Not Going To Apologise For Name-Calling
It's not as if Herr Schickelgruber* can ring me up in tears about how horrid I am, is it?
Okay, I think we can admit that Herr Schickelgruber was a very canny political operator, able to machinate his way to control of the NSDAP and then the land of the Teutons, then Austria, then Czechoslovakia, all without firing a shot. Art!
Such a good look for you
Now, because he was an autocratic dictator, he suffered from the traditional problems of such people: rampant paranoia. He could never be sure if one of his minions was plotting to get rid of him or not, backed by whichever organisation they were in charge of. So he made certain to limit information passed down to them, the "Fuhrerprinzip", that is if you didn't need to know, you weren't told Jack Anything. He also ensured that authority was divided so that no single power bloc would have the power or opportunity to overthrow him. And he wore a peaked cap lined with a couple pounds of solid steel, just in case. Very wise! Art!
After picking off the smaller European states he conquered France, in concert with his hapless Italian allies (who launched a singularly inept invasion of southern France). And would probably have been happy to sit back and enjoy his ill-gotten gains, except the bloody-minded British weren't having any of it.
As time went on Herr S. got more and more involved with making military decisions, down to the level of deciding where an infantry company should be placed, a process known as The Interfering Busybody Syndrome. The only Wehrmacht commander who got around this was Field Marshal Model, who would ring to speak to Herr S. up to forty times a day, eventually getting permission to do what he wanted. All very top-down in terms of decision processes. Art!
Nice tash, dude
There is Herr S. at the highest rank he achieved: Corporal. From 1939 this is the man who was directing the Teuton's war machine of millions of men on multiple fronts, who liked to boast to his generals that he, unlike them, had front-line experience. He believed that his Enormous National Socialist Willpower would transcend reality.
Yes, well, reality has a part to play here. Herr S. had a phenomenal memory for military minutiae, but what he lacked was STAFF COLLEGE TRAINING. Art!
Sandhurst
You see, becoming an officer is a bit more than learning which direction to pass the port in, or polishing boots until they are really, really shiny. Let me inform you a little more about the process. I'm currently reading about the commander of the 4th Canadian Armoured Division, Major General George Kitching, who had been to the Royal Military College at Sandhurst. He would have been educated, trained and war-gamed the following types of military operation: Advance; Movement; Attack (day); Attack (night); River crossing; Assault Obstacle; Withdrawal; Defence. He would have been familiar with the Canadian staff system, which mirrored that of Britain, that constituted the General Staff Branch, the the Quartermaster's Branch and the Adjutant General's Branch. He would have been trained in how to analyse situations and deliver an appreciation, written or verbal, that covered: Objective; Factors affecting this; Relative strength; Terrain; Time and space; Weather; Hours of daylight/night; Operational Security; Communications; Course of action; Plans. Art!
Kitchy
Herr S. had none of this training or background. Consequently when he started to interfere in military matters it was a Godsend for the Allies because he was a complete numpty who refused to believe that he wasn't the smartest chap in the room. He was also incredibly stubborn about giving up conquered territory, because 'It was his' and only losers retreat. If you want one example it would be North Africa, where he sent division after division into Tunisia to reinforce failure in early 1943. When 'Tunisgrad' occurred 275,000 Axis soldiers went into the bag, along with all their equipment and stores; with their backs to the Med they had absolutely no way to escape. That's on you, Herr S.
You may have noticed some parallels between history as it is being writ today and the past, because probably the only person equally skilled as a politician and general was Julius Caesar. Interestingly enough the Ruffian equivalent for "Caesar" is "Tsar" (or "Csar" as it used to be), which is pretty apt because -
Putin-On-The-Fritz
Wow, that was a long one. Bring on a shortie!
"Countryfile" Calendar Competition
Another photograph from the BBC's webpage on the theme of "Wild And Free", so if Art will do the honours -
"King of the river" by Zac Welling
It's a kingfisher in a tree. Whoopee.
Frankly Conrad is surprised they're still allowed to call it that, instead of "Peasantfisher" or "AvowedlyNonMonarchicalfisher" or even "King Earthquake Bird". Earthquakes creating fissures, you see.
Better Get This In Whilst Still Within The Word Count
Yes, more of "The Sea Of Sand". Where a garrison of aliens discover that they've been hibernating, not for a couple of centuries as they fondly believed, but instead for five thousand years.
Sorbusa felt as if he'd been hit with the first stage of Evisceration.
"Five - thousand years?" he whispered.
The Lead Technician bowed in silent acknowledgement.
Sorbusa looked at the newly-activated ranks of equipment panels, the flickering displays, the sequences of lights, looked yet did not see.
Five thousand years!
The longest his race managed to survive, given unlimited access to sources of life-energy, was two hundred years. This Detachment had been in deep-sleep for twenty-five generations. All his relatives, and their offspring, and their offspring too, was all long since dust.
For all he knew, their Homeworld was dust, too.
"I do have some good news," ventured the Lead Technician. Sorbusa waved a hand for him to continue. "The Trans-mat link is still active. Our activation of the Infiltration Complex will be noticed back home."
"So 'home' still exists?" asked Sorbusa. More 'demanded' than asked.
"Oh, yes," agreed the Lead Technician. "The signal is a reciprocal process. A Trans-Mat complex must exist back there for us to get an acknowledgement. For an acknowledgement to arrive means that their Trans-mat is still powered and operational."
A case of here's the bad news, now have some good.
More Of Post-Apocalyptic Films
Because Conrad is a film bore who likes death and destruction, the next few entries on 'Cultured Vultures' list are ones I've already seen. Rather than just gloss over them I shall show you a screenshot of same. Art?
It's a shame EFLA didn't do better commercially, because Ol' John Q. Carpenter had an end to the series with "Escape From Planet Earth", which, IIRC, had people being transformed into strange matter monsters, who then converted other Hom. Sap. into strange matter monsters by physical contact, and Snake can only escape by getting launched into orbit. When I take over the world I'll have it made, count on it. I'll detail the others later on, so be patient.
Finally -
As you should surely know by now, Conrad is a massive coward, and thus didn't want to be the first to use the newly-repaired washing machine, in case it blew up and destroyed Royton. Luckily Wonder Wifey pitched in, before heading into the shower, which she had surmised is what caused the poor aged machine to break down originally. Fortunately nothing horrid happened and both she and the clothing emerged cleaner and smelling sweeter. Win win.
What might have happened
* My hideously disrespectful nickname for him
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