#Modus Snow Balls

[deltatreats1]

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✅ Product Highlights

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Final Thoughts

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[sgiandubh]

It's all fake, anyway

Oh, my. The last two or three video snippets in Marina del Rey. The revolt. The pearl-clutching. The hate.

Again, you know nothing, Jon Snow. It's all about the medium being the message, again: carefully calibrated snippets of information, destined to a captive, deeply divided and (how can I put that without sounding offending, I wonder) unexperimented (yes, that's decent enough) audience.

During the last 24 hours, we've got the Marina del Rey gin promo & MPC teambuilding (hardly an orgy, btw) and C's MUA (or is it hairdresser? irrelevant) hinting on Instagram about a photoshoot at a gin distillery in a #beautifullocation, somewhere on Earth, presumably in Scotland - given her last IG follow. No further details, of course. Very probably a (late-) latergram, too, when she finally got the green light to publish it. Implying nothing, but leaving a boulevard bandwidth for people to infer whatever suits their own narrative. Expect FMN news soon? I highly doubt that and stand corrected: the last photoshoot (with McSideburns, in London) was on May 3rd, when she needed to somehow show the world the Two of Them were continents apart. Identical modus operandi. And always, always via tertiary players.

As for the Marina del Rey teambuilding, if you think that is 'S living his life' you are: a) living in a remote mountain/island area or under a rock; b) an impenitent Mordorian with an agenda to boot or c) incredibly incompetent with the way of the world (or at least, that world). Allow me to translate?

It is alcohol promo, duckies, disguised as teambuilding. The intended message is aimed at a younger, non-OL related audience (as I already warned you) and it roughly goes like this:

'we are a fun loving, no nonsense, start-up business in the spirits industry. Because we don't have a huge advertising budget, we're testing the waters with a cheap, reality-TV snippet to better evaluate the number of social media clicks and new followers and help gauge & calibrate the next step'.

Was it poorly executed? Yeah, you could say that, but then what to do, in a very restrictive, highly regulated tobacco & spirits advertising market, hum? Is it my cup of tea? I don't drink, therefore this type of message touches one ball without really moving the other.

Yes. Start-up business: if we take into account the COVID logistic delay, I believe we're still in that three-years frame. And this detail is essential in order to put context around a very forgettable snippet. Selling a brand-new, more democratic product. Selling it clumsily, in an effort to build relevance, because even bad advertising is, ultimately, good advertising. But make no mistake: it's nothing more than that and it is all they can do, in the current context.

This brings to mind another aspect of the charade, namely the fact that after the Remarkable Week-end (and with the exception of some carefully scripted 'slips'), released and available information progressively became (at least) two-tiered.

First tier: information carefully calibrated for immediate release and general consumption, primarily but not exclusively by the fandom. This includes: spirits shilling, innuendos galore, look-here-not-there latergrams. It also entails less direct interaction with the fans on socials and delegating the media management to secondary players (often called to the rescue, too).

Second tier: public information with a limited availability (you have to take the plunge and pay), for sleuths able and willing to go the extra mile. They paint a very different landscape. And draw two copycat timelines of people who are investing, buying and selling property and overall branching out of their primary source of income with a plan.

I am not a photo sleuth. But with a little bit of time on my hands, I am a decent paperwork analyst. Accounting is not my forte, but legal and business is. I saw what I needed to see and it holds.

So before you start screeching (bad idea, right?), remember this (credit given to @dillon7fan, thanks):

Not really: it is doctored make believe. Bless your heart, honest guy.

Next stop, Tehran. Yes, you read that correctly.

This evening or tomorrow, at the latest. Because context is everything and this fandom severely fails at this.

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[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #530

Top Ten Disney Villain Songs

There are two things that seem synonymous with modern Disney: villains and songs. These two elements go back right to the very start: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs features, right out of the gate, an all-timer of a villain in the spooky and seriously sinister Wicked Queen. And songs? Only “Heigh-Ho”, for cryin’ out loud! Sure, the soundtrack is a bit twee nowadays, but what do want? It’s nearly a century old.

So yeah, Disney is known for good tunes and bad eggs. Throughout the decades, we’ve had the likes of Maleficent, Cruella de Vil, Shere Khan… truly hissable bad guys, all-timers of villainy. And there have been songs-a-plenty: “When You Wish Upon a Star”, “The Bear Necessities”, “He’s a Tramp”… absolute belters all. But mushing them together? Smooching them up all close? That’s where the magic happens, baby.

Nowadays it’s totally common for the villain in the Disney movie to have A Song. Their Song. The Disney Villain Song. But it was not always thus! I mean, for a start, whilst Disney films have been commonly musical, you could argue that they didn’t really become musicals – that is, heavily influenced by Broadway, with showtune-style productions – until the involvement of the likes of Howard Ashman in the late eighties. And most of the classic villains don’t sing at all – was there a signature song sung by a bad guy before, oooh, Madam Mim in The Sword and the Stone? And even then, it’s not really a belter, not by contemporary standards.

No, in the eighty-odd years since the first Disney feature-length animation, I’d say we’ve only had a proper Disney villain song for the past thirty or so. A real humdinger, a belter, a rollicking showtune. Balls-out, fantabulous, camp; these are the hallmarks of a great Disney Villain Song, and I’d say they’re relatively recent. Looking down my list, it’s clear that the Disney Renaissance has a lot to answer for here, although a couple of the 21st century’s biggies do get a shout in too. I feel like it’s the Renaissance that’s really the high-water-mark of Disney Villainy; not just the songs, but the characters in general. Whilst the last few films (Frozen II, Moana, Encanto, etc) have been pretty good at analysing and veering away from traditional “Disney Princess” tropes, one of the downsides has been the lack of a really good bad guy for a while now. When was the last proper Disney villain? Wreck-It Ralph, Frozen, and Zootopia all have “bad guys”, true, but for absolute moustache-twirling, scenery-chewing malevolent dickheadery I think we need to go all the way back to Tangled – which, if I’ve done my sums right, is also the last time the villain had a song.

What I’m saying is I want an unrepentant space bastard to camp their way through the cosmos singing a balls-out showtune in Strange Worlds this Christmas.

Anyway, that’s about it. here are my ten favourite songs sung by the baddies in Disney animations. Obviously I’m talking about “proper”, “official” Disney animations, which means no straight-to-video spin-offs and no Pixar (otherwise there are a couple of decent villain songs in the Aladdin sequels that might be worth your time). And whilst I’m willing to open this category up to “any song sung by a villain”, I think really what we’re looking at here are the calling card numbers; the songs where a villain really stakes out their villainy, their modus operandi, their master plan or motive. Those are the songs that really bubble to the top for me.

Now, there is one song that I did consider, and it may be worth mentioning in dispatches: “Let It Go”. That could be a villain song; certainly, for most of the running time Elsa is the antagonist of that film, even if ultimately it’s Hans who’s the bad guy. And it ticks all the boxes: big brassy number that sets out the stall of the character. It’s not an “I Want” song, it’s not the sort of song that a hero usually gets; it’s basically Elsa coming into her own and telling the world to get out of her way. Seeing as she’s freezing the kingdom to death at the time, it’d be easy to class it as a villain song. However, given that Elsa is definitely not a villain, and is even the hero of Frozen II (by which I mean she’s the principal protagonist), I decided that no, “Let It Go” is not actually a villain song; but your mileage may vary.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the list.

Poor Unfortunate Souls (Ursula, The Little Mermaid, 1989): the film that kicked off the Disney Renaissance also has its definitive Villain Song: Pat Carroll as Ursula hamming it up something fierce, painting herself as a misunderstood saint, in a bold, brassy, and frankly bawdy number. Really big, oodles of camp charm, and sung by an absolute diva. Divine.

