers, sir: killin' officers and murderin' officers. Killin' officers are poor old buggers that get you killed by mistake. Murderin' officers are mad, bad, old buggers that get you killed on purpose - for a country, for a religion, maybe even for a flag." Walsingham's addendum: Officers tell you where to die, NCOs get you there on time, commissars make sure you do.

I feel obliged to clarify that Wavell wasn't any kind of amazing soldier. i just think it would have been fun to soldier with him. Mad old bugger.

OK, so, how does that affect my second, old hound?

My household (best term I can think of) has over_1000_ hours logged on New Vegas. You're just wrong. New Vegas was a great game. Vegas, Baby, Yeah!

Jumping back to Hurlshot's commentary I think there's a lot of gun owners who'd agree. The NRA made a massive error by choosing to defend unlimited possession of firearms. In my opinion, licensing and license regulation _to a standard comparable with car ownership_ should be acceptable: 1) Owning small arms is not going to prevent the US govt., with all its military and COIN machine from stamping down hard if it ever chose to. It's not protecting anyone from the State. 2) Anyone who wants to drive puts in the hours to learn how to do it safely and doesn't **** about. If you happen to disagree with point 1 then insisting that people learn how to use guns (point 2), and making them a statement of seriousness and adulthood will just make them more effective.

I asked myself the same question today, but I don't think that most pets recognize us as a member of their species - When my cat encounters a cat she has never seen before she reacts differently then when she meets a human she has never seen before. There's probably a PhD in that observation.

Well, different strategies, I suppose. I'd make a couple points before dropping it: 1) It's not a short term approach to feeling good. Feeling good about yourself and having honest integrity is a long term commitment, and a long term benefit. 2) If a boss needs you to kiss their ass, then they're a ****ing disaster area. Transfer out of their control asap. Rosbif's "perfect job" probably wasn't. EDIT: WTF is up with my inability to spell? I keep misspelling their/they're/there! Postedit: I'm reminded of a poem I found through Field Marshal A.P.Wavell's Other Men's Flowers. ...Speak not when the people listens; Stop thine ear against the singer; From the red gold keep thy finger; Vacant heart and hand and eye, Easy live and quiet die. To paraphrase the great soldier's commentary, he thought this advise was pure bull****.

I couldn't agree less. I have such extreme range discipline that I get antsy if someone so much as waves a nerf gun around. I got that by being introduced to guns at a very young age, always strictly supervised. Five year olds can make anything dangerous if left alone. A ****ing pan of minestrone is a lethal weapon at that age. EDIT: If you chaps have ever spent any time in developing countries or with tribespeople you'll notice they are unbelievably sober-minded with tools and weapons. they get access to these at about 8 or 9 years old (generalising). It's not just me saying this. There's a growing vein of thought which suggests that many Westerners are feckless adults because we cotton-ball our kids.

I wholly approve of looking out for Calax, GD. But I think you're giving him a poor steer. 1) Long term I don't see him relying on this reference, do you? 2) It's true I've never seen a single exit interview do any bloody good - HR being ineffectual oxygen thieves - but it's a paper trail that mounts up over time. 3) Surely you'd be one of the first to concede that there is such a thing as self-respect, and integrity through forthrightness? Being honest is often tactically unsound, but overall it's the only way to ****ing go.

Good shout, Gortho. Although the year's less of an issue. It's really simple things like the day of the week, and the month.

Ew, how dare you, I'd never own a Ruger, they're using cast parts and receivers. CAST! The word alone sends shivers down my spine! Good old forged steel or no deal. Shot it with an Australian International Arms Enfield Mk4. I had to look this up to be sure. You mean a modernised SMLE? You lucky bastard!

I should imagine it depends on the animal. I believe voles see us as all-you-can-eat buffets.

What did you fire it with? Pure guess: ruger hunting rifle?

