Saturday, September 10, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Fall 1906
The Unconscionable Orders:
The Head-Clutching Results (with retreats):
The Unprecedented Third Map:
We have our first casualty of war, ladies and gentlemen! Yes that's right, while the war in Europe rages, the poor disenfranchised leader of the Austrian nation-state Archduke Guerra slips this mortal coil, not to the sound of cannon and battle, as he had hoped, but to the much more terrible cacophony of thunderous indifference. The Archduke will be briefly mourned and vaguely remembered for dying as he lived: making a feeble attempt to take Vienna that was countered by an ever-so-slightly-less feeble defense on the part of Kaiser von Turley, who swatted away the attacker in the manner of a sweaty, morbidly obese woman with labored breathing swatting away a bothersome mosquito as she watches her stories and eats bon-bons in her un-airconditioned double-wide trailer.
Grand Vizier Cherry was rumored to shed one solitary, lonely teardrop for his beloved ward before steeling himself for the greatest two-way, AC/DC buttfucking the Mediterranean has seen in this protracted, distended, pink sock-like conflict. After brutal fighting in the Peloponnese, Il Rofo and the Vizier had fought each other to a standstill in massively complicated Greek campaign, only to both be forced to retreat to Albania, where the exhausted and battleweary troops were mercilessly exterminated by the grim and steely-eyed Zaganjori mountain fighters. When the slaughter was over, the hills of Albania sang with their dreaded battle cry of "Dooooooo-riiiiiiiiiitos!"
The Marquis failed to seize any of Rofos improbably well-defended territory, despite deploying his entire fucking nation down to the Mediterranean. Maybe next year, froggie! However, his best friend, confidant, and between-the-covers-butthole-lover King Benji III fared much better in the frozen north, as he cruelly twisted the knife that he had previously jellied into Czar Alterios guthouse last spring. "Ow! Knock it off!", the Czar was reported to have said, as Pax Britannia took a giant rape-shaped dump on all of his former Scandinavian protectorates.
Builds:
England +1
Italy +1
Turkey +1
Disbands:
Austria -1 (Don't worry EG, you'll get em next time, tiger!)
The Head-Clutching Results (with retreats):
The Unprecedented Third Map:
We have our first casualty of war, ladies and gentlemen! Yes that's right, while the war in Europe rages, the poor disenfranchised leader of the Austrian nation-state Archduke Guerra slips this mortal coil, not to the sound of cannon and battle, as he had hoped, but to the much more terrible cacophony of thunderous indifference. The Archduke will be briefly mourned and vaguely remembered for dying as he lived: making a feeble attempt to take Vienna that was countered by an ever-so-slightly-less feeble defense on the part of Kaiser von Turley, who swatted away the attacker in the manner of a sweaty, morbidly obese woman with labored breathing swatting away a bothersome mosquito as she watches her stories and eats bon-bons in her un-airconditioned double-wide trailer.
Grand Vizier Cherry was rumored to shed one solitary, lonely teardrop for his beloved ward before steeling himself for the greatest two-way, AC/DC buttfucking the Mediterranean has seen in this protracted, distended, pink sock-like conflict. After brutal fighting in the Peloponnese, Il Rofo and the Vizier had fought each other to a standstill in massively complicated Greek campaign, only to both be forced to retreat to Albania, where the exhausted and battleweary troops were mercilessly exterminated by the grim and steely-eyed Zaganjori mountain fighters. When the slaughter was over, the hills of Albania sang with their dreaded battle cry of "Dooooooo-riiiiiiiiiitos!"
The Marquis failed to seize any of Rofos improbably well-defended territory, despite deploying his entire fucking nation down to the Mediterranean. Maybe next year, froggie! However, his best friend, confidant, and between-the-covers-butthole-lover King Benji III fared much better in the frozen north, as he cruelly twisted the knife that he had previously jellied into Czar Alterios guthouse last spring. "Ow! Knock it off!", the Czar was reported to have said, as Pax Britannia took a giant rape-shaped dump on all of his former Scandinavian protectorates.
Builds:
England +1
Italy +1
Turkey +1
Disbands:
Austria -1 (Don't worry EG, you'll get em next time, tiger!)
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Spring 1906
The Arousing Orders:
The Tumescent Results:
A quaint distraction, in the form of a play to be performed in one act
KING BENJI III: Excuse me, Czar Alterio?
CZAR ALTERIO: Yes, my good man? What can I do for...
KING BENJI III swings a shovel around and smacks Czar Alterio right in the face-nuts
CZAR ALTERIO (spitting out blood and broken teeth): The fuck, man?!
MARQUIS DU SALMOND: Il Rofo, my friend and neighbor! Well met, good chap! I couldn't help but notice you bending over seductively while you washed that corvette in your drive-way. Would you mind if I came over this flimsy picket fence and helped myself to a glass of that delicious..."lemonade" your wife makes?
