Do you approve of building Lighthouse as the First Fanatannian Wonder ?

[Provolution]

Do you approve of building Lighthouse as the First Fanatannian Wonder ?

DISCLAIMER: This official Culture Consul Poll is in full compliance with the polling commissions standards for proper polling.

The Official Culture Consul Poll (TM) will last 3 Days (72 hours) and is an Approval Poll. Discussion threads are linked from the Government Thread and Culture Strategy threads. The Results are public and for all to see, and the options are simply put the following.

Aye
Nay
Abstain

Links to dicussions

The Greatseafaring Culture Emerges Culture Consulate thread

Cultural Strategy Discussion

 

[Provolution]

The Culture Consul officialy states that based on the broad support in the discussion threads for maximizing the outcome of mapmaking in our science poll and to maximize our seafaring trait in controlling the coasts up to Persia until Magnetism, as well as a number of accelerated strategic processes, including:

10 Faster Process

Faster Exploration of the world
Faster Settling of new Colonies
Faster Transport of Troops
Faster Galleys in mobile naval battles
Faster New Contacts for technology and luxury trades
Faster crossing of sea lanes to uncontested new lands
Faster Culture growth
Faster Global strategic development
Faster Reinforcement of rioting or threatened cities
Faster Rise of Fanatannian Glory as the Lighthouse is symbolic for our nation and to be timed with an appropriate Golden Age in Term 2 upon getting Republic.

 

[mad-bax]

mad-bax' eyes narrowed slightly in poorly concealed disapproval as he faced the cultural advisor across the dimly firelit cavern. Standing for effect, (and surreptitiously plucking the deerskin loincloth from the crack of his behind) he levelled his gaze and addressed the other man.

"If you think I'm going to hump firewood up 300 steps every day then you've got another thing coming!" he exclaimed, spit arcing across the dark space, and glittering in the backlight.

Provolution sighed patiently. He was not a handsome man, and rather fat, but his voracity and razor sharp wit was well known.

"We are a seafaring nation my friend. Such a building would ensure the safety of our ships at sea and allow much faster exploration of our world. It would be a step on the path to a great golden age for our people. In any case, we have women to carry the firewood. Chieftess is responsible for worker tasks... she can do it."

Taken aback a little, mad-bax considered his response, shifting uncomfortably as he stood, for his arse was still killing him.

"It would take too long to build." he said. His words reverberated from the walls as the shadows flicked across room. You could cut the atmosphere with a warthogs jawbone. He added, "We have no reason to believe we can find other tribes across the ocean, all our efforts will be spent on this project. We will be able to build nothing else. You condemn us to the backwaters of history."

Provolution was unmoved, and his voice took an impatient edge.
"You have been heard mad-bax. Now return to chasing women. Stick to what you're good at."

Chastened, mad-bax left the room to follow the sages advice.

 

[Provolution]

Provolutions ice cold Fanatannian eyes glanced across the room as mad-bax huddled on his way out, with the loincloth deerskin hanging suspiciously loose around his crack...

Provolution said in a quiet and incessant voice "mad-bax, I really think you would be better off chasing women, than allowing that to happen much more, I can see you are in pain brother..."

mad-bax, perplexed, held his hand to the fungus-ridden cave walls with Xerols last curious carvings of the Lighthouse blueprints, answered cautiously "What do you mean
sage, what do imply with that last statement?"

mad-bax, himself the ladies man in the tribe, farily good looking for a caveman, was maybe a tad to popular, not only to women, as made evident with his constant scratching and fingering with his loincloths.

mad-bax was also known to be a great orator, and was in fact the oral examiner of the tests passed by the tribes elders, and had convinced many a weak soul with his diabolic charm and strong intellectual acumen and analytical skills, yet inconsistent ways, about the liabilities of the Great Lighthouse.

Like a thundering bolt, Provolution fiercely stated his point... "Do you like to chase around Chieftess and her workers and the other ones that causes your itches in the crack, or do you want to help us out of these caves to see the world, imagine how it would be like with a 100 yards tall tower shining the Fanatannian pride to the seven seas, it is time to get out of the caves and create something of culture and of power!"

"Please listen to me mad-bax, we are doing history in creation, and we shall rule the seas, for millenums to come, that is our true nature, future, nurture and culture!"