Mother Knows Best (Mother Gothel, Tangled, 2010): in a film full of underrated songs, Donna Murphy as a vain, passive-aggressive, gaslighting mum turns in a delightfully Broadway song about the dangers of the outside world. Featuring incredible changes of tone and voice, it’s another big number by another full-tilt diva.

Be Prepared (Scar, The Lion King, 1994): much less of a showstopping tour-de-force, Jeremy Irons gives us a sinister drawl as he outlines in almost Shakespearean terms his plans of sedition. The slowly rising temp, the diabolical imagery, the almost fascistic chorus of marching hyenas, all adds up to a delightfully dark ode to murder and betrayal.

Shiny (Tamatoa, Moana, 2016): our first secondary villain, Jermaine Clement plays Tamatoa as “what if Bowie but crab?”. It’s a perfect portrayal, all spaced-out jazzy distorted vowels as a big-ass crab attempts to devour our heroes. Terrific wordplay too, in a much funnier number than we’ve had so far.

Gaston (Gaston and Lefou, Beauty and the Beast, 1991): ah, a duet! This ode to toxic masculinity begins as Jesse Corti’s Lefou – the Hammond to Gaston’s Clarkson – bigs up his sullen mate. But once Gaston himself (Jerry Orbach) chimes in, it’s an explosive egotistical romp as Disney’s biggest dickhead (seriously, he’s roughly the size of a barge) outlines just how brawny and awful he is. Hilariously grim, the fact that the whole town seems in on it is the icing on the dark cake.

The World's Greatest Criminal Mind (Ratigan, The Great Mouse Detective, 1986): let’s not sleep on the fact that this is a Vincent Price song. The icon of horror essays his rodent Moriarty with typical eloquent relish, praising his previous crimes, his coterie of cronies singing along with him. But then a drunk mouse slips up, things turn super nasty, and we get one of the few genuine on-screen murders in Disney canon. But make no mistake, this song is a camp delight.

Hellfire (Frollo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, 1996): look, there’s no getting around it: this is a song about a bloke who’s super horny, rubs a woman’s clothing on his face, and ultimately collapses, spent, on the floor at the song’s climax. Tony Jay channels Christopher Lee in a gothic baritone as sings of seduction, visions of dancing Esmerelda cavorting in the fire, as demonic imagery rises up around him. “Is it my fault if in God’s plan he made the Devil so much stronger than a man” is a line in a song in a Disney cartoon.

Friends on the Other Side (Dr. Facilier, The Princess and the Frog, 2009): speaking of demonic imagery, here we have Keith David as the sinister shadow man, bringing in touches of Mardi Gras in a very jazzy song about selling your soul to the devil. He dances like a criminally overlooked Black dancer in a 1930s musical starring less-good white dancers; various tribal masks and voodoo dolls provide the backing track. And, basically, it rules.

The Mob Song (Gaston and the villagers, Beauty and the Beast, 1991): goodness, what’s this?! Two songs from the same film? Yes, Beauty and the Beast is the gift that keeps on giving – no wonder it was the first animated movie nominated for a Best Original Picture Oscar, a decade before they implemented the Best Animated Film category. And here we have a very interesting song, because whilst we already know that Gaston – who is the best, remember, and the rest is all drips – is a capital-V-Villain, I’d argue this song is about the townsfolk as villains. Scared, foolish, selfish villains; a mob. It’s a great song, Gaston whipping them up into a frenzy with lies and exaggerations, all to get his goal – which, basically, is revenge on Belle for spurning him. It’s why I wasn’t keen on the remake trying to soften the villagers; I like it when they’re all awful.

Perfect Isn't Easy (Georgette, Oliver and Company, 1988): this one might be controversial, because it’s arguable that Georgette isn’t really a villain. It’s a bit like the “Let it Go” situation, except not quite so clear-cut, because Georgette is never really redeemed or turned into a hero. But it has all the hallmarks of a Villain Song: brassy showtune, sung in first-person by a vainglorious little shit. And it’s superb; would be loads higher if Georgette was, well, nastier overall. Bette Midler gives a stunning performance, playing to the rafters, switching voices and even doing barks and woofs. This really feels like the beginning of the sort of song that Disney would excel at. We’re not talking Lassie.

Now I have all these songs stuck in my head. And I hope you do too.

[argentdandelion]

Should Simon Have Friend-Dumped Grace?

Note: this article does not sufficiently weigh Simon’s bad behaviors in Episode 11, “The New Apex”. This article has been kept unmodified for posterity.

Part 1 of 2: Series Abstract and “Strikes”

(Caveat: there’s a convincing case to be made they’re in a codependent abusive relationship, so treating this as a friendship gone bad may be the incorrect protocol or oversimplified. Still, for the sake of not re-writing the whole thing, it will be presented with the thesis they were originally close friends. Due to the difficulty of researching causes to friend-dump someone who isn’t toxic, some references come from toxic-friend protocol, so there would be some overlap.)

Abstract

The protagonists of Infinity Train’s third season, Grace Monroe and Simon Laurent, start off very close. However, as the season progresses, their friendship deteriorates, as clear through dialogue, but also facial expressions, body language, and vocal details. And yet, Simon chose to stay with her and obey her, if with increasing reluctance, and cared deeply about her (to him) inexplicable behavior changes. And it’s because he cared so much about Grace that he had to find out what was causing everything, leading to that shocking moment: “We….just won't tell Simon, okay?” Later on, he shoves her off a train bridge to certain death, and briefly looks shocked and sad before he descends into maniacal laughter, and is then killed by a Ghom.

2. Four “Strikes”

Their relationship became massively damaged due to Grace’s four “strikes”: her distressing behavior about her number, her inexplicable (to Simon) anger at killing Tuba, never telling Simon Hazel was a denizen, and many minor forms of mistreatment, considered collectively, that only count at all due to happening so frequently and in conjunction with major “strikes”.

Strike 1

Firstly, Grace hid her number, a mark of pride and authority in the Apex, for no clear reason. In Le Chat Chalet, they had a good interpersonal-relations moment on the stairs in which Grace disclosed “what she’s been dealing with”: her number going down. She was hiding it because she didn’t want Simon or anyone else to think less of her because of her lower number, and it’s presented as a nigh-medical problem. However, when Simon checks his number out later and tries to take off Grace’s gloves to see hers, Grace refuses, to the point of acting aggressively. Despite it being something Simon and Grace herself worried about, she didn’t seem to care about evaluating her number changes, which baffled and worried Simon to the point he went to The Cat for help. Clearly, he doesn’t believe numbers should go down, based on how he reacts to The Cat devaluing numbers and stating they should go down.

Strike 2

Secondly, Grace became very angry at him for killing Tuba, which was rather sudden and didn’t make sense based on their opinions and tactics on Tuba from before. Indeed, he thought killing Tuba would make Grace happy.

When they first encountered Tuba in Episode 2, Grace the would “ditch” Tuba later. When in Episode 3, Simon asked Grace when they would “take out” Tuba, and Grace suggested postponing it further because Tuba would “put up a serious fight”. Grace wasn’t clear that Tuba absolutely should not be killed, and seemed to forbid attacking Tuba only because Tuba was too strong to be taken down by only one or two people.* One could argue Simon could have guessed killing Tuba would distress Hazel, but not Grace: it wouldn’t match what he knew about her beliefs and stated opinions. At first, in Episode 5, Grace is exasperated and briefly glares at him, but after realizing how badly it affected Hazel, she’s outright angry at Simon. Simon knew Hazel was crying, but beyond that, didn’t know how badly it affected Hazel.