IL ROFO: Please hold on, dearest Sultan Cherry. I seem to have a slight problem to the West. Surely I can trust you to not mess with any of my stuff while I'm away dealing with it?
SULTAN CHERRY: Il Rofo, it shall be no problem at all. I shall just busy myself with my favorite charity, the philanthropic activity of lifting up from poverty and inner city gang activity the disadvantaged Austro-Hungarian people.
CZAR ALTERIO (still working at a stubborn broken tooth): Lousy Benji over there thinking hes the stupid King of England or something. Why I oughta, grumble, mumble, etc.
Sees ARCHDUKE GUERRA and suddenly gets an idea
Hey! C'mere you!
Grabs the Archduke by the scruff of his collar and cartoonishly kicks him down the street and into Galacia
ARCHDUKE GUERRA: teeheeheeee!
KAISER MAGIC VON TURLEY whistles tunelessly and nervously
Fin
The Tumescent Results:
A quaint distraction, in the form of a play to be performed in one act
KING BENJI III: Excuse me, Czar Alterio?
CZAR ALTERIO: Yes, my good man? What can I do for...
KING BENJI III swings a shovel around and smacks Czar Alterio right in the face-nuts
CZAR ALTERIO (spitting out blood and broken teeth): The fuck, man?!
MARQUIS DU SALMOND: Il Rofo, my friend and neighbor! Well met, good chap! I couldn't help but notice you bending over seductively while you washed that corvette in your drive-way. Would you mind if I came over this flimsy picket fence and helped myself to a glass of that delicious..."lemonade" your wife makes?
IL ROFO: Please hold on, dearest Sultan Cherry. I seem to have a slight problem to the West. Surely I can trust you to not mess with any of my stuff while I'm away dealing with it?
SULTAN CHERRY: Il Rofo, it shall be no problem at all. I shall just busy myself with my favorite charity, the philanthropic activity of lifting up from poverty and inner city gang activity the disadvantaged Austro-Hungarian people.
CZAR ALTERIO (still working at a stubborn broken tooth): Lousy Benji over there thinking hes the stupid King of England or something. Why I oughta, grumble, mumble, etc.
Sees ARCHDUKE GUERRA and suddenly gets an idea
Hey! C'mere you!
Grabs the Archduke by the scruff of his collar and cartoonishly kicks him down the street and into Galacia
ARCHDUKE GUERRA: teeheeheeee!
KAISER MAGIC VON TURLEY whistles tunelessly and nervously
Fin
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Fall 1905
The Richter Gnar-Gnar Orders:
The Crucsh-Dawg Results:
Bros! Look at this gnarly bullshit! Where to start dudes?
First off, it looks like the notoriously horny Marquis du Salmond just couldn't sit idly by and let Il Rofo just chill there, bending over seductively to pick up his keys or something, with his underwear on backwards. A great order went out to the French forces: "strap on your buttfucking boots and head towards Italy, garcons!"
Italy can't yet be bothered to care, for Il Rofo is still basking in his successes in his conquest of Greece. How happy could a young dictator be? The Turks warmed up that toilet seat, and now the Wops are going to have a lovely opportunity to take a big shit on it. By which I of course mean, buttfucking the ever living shit out of a Greek population that has already become acclimatised to brutal and daily rapes and indignities at the hands of the foreign-sounding and be-turbaned Turks.
Meanwhile, King Benji III has decided to get out of the kitchen and assert his independence by staging some serious buttfucking of his own, this time directed at the Soviet settlements in Scandinavia, who were just minding their own business, enjoying socialized health care, and plotting the downfall of Pax Brittania! Fuck those guys, am I right Benji? In any case, those Swedes better put down the borscht and pick up the spotted dick, know what I'm sayin?
On her southern front, Czar Alterio's Red Army comrades continue their regional game of slappy-slappy with the famously slap-happy Turks. This conflict still seems to still be focusing on the Elian Gonzalez of Eastern Europe, the deposed Archduke Guerra, improbably entrenched in Rumania with a small cadre of elite stormtroopers/sommeliers. When will this festering Balkan zit come to a ripe, turgid head and burst, spraying the continent with the grizzly pus of glory and conquest?
And finally and most unexpectedly, the formerly staid and aristocratic Kaiser Magic von Turley has put down the brandy snifter and picked up the hash pipe, turtleneck, and paint brush. Yes that's right, bru-brows, he has decamped for Bohemia, where a bright future of bongo drums and beat poetry awaits.
I took the liberty of retreating the Russian and Italian forces to the only options available to them, namely Finland and the Eastern Mediterranean. Here are your builds and disbands:
England +1
Italy +1
Russia -1
Turkey -1
Get em in. Blammo!
The Crucsh-Dawg Results:
Bros! Look at this gnarly bullshit! Where to start dudes?
