Minecraft Forums

Quote from StarlightGlimmer»

Internal improvement ands stuff like that. Look at what Switzerland is doing, they aren't powerful but they stay out of other people's problems.

Being a Great Power and holding that status has less to do with how your country functions internally than you'd think. Great Power status entails a national infrastructure and muscle to play a part in and influence other nations, and then to enforce that. This implies either a powerful military base, or a robust corporate structure that makes it attractive to bank with that nation, or to base one's headquarters there. And in the 21st century you could include telecoms.

Switzerland isn't even close to being a model of a perfect government, it's not well managed to the point of being what we should do with the United States. Not to mention a different history that better contextualizes its government for t he Swiss than it does for the United States. The Swiss right now are dealing with immense inflation, the same immigration problems as anyone else. And while they may not care about it.

While we like to say Switzerland has the superior banking infrastructure because le tax haven and secrecy laws (just do your banking in and out of Delaware, they're the Switzerland of the Americas), Germany has a more robust and powerful banking sector. So much so the Germans are looked at as being the defacto leader of the European Union and the force to reckon with when you're in the middle of a Eurozone crisis.

The Germans are a Great Power without even having had a real army since the 1990's, or as robust a one since the Second World War.

While I'm not going to say the US is without its issues it's the more robust of nations, held back by the Movement Republicans of the sixties and the legacy of Reagan. But we hold a majority of the world's telecommunications, international web-traffic ultimately gets routed through the US on its way from Asia to Europe, or South America to Africa, or Africa to Europe. We're the world hub.

We're the host nation of the UN, and our permanent status as Security Council member entails even though you want to pursue isolationism: we can't. We're too crucial of a nation for that. We're internationally recognized - since the ending of the Second World War - as being a political player internationally.

And the issues of NATO aren't our own, and we shouldn't withdraw from it. We'd be letting a lot of important nations hanging, including the Germans and the Brits. But NATO is something that's fallen victim to the post-Cold War political atmosphere. Because of course no one wants to pay into it: Russia wasn't a problem then anymore and NATO's goal as a Russian containment block was irrelevant for twenty years.

We can't abandon NATO and let the world rot around us or the US will find itself slowly more isolated and all these things we enjoy that we didn't know we even had will be gone and suddenly what we have as problems will be beyond simple infrastructure bills. We're a lot better off than you'd think, and a lot of that comes from our ability to play a major part on the world stage and benefit ourselves as much as our allies.

Quote from danthonywalker»

I wish I can be a philosopher.

However, I'm not sure how people who are regarded as like mathematicians, philosophers make a living that isn't teaching.

By telling kings to get out of their sunlight.

>ShoutingIsFun will never write for the show.

(⌐□_□)

>tfw he doesn't know loss

^:)

People who complain about religion are those who honestly probably not have taken any time to read about any religion. While it's difficult to calculate the whole number of faiths around the world, the current estimate puts the number at 4,500 individual faiths. And this probably doesn't account for the diverse range of denominations to each faith; for example, Christianity has 34,000 denominations. Likewise Islam as a lot of denominations beyond the typical Sunni-Shia split; within these splits you have your own denominations, then you have outliers like the mystical Suffism (home to the likes of AR Rahman and Fateh Ali Khan, and this is ignoring sects like the Quranic purists who refute the authority of the Hadith which lends credit to the Sunni-Shia split among others.

But even continuing on the internal operations of Islam: it could be argued that like Christianity post-Luther the religion has housed a flowering and expansion of diversity. The religion has a strong emphasis on concepts like Ijtahid, or the exercise of one's rational thinking when it applies to law and religious ruling, as much as it does Taqlid (emulation). To make it brief the concept of Fiqh is the interpretation of religious scripture applied against real-life situations based on the reasoning of the person partaking of the learned authority of a scholar (which has ranged from being very liberal to balls-to-the-wall insane like in Wahabism and Salafism).

This just about lays out the two biggest and most predominant religions in the modern era, and what everyone zeroes in on when the topic of religion that comes up. And just those paragraphs alone do not scratch the surface, they don't even begin to scratch the scratcher of the surface scratching.

But we're not even done still. There's still more!

Buddhism: I'm not even counting (and some of these, like Tibetan Buddhism may have eight-different sub-sects)

Hinduism: Four different ways of practicing the faith (Yogas), thousands of gods, the possible combinations of ways you can tackle this gets insane.

