Bay 12 Games Forum

Fuck. That. No. Absolutely not. I'll stay here, where the spiders are less than coin sized.

Mm... hm. You don't have banana spiders up where you're at?

Admittedly, those tend to stay outside, but...

The square-cube law is the only thing that gives me hope, some days.

You call that a fucking house spider!?

I am NEVER moving to the Philippines!

When the local arachnids are, in fact, large enough to play a game of jacks with you, it's time to burn down every possible habitat within migration distance, salt the land, drop nukes on it, then carve the whole thing out of the earth and hurl the resulting irradiated slag pit into the sun.

And then cause the sun to go supernova. A solar system that produces such creatures cannot be allowed continued existence.

Quote from: Loud Whispers on May 07, 2014, 03:58:51 pm

Chasing a moth is easy, catching it more so. With only glassware at your disposal, when the goal is to not kill it? BATTLE OF THE MINDS!

The key is to catch it with your hand Kung-fu style and then just not close it to the crushing point instead of using a glass. I do it all of the time at my parents' house (which moths get inside fairly often at somehow).

Huh. So was I lied to when they told me touching a moth is basically delayed murder for them? From what I recall, the line was human hands are particularly good at screwing over the dust or whatnot they need to maintain flight, and touching them -- especially the wings -- is basically a touch of death.

They're also apparently killing about as many people per year as the wolves were (and almost certainly causing more property damage in the process). Good job breaking it, folks. You've managed to get deer to cause as many casualties as an apex predator.*

Way I figure it, UK should just go ahead and kill off all the deer, too. Sooner they make the island an unstable monoculture, the better. That way everyone else can point and laugh when its ecosystem collapses (the rest of the way).

*And having come to learn this, let's say I'm suddenly somewhat more suspicious as to the validity of the opinions of british citizens when it comes to wildlife management.

Because damn. That's a mark against what you're doing being the right thing to do, imo. Their choice, but I'm perfectly willing to say they should mismanage their natural resources to the fullest extent they're willing, and blatantly ignore everything they're doing when it comes to everywhere else.

Fakeedit: Though we could probably stand to have a dedicated thread for wildlife management, at this point.

... who said anything about it being a logical argument?

Playing knights of the chalice again and, just.

There's so much loot. So much. I'm barely three dungeons into the game and it's taking multiple trips -- usually with my mage entirely loaded down with like two dozen suits of full plate (she does not actually walk out the dungeons. She rolls, ensconced in the center of a gigantic medieval hamster ball made of steel), to say nothing of what everyone else is carrying -- to offload just the stuff that sells for more than a couple hundred gold.

I am the swag lord, ruler of the swaginion, swagmonger of all I swagvey, the greatest swagstrosity of the swag winds, swagocolypse made swagifest. Where I step, great pillars of swag erupt and fall silent, spreading swag in my path, laying waste the world around me, burying it under mountains of magical swag, mundane swag, and all sorts of swag in between. They have named seven plagues after me, each of which turns a different vital organ into the physical manifestation of the platonic ideal of swag, for which there is no cure and whom the victims are rendered down into their component parts to fuel the furnaces of my swagtories. Seventy seven nations have fallen to me, each throwing themselves at my mercy with swagplications of the most sinuous swag, all to be rejected and brought into my inventory, to be vendor'd off in my eternal search for more swag and the sweet aurum bullion that drives it ever onward. The era that my party crushes beneath its boots would be known as the Infinite Glories of Swag, were there anything left to record its annuals. But there is not.

Look into my eyes, ye' fallen, and know that it is not your form that reflects within them, but your inventory, spread forth and winnowed into its most slot efficient division, inevitably hauled off and sold to a short hairy midget.