Strike 3

Thirdly, Grace didn’t tell Simon about being a Denizen, apparently never intended to so, and outright lied to Simon about knowing about it. Memory-Hazel even points this out, by saying: “and when you had the chance to make things right...you protected yourself! You tried to control me and Simon instead of being honest!”

This may be the strongest strike. Simon tends to react to severe stress with exasperation, aggression, or even violence (e.g., kicking a door when snowed in), but when he saw the “We...just won’t tell Simon, okay?” moment, he looks shocked and outright cries. From the way it’s on loop in Grace’s memory tape, it’s clear it was “on loop” in his own mind, too. Although Simon doesn’t immediately bring it up when he finds out, and seems to look forward to ruling the Apex with Grace without Hazel “holding them back”, when Grace says “Hazel was our friend, and you wrote her off like she was nothing!”, Simon is hurt, saying: “I was your friend first!”. Although friends do not have to disclose all their secrets to each other, and Grace had a good motive in keeping the secret, the nature and severity of this secret broke them apart.

Strike 4

Then there’s the “fourth strike”. Disappointments and conflict are inevitable in a friendship that’s lasted eight years. Their relationship is clearly strong enough to withstand a little negativity: Simon is okay with the occasional joke at his expense (e.g., criticism of his fashion tastes and body odor) or things which make him mildly uncomfortable. (e.g., shaking him by the shoulders while telling him to “loosen up”) Some of the conflicts, disappointments, aggression or distressing behaviors would probably have been minor, quickly-healed injuries to their friendship under normal circumstances. They collectively count as one “strike” of sorts, only because they occur one after the other, in conjunction with major friendship injuries.

The weakest strikes are ones that distress Simon but fit within the context of their modus operandi, and are approached with satisfactory explanations and care for Simon. Grace decides to go by the Debutante Ball Car’s rules, instead of their typical strategy; Simon is initially uncomfortable with this, but Grace provides an explanation and splits strategies. Grace says they should stay in Le Chat Chalet for the night even though Simon is very distressed to be there, but the two explain their distressing and uncharacteristic behaviors to each other in a heartfelt conversation on the house’s stairs, which resolves things.

The stronger ones have explanations, but not convincing ones, and aren’t made with any compassion or care for Simon. In episode 6, Grace angrily tells Simon: “Don’t you ever take action like that again if I haven’t given you explicit orders!”, and Simon sounds upset when he asks if she’s pulling rank. She says yes, and Simon obeys with a drained, shocked-sounding “yes ma’am.” Grace insists on giving Hazel a funeral; Grace provides reasoning but Simon clearly finds it impractical and meaningless. (“there wasn’t a body!”)

In the worst of the minor strikes, Grace acts as the opposite of the person Simon knew, and strikes at Simon’s psychological weak points when he’s already deeply distressed. While in Grace’s memories (which Simon would never have gotten into if he were a good friend, anyway), the idealized image of the Conductor suddenly changed into something less impressive, even dorky-looking. Simon himself was mistaken about The Conductor, true, and Grace realizing the Conductor wasn’t what “he” was cracked up to be was part of her character growth, but such sudden disillusionment in someone who’s already so distressed could only cause bad consequences for Simon. (Though it is possible to flickering to what really happened wasn’t something Grace consciously did, so she can’t be blamed for it.)

*To be fair, if Grace said, “absolutely don’t kill Tuba”, would Simon have obeyed? It would have been very unlike Grace.

[esandcasg]

Chapter Ten - Something Kinda Oooh

The landing on the glacier was hard. During my younger days of pioneering base jumping and wingsuit sky diving off Preikestolen, I had become accustomed to state of the art parachute technology, flaring the canopy around twenty feet above the DZ and generating a silky smooth landing that the average Ryanair pilot could only dream of.

But not here. Whilst Andrew’s rudimentary blanket parachute had saved our lives – as had his quick and imaginative thinking – it didn’t make for a particularly aerodynamic and controllable descent, like a Boeing 737Max in override mode.

We crashed into the hard glacial ice and the three of us were immediately pitched into a roll, becoming entangled in the blanket, like three sausages in a meaty triple layered Gregg’s. To make matters worse, Andrew hadn’t shaken vol-au-vent crumbs off the blanket after his lunchtime offering, so as we tumbled down the glacier I was blinded by sharp flakes of puff pastry that swirled around my face as we rolled.

We came to a sudden stop and my face slammed into what appeared to be a wall of granite, which I assumed was Ifan’s abdominal muscles. The three of us wriggled our way out of the blanket, disentangling arms, legs and other appendages on the way.

“Where’s the door?” Asked Ifan.

I sat up, neatly brushing my hair back into its standard windswept mountain bouffant styling, as vol-au-vent crumbs rained down on my lap. We were on a nondescript glacier in the middle of a nondescript mountain range. In truth we could have been anywhere, and I’d totally lost track of where Andrew had taken us in the last chapter. A few meters further down the glacier was a ten meter wide crevasse. I walked to the edge and gazed down. I shuddered slightly. It seemed as bottomless as Ifan’s drinking ability when handed pints to finish. If we’d rolled just that little bit further we would be dead, no question. I walked back to Andrew and Ifan and sat down next to them.

We sat in silence for a minute trying to comprehend what had just happened, and the series of events that we had been lucky to survive. The second Ifan. The avalanches. The parachute jump. As a blissful serenity surrounded us, like the time we drank beer on the pontoon by the lake in Sweden, I gazed up at the summit of ‘Craven Mountain’. Even some minutes after the series of avalanches and serac explosion that had nearly claimed our lives, snow and ice particles still rained down the mountain like a giant white blanket of fog slowly creeping its way through a horror movie set.

I looked a bit further down the mountain and saw the burning wreckage of the BMW M3 that had suddenly appeared in the story as a reference to my younger days. I thought back to the last time I had sat in an M3. My sister had picked me and Rob Buysman up from Marylebone station on our way to Earls Court to see Oasis on their proclaimed Be Here Now tour. Except her drunken ass of a boyfriend had other ideas and directed us all across London to the point where we missed The Verve who were supporting, and my sister turned up halfway through the Oasis setlist.

But the question that lingers on from that experience was why didn’t I take Ifan? Why did I end up going with Rob? Maybe these are questions to be answered in the Vertical Summit 2 Author’s Notes.

I was brought back to the present by Andrew breaking the silence, as he one-cheek-sneaked and let rip.

“I have no idea where the hell we are,” he said, as he cupped his fart and deposited it in Ifan’s face. “And I have no idea what we do now.”

We turned in unison as we heard the unmistakable mechanical throbbing of a tank drawing nearer. It was accompanied by shouting of Craven’s men. They were looking for us. And by the sound of it they weren’t far away.

“Well, we can’t stay here,” said Ifan, wafting fart away from his face. “It fucking stinks.”

We stood and started making our way up the glacier, in the opposite direction of the approaching troops. We had no equipment, no rations, no weapons. Ifan and I simply held an ice-axe each. Andrew still had his 5L daypack, but at that size I didn’t hold much hope of it containing anything useful. Perhaps an owl or two that we could grill later for dinner.

As we climbed we kept as close to the medial moraine as possible, hopeful of staying out of sight of the troops below. I could only hope that the tank couldn’t make it onto the glacier and cross the series of crevasses, but this is Vertical Summit where anything is possible.

As we reached something of a plateau that probably didn’t make sense from a geographical perspective, we had our first real opportunity to try and get a fix on where we were.

“There,” said Andrew, pointing back slightly the way we had come. “There’s K2. Next to it is Elbrus. I think we’re on some sort of tributary spur of the Godwin-Austen glacier.”