You could go on, and like I find with history the people who make sweeping assumptions about the topic aren't the most well-read, or even at all. You could be valid in complaining Christianity is violent, but I'd have to point you to the Menonites. You could like-wise say Islam is a cold religion, but then I would ask you to check into Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi Balkhi.

Quote from CreeperCooperBlock»

Did you do enough research before stating people are putting out their own opinions too fast before researching?

Wait, did I do my research?! Darn it, davbog16, you've beaten me. Have a 1+.

Aw hell man, he's moving the goal posts!

We'll never "win" now!

It always gets me when anyone brags about how mature they are for their given age and how their interests don't align with those of their peers in their age group. You don't need to flaunt it, it's like walking into Grand Central Station and screaming about how you don't like X or Y unlike other people and your equal and you should be taken seriously for that. It doesn't make you any more mature, you're grabbing for attention or adoration as much as your peers but doing so by being "edgy" in some way by saying you're unlike the others which puts you at an advantage.

You're not. Your prefrontal cortex hasn't developed fully yet. You're still vulnerable and capable of doing stupid things and stupid decisions. Work is fine. YouTube is dead. God isn't dead. You can barrage and the Farrage.

Quote from FlyingFlames13»

But your post number is trips

Still a get.

Vernazza, Italy

A single white helicopter emblazoned with the seal of the Spanish Republic peeled away from the Erntemond with her Prussian and Spanish flag flapping proudly in the breeze blowing off the Mediterranean and made its approach to the picturesque cove of Vernazza. The pilot circled over the rocky promontories and sheer cliffs that cupped the seaside village, affording the Prime Minister in the passenger seat a sweeping view of the town. Houses and apartments painted in all manner of bright pastels crowded around a cove of blue water. Fronds of palm trees waving in the wind generated by the helicopter circling overhead peered over the roofs, joining the domed cupola of the town's chiesa and the remains of a small castillo on a cliff face in forming the canopy of the town.

Sotelo was quite impressed by the handsome town carved from the inhospitable cliffs of the Cinque Terre coast. Even so, he grew impatient as his pilot circled about the town for a fourth time.

"That is quite enough." Sotelo declared over the wine of the propellers. "You may land now."

"I would if I could, Excellency. But there's absolutely nowhere to land."

Indeed, even a motorcycle would have a difficult time fitting through the confined walkways and alleys of the rainbow-painted town below. What flat surfaces were available were occupied by parasols, potted hibiscuses, and other trappings of paradise.

Sotelo, did see one opening among the cramped town. The remains of what had once been some kind of medieval fort that protected Vernazza presented a flat, open parade ground of cobblestone surrounding a small fortification. The opening was too small for even a helicopter to land upon, but the aircraft could hover down just above the surface and Sotelo could hop out. The Prime Minister pointed the out the fort's parade ground set precariously over the jagged cliffs and the thrashing waves beyond the placid waters of the cove.

"Maneuver the helicopter over top the castillo." Sotelo ordered, pointing out the seaside fortification. "Hover over the parade ground as low as you can, and I will disembark."

"That's far too dangerous. We're going to return to the airsh-"

"I am not making a suggestion." Sotelo hissed. "Do as I ask."

The pilot gulped and approached the fortress, inching as close off the edge of the cobblestone platform as he could. Steadily, the pilot eased off the throttle and the helicopter came down just a few feet off the parade ground. One false twitch of the yoke at this height, and he and the Prime Minister would be sent tumbling down the cliff and dashed against the rocks below by the thrashing waves.

"We are still too high. Lower still." The prime minister commanded.

Just outside the pilot's window, rocks driven by the propellers tumbled down the edge of the platform, bounced against the jagged cliffs and splashed into the surf. The helicopter descended another few dozen inches.

"This is will suffice." Sotelo gauged as he looked down through his window. Without another word, he unbuckled his restraints and opened the door. Warning beeps rang through the cabin and a swirling torrent of wind gushed into the cabin. With complete confidence in himself, Sotelo leaped from his seat out of the helicopter.

The Spanish Prime Minister landed with little grace on the cobbles as he tumbled over onto his hands to keep himself from face planting into the stone. He pushed himself upright and looked back to the helicopter hovering just behind him; the pilot still grimaced in terror. Sotelo gave him a nod of approval, which the pilot took as his cue to make for for the Erntemond with the passenger door still wide open.