...There is a pause as the cups are refilled... Part Two: The Good Doctor "The owner of the cart turned out to be a doctor attached to the military force. I was several days acting as assistant and driver, before I realised that the doctor was a woman. I learned her name was Tristessa Mandragora, and though Tilean she could speak just enough of Estalian to give me tasks without resulting to slapping me about the head. This pleased my dignitya little, but it pleased my ringing ears still more." "We spent a month or so, travelling by cart towards what I presumed was the front lines. Around us a great army was on the march, the first I had ever witnessed. Crossbowmen, spearmen, axemen, and at our head a pack of what you Reiklings call 'freelancers' on huge horses. Songs in a dozen languages ran up and down, and round our night fires. For we were a mercenary army. Hired to die for a few silver shillings a week." "On the road my mistress and I treated the soldiers for the usual complaints a marching army suffers from: blisters, floury bowel, and broken cheeks. I learned chirurgical wisdom from watching the Doctor. The horse remained a mystery, but with kindness I found matters improving. By night I slept on the ground, and doing so I developed a cough which plagues me to this very day. Only good wine and good living will treat it." With this statement Bernardo bangs his cup upon the table. You take the hint and gesture for your cup and for Bernardo's to be refilled As an afterthought you gesture towards the one-eyed man serving you, but he shakes his head. "Parche there won't drink," Don Barracuda explains seriously. "He is concerned that his buttocks produce unholy and abbreviated noises. Refraining from alcohol is my prescription." "Nonsense!" You interrupt. "But is it not written that abstinence makes the fart grow sounder?" Bernardo says quickly tweaking the curl of his moustache with his fingers."Parche!" He continues, "Time for the food? "Soon, Don Barracuda, soon," says the man behind the bar in his rough voice. This is good enough for Bernardo who resumes his tale. "With the good doctor I travelled for a considerable amount of time. What sights there were for a young man to see! Did I mention the cavalry riding past looking splendid in their fine uniforms, and some of your Reiklander troops wheeling strange engines of war?" "Eventually Guosht drew near, and with it disaster. Word and wounded came back down the line that our vanguard had ridden ahead, full of confidence and been ambushed. Confusion and dissension reigned for it seeemd that all the agreed leaders had perished in the fight. Our forces fell to bickering, and agreeing on no strategy we ground to a halt." Bernardo's expression here is as fierce as it is rueful. And he refills his own cup while staring into the distance. "Not that I knew much of this, any more than a worm knows the feel of the breeze. We only knew as much as we did because our overnight halt had become a point where wounded men would accumulate. A patch of flat ground in a valley out of the wind, with a bit of fresh water and pine trees all round. We had no cause to abandon our labours and retreat, nor anyone to order us to advance. The wounded would pay us when they could and the doctor would barter for supplies from wagons going to the large camp some miles onwards. The year turned, the ground hardened then dissolved into a muddy autumn. Of victories we heard nothing." "Part of my weekly duties during this time involved transporting the capable and willing to a village back down the line of march. The headman would take them under his large roof for a few silver and feed them until they were strong enough to strike out on their own. This village was a full day's ride by cart away - and the horse who now responded eagerly to my commands soon could practically make his own way there and back." "As the days wore on, the number of injured grew and we had many people to attend to. We erected a small stockade, just of branches you know. I was no engineer! However, we were not without help. A small wiry man who everyone called Weasel was of assistance. He was a scarred veteran of many a savage encounter with the infection that is the green-skinned hordes. He helped nurse his fellow mercenaries while he waited for his leg wound to heal up." Bernardo's eyes have sunk into the mists of memory now, and are red veined with wine. He smiles suddenly, looking much younger, and says "We had another helper too, a big man who got given the nickname bear." Bernardo sips mechanically from his cup. "Why," You ask, somewhat foolishly, "So many animal names?" "Well calling this big man Bear almost got me a thrashing from him," the swordsman winces, replacing his drink. "He turned up at camp with a wounded left arm - not his fighting arm. There were the usual language problems, even Weasel could not speak his tongue and while I was finding this out I mentioned to my svelte helper that if he was called weasel then this towering fellow before us, must naturally be bear. I laughed and so did Weasel but I could see an expression of thunder on the the newcomer's big furry face. It was as if this was the gravest of insults to him. Perhaps his homeland did not venerate the mighty bear. Or perhaps he'd lost a family member during an ill-fated stroll in the woods. Anyway I had to act fast to redeem my continued good looks." "'A bear is in the woods' I said pointing towards Bear and walking gesturing my height and size as I did, 'and a rabbit comes hopping along', here I put my hands behind my head like two ears and did what I consider a fine rabbit impression. 'The bear says to the rabbit' and here I pretended to be a bear; 'Do lumps of your sh** stick to your fur, little rabbit?'" "You must understand that on a campaign I had most opportunity to learn words for such base terms. I thought the same must be true for this giant. So, trusting to this I continued to mime each animal as they occurred in my little story. 'And the rabbit replies back thinking that this is a strange question indeed, Why no friend bear, it does not. My fur is as lovely and as glossy as ever'." "Well, by this point Bear's expression had altered from fury to bemusement. I seeing this continued "'The bear thanks the rabbit and picks him up, as if to embrace him. ...Then the mighty bear wipes his arse with the rabbit!'" "I thought my joke had gone badly wrong. Silence had full rein in the camp and I braced myself for the impact for bear's mighty fist. My ears were the only thing to suffer an impact, and the blow was from the sound of raucous laughter, for when the Bear laughed he did not do so by half measures! " "Such was the power of my story that Bear would roar with laugher and point to me whenever I was in sight of him. It also allowed me and Weasel to treat his arm. However all this had the drawback of him occasionally calling me rabbit, but thank Shallya for small mercies he never picked me from the ground and wiped himself with me!" Some of the drunken students in the room snigger at this story and one even tries a quick abortive attempt to sit upright, but this is to do with the smell of cooking that is masking more bitter smells. Bernardo drinks and seems hesitant to continue. "Surely the tale is not done!" You ask. Bernardo climbs from the stool and staggers to the doorway in silence. He turns to answer at the door frame. "My tale grows darker from now on the memories are not peasant for me to recall. With an empty bladder and the imminent arrival of food I will continue my tale."

What do you mean 'trouble with'? Sounds a bit alarming.

I think it would be much more awesome if the Dutch monarch was like BBC Test Match Special. By which I mean that he/she would wear cake or bread based crowns baked freshly each day by his subjects. A well glazed bread crown would be - I'm guessing - well up to the normal wear and tear for 24 hours. It could then be fed to ducks. EDIT: for those who aren't familiar with Test Match Special, no one is obliged to bake them cake. It just keeps happening. EDIT2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AIswIYdtZk

Simply ask yourself, what is to be gained? Very rarely does slamming the door on your way out accomplish anything positive. If you want to give your two weeks notice, that's great, but leave it at that. "Doctor" Walsingham points out that making grand gestures is why God gave us testicles. OK, that sounded like I'm telling you to gesture at them with your testicles. Which I am.

*laughs coffee out his nose*

They sold it.

As I tried to make clear earlier, I don't have any particular objection to Reddit users trying to help churn massive amounts of data in a good cause. The problem is anyone reporting their findings as fact.

I haven't understood a single word in the last four posts. Yet I have a strong conviction that the thread has gone arsemost into hell.