“That’s all very well. But where does this leave us?” Asked Ifan, picking up what appeared to be a sweaty sardine that had been left out overnight from another expedition. He inspected it before delicately putting it in his mouth.

“I have a theory,” I started. Both Andrew and Ifan looked at me expectantly. “I think we need to go back to Kangleong.”

“What?” Barked Ifan, as bits of sardine bone and flesh flew everywhere. “Kangleong is destroyed. You know this.”

“I know. But think about it. All this shit started that moment I tore those prayer flags from the summit. All of it. The storm that killed everyone, Craven, our lives being ruined, now this. It all leads back to that defining moment.”

As Ifan rummaged around on the floor for the bits of the all-important protein that he had lost, Andrew stared at me for a moment before nodding.

“You are right. I mean, at the time I thought it was really funny. But clearly you have angered some sort of mountaineering disaster novel god. The prophecy spoke of this.”

“But you are still missing the point,” continued Ifan. “Kangleong doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Something will exist,” countered Andrew. “Even if it’s just a pile of rocks. We climb it and put flags on the top. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” repeated Ifan and I in unison.

We set off for Kangleong, nestled deep in the Himalayas. In theory, it would have been a two month expedition to cover the twelve hundred kilometers, especially if we had taken the slow but necessary precautions to avoid Craven’s troops. But after half an hour we gave up as we had the Swansea 10k the next morning and had to save our legs. Andrew didn’t even want to risk a cheeky spot of parkour.

Worried about DOMS, Ifan drew back his sleeve to reveal a wrist mounted computer, like a 1980s Casio calculator watch on steroids. He punched in some numbers, and a few moments later his C-Max appeared. A red light oscillated from behind the front grill.

Whilst Andrew and I climbed in – I had called shotgun - Ifan opened the boot and dug out three Tesco’s meal deal bags, handing two of them to Andrew and I. Climbing into the cockpit, he put the C-Max into flight modus, and we sat back as he ignited the boosters and we shot off into the mountain air, leaving the Karakorum and Gasherbrum ranges behind us.

Once at an appropriate altitude, Ifan hit the hyperdrive switch, and the light around us was distorted into a rounded tunnel as we were propelled towards the Himalayas at lightspeed. I didn’t even have time to take a bite from my soggy southern fried chicken wrap before Ifan hit the switch again and we came out of hyperspeed. The journey had taken a mere 0,004 seconds; just long enough for Andrew to finish his lunch.

As speed slowed to normal I was startled as something hard hit the windscreen; a loud thud that seemed to resonate through the car as it bounced through the air. And again. I noticed a small fissure of a crack open up in the glass between where Ifan and I sat. As more and more objects hit the car I saw a buildup of ice on the windscreen that slid in an upwards trajectory due to our speed.

“Have we come out of hyperspace in a meteor shower?” Andrew asked from the backseat. He leaned forward so he was between Ifan and I.

“It’s ice!” Shouted Ifan above the noise of the impacts. “We’ve come out in a hail storm.”

“I’ve got a very bad feeling about this,” I said.

As golf ball sized hail stones hit the car, smoke started to seep out from under the bonnet. A moment later it was in the cockpit, pouring out of air vents. Lights and warning alarms flashed on the display panel.

“Hey, what’s that flashing?” Asked Andrew, pointing towards the dashboard.

Ifan wafted his hand away. “Hold on guys, we’re going down.”

As he wrestled with the controls my stomach lurched repeatedly as we lost altitude in big chunks. As we came down through the cloud line I noticed a snowy clearing in a valley ahead of us, between two Himalayan peaks.

“Over there,” I pointed.

“Yeah, that’ll do nicely,” said Ifan, as he tried his best to aim towards where I was pointing. Once more the car plummeted in altitude and I thought for a minute we wouldn’t make the landing zone. But in a battle of strength – Ifan versus mother nature – there would only be one winner.

“Brace yourselves…” warned Ifan, as we came over the clearing.

We hit the ground hard, and I felt the impact resonate through every bone in my body. The front suspension on the C-Max collapsed sending the nose of the car into the snow. As we ground to a halt, snow was pitched forward over the windscreen, a lot like when Luke crashed his snow speeder on Hoth.

Ten minutes later, Ifan had finally managed to finish parking and we all climbed out of the steaming wreck.

Whether it was Ifan’s brilliance as a pilot or my lazy writing, but fortunately we had come down just off the Yangma glacier, a big slug of ice that ran up to Kangleong base camp, which left us just a few hours trek to the start of our climb. Or maybe I should say where Kangleong base camp used to be.

I let out a sigh as I thought back to the last time I was here. It was 2013. I was working at BP and was bored to the point that my brain was turning to mush. But back then I was actually trying to write a serious mountaineering disaster novel. My how things have changed in the last eight years.

I shook the memories out of my mind and followed Ifan and Andrew into the local prayer flag shop, where we picked up a few tasty offerings that would hopefully restore peace to the galaxy. After that we popped into the adjoining Yangma Tavern for a cheeky pint and pub meal, and with that we set off for Kangleong.

I didn’t know what to expect as we approached Base Camp. My mind wandered again. Ground zero. The series of events that had changed everything from me. From seeing Ifan topless for the first time, to summiting the world’s toughest climb. Adrenaline and nervous energy built as we approached.

But as we climbed the rise that would give us our first view of New Kangleong, whatever I expected, it wasn’t this. The majestic granite monolith was gone. In its place was a pile of rubble and debris that rose a few thousand meters into the sky. Sitting on the top was a vertical slab of ice and rock that stretched a further one thousand meters up into the Himalayan air, and now represented the new summit of New Kangleong. It almost reminded me of a flake sticking out the top of a 99.

“What the fuck is that?” Asked Ifan.

“Don’t you guys see?” Replied Andrew. “It’s The Sill. In the explosion it has remained intact, somehow.”

He was right. The Sill was a mystical feature on Kangleong that changed both elevation and size based on what chapter you happened to be reading in Vertical Summit 1. But mountaineering purists and geologists would argue that it was approximately one thousand meters long and three hundred meters wide. Except now it stood on its own as the peak of Kangleong.

We would have to climb it. In some ways the climb of Kangleong had suddenly got even harder, especially as it would have to be done without ropes. Something referred to as free soloing.

I saw the fear etched on the faces of Ifan and Andrew. Whilst I came from a free soloing background, I knew that this was new territory for these guys. In my youth I had pioneered new free soloing routes up some of the worlds hardest climbs, most notably The Dawn Wall on El Cap, a climb that featured in a Netflix documentary The Dawn Solo. The documentary also focused on my penchant for a morning Tommy Tank.

People asked all the time why I did it. Why did I climb without a rope, harness or other safety equipment? Aren’t I scared of death? The truth was that I got really tired of answering those questions over and over again. But you can’t blame those who ask the questions: fans, friends, me, any rational, thinking, non-suicidal human being. Why is it not enough to be one of the best climbers in the world? Why remove the protection? It’s as if Novak Djokovic played a grand slam tournament where the penalty for losing was beheading. Which they should introduce.

But the questions were valid. Was it because I wanted to push myself? Because I didn’t value my life? Because I wanted to achieve absolute sporting perfection? All good questions. The answer was that I knew that it was the only way a guy with my ears was going to get a babe like Sanni McCandless.

I stared up at the summit of New Kangleong. Something about it made me uneasy. It wasn’t just the climb in front of me, but it was almost as if…  as if I felt a presence up there. Something that I hadn’t felt since…

I faced Andrew and Ifan. “I’ll go alone.”

“Don’t be stupid, we do this as a team,” said Andrew, but I could hear in his voice that he wasn’t quite convinced of his own words.

