#i love trabi

[the-austrian-candidate]

Hetalia Cars Headcanons

Germany: Ludwig is a big fan of cars. For him, it is a hobby; he likes getting his hands dirty, repairing, checking, etc. On a daily basis, as in my head, he is environmentally conscious; he drives a nice electric Mercedes or uses public transport in Berlin. But, give this boy a few free hours, and he will take his Ferrari (yes, Ferrari; Feliciano chose it) to the Autobahn (Highways), which in Germany are mostly with no speed limits, and he will show you all his talents. He still drives safely and is careful, but he is a speed devil.

Prussia: Gilbert drives well; he is not as into cars as Lutz is, though he still knows what he is doing. He also drives something German, maybe a BMW or Audi. Classic one, with manual gearbox, black, because black cars are awesome. Prussia actually sticks to the rules on the road, although he still, after all these years, tends to forget about seatbelts. He is also in possession of a Trabant, a car produced in Eastern Germany. It is one of the oldest models from the late 1950s, in a light blue colour. It is well maintained, and you can still drive it, which Prussia does from time to time to let the old boy breathe a little. He won't admit it, but he kept his Trabi out of pure sentiment. 

Austria: Roderich can drive, sort of. He learned how to do it very quickly, but he dislikes it. Austria always had someone to drive him around, and nowadays he usually uses taxis or someone else like Ludwig or Gilbert is driving him. In the early days of cars, it wasn't that bad; there were just a few machines around, but in the 21st century, he is simply slightly afraid (he won't admit it aloud, of course). of the number of people on the roads, it is way too fast for him, and with him being easily distracted, it is just hard to drive. He has a car; Ludwig chose it, it is sensible, comfortable, and German. Roderich spearly uses it, but if Germany, Prussia, or anyone else visits by plane, they usually take the car. 

Bonus headcanon: Alfred once made a comment about Ludwig driving rather slowly in the city and having a boring town car. Germany took Al for a drive in the Ferrari. Americ's life was never the same.

[oldfritz]

i think everyone is assuming someone else will ask but ill bite the bullet. and make it a double-barrel shot. Roderich and Gilbert in one post. Also on the music sharing front: do you have character playlists .... and if yes is it okay to have a screenshot of some if not links (i know how personaly such playlists can be)

thank you for being the one!! i appreciate everyone else's courtesy and doubly so your courage! dude it's more than okay. i've got character playlists, i've got ship playlists; i got every mode of hyperfixation a man can dream of. but to not look like a total loon here's gil's, erzsi's, roddy's, and lutz's. anyways, It's Blorbin' Time!

gilbert

favorite thing about them: this is impossible. how do i pick one thing? he's undeniable. for better and for far worse. his capacity for great cruelties and great kindness. if he loves you, there's nothing he's above doing. if he loves you, that's a sentence unto itself. he's hopeless, i'm rooting for him; he's damned, but his soul might be saved. i could keep going on, but it would sound too desperate and quasi-romantic for a fictional anime man

least favorite thing about them: treat that boy of yours better!!!

favorite line: "boobies"

brOTP: ruspru up until ~1952 (though really 1989; don't bite the hand) and pruspa forever and ever <3 his buddies

OTP: this is still a pruhun household

nOTP: and i still don't fuck with prupol

random headcanon: he occupies a lot of his time in the modern day by fixing up cars. well, not just making a porsche an even better and cooler porsche. but also making monstrosities, like a trabi with an airboat fan attached to the back (alfred caught wind of this from lutz's bitching and was more than happy to act as supplier/apprentice)

unpopular opinion: sure, he's bisexual. but it takes a pretty special man for him to snap outta all that repression and think 'oh no.' it's easier to not argue when he says he's straight

song i associate with them: he'll get three because he's my favorite :3 my boy builds coffins by florence + the machine (if you want the full 'suzanne oldfritz experience,' imagine erzsi's singing it); first we take manhattan by leonard cohen; u by kendrick lamar

favorite picture of them: this one, obviously <3 <3 <3

roderich

favorite thing about them: he's such a pompous asshole with that smug punchable face. stupid, sexy roderich

least favorite thing about them: "stop lying, stop manipulating, just be nicer!" (to be fair, he makes up for it by being incredibly fun to write)

favorite line: showing up to play classical music (was it chopin? i'm stoned and can't remember) on a deserted island, piano in the ocean. didn't need to say a word and yet he served and left no crumbs

brOTP: i like his bitchy, kinda-frenemies-but-also-not thing he's got going with francis far more than i like gil's version of the same

OTP: this is also a pruaus household......but i don't like too fluffy. i'm a serious historian, you see. very serious. i'm wearing a tweed jacket right now!

nOTP: he's a whore who can fuck anything. but i don't like him with arthur. too similar; we all can agree that each one pairs best with an equal yet opposite force

random headcanon: when he was lonely during the cold war years, he got two cats, which were what we'd call a bonded pair. the girl is 'kurva' and the boy is 'arschloch.' he was happiest when they fought

unpopular opinion: i don't think i have many, honestly. my oldest one was to depict him as a bastard because, let's be real, he is/would be one. but more people have been doing that for a couple years now at least. oh wait!! he tops more often once gil stops being a freak. a dog requires a firm master

song i associate with them: fluorescent adolescent by arctic monkeys and i've loved these days by billy joel (the king of my people)

favorite picture of them: i love when hima sexualizes men

[prince-of-elsinore]

@luminescent-chorus tagged me to respond to the following. Thanks friend! I know it's not Wednesday, but hey, we need our Wincest fix between Wednesdays too, right? :)

Happy Wincest Wednesday! I have a few questions for people to answer. Feel free to answer them all or just one (or none at all) even if you’re not tagged!

what song describes samdean the most?

if spn was set in europe, what country would the Winchesters be from? What language/languages would they speak?

This is such an interesting question to think about! The possibilities that first come to mind are: Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Poland. On a superficial level, this is probably because Sam and Dean look Anglo-Saxon, and these countries have climes and landscapes not too dissimilar from damp Vancouver, where the series is filmed. But there are some cultural reasons, too.

First, Ireland/Scotland: (ignoring for now that supposedly the BMOL made hunting in the British Isles obsolete) There's a ruggedness to parts of the countryside and, stereotypically, to its working class inhabitants, that I think fits John and Dean quite well. It's easy to imagine young Dean being (or rather, posturing as) one of those mad lads at the pub, you know what I mean? While Sam went off to Dublin or even, God forbid, London, for school. I could maybe even see them being from Wales or Northern England--I could imagine Dean with a Mancunian accent. And when he picks up Sam from school, Sam's developed this posher, southern accent that starts slipping the longer he's on the road with Dean. This AU opens up a whole rabbit hole to explore: is Dean a bit of a chav? Or is he, in his anachronistic way, more of a skinhead (in the original British, not neo-Nazi sense)? Is he more into punk than classic rock? Aesthetically, it could make sense, but did John listen to that? And what does it mean for Sam to consciously distance himself from that?--etc.

Germany/Poland: the blue-collar aesthetic is intrinsic to spn, and it's interesting to me to think of that in an Eastern Bloc context. If they were German, they'd be from the East. Their childhood was spent behind the Iron Curtain, and part of escaping that life, for Sam, would be going west, maybe to Munich or even (*gasp*) Paris. Dean's romanticization of the past would be tied up with Ostalgie. Maybe they drive a Trabi, or a Polski Fiat 126p (lol). Would we get gopnik/dresiarz tracksuit-wearing Dean (bigger lol)? Or maybe he idolizes and emulates icons of Western pop culture (a precious commodity for him growing up) just as much as in canon. Maybe he loves "Eastern/Red Westerns" and Bruce Springsteen. As far as languages go, I imagine hunting would take them across borders all the time, so they'd both have a working knowledge of several Central European and Slavic languages. Dean's English would be learned entirely from pop culture and would reflect that, while Sam's would be much more academic. Sam would speak much better French than Dean (and than canon Sam *cough*) and probably Italian, Spanish, and Greek as well.

if they didn’t have the impala, what car would they drive?

is there a project you’re working on currently? Do you have a line or sketch from it to share?