First off, it looks like the notoriously horny Marquis du Salmond just couldn't sit idly by and let Il Rofo just chill there, bending over seductively to pick up his keys or something, with his underwear on backwards. A great order went out to the French forces: "strap on your buttfucking boots and head towards Italy, garcons!"
Italy can't yet be bothered to care, for Il Rofo is still basking in his successes in his conquest of Greece. How happy could a young dictator be? The Turks warmed up that toilet seat, and now the Wops are going to have a lovely opportunity to take a big shit on it. By which I of course mean, buttfucking the ever living shit out of a Greek population that has already become acclimatised to brutal and daily rapes and indignities at the hands of the foreign-sounding and be-turbaned Turks.
Meanwhile, King Benji III has decided to get out of the kitchen and assert his independence by staging some serious buttfucking of his own, this time directed at the Soviet settlements in Scandinavia, who were just minding their own business, enjoying socialized health care, and plotting the downfall of Pax Brittania! Fuck those guys, am I right Benji? In any case, those Swedes better put down the borscht and pick up the spotted dick, know what I'm sayin?
On her southern front, Czar Alterio's Red Army comrades continue their regional game of slappy-slappy with the famously slap-happy Turks. This conflict still seems to still be focusing on the Elian Gonzalez of Eastern Europe, the deposed Archduke Guerra, improbably entrenched in Rumania with a small cadre of elite stormtroopers/sommeliers. When will this festering Balkan zit come to a ripe, turgid head and burst, spraying the continent with the grizzly pus of glory and conquest?
And finally and most unexpectedly, the formerly staid and aristocratic Kaiser Magic von Turley has put down the brandy snifter and picked up the hash pipe, turtleneck, and paint brush. Yes that's right, bru-brows, he has decamped for Bohemia, where a bright future of bongo drums and beat poetry awaits.
I took the liberty of retreating the Russian and Italian forces to the only options available to them, namely Finland and the Eastern Mediterranean. Here are your builds and disbands:
England +1
Italy +1
Russia -1
Turkey -1
Get em in. Blammo!
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Spring, 1905
The Mellifluous Orders:
The Confounding Results:
Oooooweee. Lookie what we have here, gentle-men; some Bigtime plays from some Bigtime players.
Almost two years of maneuvering finally pay off as Il Rofolio seizes the Aegean, long sought after for its strategic sun-kissed beaches and delicious tactical seafood. Now Admiral Turklo McTurbanstan needs to find a new place to park his weird Saracen pleasure yacht.
However, it's not all bad news for the Grand Vizier, as his puppet state, under the auspicious toadying of Archduke Guerra, finally succeeds in relocating it's collaborative Vichy government from Sevastopol to Rumania. Now the godless commies who had been using it for ballet and chess practice need to make like a tree and get outta there.
Speaking of godless commies, Chairman Alterio has some other problems on his hands now, as The Franco-Anglo juggernaut continues its slow, steady and rape-fueled march East. Will his Norwegian expeditionary forces be able to withstand this tide of Western decadence and agression? Perhaps, as the shrewdest among you will have noticed a suspicious internal support order among the froggie forces. Is there trouble in paradise? Does this augur a culture of mistrust between the bloated and decadent Marquis and his famously indulgent paramour, King Benji III? Stay tuned, only time will tell.
Meanwhile, Kaiser Magic von Turley continues to chill the fuck out in Vienna, weathering the storm of war and enjoying his exile while he drinks exotic liqueurs and reflects, not unfondly, on the Fall of Empire.
Gimme them retreat orders, suckers. Enjoy the war!
The Confounding Results:
Oooooweee. Lookie what we have here, gentle-men; some Bigtime plays from some Bigtime players.
Almost two years of maneuvering finally pay off as Il Rofolio seizes the Aegean, long sought after for its strategic sun-kissed beaches and delicious tactical seafood. Now Admiral Turklo McTurbanstan needs to find a new place to park his weird Saracen pleasure yacht.
However, it's not all bad news for the Grand Vizier, as his puppet state, under the auspicious toadying of Archduke Guerra, finally succeeds in relocating it's collaborative Vichy government from Sevastopol to Rumania. Now the godless commies who had been using it for ballet and chess practice need to make like a tree and get outta there.
Speaking of godless commies, Chairman Alterio has some other problems on his hands now, as The Franco-Anglo juggernaut continues its slow, steady and rape-fueled march East. Will his Norwegian expeditionary forces be able to withstand this tide of Western decadence and agression? Perhaps, as the shrewdest among you will have noticed a suspicious internal support order among the froggie forces. Is there trouble in paradise? Does this augur a culture of mistrust between the bloated and decadent Marquis and his famously indulgent paramour, King Benji III? Stay tuned, only time will tell.
Meanwhile, Kaiser Magic von Turley continues to chill the fuck out in Vienna, weathering the storm of war and enjoying his exile while he drinks exotic liqueurs and reflects, not unfondly, on the Fall of Empire.
Gimme them retreat orders, suckers. Enjoy the war!
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