“This is my mess, I will fix this. Plus, Craven is up there. And I have to face him alone.”

“What? How do you know Craven is there? Why do you have to face him alone?” Asked Ifan, the questions spewing out of him like the infamous cous-cous honking episode.

I turned to face The Sill. I didn’t want to see their reactions.

“Because he’s my father.”

There was stunned silence behind me as I set off for the summit. I tried my best to keep my emotions in check. I had to be clear of thought and one hundred per cent focused if I was going to make this climb. Free soloing something of this magnitude was like a gold medal level of achievement, where years of preparation comes together in one moment of perfection. There would be no place for silver.

After a few hours of scrambling up broken rock I reached the smooth granite and ice face of The Sill. I placed a hand on it, felt it’s smooth surface and the energy running below it, as if it was the force that I would harness and help me climb this beast. I looked up. A sheer vertical slab of rock with an endless series of elite level ice and rock climbing pitches lay in front of me.

I took a deep breath.

“Fuck this,” I said to myself. I checked around to make sure that the Netflix film crew were nowhere to be seen,  before digging out my Mandalorian jet pack that I had concealed under my jacket.

I snapped it in place and hit the booster. I mean, it’s not my fault that no one challenged me with the whole ‘pictures or it didn’t happen’ ethos.

I blasted my way up the thousand meters in a number of seconds, and landed smoothly on the top of Kangleong. I was back. Seven years and lots of memories later. Except this time I was the first person to conquer the new mountain. New Kangleong.

But I knew that this was only wishful thinking. I’d known it since I saw Kangleong from base camp. Since I sensed it.

As I stared out over the shrunken view from the summit of Kangleong, I heard the unmistakable mechanical breathing from behind me. I turned slowly.

Twenty meters away stood Craven.

“You came alone. That was unwise.” Even at this altitude the wind was strong and he had to shout to make himself heard.

“I came to finish this, father.” I shouted back. “The ride is over.”

“Oh, no, no. l say when it's over.”

From his waist holster he pulled out his ice axe. He hit a button which turned on a series of red LEDs around the rim of the axe. An innovative feature that allowed climbers to see cracks in the ice, almost like an illuminative dye-pen. But in the hands of Craven it looked sinister.

He took a step towards me.

[neverwatchedonepiece]

609-610: "Luffy Dies from Exposure?! The Spine Chilling Snow Woman Monet" and "Fists Collide! a Battle of the Two Vice Admirals!"

Surrounded by trash, unsure of location or direction. Too real, Luffy. Too real.

I feel like a broken record at the moment but Punk Hazard really is delivering.

Across 609 and 610, we had Law vs Vergo with a surprise interruption by Smoker. Caesar was the subject of unexpected character development. Even Luffy vs Monet had a twist, with Luffy falling into a trash compactor and meeting a tiny talking dragon.

I bet that’s Foxfire’s son. The little dragon had a kid’s voice.

I’m just glad the big dragon the Strawhats roasted wasn’t Momonosuke (@mrkashkiet, I am looking at you sternly. xD)

Law Just Cannot Quit Smoking

And does not want to.

The action picked up with Vergo hoofing it to the SAD Room. Speed lines ahoy!

Inside, Law slowly drew his sword in front of a vast tank of SAD Gas. Not sure what he was planning to do, but let’s not dwell on it, in case his plan was literally explosive.

Vergo appeared at the door. “I feel like my hand has been bitten by my own dog. This is too much even for a mischievous child. You were always too smart for your own good. People like you tend to die young.”

You know, I’m not keen on stoic villain types but I’ve got to admit that Vergo has some killer lines.

“It would be easiest to crush your heart but I won’t do that. I’ll torment you slowly as I please and warp your smart ass face with fear.”

Like I said, good lines.

He wailed on Law with grim purpose to the point I found myself shouting, “Come on, Law! ROOM YOURSELF OUT OF THERE!”  Law was not having a fun time. (Dare I say, he was SAD?)

But his instinct for shit-talking was irrepressible. “Are you guys frustrated because your scheme is coming crashing down? Is this thing that important to you?”

Well, yeah... If Caesar is *the only person* who can make whatever it is that Doflamingo wants, then SAD must be profitable. Profits before pals seems to be Doflamingo’s modus operandi, but I don’t get the feeling Law is all that surprised Vergo is trying to kill him.

Law did fight back. There was an attempt.  He tried to Room his heart back. But Vergo is fast and snatched Law’s heart from the air.

The worst thing, though? Vergo punched Law so hard he lost his hat. That is not cool. It must have riled Law enough for him to try his (awesome) Counter Shock attack. It was big, flashy and high voltage, but it only left Vergo lightly toasted.

Vergo must have decided to kill Law then because he said, “I have a message from Joker. He said, ‘What a shame.’”

Law was weirdly zen about the whole situation. “Oh, well. It didn’t work. I was pretty sure I could take my heart back from Caesar, but I didn’t expect you here, Vergo.”

The lack of -san honorific was the last straw for Vergo. He squeezed Law’s heart like a stress ball. Toei’s red filter descended. Soul-shredding pain was experienced. Law screamed a lot. As you would if your heart was being squeezed by a maniac.

Then, a shaft of light descended from the vaulted heavens.

Except not really because it was Smoker.

It’s almost the same thing.

Vergo was typically cool about the interruption. “I’m in the middle of something. Does it have to be now, Vice-Admiral Smoker?”

And I did a backflip. Yes. Excellent interruption. Great timing, Smoker! Now stop being so fixated on the Big Tanks That Go “Blort” and execute your glorious revenge!

Really, now I think about it, Vergo is almost as bad as Caesar. When Smoker called Vergo out on his deceit and told him not to tell the G5 Men as he was a father figure to them, Vergo said, “Don’t tell me you actually care about those guys? I’m a base commander. I can do whatever I want to my no-good subordinates.” Another one who treats other people as disposable pawns.

Unsurprisingly, Smoker and Vergo came to blows. Smoker seems to be having more luck than Law, but then Vergo does not have Smoker’s heart in a box. What I’d like to happen is Smoker retrieving Law’s heart and they tag-team Vergo into oblivion.

That sounded wrong. But you get what I mean.

Star Wars Episode IV: A New Rubbery Hope

How did Luffy end up in the Death Star’s trash compactor? 

His battle with a bird woman from Hoth went south. Literally.

And I cannot believe I am about to say this, but I kind of wish Luffy’s fight with Monet was a little bit longer. Her powers are great. Her self-awareness and cunning are too.

She maintained those ten layer kamakura walls without breaking a sweat. When Luffy smashed one layer, she wrapped another around her frozen prison without missing a beat. Luffy knew she was stalling for time and said he’d just break every layer quicker than she could replace them.

“I bet,” she said. Then swept up behind Luffy and, in an oddly flirty manner, whispered in his ear, “I don’t think I’ll win if I fight you, but the strongest isn’t always the winner in a fight.”

Then she grabbed him and wrapped him, literally, in winter’s embrace. 

That hypothermia power was quite cool (no pun intended). Paired with those desolate, snowy vistas and her eerily calm voice urging Luffy to let go, to sleep, relax and let it be, Monet’s Devil Fruit seems pretty strong to me.

But just as Luffy was about to pass out, Zoro’s voice - the very warning he yelled at Luffy a couple of episodes ago - cut through the darkness. “THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING OF THE NEW WORLD!”

I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the blue filtered haki moments. When he sprang up and let loose that Jet Spear attack, I cheered.

Then he fell through the floor into a garbage chute and I laughed.

It was cool, though. He’s rubber. He’d bounce. And sure enough, it wasn’t long before he was raking through broken gadgets for food. At which point a tiny dragon spoke to him and that is where the story ended.