I am currently working on a multi-chapter post-15x19 thriller! He's an excerpt:

What it comes down to is that he’s Dean fucking Winchester, and he should’ve known that would catch up with him sooner than later. Not because of the enemies he’s made, but because he wasn’t built for good things. He’d let himself forget that. Because he and Sam beat God and saved the world, and for a moment it’d felt like they had a new lease on life, and they got a dog for Christ’s sake because the worst was supposed to be behind them and they were finally free—what a joke. Freedom doesn’t mean the good life. Freedom is just a nice sounding way of saying that the rug can be pulled out from under you at any moment and you’ll never find a satisfactory answer why, because there are no rules, no guiding principles, no divine design behind your suffering.

what’s the first fanfic for supernatural you’ve written? Did you publish it? Or if you don't write: what's the first fanfic you remember reading?

is there another codependent/enmeshed duo from a different fandom you enjoy? Are there parallels to Sam and Dean?

Dennis and Dee Reynolds from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and Rick and Morty. Both of these duos have a considerably less healthy dynamic than Sam and Dean, but I think disentangling themselves from each other would be just as unthinkable as for the Winchesters. They also all have an element of "this person knows me better than anyone else, and we've shared experiences no one else could possibly understand."

what type of wincest dynamic do you currently enjoy most? (sexual, platonic, dark, fluffy, early seasons, etc.)

Mostly sexual (especially developing feelings), usually somewhere between dark and fluffy (bittersweet, melancholy, or hard-earned happiness), and often pre-canon or post-15x19.

These were fun! I tag @flownwrong, @mannequin3thereckoning, @thegoodthebadandtheart, @zmediaoutlet, @flashbulb-memory, and @nigeltde-fic, if you feel like it :)

[all-devouring-history-hub]

A Review of Eastern Bloc Cars.

Eastern Bloc cars. Automobiles that came from nations dominated by the Iron Curtain and the Soviet Union. Even though I hate communism and socialism with a burning passion, You cannot deny how iconic the Eastern Bloc cars are.

Today when most people think of an Eastern Bloc car, they think of a car like a Trabant: Broken unreliable, and just not a good ride all around. This sucks because in my eyes the Eastern Bloc cars are severely underrated.

So I took it upon myself to research the most iconic eastern bloc cars and to review and rate them from best to worse.

Apologies if you guys were expecting another history review, I swear this is not becoming a car blog, I swear! Plus it's nice to talk about something for a change that doesn't involve war.

Think of this like a review of cars, except they're from Eastern Europe. An area of Europe that had cars inferior to their Western counterparts.

Fun fact, I originally started this yesterday but got deleted because I had to restart it due to a bug. So I'm starting from scratch.

Anyway without further ado, Let's dive into the weird world of Eastern Bloc cars.

Trabant 601

The Trabant was an absolute joke of a car. It's infamous for the fact that it symbolizes to fall of Communism and the downfall of the Berlin Wall. Even so, is the Trabant really as bad as people say it is? Yes.

Design-wise, I'm going to be honest, I might be the only person that actually likes the design and considers this the best part of the car. It's so simple and basic as hell, that you can't help but find it iconic and lovable.

Despite my loving the design of the Trabi, That's really all the positives I have with this car. So where do I even start? Well, I believe we should start with what it's made of because good lord.

The Trabant body is made out of Duroplast, A resin plastic. But the ingredients for Duroplast are basically recycled waste, more specifically cotton waste, and phenol (A type of acid) resins.

Yeah, when you look at that, it's probably not the best when it comes to that. It's also cramped inside due to the interior, and really loud as well. But the worst offense of the Trabant by far is the engine.

The Trabant's engine was a two-stroke engine manufactured by the defunct German car company DKW. While it was modern at the time, Eventually two-stroke engines began to be phased out by more reliable four-stroke engines, But the Trabant didn't do that.

Instead, they kept the same engine long after it was phased out. The reason for this is that the two-stroke engines, due to the nature of the design, burn fuel very fast. As a result, there was smoke and gas fumes coming out of the car.

So not only do we have a car made out of waste, it emits smoke fuels too. That's just fucking great, isn't it? There were attempts to replace the engine with a more modern one, but because East Germany didn't have the funds to build a new engine, it remained like that.

Yes, the East German government, which had ways of trying to fix the engine, decided to leave the obsolete and broken engine for at least until 1990 instead of improving it. Great job guys.

And it gets crazier. As if the bad quality of the car wasn't horrible enough, the wait time you do to even get one is even worse. People are put on a waiting list most of the time to receive their car.

In a standard that is actually the same theme with most Eastern Bloc cars, The waiting time to get a Trabant was about 10 to 13 years. Yes, you had to wait 10 to 13 years to even get a car that barely works. Communism at its finest.

The speed is also the slowest by a whopping 100km/h(62mph), embarrassing (Though then again this was the same standard for the other cars too)

Overall, The Trabant is pretty much considered the worst car ever made by many people and while not the worst for me, I definitely see why it's hated. The design may be iconic, But it's not enough to save a car that is broken, slow, loud, and emits smoke faster than a barbecue.

Yet this was the most common car in former East Germany, with a number of 2,818,547 produced from 1964 to 1990. Even though people had to wait a long time before they can get one.

Bottom of the list so far, Let's move on.

Skoda Octavia

The Skoda Octavia is the first Czechoslovakian (Czech Republic) car on the list. Produced from 1959 To 1971 with a number of 229,531 units, This was one of the big hits for Czechoslovakia, during the 1960s

While the Information on this car is short, I was able to gain some info on this.

Designwise, It looks great. Compared to the Trabant, the design is less simplistic and more iconic of the era. The wagon style certainly helps as well to make it more distinct.

The features are an improvement. It has redesigned front axles with a coil spring and shock absorbers that were designed to absorb shock impulses. The engine too, is an improvement with a straight four engine instead of a two-stroke engine.

As well as the speed, which it has a speed of 110 to 115 km/h(68 to 71mph) While not by much, It's an improvement over the sluggish Trabant.

Fun fact, the car name was brought back in 1996 for a new model, which is oddly still being used today.

Overall, this car is an improvement over the Trabant, Design, and Technical. Then again I expect a lot from Czech cars so. Top of the list baby, Let's move on.

Skoda 110r

Huh, would you look at that? Another Skoda! In all honestly, it's kind of an upgrade of the Octavia, despite coming from a different series . Produced from 1970 to 1980 with a total of 56,902 cars made, This was the Porche of the East which is saying something.

Design-wise, It has the most unique front I've seen in an Eastern Bloc car, with a look of a sports car honestly even though it was from a similar model. Ironic, considering it was used for motorsport. Still though, Nice design.

Technical features didn't change much with the exception of only two doors and a fastback rear which Gives its distinctive look.

Engine and Speed are pretty much the same as the Octavia, With a total of 145km/h(90mph) and the engine being a straight four engine.

Overall, however, This is like the Octavia, but actually modern at least by 70s standards. The design is an improvement, and the technical details are more modern at least, But the engine and speed are still the same as the Octavia. Still though, Not a bad car.

Top of the list, but only barely. Let's see if can we get a car that beats this.

Moskovitch 408

Our first car from the Soviet Union ( Russia), The Moskovitch 408 was a revolution for the Moskovitch car brand. Produced from 1964 to 1975 with numbers in the thousands, This small family car was the second best-selling Moskovtich car of the 1970s.

Design-wise, It's something. For a car that came out in 1964, A time when most Soviet cars looked like a Trabant on stilts, This is a big upgrade. It has a squared-off body with a flat roof panel and sharp tailfins.

Technical-wise, It had many modern features for its era, with Drum brakes ( Power brakes from 1969 onward.) As well as a better engine with an overhead value engine giving it 50 hp ( Horsepower).