As Sotelo patted the dust off of his palms, he noted some two dozen of tourists milling about the ruins of the fort who had witnessed the spectacle first hand. A single man dressed in a floral button up began a slow, steady series of claps which soon spread among the crowd. Before long, the Prime Minister was subjected to a full ovation from all the tourists at the old fortification.

"Excellency... That was rather impressive." One of the meeting's organizers greeted, still wide-eyed by the spectacle that had played out before the whole town as the applause died down. "President Beaudoin awaits you. Shall I take you down to meet him?"

"By all means." Sotelo said as he patted out the ruffles in his dress shirt and slacks. "Lead the way."

((Tempest, if you want to take over Sotelo a bit for the sake of getting him where he needs to be I'm fine with that.))

Quote from aranamor

America -loves- nonthreatening folksy names for our weapons. We're like the English, we just really like understating the effects of things for giggles. You know we made a nuclear submarine class and called it the Guppy?

Yeah. We used to call our flamethrower tanks "Zippos" after the little lighter.

Meanwhile, have I already stated that the most dangerous weapon there is, is the radio?

Arlington, The Capital Wasteland - The Fox
Ten Years Prior

The soft popping noises of automatic weapons fire, followed by the hissing, high-pitched lasers rung through the destroyed buildings. Explosions came, shaking the buildings rhythmically as members of the Brotherhood launched grenades at Enclave positions. A thin fog of smoke obscured the wide street, cratered and filled with rusted cars. A building had toppled to the earth long ago, filling the ground with rubble. Now he and his team lay low in the shattered second-story of what was an office building before the War. Fox was belly-down, his rifle peeking past an overturned desk. The grey sun shone through the smokey air, casting a surreal light on the whole scene. His target was a hundred meters away at an intersection down the street. Four Brotherhood scouts in light armor, similar to himself. They, too, were looking for overwatch positions on this side of the Potomac. They carried themselves cautiously, sweeping the buildings with their blocky laser rifles as they went.

"This is Lexington Team reporting in, come in command," Fox whispered into his microphone, head cocked to his shoulder as he spoke.

"What's going on, recon? I'm reading loud and clear," replied the crackling voice of the battle manager. Explosions and gunfire could be heard behind his calm, stoic voice.

"Enemy contact," replied Fox in a textbook tone. "A hundred meters due north from Lexington's position on Moore Boulevard, break. Check GPS and estimate on the Net, over."

"Roger: wilco, Lexington Team."

"Estimate about a half dozen. Equal force. They don't see us, over."

"Uh, Lexington Team, I'm getting reports of a Brotherhood recon team in a similar position from Concord Team. They're about half a kilometer up, over."

"Okay, yeah," Fox acknowledged. He checked his wrist computer - it was similar to a military-issued Pipboy, only manufactured by WesTek as opposed to RobCo. A tiny, ice blue blip on the screen labelled "CONCORD" flashed north on Moore Boulevard. Below that, the enemy team had been marked as "BOS RECON" on the Net in roughly the same position. "Okay, so we'll-"

Fox was interrupted by a sudden whistling, followed by six tremendously earth-shattering bangs. The walls shook, whatever glass remained broke, and debris began to fly everywhere. A wave of fire flooded the road for a second before it subsided, and Fox jumped back from his opening.

"What the hell, command!" he screeched into the mic. "That was hella danger close! Fuck!"

"I was unaware of any danger close strikes being called in, Lexington. Over," calmly answered the battle manager.

"It was probably Concord," reassured Fox to the commander. "Don't worry, I don't have casualties."

"Is the recon team dead, over?" asked the battle manager, referring to the Brotherhood advance scouts. Fox poked his head up from the ruins and took a look at the intersection. There was a burnt corpse, as well as a few limbs scattered about.

"Looks like it, command."

"Go ahead and confirm. You're cleared hot. I'll go and tell Concord to wave off and head north to Alexandria."

"Wilco, command."

New Vegas, NCR Nevada - Specialist Andranik Kabardian
Fifteen Minutes Prior

"Karbadian, lock up the guns. We got orders to put these men down. Gas them!"