I am now 75% sure that tiny dragon is Momonosuke. It had a kid’s voice. Probably should be a higher percentage than that but I like to hedge my bets, haha.

Chopper Looks Like Every Harried Substitute Teacher Ever

While Luffy was readjusting to life in a trash compactor with a small talking dragon, Monet flapped away to tick off another box on the never ending to do list: securing the Addicted Experiment Kiddies.

Said kiddies were knocking lumps out of Chopper with their ferocious addict strength. He could not restrain them without hurting them. He tried to convince them not to eat the candy. “I know it’s hard but you have to endure it!”

The thing is, Chopper was dealing with a double helping of trouble here. Not only are they kids, who are naturally more self-centred due to their developing brains. They are also addicts who are so far down the rabbit hole of whatever drug Caesar was peddling they’ll do anything for a fix.

When Chopper’s rumble ball wore off, the kids trampled him and thundered straight for the Biscuit Room, where Mocha was waiting alone.

Luckily, he was picked up by Nami, Zoro, Usopp, Robin, Brook and Foxfire. (Do not remember Brownbeard hanging around. Did he leave or did he just not have any lines?) 

Robin tried to restrain the kids. That was interesting for two reasons: one, I didn’t know Robin could feel damage sustained by her extra hands, and two, she asked Usopp and Brook to try and find a pair of Sea Prism Stone cuffs because Luffy had asked her to. (I bet his plan is to cuff Caesar!)

The kids charged Mocha, who tried to tell them the candy was evil! Then Monet whirled into the room on a frosty zephyr. (The best part of this entrance was when Usopp shouted: “I TOLD YOU THERE WAS A BIRD WOMAN!” He was finally vindicated.) 

Yay, thought Mocha. It’s Monet-san. She’s lovely!

Nooooope. Monet told her, in a sweet, ever-so-reasonable voice that it wasn’t nice to keep all the candy for herself. Mocha should share it with the others, like always. Mocha’s little face when she sensed betrayal was just heart-wrenching. “Why?” she whispered.

Because Monet is a nasty piece of work just like Caesar? Just a thought.

Not sure what’s going to happen here. There are a *lot* of Strawhats in the room, so I’m guessing Monet will be defeated by them. Then they’ll push through, deliver the cuffs and - BAM - we have one angry, kidnapped scientist. 

Sanji Acquires Unexpected Fans

This was a short scene but the fact that Sanji has a cadre of devoted fans in the G5 is hilarious. Yeah, he claims he doesn’t want their approval. And he probably doesn’t.

But Sanji cannot stop himself running back to save the poor saps who can be saved.

This is the Sanji I like: surly on the outside with a golden heart on the inside. More, please!

And the Academy Award for Best Actor goes to . . .

CAESAR CLOWN!

Seriously.

The yarns this guy can spin could crush the GDP of a small textile-dependent country.

Caesar should run for office somewhere. Then he could appoint himself head of the science department.

For that is exactly what has been bugging him for years, it seems. He wants Vegapunk’s job.

Well... maybe not the job. (He’s getting by just fine thanks to pirates. A Government job would ruin that). It’s the fame and kudos. That’s what he’s after.

Plus he has a weird goal: to achieve world peace by obliterating all sources of conflict - collateral damage be damned. Unless he’s lying about that. Given his oscar-winning performance, that would not surprise me.

The action picked up with Caesar caesaring through a pipe and landing outside the Secret Room (I laughed when I realised everyone on Punk Hazard literally calls it the Secret Room).

He was bitching about having to enter the room because it was Vegapunk’s old office. Still, he claimed it was the only place where he could “pull it off”. (I am unsure why he had to go to Vegapunk’s old office just to close some doors, but I’ll chalk it up to plot and say no more.)

He promised to make Luffy, the Strawhats, G5 and Trafalgar Law pay for ruining his plan. It was all their fault! The experiment could have been a great show - everything perfect and beautiful and befitting of the world’s greatest scientist (Vegapunk says hi!) But they screwed it up. He couldn’t let the Strawhats do as they liked. They’d pushed it a little too far and he has Joker on his back now.

He ordered a minion to close the gates to Buildings C and D. This would lure all survivors into one narrow room. His plan? Trap them in the bottleneck and pump the room full of his poison gas through the air vents. He would broadcast it as a snuff movie for the brokers. That would show them what he was really made of!

But the minions hang on his every word and they caught one small discrepancy.

“Um... did you say that *you* had created the poison gas, Master?”

Caesar’s haughty reply was, “Yes, I did.”

“But it’s like Vegapunk’s gas. It freaks us out.” Understandably, the minions probably have ptsd from four years ago.

The moment when Caesar realised he’d let his ego run away with him and opened his big mouth was glorious. How could he spin this? How? The animators did a great job here. You could see the evil, conniving cogs turning in his mind. 

Then he broke out his Oscar winning performance. 

“This is . . . an avenging battle of science. My people! That day, I tried to stop the mad scientist, Vegapunk. No! If such a weapon exploded, what would happen to the people on the island?” Caesar even threw in a melodramatic “YAMEROOOOO, VEGAPUNK!” for some extra emotional sparkle.

“But the accident happened. And he still lords if over us as the head of the science department of the Marines. and he’s considered the world’s greatest scientist. I cannot tolerate it! He’s the cruel man who hurt you all! Do you think it’s right that people still call him the number one scientist? That’s why I want to prove them all wrong. I didn’t want to make a weapon of mass destruction! But I want to show them that there is a greater scientist here. That I am the greatest scientist in the world! When the Marines acknowledge it and when I become head of the science department, my dream will come true. I can use my scientific knowledge to bring peace to the world!”

I honestly had to stop myself giving Caesar a standing ovation. What a performance that was.

You know, it’s weird. Every lie Caesar told there has a basis in truth. That’s the most dangerous liar right there because the lies they tell are more believable. Does the Gas-Gas Fruit confer gaslighting powers too? Because Caesar is a hellishly efficient manipulator.

And while Caesar was congratulating himself, a flashback happened!

Caesar is Prime Material for /r/IAmVerySmart

Caesar with a bob was weird. I’m guessing when he moved to Punk Hazard, there was a lack of stylists, so he just grew his hair out. That hair you see right now? That is four years of growth.

At any rate, Caesar was doing something a bit more important back in Vegapunk’s lab. He was debating morality with some other scientists. They begged him to stop his experiment. If it exploded, it would kill everyone on the island. 

Caesar was typically receptive to criticism. “STFU, boneheads! Where do you think you are? This is a Marine research facility. They want to kill as many pirates as the can. What they need is a weapon that will do it for them.”

“But they don’t want one that will also kill civilians!”

Caesar’s rebuttal? “It’s called collateral damage! If we blow away everything, we can bring peace to the world.” (Does he genuinely believe that? That’s a properly depressing view of the world he holds there, if true.)

“You’re so...”

Caesar had a, “I’m gonna stop you right there” moment. They wanted to say he was cruel? What a joke. They were using prisoners as guinea pigs as if they were trash. What was the difference? (Fair point, Caesar.) Moreover, Admiral Sengoku was too soft, but Akainu, if he was in charge, *he* would want a weapon Caesar made. (Also interesting. I hope Caesar never decides to change sides again. He would be dangerous in Akainu’s hands.)

He went off on one about how Vegapunk had failed to turn people into giants again. Caesar knows you can’t turn people into giants in a short period of time unless you use magic, so had suggested Vegapunk just kidnap some kids and feed them drugs until something worked. What a lovely idea, Caesar! xD

The flash forward revealed Caesar’s “William Birkin Moment”.