Also, and let me say this, The 408 is the First Soviet car to actually have safety features. This is funny cause Soviet cars rarely had that many safety features beforehand and generally would lead to accidents like this.

Safety features include crumple zones, a safer steering column, a softer grip, and finally fucking seatbelts that they didn't think to introduce earlier.

The speed is about 130km/h( 80 mph). Not as fast as the Czech Skoda 110r but still decent than the Trabant and even outpaces the Octavia.

This car was exported to the eastern bloc nations as well as Finland of all places

Overall, the Moskovitch 408 is a decent car. Design-wise it's better than Moskovitch's other works previously. And the technical stuff is a bonus, Plus we finally have safety features. Thank the lord for that.

Higher than the Trabant and Octavia, but putting it behind the 110r. Still, though not bad for our first Soviet car.

Wartburg 353

Ah yes, we return to East Germany. As if shitting out Trabants wasn't enough, we have the Wartburg 353. In all honesty, This might be the best car East Germany has, and that's a bold statement.

Produced from 1966 to 1988 in a total of 1 million, the Wartburg was a modern car for its time. It might just be one of the best cars of the Eastern Bloc, In terms of design and technicality. And I mean that.

Design-wise, It's a step up from the Trabant. While it's simple, It's actually durable and has a strong chassis car frame to back it up. It's dependable and easy to care for. Obviously, it's no Western car, but it's a massive step up in terms of design quality.

Technical aspects include Front rear drive, which significantly improved the steering, a trunk, and by 1983, Innovative electric gauges.

The engine is the biggest flaw, however, with the same two-stroke engine as the Trabant. I think you know where that leads, although to be fair, It was less severe than the Trabant (though it was still an issue)

But it's the speed that stands out among all others. What's that? Keep your mic up your ass Johnston, we're coming in hot for a fucking 170km/h (105mph)

Easily the fastest car on the List. I don't think anything can top that. I will be hard-pressed into finding a car that triumphs this.

The Wartburg was massively popular in the Eastern Bloc but it took about 10 to 15 years for people to actually get one because of communism and insane wait times.

Overall, This car is the best so far. it's an all-rounder, Plain and simple. The design is great, the technical stuff is decent and the speed is insane. The only flaws of this car are the engine, the wait time, and the fact It was used as a car for the secret police so I deduct some points.

Yes, it was used for that. It will be common as time goes on. Other than that though, this car is great. Top of the list with ease.

Fso Polonez

Our first-ever car on this list from Poland, the Fso Polonez is probably one of the most famous and most produced cars from Poland. If you live in Poland, Then you might have heard of this car.

It was produced from 1978 to 2002 with a total of 1 million units, not including the truck and pickup versions. This is the first true modern car of the Eastern Bloc on this list ( and the only one).

Design-wise, we have our first hatchback-shaped car, a design that you may have seen before when getting a car. This design works cause it's modern for 1980s Poland, A time when they still had cars dating back to the 60s or just got a Fiat.

Technical features were based on its predecessor Fiat licensed model, the Polski Fiat 125p. It had a modernized engine as well as the chassis, all came from the Polski Fiat.

The biggest advantage of the car, however, was the safety. This might be the safest car in the Eastern Bloc. It's weird, I know. Considering this is the eastern bloc we are talking about. The car was the only Eastern Bloc car to pass the Us safety tests.

The speed of this bad boy is 175km/h (109mph) So like the Wartburg but a little faster. Impressive from Poland.

So remember when I said that It would be hard to find a car that beats the Wartburg 353? I kinda lied, because we found a winner right here. Sorry.

Overall, the Fso Polonez is a near-perfect design for Eastern Bloc cars. Great design, Nice technical issues, Incredible safety, And Sick speed. I think we may just have found the winner here.

Top of the list with ease, Surpasses the Wartburg. This might be the final time I change the top spot.

Vaz 2101

Ahh yes, here comes the first of three Lada cars on this list. Starting with the first-ever Lada. The Vaz 2101, commonly nicknamed Kopyeka( Which is a name for the smallest Soviet coin in the Soviet currency.), was produced between 1970 and 1988 with a total of millions of these cars were made.

I think I posted this a while back, I don't know when, but I didn't describe it.

Design-wise, I love it. Even though it's basically a licensed Fiat 124, this has become iconic for me. The simplistic design is perfect for Russian steppes. The front is enjoyable, and in general, I like the front wheel, rear-engine design a lot for cars and this is no different.

Technical features are where the car is different from the Fiat by giving it 800 modifications in order to be tailor-made for the Russian climate, such as suspension, rear brakes, carburetor, and thicker gauge(sheet metal) steel, Making it more comfortable in a ride.

The engine is mostly a decent engine in that It uses a petrol engine, which by itself, reduces the problem of fuel burning fast. As well as possessing a crank to start should the battery fall flat in Siberian winter.

The speed of the Lada is 140km/h (87mph). So fast speed also counts as well. Pretty much the biggest influence the Lada has is its influence on Russian motoring. The Lada pretty much changed the face of the Russian automobile industry as it slowly tried to modernize. So Russians better thank they had the Lada in some sense.

Overall, The Vaz 2101( Or Lada)is possibly one of the best Soviet cars ever made. The design is great, the technical stuff is a boost up for an already licensed car from Fiat and the speed is top-notch. The only flaws are the wait time and the fact that it was a licensed car and not something originally.

I Would put it in front of the Skoda 110r but behind the Wartburg 353. Still, Third place is not bad.

Yugo

This car sucks fucking dick man, there's no doubt about it. I think It might just be the worst of the cars on this list, and it's something after I smashed the Trabant.

Produced from 1980 to 2008 in Yugoslavia, This trash dumpster was produced with a total of 794,428 Yugos by the end of production. This is the antithesis of a good car and the automobile industry as a whole.

I don't even like the design of the car, It looks so weird and a little ugly. You know you screwed up a car when the design is so similar and weird as fuck. That is impressive. I have a gif to describe this car.

And when I mean quality, there is almost none at all. I think one person gave a review about his experience on the Yugo and he brings up some pretty good points. Let me show you.

rob5740: I owned a 1985 1/2, year model, you read that correctly. It was only built to last a year, but most things gave out right away. No tinted glass, no glove box. Gas cap would not come off, even full-service stations could not remove it to provide me gas. The door release and window cranks were cheap plastic, I noticed them with cracks during the test drive, they snapped off and I had to roll the window down with the remaining piece and open the doors from the outside! It struggled with more than two passengers, flooring it on an even surface, and no power. Replaced the radio 3 times, and three clutches on a car that I was done with at 25,000 miles. Knobs fell off the radio, old sliding channel finder stuck, foam around the air vent and heater chipped out, would not go into gears and also not come out of gear, On highway driving the stick shift would almost melt into place and a huge yank with huge force was all that would bring it from fourth gear to first to stopping. Cover to stick shift came off in my hand once, one time the engine disengaged from the motor so the key made no difference I could not turn it off so we abandoned it and let it run out of fuel on the side of the road. You never knew if the ignition would work, sometimes it was dead and also had to be replaced. Door hinges that were designed to make the doors feel heavier broke off, paint on the exterior ground trim rubbed off, light bulbs were burning out everywhere, rear single strut failed to hold the hatch up new. Other things wrong....signal indicator would speed up then super slow down, hood release came completely out in your hand detached but somehow if you stuck it back in it worked! numerous wheel alignments but the wheel always veered off, and could not handle gravel or dirt roads you'd be shaken to death, seats were stiff and uncomfortable, lacked power in wind, and wind would sway the car out of lanes if you didn't fight against it. Covers to pedals were not glued so you could just peal them off, cardboard interior walls had bent areas and were fading new, no cup holders, would roll backward on hills, and you were never sure of anything, what would break or not work next, it did not want to be a car, even children's toys are made safer and better to last, I found it hard to believe humans had made anything so cheap, what is the point of making things that never work, to begin with? Water would come in the driver's side window in the rain, and going over bumps you would hear almost a strain on the frame, tiny and cramped. Brakes were good, wipers were good, cute attention-getting, but none of that matters when nearly everything else was cheap and defective, literally a paperclip held the plastic together in the door releases. Battery was a relic, needed water in its cells.