Gas them. Kabardian felt his fingers tighten around the grip of the GMG, white-knuckled in anticipation of the high that would surely follow. He hadn't even checked into the medical's office before a warrant officer had pulled him back to the Vertibird with orders to respond to a crisis in New Vegas. This new rebel group didn't give up. And the Strip under attack? Certainly these people were a bigger nuisance than once thought. Foolhardy, too. Kabardian had massacred them before. Would they learn? The young man had seen what they did to his friends, and he was going to make them suffer for it. Tear gas wasn't supposed to kill anyone, but nothing non-lethal ever was. How much tear gas did it take to kill someone? Maybe their lungs would choke up: they couldn't breathe anything except more gas. They would choke on their mucus and their vomit. They would asphyxiate. Painful enough, for murderous, mutilating Raiders.

He depressed the lever of the launcher seconds later at the mob of people on the Strip. He tried to aim for the enemy, but the gas explosions soon engulfed practically the entire strip. He was aiming at people now. He wanted to see the metal shell explode some heads. He wanted the Dark Ones to choke on their own vomit in the tear gas clouds. Still drenched in the bloody battledress he had been wearing for almost twenty-four hours, Kabardian was engulfed by a white-hot rage. He fired until he ran out of ammunition - a two hundred round belt took only seconds to shoot through. With brutal strength, he ripped the ammunition can out of the holder and tossed it as hard as he could at the crowd below. Then he loaded another and repeated until he ran out of ammunition canisters. By the end, the barrel was warped and glowing red hot. Like a penis with erectile dysfunction, the barrel drooped towards the ground under the weight of itself.

Kabardian didn't care that he had just wrecked a precious piece of equipment. Instead, he fumbled for the carbine that hung off of the cargo netting on the ceiling. His vision pulsed red and black, blurring and then becoming suddenly sharp and focused all within moments. A box of magazines was nearby, and Kabardian jammed his hand into it for munitions. He came up with a thirty-round magazine, which he promptly began thrusting into the rifle. Then he switched to automatic and began shooting. He didn't see where his rounds landed, except for one instance. A teenaged girl, he saw acutely. A pretty face, scarred and dirty. Matted black hair stuck to her filthy clothes. She held a knife to the throat of an MP. One of Kabardian's rounds pierced through the top of her right ear and went out the left. Blood exploded in a fine mist, coating her body and the newly-saved MP. But before Kabardian could reload, Eddy came barreling out of the cockpit screeching: "What the fuck are you doing!"

Kabardian felt the Asian copilot yank the carbine out of his hands and throw it behind them. "I got one," the gunner boasted. "I saw her ­ing face explode."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" shouted Eddy. "Where did... Oh fuck."

Eddy gazed down at the Strip, now hidden by a fog of tear gas. People everywhere were scrambling away, coughing and vomiting and yelling.

"How many rounds did you shoot?!"

"Four hundred," duly replied Kabardian, a blank expression giving away his inner emptiness. Then Eddy eyed the flaccid barrel of the GMG.

"What the hell did you do?"

"I cleared out the fight, you fucking dumbass Chinaman," Kabardian spat. "I even killed a few! That'll fucking teach 'em."

And then Kabardian stopped. He looked back at the barrel, then at Eddy. Then he cried again.

Or stop using IE. It's like jamming a screwdriver into your urethra.

I play Russian roulette with a magazine-loaded weapon. I make the other guy go first.

On roleplaying at an intermediate level: I'd advise just nuking stats period and just going the PoW route of having just the name and history and whatnot.

Quote from Dinh AaronMk

I've known its religious glory since day 1. I have recognized the true God. It is Canura Mazda the Cane of Twilight!

>Not worshiping Cangra Maneyu

So guys, what do you think of the new meme?



http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/the-twilight-sparkle-scepter

Quote from Dinh AaronMk

Well that's easy.


Remove my knife from my belt, and throw myself on top of this person. I then go through the process of cutting her apart as I sing my praises for Cthulu. The ritual comes to a head as I tear open the rib-cage with a might crack.

In her dismembered rib cage I drool over her still beating heart, and I devour it. Merging our essences and becoming one. I flee the room before anyone can act, ripping off my and I scream into the streets a primal battle cry, having finished my mission.


Then the zombies come and kill everyone else.

Aaron, I think I'm falling in love with you all over again.