Just as he made a significant discovery, Marines burst in and cuffed him with sea prism stone. Vegapunk himself came to see off his old colleague. I was ONE HUNDRED PERCENT HYPED for about half a second. But there was no face. 

Blue balled. Again. xD

Caesar was summarily dismissed from the Science Department. “Your eccentric behaviour is intolerable and I cannot protect you anymore, Caesar.”

Interesting that what the rest of the scientists did was viewed as fine and dandy, but Caesar taking it a step further was regarded as “eccentric”. First off, eccentric is a gross understatement. Secondly, what they’re doing is pretty evil too. Caesar is just overtly, unashamedly amoral. They hide it better.

Suffering such a humiliation, Caesar had his “SCREW YOU!” moment and pushed the big red button. Punk Hazard went up in a Mighty Kaboom-Boom Cloud. 

Still wondering how they all survived that, but I will chalk it up to plot and say no more.

Of course, after Caesar’s theatrics, his minions fell over themselves to apologise. Sorry, Master! You are the saviour, after all.

“Thank you... thank you all,” Caesar simpered, while inside he called them unintelligent fools. So easily manipulated. Dumb as bricks.

This guy needs taking down several pegs. Maybe an entire cloakroom rack.

Luffy, please oblige asap.

Caesar tells a rip-roaring, thigh-slapper of a yo momma joke. 

(No one laughed.)

[the-firebird69]

Watch "Ellie Goulding - Lights (Official Video)" on YouTube

That's a huge problem up there and they figured it out and stand saw it during the match and he stopped and he said I guess I'm in trouble and he left and the ACT went on and it was saying this more to it and he told Trump it's up there ever since I was a young boy and they moved out after he said pinball wizard and they're moving fast too they said holy s*** you're going to get wiped out and they got new clothes and so they put in the radio similar to the township there you go so they're moving out and they try to ask William Bill and they said we can't tell you that's like those ships and said that already so I told him what to do and then moving out it's fast okay massive numbers of shifts the whole fleet almost it's a one and a half there and the rest will probably go up there when they figure it out it is a massive massive massive war up north and that a****** told me f has it coming and he's going to buy it in space and get his ass handed to him after this cuz they're going to see what those things do and they're going to seek him out wherever he is and we really needed this and we planned it and it's perfect he says he thinks it's cuz he didn't really plan it but he knows the motif and modus. And we're going up there as well and yeah when he's doing stuff like this is dangerous what an it airhead Trump get out of here go chase your balls like that spaghetti Ball song down the street it rolls

Truthfully I've never seen that many people move so fast in my life they got up and start moving and up north is freezing it's like -50 but up north inside probably negative 20 to negative 10 because of all the ships and they can survive it but they do need to ships to survive after a short time but they are moving it and they got every vehicle you can imagine and yeah the fat bear are up there and they do great okay lots of them don't do well in the snow at all and it has to be kind of hard packed and skimobiles do better they have big ones that are really going fast you would not believe it it looks really really fun and cool it's very very dangerous but they have big machines and everything and our hovercraft they have tons of our hovercraft but there's outnumber hours like 1001 or more than that it's like 10,000 to one cuz we just started making them and we couldn't get them out huge numbers of people calling for a stuff giant numbers of things requested light cycles trucks tanks everything and we're sending them up there and they see it too and we'll bring it up there with big jets and all sorts of stuff they need to wake up because idiots are down there stealing everything and building and they need it now and we're sending out cars and we're sending all the ones we built to all the dealerships and they can fit them all and we started building hours and we're going to take all the parts and store them for repairs and we're sending parts out to the dealerships and right now and we're telling the store somewhere and we don't want them in our places we need those distributorships and we're just going to divvy it up evenly and per usage area and now we're doing that this is a great idea and and Freya is here helping me and it's those two as well and my idea and we're working okay we're getting it done and really those parts are moving out we're getting the hell out of there and getting all those cars out now these people get off their fat asses and do something and we're sending out all sorts of other things you requested right now and we're sending tons of stuff out to their military and the rescue rangers it's a division of the army

Thor Freya

[desnayy]

I got down some info for the Street Tier fankids. No last names yet cause I'm lazy.

Remy, trans male, Prince of Space, Derse, plankkind, Ball of Yarn modus, Land of Beaches and Frogs

Toby, nonbinary, Rogue of Time, Prospit, lighterkind, Cartridge modus, Land of Snow and Hourglasses

Miyu, demigirl, Sylph of Void, Derse, pankind and fistkind, Cupcake modus, Land of Pumpkins and Tunnels

Todd, cis male, Mage of Breath, Prospit, crossbowkind, Candle modus, Land of Flowers and Windmills

[deltatreats1]

Modus Snow Balls Sativa (3.5 g) – High-Potency, Flavor-Forward Hybrid Experience

What It Is

Modus Snow Balls Sativa is a premium 3.5g offering designed for cannabis connoisseurs who want intensity, flavor, and an uplifting high. Each jar contains:

THCA-rich flower, coated in THCA liquid diamonds

Enhanced with THC-P, a rare cannabinoid known for its powerful psychoactive effects

Strain-specific selection – the featured sativa is Galactic Gas, with more options available

🍊 Flavor & Aroma

Galactic Gas delivers a terpene-rich profile with:

Sweet citrus overtones

Earthy pine base

Clean, aromatic smoke that’s smooth yet impactful

Other strains in the lineup include Crack Pack, Blue Face, Bad Apple, Adios MF, and Pink Matcha Slush, all bringing unique flavor notes and effects.

🌿 Effects & Experience

As a sativa-dominant product, this one is built for:

Daytime energy and alertness

Creative stimulation

A euphoric uplift with a smooth fade into relaxation

Great for social settings or when you want a clear-headed buzz without a heavy crash

Thanks to the added THC-P and THCA diamonds, the effects are fast-acting, intense, and long-lasting—recommended for those with a higher tolerance.

Final Thought

Modus Snow Balls Sativa is for experienced smokers who want an ultra-premium, high-powered flower that hits hard and tastes incredible. Its balance of THCA and THC-P delivers a clear-headed sativa high with serious staying power. Perfect for pushing through busy days or enjoying creative time with friends

[reconditarmonia]

NPM: April 9, A New Canto

Caro being Byron! I'd never read this before finding it for this National Poetry Month, and I'd recommend reading the whole thing under the cut. It's great - snarky, specific, and some GREAT rhymes.

Caroline Lamb: A New Canto, 1819

I'm sick of fame—I'm gorged with it—so full I almost could regret the happier hour When northern oracles proclaimed me dull, Grieving my Lord should so mistake his power— E'en they, who now my consequence would lull, And vaunt they hail'd and nurs'd the opening flower. Vile cheats! He knew not, impudent Reviewer, Clear spring of Helicon from common sewer.

'Tis said, they killed the gentle soul'd Montgomery— I'll swear, they did not shed for him a tear! He had not spirit to revenge their mummery, Nor lordly purse to print and persevere: I measured stings with 'em—a method summary— Not that I doubt their penitence sincere; And I've a fancy running in my head They'll like; or so by some it will be said.

When doomsday comes, St. Paul's will be on fire— I should not wonder if we live to see it— Of us, proof pickles, Heaven must rather tire— And want a reckoning—if so, so be it— Only about the Cupola, or higher, If there's a place unoccupied, give me it— To catch, before I touch my sinner's salary, The first grand crackle in the whispering gallery.

The ball comes tumbling with a lively crash, And splits the pavement up, and shakes the shops, Teeth chatter, china dances, spreads the flash, The omnium falls, the Bank of England stops; Loyal and radical, discreet and rash, Each on his knees in tribulation flops; The Regent raves (Moore chuckling at his pain) And sends about for ministers in vain.