You see what I mean. I don't even need to mention the speed in the fact that despite it being 86 mph ( 138km/h), It was the slowest car in the United States. How is this car progressively worse than Nidai's shits?

Okay, Not everything about the Yugo is bad, The brakes are good, the speed is surprisingly good and if you take care it, it might be okay, but in honesty, The Yugo is without a doubt one of if not the worst cars ever made.

Aside from the positives, I'm not gonna even warrant this a full review, because the flaws are there in plain sight. Easilly bottom of the list, yes it's worst than the Trabant of all cars.

God lord, What do we have next.

Dacia 1300

The First and only Romanian car on this list, The Dacia 1300 isn't perfect, But compared to our last entry, It's better. Produced from 1969 to 2003 with a total of 1,959,730, This was one of the most common cars in Romania at the time.

Design-wise, It's decent. It looks sleek, Like a Mercedes. Despite the fact the design was based on a Renault, It was modern when it first came out, compared to most Eastern Bloc cars at the time.

Technical-wise, it has Some issues. While the performance and engine were up to date, the main issue was the body panel corrosion, as well as the fact that there was no air conditioning, anti-lock brakes, or even a fucking airbag. Think about that for a second.

The speed was basically 145 km/h(90mph). A fast speed, Not the fastest, but fast enough.

Overall, the Dacia 1300 is a decent car, With some issues. Also, it's a secret police car as well, so automatic deduction of points.

I'm putting It behind the Skoda 110r but above the Moskovitch 408.

Tatra 603

Okay, so I said in a post that this is the weirdest car ever made. I still stand by that fact, However, I like it A lot. Produced by Czech car maker Tatra from 1956 to 1975 with a total of 20,000 cars, The 603 is one of the most forgotten cars when people think of Eastern bloc cars.

Designwise, Like I said earlier, It's weird. But it's the fun kind of weird and not the bad weird. The frontal area looks like it came from the Twilight Zone. The car body is sleek and smooth, It radiates luxury in its entirety. Just look at it and you will see why.

Technical stuff, It had suspension, Shock absorbers, Coil springs, and a synchronized gearbox that gave it four speeds. That's pretty much what I found.

The engine is actually reliable, due to the V8 air engine being air cooled so that gives it some better quality.

The Speed was also fast for a car like that, at a rumored 170km/h(106mph). Surprisingly it was a luxury car reserved only for Communist party officials. Ordinary people couldn't get this car.

Overall, the 603 is a Sick ride if I have seen one, The design is the main highlight, but the features are not terrible and the speed is fast. I'm putting ahead of the Wartburg 353 but behind the Fso Polonez.

I'm feeling like I'm losing some quality with this review, so tell me If the quality has changed.

Gaz 13 Chaika

I know what You guys are thinking, No this is not an American 50s car, This is a Soviet-made limo. Produced from 1959 to 1981 in a total of 3,179 cars produced, This was the Main limo for the Soviet leadership, even though It looks like an American car, and the Soviets hated the Americans. Ironic hypocrisy.

Design-wise, It's an American-styled car simple as that. Given that it was styled for Communist officials, I can see why they did this, but it's coming off as copying someone's work. I think it feels good inside.

Technical details are independent suspension with spring coils

The engine is basically the same as in the Tatra 603, the V8 so nothing has really changed much there.

The speed is 159km/h ( 99mph), Which is surprisingly fast for a limo. This thing was used by the Communist officials of Soviet Russia as well as East Germany and Hungary for example. The limo was also used and rented for weddings.

Overall, Not a bad car. Given the design resembles American cars in the 50s and since the car industry was at its peak there, It looks a little bit better than most, but not by much.

I would put it above the Vaz 2101 but bellow the Wartburg 353.

Lada Niva

Possibly the first Suv of Soviet Russia, The Lada Niva is the longest-running off-road light vehicle still produced in its original form. Produced from 1977 to the present day in a total of 650,000, Possibly more, the Niva is an icon of a Suv.

Design-wise, It looks great. It looks like a compact SUV in general, Considering that this is the Soviet Union we are talking about here, the fact they even made this SUV at all is something.

Technically, It definitely has modern stuff for its age. Independent suspension, coil springs, rear seatbelts, Right external mirror, an anti-locking service mirror, The list goes on and on.

The Engine is powered by a petrol engine, which proved to be effective when traversing the high terrain of the Soviet Union and later Russia.

The speed is okay, A mild 130km/h (81mph) Never really hurt anyone. Also, the safety is horrendous, during tests in the 2000s, the car's survivability was so bad that if a crash happened, the person could suffer traumatic brain incidents.

Overall, the Lada Nia is a cool SUV that is incredibly useful when traversing difficult roads, and has a lot of features, But needs to improve safety.

Behind the Chaika, but above the Vaz 2101.

Lada Riva

The Lada Riva is the last of the Lada series of cars that are on this list. Out of all of them, this is basically a modernized Vaz 2101 and one of my favorite eastern bloc cars. Produced from 1980 to 2012 with a total of 3,000,000 units, the Lada Riva was the successor to the old generation of Ladas.

Design-wise, Like I said it's a modern Vaz 2101, the front does look a little more streamlined than the original, like it's a Mercedes, and the hull and car, in general, are noticeably bigger than the Vaz 2101, But it's still a Vaz 2101. through and through.

The technical stuff is basically drum brakes with brake shoes on them, Coil springs, and manual transmissions.

The engine turned out to be a straight four petro engine, Which definitely helped it survive until 2012.

The speed of the Lada Riva was however insane about 180km/h(112mph), Making it the fastest car in the Soviet Union and the eastern bloc.

This probably beats the Fso Polonez in terms of well, everything. The design, while a redesign of an older car, still looks good, The engine is great, the technicals are decent, And the speed is madness.

I said I would not change this, but come on, I have to, The Riva takes the top spot from the Polonez. It's without a doubt the best of the Eastern Bloc.

Overall, really decent car to have.

Gaz 24 Volga

Last but not least we have the Gaz 24 Volga from the Soviet Union. Produced from 1970 to 1985 and then produced as the Gaz 24 10 during the Gorbachev Years from 1985 to 1992, with a total of 1 and a half million, this car struck fear into people. If you lived in Russia during the 1970s, You would fear the Volga.

Designwise, It looks modern compared to its predecessor. The front looks like something you would see in a horror film, The body is progressively bulkier than before, And the back has a trunk in the back.

Technical-wise, it's more modern than the Gaz 21 with it having a rear bumper, flat ashtrays in rear doors, and a modern radio. More modern upgrades include the use of seatbelts instead of central armrests, Windshield wipers, and many more.

The engine of the car flip-flops between a straight four engine at one time or a v8 engine at the other. All I know is that these two engines were used throughout this car's lifetime.

The speed of the car is 145km/h(90 mph), slightly faster than the Lada. this was also used as a taxi car, pretty much being the only taxi car in the Ussr. In fact, nobody privately owned these except for the higher-ups

Overall the Gaz 24 is a solid car, With a modern design, technical improvements, and nice speed. I will have to deduct points for its police car status.

I will put it ahead of the Vaz 2101 but behind the Lada Niva.

Conclusion

Well, this was a long time for me to make. I never expected to make it this long, I had more to put in here but after seeing the amount of time I took and how much I put in, I started to reduce it. Maybe I will do part 2 of this, But I don't know if I could.

In the end, though, it was fun to talk about the Eastern Bloc cars and see if they are better, which are ehhh.

So before I Sign off, Let me give you the final results of the list as well as some honorable mentions.

1st: Lada Riva

2nd: Fso Polonez

3rd: Tatra 603

4th: Wartburg 353

5th: Gaz 13 Chaika

6th: Lada Niva

7th: Gaz 24 volga

8th: Vaz 2101 (Lada)

9th Skoda 110r

10th: Dacia 1300

11th: Moskovich 408

12th: Skoda Octavia

13th: Trabant 601

14th: Yugo

Honorable mentions

Zaporthzets series.