The roaring streamers flap, red flakes are shot This way and that, the town is a volcano— And yells are heard, like those provoked by Lot, Some, of the Smithfield sort, and some soprano; Some holy water seek, the font is hot, And fizzing in a tea-kettle piano. Now bring your magistrates, with yeomen back'd, Bawls Belial, and read the Riot-act!—

The Peak of Derbyshire goes to and fro; Like drunken sot the Monument is reeling: Now fierce and fiercer comes the furious glow, The planets, like a juggler's ball, are wheeling: I am a graceless poet, as you know, Yet would not wish to wound a proper feeling, Nor hint you'd hear, from saints in agitation, The lapsus linguæ of an execration.

Mark yon bright beauty, in her tragic airs, How her clear white the mighty smother tinges! Delicious chaos! that such beauty bares!— And now those eyes outstretch their silken fringes, Staring bewildered—and anon she tears Her raven tresses ere the wide flame singes— Oh! would she feel as I could do, and cherish One wild forgetful rapture, ere all perish!—

Who would be vain? Fair maids and ugly men Together rush, the dainty and the shabby, (No gallantry will soothe ye, ladies, then) High dames, the wandering beggar and her babby, In motley agony, a desperate train, Flocking to holy places like the Abbey, Till the black volumes, closing o'er them, scowl, Muffling for ever curse, and shriek, and howl.

A woman then may rail, nor would I stint her; Her griefs, poor soul, are past redress in law— And if this matter happen in the winter, There'll be at Petersburgh a sudden thaw, And Alexander's palace, every splinter Burn, Christmas like and merry, though the jaw Of its imperial master take to trembling, As when the French were quartered in the Cremlin.

Rare doings in the North! as trickle down Primeval snows, and white bears swash and caper, And Bernadotte, that swaggerer of renown, To Bonaparte again might hold a taper, Ay, truckle to him, cap in hand or crown, To save his distance from the sturdy vapour. Napoleon, too, will he look blank and paly? He hung the citizens of Moscow gaily—

He made a gallant youth his darkling prey, Nor e'er would massacre or murder mince, And yet I fear, on this important day To see the hero pitifully wince: Go, yield him up to Belzebub, and say, Pray treat him like a gentleman and prince. I doubt him thorough-bred, he's not a true one, A bloodhound spaniel-crossed and no Don Juan.

Death-watches now, in every baking wall, tick Faster and faster, till they tick no more, And Norway's copper-mines about the Baltic Swell, heave, and rumble with their boiling ore, Like some griped giant's motion peristaltic, Then burst, and to the sea vast gutters pour; And as the waters with the fire stream curl, Zooks! what a whizzing, roaring, sweltering whirl!

Lo! the great deep laid bare, tremendous yawning, Its scalding waves retiring from the shore, Affrighted whales on dry land sudden spawning, And small fish fry where fish ne'er fried before. No Christian eye shall see another dawning— The Turkish infidel may now restore His wives to liberty, and, ere to Hell he go, Roll to the bottom of the Archipelago!

And now, ye coward sinners! (I'm a bold one, Scorning all here, nor caring for hereafter, A radical, a stubborn, and an old one) Behold! each riding on a burning rafter, The devils (in my arms I long to fold one) Splitting their blue and brazen sides with laughter, Play at snapdragon, in their merry fits, O'er some conventicle for hypocrites.

Ay, serve the skulkers, with their looks so meek, As they've, no doubt, served lobsters in their time, (Poor blacks! no Wilberforce for them can speak, Pleading their colour is their only crime,) Trundle them all to bubble and to squeak— No doubt they shut their ears against my rhyme, Yet sneak, rank elders, fearful of denials, To pick Susannahs up in Seven-Dials.

Brave fiends! for usurers and misers melt And make a hell broth of their cursed gold: On all who mock at want they never felt, On all whose consciences are bought and sold, E'en as on me, be stern damnation dealt, And lawyers, damn them all—the blood runs cold, That man should deal with misery, to mock it, And filch an only shilling from its pocket.

Ay, damn them all, a deep damnation wait On all such callous, crooked, hopeless souls! Ne'er mince the matter to discriminate, But let the devil strike them from the Rolls: 'Twill cheer their clients to behold their fate, And round their bonfires dance in merry shoals. Some poor men's tales I've heard upon my journies, Would make a bishop long to roast attornies.

Perhaps the thing may take another turn, And one smart shock may split the world in two, And I in Italy, you soon may learn, On t'other half am reeling far from you. No doubt 'twould split, where first it ought to burn, Across some city, that its sins should rue, Some wicked capital, for instance, Paris, And stop the melodrames from Mr. Harris.

Save London, none is wickeder, or bigger, An odious place too, in these modern times, Small incomes, runaways, and swindlers eager To fleece and dash; and then their quacks and mimes, Their morals lax, and literary rigour, Their prim cesuras, and their gendered rhymes,— Mine never could abide their statutes critical, They'd call them neutral or hermaphroditical.

True, their poor Play-wrights (truth, I speak with pain) Yield ours a picking, and I beg their pardon— 'Tis needless—down must come poor Drury Lane, And, scarcely less poor, down come Covent Garden: If we must blaze, no squabbles will remain That Actor's hearts against each other harden— Committees, creditors, all wrapped in flames, That leave no joke for Horace Smith or James.

In rebus modus est: whene'er I write I mean to rhapsodize, and nothing more— If some poor nervous souls my Muse affright, I might a strain of consolation pour,— Talk of the spotless spirits, snowy white, Which, newly clad, refreshing graves restore, And silvery wreaths of glory round them curl'd, Serenely rise above the blazing world.

Free, bursting from his mound of lively green, Wing'd light as zephyr of the rosy morn, The poor man smiling on the proud is seen, With something of a mild, forgiving scorn— The marbled proud one, haply with the mean, Sole on his prayer of intercession borne: Upward in peal harmonious they move, Soft as the midnight tide of hallow'd love.

The rich humane, who with their common clay Divided graciously, distinguished few; Good Christians, who had slept their wrongs away, In peace with this life, and the next in view; Strugglers with tyrant passion and its prey, Love's single hearted victims, sacred, true, Who, when dishonour's path alone could save, Bore a pure pang to an untimely grave—

Blest they, who wear the vital spirit out, Even thus, degrading not the holy fire, Nor bear a prostituted sense about, The misery of never quench'd desire, Still quench'd, still kindling, every thought devout Lost in the changeful torment—portion dire!— Return we to our heaven, our fire and smoke, Though now you may begin to take the joke!

What joke?—My verses—mine, and all beside, Wild, foolish tales of Italy and Spain, The gushing shrieks, the bubbling squeaks, the bride Of nature, blue-eyed, black-eyed, and her swain, Kissing in grottoes, near the moon-lit tide, Though to all men of common sense 'tis plain, Except for rampant and amphibious brute, Such damp and drizzly places would not suit.

Mad world! for fame we rant, call names, and fight— I scorn it heartily, yet love to dazzle it, Dark intellects by day, as shops by night, All with a bright, new, speculative gas lit, Wars the blue vapour with the oil-fed light, Hot sputter Blackwood, Jeffrey, Giffard, Hazlitt— The Muse runs madder, and, as mine may tell, Like a loose comet, mingles Heaven and Hell.

You shall have more of her another time, Since gulled you will be with our flights poetic, Our eight, and ten, and twenty feet sublime, Our maudlin, hey-down-derrified pathetic: For my part, though I'm doom'd to write in rhyme, To read it would be worse than an emetic— But something must be done to cure the spleen, And keep my name in capitals, like Kean.