Gaz 21 Volga

Fso Syrena

Wartburg 311

Skoda 100

Barkas B 1000

Zil 114

Skoda 1203

This has been Sam and I hope you all enjoyed it. This might be the only car review I will ever make, But it was nice to do something different for once. Have a good rest of your day! :)

[voidstappen]

Hey just so saw your post and I would love to hear about anything idea you have about 4433 so it's me trying to help 😅

First of all how many ideas do you have and are they interconnected?

Do you want to talk about one idea in specific?

Ah, hey! That's good to read because I really need help with everything ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

So far, I've got some ideas but I haven't really noticed if some ideas are interconnected, so I'll just list the ideas

The 4433 Genshin AU (which I might publish soon)

The Genshin Impact & HSR AU

I wanna do a redo of the Royal Flower Fields AU but with... Magical Realism(?). Basically really fantasy X reality right now

I also have an idea about police officer Lewis who needs the criminal Max's help to catch a serial killer in lost/abandoned places

Oh, and another idea I had was about dragon Max and Siren Lewis, remember? It was basically just the idea of a king catching mythical creatures to display them in his garden. Max is a newly captured dragon who got chained down next to Lewis' deep lake

Divorce AU too where Max and Lewis were in a commited relationship/marriage and even had a child or two but the 2021 season got them divorced and in 2023, Lewis feels his heart break seeing Max and their children alone

Another child fic where Lewis, Nicole and Nico were in a poly relationship with a child and Max gets used as the babysitter (he really loves that child though) while the throuple (I think that's what's it called?) has nights out but also slowly drifts apart

Addition of Max buying and restoring an old Trabi and Simson from the former GDR (it's really the only thing I loved about my past)

Forgot to add the idea of Max being kinda Rossi's and Marquez's child

I also wanna continue the space mer Max au somehow but no idea pops up anymore 😭

And for the last idea, I wanna bring back the wyverns but I'm not sure how I wanna do that TT

[ejaydoeshisbest]

A Post Hating on Gen Z Kids But Not Really

Most days, I don’t really pay attention to conyo kids or those who act like them. You know the type—born into privilege or trying their hardest to look the part. They’re just another group in our colorful society. We’ve got emos, artists, K-pop stans, Swifties, bookworms; everyone has their own lane.

Today was different. My peaceful weekend got flipped upside down when a horde of junior high school kids, the conyo variety, took over Trabi Café—my go-to spot for unwinding. Safe to say, my day was ruined. Additionally, to personally witness the product of an affluent style was an experience.

But as I stewed it over and realized it had less to do with their attitude and more about the weather, the sweat-soaked humidity, and my dashed plans of sipping a quiet coffee. I was just in a mood as I was subjected to their loud chatter echo around the room.

Now, I’m not one to get worked up over kids. But this group of Ateneo junior high schoolers got to me. I watched as they breezed in like they owned the place, voices loud enough to compete with a concert speaker. It was impossible not to eavesdrop, even though I did my best to block them out with my usually-trusty headset. And what did I hear? Conversations so out-of-touch with the reality of the common Pinoy.

“Oh, dude, I can’t keep track of my maAaAacrouuss, how do you do it?” “Yeah, my parents picked this awful maid…” “Ugh, this heat, ano ba, let’s go somewhere else.” “Eww, his bag.” “Can you, like, get that for me?” “Oh, dude, bullshit. This is how you fuck!”

I half-expected them to break into a choreographed TikTok routine. Hearing these snippets felt like I’d stumbled into a poorly written teen drama, the ones made by either fledgling or old Filipino directors trying to stay hip. The kind where you’d roll your eyes and mutter, no way kids talk like that. But there they were—living, breathing stereotypes. It also felt like I was observing an entirely different species, like how scientists monitor endangered animals.

I’ll admit it: part of me was jealous. Wouldn’t it be nice if those were the only problems I had to worry about? Macro tracking and maid drama sound pretty sweet compared to rent and bills. Yes, they’re just kids. But if I had to bet, I’d say their older siblings and even their parents lived pretty cushy lives too. I envied their easy confidence, their flawless, air-conditioned-soothed skin, and their air of having everything figured out. Most of them looked like they’d stepped out of an influencer’s IG feed: perfect brows, red lips, porcelain skin. Even the chubby rich kids had a certain glow.

I felt like the gremlin in the room, especially when one kid’s bag blocked my way to the restroom, and another called over friends to stand in front of the cafe’s entrance, totally oblivious to my attempt to get out. It was like their world was the only world that mattered.

After my initial irritation settled, I felt a bit guilty. Maybe I was being too harsh. They were kids, after all. We’re all pretty self-absorbed at that age. Who knows? Maybe these loud, entitled teens were star students, volunteers, or good kids at home who were just venting. Maybe the kid complaining about the maid actually gives her a smile when he gets home. Maybe the loudest one in the group takes care of their grandparents or loves animals.

And I did notice that not all of them were the same. The quieter ones, maybe on scholarships, were polite and actually said “excuse me” without making me feel like an invisible NPC in their video game life.

At the end of the day I am just venting. Privilege can make people seem entitled, but I shouldn’t forget that being a teenager comes with its own share of cluelessness. These kids were living in their bubble, just like I was in mine. It’s easy to judge, especially when jealousy and irritation get mixed in. But everyone has their world shaped by different circumstances. I’m sure that if I was born into their wealth, I too, would behave like them. I was irritated first and foremost by how loud they were and my irritation doubled with the added jealousy of witnessing privileged rich kids acting entitled. I also felt so old.

That Saturday at Trabi Café was a reminder that while it’s okay to feel annoyed, it’s important to stay self-aware (and maybe chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all). I don’t know how those conyo kids will grow up. Maybe they’ll still be entitled adults, maybe some of them will achieve greater things than me and my whole small barrio combined. Whatever they set out to do, I hope the real world does not take their happiness away. At the end of the day, you do you, and I wish you no physical harm, save for a healthy dose of reality humbling you if ever your ego grows too big.

Words: Ejay Diwas

[just-a-mod]

day 5 is drag pride!!! ft a sweet drag queen named Trabis!

I admit that i am probably some of the many who don’t know very much about the people who helped build pride and pride parades, but I do know alot of them were strong queens and kings who helped pave the way for what we have today

spend some of your time this month learning more about those who came before us, or take some time to spread some love to our brothers and sisters who are proud loudly and with style!!

[beachsequence-blog]

i forgot to post this but when @bonojour went to Berlin forever ago he got me this little guy :’) he held it hostage for forever (and wouldn’t show me what it looked like) because i had an oasis cd i meant to send to him but kept forgetting to, i finally brought it to him when i visited him the other weekend and he gave me my little trabi :’)

[lacrow]

[SxF Gift Exchange 2020 Roundup]

I’d like to give a big shout out and thank you to all of the participants for this year’s inaugural Spy x Family secret santa! All of our creators worked very hard on their pieces, and each one deserves all the love and attention the fandom has to offer! Here’s a list of all pieces that were shared publicly;

Written Submissions:

Arthurthegatekeeper (@abluescarfonwaston​):

Family Quirks

Espers770: 

Coffee and Cigarettes

Smallestsenpai: 

When the Mask Falls

Irreplaceable

JaMills @gonnahypatia

so cold it feels hot

welcome to the family, trabi

put a ribbon on it

@bluwwo

Me and My Husband

@lacrow

All I Want For Christmas is You

December Threads That Tie Us

@nonokoko13​

Forgers’ Christmas Preparations 

Cat_Uni_creating

Spinning Around You

Kadhi

You can’t keep a secret forever

Mage_Warrior (@kallura-juniblade)

Loid x Yor One-Shots

Art Submissions:

@nagy-bari:

Anya and Bond

@bluwwo

Happy Birthday, Anya

@illogicallogicsuwu:

Starlight Supremacy

@starcider

Christmas Comic

@eldraftsman

Forger Christmas Dinner

Christmas Extras

-Please note that 1) there were other submissions that either weren’t posted publicly by the creator and thus were excluded from this list to respect their privacy, and 2) that there are several pieces still being worked on (the list will be updated once they are finished)-

Again, thank you so much for everyone who participated! We really came together as a fandom for the holidays, and aside from a few hiccups I’d say this ended up being a huge success! All the creators from Operation Strix would like you wish you all a wonderful holiday season and new year’s, and we can’t wait until the next event comes around so we can do it all over again!

[nimblermortal]

Where do these cars they keep driving come from? The white thing in Surrey is clearly a rental*, but the junker they were carting about in France? Clearly well-used. Is this further evidence that they largely reside in Goussainville, or do they just have cars at their favorite safehouses, most of them some stage of antique, kept in shape by loving car nerds whose relatives they rescued?

I will admit I only want to know whether they have a perfect Trabi in storage somewhere in Germany, but I do want to know if we can see them try to pack the lot of them into a Trabant and get up a hill. They could bet on it!

*I googled it and it’s an Audi, which seems improbable, but what do I know or care

[june-violet]

My Dad writes awesome stories. I love trying to create the visuals for them so I can get to know his unique and unusual characters better. So, here is my try at these sweeties from his current novel. Happy Father’s Day, Dad-- I hope Melli and Prof. Trabis look all right! I love you~ ♥

[pickleburger-bonejuice]

denta and trabis the show

i love these guys.

[willpowerbutch]

Willpower Butch Infiltrates the BAFTAs

It was my twenty-seventh scotch, noble reader, of the hour; Tom Rob Smith, world-renowned proponent of gay death, was with me, but not in the way a full-lipped apprentice attends to an aging poet, nor as a former classmate who comes to share a booth with one at a bar after a chance meeting which culminates in a divorce pact – for such follies are the province of the Homosexual, that Cyclops, who became so since his loss of depth perception did not enable him to notice breasts. In the midst of the nigh-on soft chatter of our female militia, my companion could be heard making overtures, squalidly, for me to play “snooker” according to his specious and altogether sun-bathed program:

“Willpower, you must use your pole to hit the balls, or else I will best you, and that is improper for a loathsome pervert to do to a manly man.”

“Spare me your monologues, Elton Yawn!” roared I, for I had made excellent progress at ramming my rod into the table’s holes with sweltering masculine virtue.

We had come, concretely, to destroy our health sufficient to the task of passing among the British unobserved.

Although I, a stalwart and heterosexually-attracted Man, would have taken emotionless, ungay pride in eviscerating Tom Rob Smith at golf, we were interrupted by the blaring sirens which indicated that the BAFTAs were soon to begin. So, we left, along with the women – a wolf and an inconvenient rabbit among their flock of sheep – for the Imperial BAFTA Hall, where the Gay-Transgender makes one of its many covens outside of Tom Cruise. Despite our unstoppable approach, my heart was gripped suddenly with incredible weight-lifting, and TRS himself exclaimed:

“Do you see it, Willpower, at the door? There is a vision of extreme displeasure, and a stench arising from it which would make nancies of a lesser constitution die outright. What can it be? Alas, this is why the Gay is impelled toward a lifestyle of superficially confrontational languor, of blasé splendor, because we are so surrounded by the impertinence of heterosexual childbirth. Do you imagine, Willpower, how it is to be imprisoned in this world, to exist in the presence of Neanderthals who think that drunken subway arguments which end in daredevil stripping have no place in public life, and not to be able to set them on fire as they have done countless times throughout history to my scripts? Woe, for this is the fate of the homosexual to endure such preening boredom. Oh, it is Germaine Greer.”

So it was, as we drew close, that we could make out her contemptible visage, which conceals a mass of disgusting platitudes where other persons might possess a brain. Thinking quickly, I sent the contingent of women over, who becalmed the creature with pretty nonsense about uteruses as I and my companion strode bulgingly past.

(Germaine Greer, right, bravely checks a ‘woman’ for beard hair.)

It was at the threshold of the BAFTA Hall that TRS addressed me, insofar as his perniciously pretty physicality would permit, for what the Gay-Transgender lacks in muscle mass it accounts for in spite. “Willpower,” said he.

The remnant of my beard extended and cut into his throat, which he understood correctly to mean that I was about to kill him. He reconsidered whatever soliloquy he had been formulating along our frightful travail through the throngs of disco-dancing initiate necrophiles and on-fire SLAM poets. Instead, he spoke a modicum of sense: “Master Butch, whatever feelings of soulful longing for male love we may have assimilated ‘til now, we must put them further out of mind than Bryan Singer’s career. It is time for us to assert dominance, or we shall be in pulsating danger.”

Manly reader, I was not greatly concerned. “You are aware,” I growled, “that everyone under the age of twenty-five is a woman? and that the Gay has tried many times – deliciously, immensely many times – to convert me and has not more than thrice succeeded? I shall need only to eviscerate those virgins by the power of forthright apoplectic flexing, which is my attribute as a noble Excellent.” 

But TRS shook his head dolefully, like all of mankind who have had the misfortune of reading his books. “That won’t work. What we need, monsieur, is for you to think like a Gay.”

“Like a Gay...”

I pondered this, although I was aware of the degradation to my unmountable masculinity in so doing. Because the Gay is inscrutable to the manly man beyond his suspiciously smooth-faced desires, because the Gay’s entire psyche is ruled by those desires, am I to believe that the key to thinking like a homosexiphone is to slander women until the straight man becomes confused?

I strode in willfully, gloriously, the light glinting off my pectorals sending those hideously Eurythmicsed gargoyles into a fearful advance. It was a vision of such heroism as in Hellenistic days could not be depicted, for the limp hand of the poet shall not wield anything as thickly engorged. Facing down their trimmed stampede, I released unto them:

“Gay homophiles! I am indeed one of your horde, as you can plainly tell by my wet cough. Shall we discourse together on the evils of Woman, who are essentially redundant since the invention of canned corn? Shall we convince the Genuine Man to leave her and her ways, her wiles, her rejection of fully equipped samurai decapitations at family restaurants? Let us stand together, heathens, for I can see an acknowledgement of the truth in my words by the erect posture of your varnished pincers.”

All seemed lost – the Gay Vampires had descended upon me, their decrepit digits wrapped in guilt and recently-unstuck Titanic posters, gyrating in a vicious parody of Reddie Sexchaynge during his electro-shock faith healing in The Danish Girl. They had brandished on me their fearsome skincare, which is known to turn straights into the sort of recently single young men who move to the city to purposely trip on sidewalks in front of low-key leather cafes. But it was then that a miracle took place, that the insatiable fabulant Tom Rob Smith came to the rescue of myself, an indestructible master of unweak gigantism.

Slamming open the door, he addressed the crowd. “I’ve seen all of your films. They’re obvious.”

A gasp echoed through the hall as TRS strutted down the aisle, glowering tearfully, manifesting low-budget ‘90s sex comedies in his wake; and I, in pursuit, took great care to strafe past the apollodisiac influence of his posterior -- for the Gay, natural prey of the manly man, has evolved to paralyze him with insipid perception. We arrived in the front lines, with eminent hormonal abundance, where our way was made by those most cocktail-lit transcendentalists.

It was then we were alerted to the presence of Germaine Greer, who had crept into the hall by reason of the existence of her reproductive capacity. She was joined by the well-educated and generally expert feminist scholar Graham Linehan; that personage was invited to the stage to speak, where he was met with much appreciative braying and the open display of genitalia such as might surprise even Ewan McGregor.  

“Evil perverts,” he yelped, gripping the edge of the podium like the neck of a sub. “I have come to educate you. Listen and assimilate the words of your infinite better. This world is divided at its hilt: in one sphere, our sphere, live the real, who accept the existential primacy of boob size. In the other are the transgendereds. Too easily have you upright homos accepted those vermin in your ranks, for now they have tasted the come of anime weirdos and will no longer settle for overdosing on fake heroin in corporate meeting rooms where they have been hired by the capitalists to populate sex parties. Oh, they will destroy reality given the remotest chance: they will take to it with scotch tape and whore makeup like they did to Tom Holland. Thank God that I, a straight man, have emerged from the depths of intolerable self-fellation to inform you benders which of you is queer, you know, in the normal way.” He concluded this declamation with great flourish: a round of tequilas, called “T shots,” was provisioned to each of us, as club drugs rained from the ceiling and a gaggle of clownfish was brought in to be ritualistically basketballed. Then, giving us a caustic grimace, Graham Linehan disappeared, taking my macho sanity and will to live with him.

The night was only beginning, and directly I understood how the Gay-Transgender could be quite so miserable as they are, that they must prowl the alleyways between disparaged Tex-Mex restaurants in search of lascivious marriage – in order to forget, if only for several months, the vivid lunacy of having to murder everyone who discovers your incest fetish. And I was struck with a sudden melancholy, for the idea of the Gay without its Transgender is an upsetting one: it is far less dignified, erudite, and rose-fleshedly proper, lordly reader, to think only of whom the Gay has sex with and not additionally how.

Nevertheless, it is clear why Hollywood must disapprove of these most vacant transgendereds, for if too many of us should fall into their strange genitalia, how shall show business reliably obtain more children to rape?

Abruptly from out of an enormous, glittering, piano-shaped coffin rose the master of ceremonies, the remaining life-force of Rupert Everett, who disco-danced toward the podium nervously and began his address:

“‘All you need to make a movie is a twink and some glycerin.’ Jean-Luc Godard said this in the seconds before he memorably punched William Wyler face-first through the muffler of his Trabi, and it is perhaps truer today than it was even in his prime as a total Otter. Year by year, as gay culture continues to defile the world with men who look like they might be wearing lipstick but are too flushed to tell, we gather here to celebrate the crimes our community has gotten away with because of the liberal globalist agenda, and in particular, those fantasy characters that actually pull them off. And so, the nominees for people who are probably haunted by their teenage years are as follows: Jake Gyllenhaal, in the role of Borscht, a gay who decides to become bisexual, bringing destruction down upon humanity. Ben Whishaw, our High Shaman of Shame, in Posh Homosexual Encounters of the First Time. Chris Pang, who didn’t do anything gay this year but is unfairly hot. And Tilda Swinton, who is genuinely an alien out to replace every person in the world, this being the sort of tenacity to upset the straights that our Academy recognizes. But as you well know, there can be only one foot-gripping Fonzie, so it is with Biblical villainy that I announce the winner of this year’s Silicone Satan: Ben ‘so bottomy it’s almost straight’ Whishaw!”

The crowd broke into revels immediately, a boundless catastrophe which brought the town of London to its knees in a literal sense, for those Englishmen who are not fashionably bicurious are so accustomed to marmite and scotch eggs that they hardly care what goes in their mouths. And amid the dilating chaos, I took Tom Rob Smith by the arm, but it was, most audaciously musclebound king, a gesture neither tender nor rough, which could not in the remotest circumstance be open to lewd interpretations, as there was no occasion for my thighs to greet his glistening back, grazing “accidentally” for one heart-stalling moment when I could not meet his eyes, as any man who has been to Cracker Barrel on a Monday afternoon will well remember; and, I did not, say, growl seductively that my breath wasn’t the only warm thing I could put in the orifice of his ear, nor did I drag my thumb along the line of his bicep while pristine depression tears glimmered on my cheeks outside a gas station where a group of teenagers was either dangerously wasted or speaking Dutch. Thus, did we wend through the pendulating masses in pursuit of that dimensionless maudlin fairy Timpani Gayparade and the sometime-man who had also been my much be-tolerated roommate, Paragon Shag.

(Timpani Gayparade, right, shared many hours of blazing homosex on the set of Ball Me By Your Chains with his former master and effigy pervert, Smarmy Whammer, most of which made the cutting room floor.)

Turning a corner into the corridor of Z-list drag queens who had become ordained online, we encountered Gayparade in the act of performing a sorcerer’s spell which would grant him bodily existence. Timpani addressed us, having to peer up despite the heel of his combat boots, for the heterosexual is size-advantaged by his immunity to pet-play – a fact that is widely acknowledged even among Gay propagandists: “Trot on over here, lover, and face my hot brothers, some of whom would die to protect me, and the rest of whom will die because they have just witnessed Benedict Cumberbatch try to get the British press to stop calling him a gay bitch by licking out a pork pie.”

And sure enough, with a wail that was more in-tune than Marc Almond could ever be, some fifty of them passed into the oblivion of trying not to become second-hand racist from conservative editorialism. There did endure, however, a small contingent, who approached me with the determination of a newly hatched Transgender learning J-pop lyrics.

“Are we on Russian dash cam?” groaned the first passionately. “Because I’m about to slam you in the rear.”

But he could not anticipate that I had concealed pepper spray and an axe in my jacket, which are a great inconvenience to the Gay. So, it came to pass that those notorious hot brothers were immobilized – by their evil lust for my manhood or by the evacuation of their limbs, I could not be sure. While I dealt with them, Trimathee Chaletgay slipped through my fingers, into the bowels of unfortunate shaving. But it was not for him that I had come.

My goal was there, at the end of the hall, his skin bleached out by the industrial lighting and his degenerate lifestyle. And yet, after so many decades of acquaintance, those brave calves and that carefully swooped shoulder mane were unmistakable to me.

“Shag,” said I. “Are you still...?”

There was a pause as he turned toward me icily. “I – I didn’t change my name, so...”

We loafed about and said nothing, but I did kick three separate iterations of Spiderman down the stairs.

“You, ah,” it was most gay, but I could not come up with something dexterous to say nor a timely masculine reflex. Then I remembered the words of Tom Rob Smith much earlier in the evening. “Hey, girl. You look like they let Randy Quaid back in the movies, but with less visible pubic hair.”

Shag had begun to turn from me – I knew because I was tragically subjected to the witchcraft of gay sexy-walking, whereas the straight man cannot be accused of having hips, for he moves by the sheer gravitational force of his erectile prominence. And, my most red-bedecked haruspex of whatever the fuck Jonathan Ross is ever saying, I could not allow such a flagrant display of dandyism to go unimpeded, for that is how one remains a Top; so, did I call to him once more:

“Shag! Hear me and be somber! I speak, and a profound gloom becomes me, for I would rather not open my mouth around these pedophiles. But, I shall say it regardless: I need you, Paragon Shag, for everything you are – to help me destroy James Franc’n’o and his compound of chad gay clones, to graffiti organic supermarkets with ironic caricatures of Chairman Mao which will put at-risk youths off vegetarianism, to pull the plugs of the unabashed and despotic fairies who have made this world into a sheer-underpantsed nightmare of ex-Soviet post-punk, to be my one true ally against the rising tide of gay joy and the tribulations of this erotic disaster we call life.”

I felt the world end, bicepted Lord – for a long moment, when I could discern nothing on his heavily painted face, my heart stilled, which is not dangerous to the Man because his blood courses by its own perfect will – and when his lips twitched into a smile, Comrade of my Coronary Supersession, I felt it reborn.

Racing toward the exit, our pansificious colleagues and female battalion in tow, I began to imagine that after the stretched darkness had come a thrusting dawn. And then an unbearable shriek fell upon our ears. After we had determined that it was not Ed Sheeran, who is easy to kill, Shag and I turned to each other, establishing wordlessly that me must investigate.

We could see wave upon wave of reclaimed fake fur-draped gay cannibals, Z-snapping anxiously. They had gathered ‘round a TV screen -- but from such a distance as I could not make the picture out, nevertheless, I knew at once what had come to pass -- for the manly man, being preferential in evolution’s progress, is vested the power of second-sight so long as it pertains in some way to explosions. So it was that I realized the day of our reckoning had arrived in the image of a smoldering crater: God had crashed back to earth.

About the Authors

The wayward and athletic Admiral Willpower Butch this week celebrated his fifth decade of victory over superior-acting children, among whom he is universally known as the Hospital Man. He is an unparalleled hero, superlative in his muscular immensity, heterosexual prowess, and aptitude for breaking underdeveloped bones. His correspondent, Paragon Shag, his soul reclaimed from the clutches of pastoralism, would have certainly become such a commandant of auspicious slapping had he only been spared from the gay influence of mathematical implements in his school years. Their secretary and loosely-historically-based magic syphilitic gambler, Dead Summer Days, never thought the apocalypse would look so much like a Robert Rodriguez film.

[theotherpages]

National Poetry Month #9 - Catullus - Catullus IV

Every rock and roll band occasionally does a ballad. Why? I have no idea, but I assume that they need something slow and easy to sing after bouts of energetic screaming and bashing. In more general terms, even when you’re really good at something, you need to try other things from time to time.

Today we’re going to hop in the Wayback Machine and go sixteen centuries back before Grimald, and talk about about Catullus ( Gaius Valerius Catullus) a Roman poet from the first century BCE. Some 116 of his poems survive to the present day. I was amused to see that half of these are still part of the current AP Latin syllabus.

Catullus, like Grimald, lived in a time of war and turbulence, near the end of the Roman Republic.  He wrote a wide variety of poems, including many short epigrams, and also many poems to his live interest, Clodia. He was a fan of the Greek poet Sappho, so his pet name for her was Lesbia. To students who have studied Latin in school, Catullus was sampled repeatedly, but with much care by our teachers. He could be humorous, and he loved a good insult, but much of it is so sexually explicit that it is difficult to discuss in polite company. Whenever there is a literal and a deeper meaning, teachers were quick to steer conversation into safer waters - which leads us to today’s poem, which has always been one of my favorites.

I think it shows, beautifully, that when the rock & roll poet of his era decided to write something serious instead, the result can be lyrical and memorable. Here it is first, in the original Latin: (don’t worry, you can skip down, I don’t really expect you to read it)

Catullus IV

Phaselus ille, quem videtis, hospites, ait fuisse navium celerrimus, neque ullius natantis impetum trabis nequisse praeterire, sive palmulis opus foret volare sive linteō. Et hoc negat minacis hadriatici negāre litus Insulāsve Cycladās Rhodumque nobilem horridamque Thraciam Propontida trucemve Ponticum sinum, ubi iste post phaselus antea fuit comāta silva; nam Cyrōtiō in iugō loquente saepe sibilum edidit coma. Amastri Pontica et Cytore buxifer, tibi haec fuisse et esse cognitissima ait phaselus, ultimā ex origine tuō stetisse dicit in cacūmine, tuō imbuisse palmulās in aequore, et inde tot per impotentia fretā erum tulisse (laevă sive dexterā vocaret aura, sive utrumque Iuppiter simul secundus incidisset in pedem), neque ulla vota litoralibus deis sibi esse facta, cum veniret a mari novissimo hunc ad usque limpidum lacum. Sed haec prius fuere: nunc reconditā senet quiete seque dedicat tibi, gemelle Castor et gemelle Castoris. 

-- Catullus

And here is my favorite translation (and yes, I had to use the Wayback machine to find it. I wrote it down in 1975). It is about a boat the speaker once traveled on, that he now sees at rest. There are some nice metaphors here on youth and age, excitement, and reaching the end of life. It has a different viewpoint, but bears some similarities to  Tennyson’s Ulysses.

Catullus IV

This ship, friends, tells us it has sailed, Declares it flew upon the sea And, birdlike, flew more rapidly Than all the rest. Swift ships have failed To catch her when they race with oar and sheet. All met with quick defeat, She won the Adriatic’s praise And praise of the Cyclades, Of noble Rhodes, of Thracian seas, Windy and rough, and of the bays Of savage Pontus: she’s made journeys there When other’s wouldn’t dare. Before she traveled far away, Her mast in old Cytoris wood Was once a stately tree and stood And spoke in whispers, and they say Amastis’ and Cytoris’ summits heard Her softly murmured word. This ship says these things were known To them, when she with rustling hair Stood lonely on a summit there: That she in waters madly blown Would steep her palms, and gliding coolly by Scorn every stormy sky. I sailed with her, and I saw how She tacked to right and left and knew The winds of Jupiter which blew Upon her sails or on her bow, She made no vows to gods who ruled the seas But weathered all storms with ease. She made her final Odyssey To this calm bay where she will stay And age in peace and where she may Repose, protected from the sea. Sacred to Castor and his twin, This Ship Has made her final trip. -- Catullus

I remembered this so well, in fact, many decades later, that when I wrote Ethos, the fifth book in The Republic of Dreams, I made one of the key elements of the story a boat named the Tyche (Fortune), whose existence mirror’s Catullus poem (perhaps with a bit bumper ride, though). One of the voices of the series, poet Natalia Yeka, writes an homage to it, echoing Catullus:

 Last Voyage of the Tyche (in the style of Catullus IV)

[Written upon seeing the boat at anchor off Ashkelon]

This boat you see before you, my friends,   Was once the fastest of ships. If her sails and spars could speak, they would attest   How, birdlike, she flew upon the swells, And fled more rapidly before the wind than all the rest. Swift ships of many flags have failed to catch her   As they raced with engine, oar, and unfurled sheet, Every one of them met with quick defeat,   For never was any other hull even half so fleet. She sailed the steep Dalmatian coast,  Flew swiftly through Aegean seas Trading from Rhodes to Thracian shores.   In times of mystery, intrigue, and war, She crossed the Red, Black, and Alborán with ease. Through raging storms and writhing waves,   Round rocky shoals and windswept bays, She’s taken her fearless crew to places where   Other captains would never dare. The trees from which her soul was made   Once stood stately on a mountainside, Weathering wind and rain and conversing with the sky   Asking Aeolus to teach them to fly. And you know, my friends, that he answered. You see her now at rest, not in her accustomed waters deep,   But in the stillness of this harbor. She has made her final Odyssey and earned her sleep   As once she earned her keep, There is only one question I must answer:   Tell me, does Fortune have a daughter? – Natalia Yeka, American Poet (22nd Century CE)

Do you think my high school Latin teacher would be impressed that I still remember this stuff 42 years later? --Steve

[forestlion]

the signs × where they're from (germany edition)

this is based on facts, i am a qualified Horoskoper

♒ aquarius: from se Nordseeküste, from se plattdeutschen Strand, where the fish are in se water and selten on Land

♓ pisces: from se Ostseeküste, the seichte teich, where the fish are naked, and drive Trabi sometimes (no Vorurteile)

♈ aries: harz aber herzlich, just kidding, my harz will go on, just kidding, harzlichen Glückwunsch, ju

♉ taurus: it can only be..... Bremen(er Stiermusikanten)

♊ gemini: Berlin, one Zwilling for each par---(Mister Gorbatschow comes out of the shadows and tears down my head)

♋ cancer: Lake of Konstanz, the Bodensee, because clearly... this is a water sign and i've used Nordsee on an air sign, anyway, cancers can't swim,

♌ leo: i won't say it but the leo sign looks like sperm but i'm not gonna say it....furthermore.......Bavaria but the Métropòle München

♍ virgo: Saarland, very close to the french border, grew up trilingual. german, saarländisch and annoying

♎ libra: NRW because clearly, this is the boringest sign and thus fits the fist on the eye, doesn't tit

♏ scorpio: Rheinebene, fresh out of the warm nice mountain woods and into corporate Rheinschifffahrt,

♐ sagittarius: good old sag titty is also from Bavaria! but from the rural æriãs... because i imagine Landei Bavarians love to hunt and... do... stuff like...

♑ capricorn: Thüringen because i don't know anything about this sign and i don't know anything about Thüringen either!

[lesbiantaurus]

i love trabies