 

[Nobody]

*nobodazine holds a gun to Mad-baxs head and held out the "Order To Bulid" then Provolone calmly spoke* "Where gonna leave here with either your brains or your vote on this contract"
.............................................
I voted no, other things like big triangles and Big liberys are better

 

[Black_Hole]

The Chief Justice walks in with the police and orders nobody(the person) to drop his weapon and step away from mad-bax, he says"All people shall have their equal voice, and all people denying this will have their brains shot out"

 

[donsig]

donsig rises from his place near the campire. The old man has been quiet lately. Silence falls as the ancient one holds up his right hand for attention. He clears his throat and speaks:

"Hey, where'd you guys get those things to cover your body? They sure look nice and warm. Got any extras?"

His right hand still raised donsig uses his left hand to scratch his bare wrinkly behind.

mad-bax and Provolution cry out in unison, "Someone get that crazy old geezer another loincloth, NOW!"

 

[mhcarver]

Mhcarver, sitting quietly in the backround working on practice tests for his Advanced Placement English examination looked up at the don and wondered what that shiny weapon he had was. Mhcarver quickly began research on it and finally made a copy several thousand years later. It was shiny , cool and definetely worth it, unfortunately it had taken him so long everyone else had already invented it , darn

 

[GenMarshall]

I approve of the construction of the Great Lighthouse.

 

[RegentMan]

There you go CivGeneral, breaking the role-playing thing they had going!

RegentMan stumbles in and voices his disapproval of construction the lighthouse. Doing so, he says, will cause a golden age while we're still a despotism.

 

[Gregski]

Gregski staggers in, completely and totally intoxicated by the alcoholic beverages available and shouts:
"Oi think we should build that Great Library".

Provolution explained: "We are discussing the Great Lighthouse, you ignorant drunk fool!"

"Yeah, whatever, jus' build the thing and not too close to the coast".

Gregski, to everyone's amazement successfully cast his vote, emptied the contents of a previously hidden flask of the most foul smelling and powerful drink then staggered out again.

As he was leaving, someone mentioned:
"It's nice to see him make such fine progress with his alcohol rationing plan, look he only smashed his head against the door twice on his way out..."

 

[Provolution]

Provolution sat happilyand looked smug, watching his Fanatannian countrymen come into his cave, dragging the mammoth skin curtains away to announce the support for the Great Lighthouse, one by one. Now he was eating some new meal.

Mad-Bax and Donsig, the latter with a new set of Deerskin Loincloth handwoven by his Mischief Mistress Chieftess had been invited alongside a drunk Gregski to a state dinner. Xerol, was also there, drinking from a jug of red wine from the Camelotian fields. Provolution opened with a content voice "aaah, landcrab is such a fare, and a very stimulating and ironically appropriate dish given the outcome of this wondrous decision, where we are in fact literally eating the landcrabs...."*lick* lick* *lick* he said in a voice emitting a deep sense of lurking danger...."...with a bottle of Chianti"...his tongue swiftly snatching the remains of some landcrab meat.

Gregski, for your vote on the Lighthouse, I would like to nominate you to the Royal Connoiseur of the Fanatannian Realm, and I give you the keys to the Wine Cellars of the Cultural Consul. A less known fact is that the Culture Consul is in charge of Wine, as wine is indeed culture. And good Fanatannian culture is to get ape drunk as a reward for making the right decisions, culturally of course."


Overbearingly he said to Nobody...
"Nobody, we had Chieftess weave a loincloth shaped as a giant triangel in your honor, we call this the "Fanatannian Royal Pyramid Scheme for Deerskin State Diaper" in place of a deerskin loincloth, so you can be the avantgarde Family fashion of the realm. "

Provolution said, with an evil glee....
"Black Hole, I have never seen someone shoot out someones brains with a stone sling, can you please bring in some redundant Indian slaves for a trial session?"

 

[mad-bax]

Standing at the entrance of his cave, mad-bax watched as night fell to shroud Camelot in an inky blackness. The smell of spit roasted Mammoth permeated the air, and the quiet and happy voices of womenfolk and children floated on the evening breeze. He turned then to look at the seven women sleeping in his quarters. Two had left without receiving his attention and this troubled him. "Must be coming down with something" he thought. "I managed easily this morning."

With some difficulty he turned his thoughts to the events of the day. What cruel irony it was that donsig, along with himself the only dissenter within the General Assembly would be forced to build this monstrosity in his Mayoral city. A small smile formed on his lips. Perhaps he could turn this to his advantage. The ships of war will sail faster and more safely. The embryonic plan slowly took shape as his smile hardened into a sneer.

He drew himself up to his full and impressive height hefting an improbably large stone axe as he did. And then he was gone. Lost in the night, in search of two women.

 

[Black_Hole]

Its possible Provolutions, we just use lots of small rocks... I wouldnt risk foreign affairs to test it..

 

[Bertie]

Bertie stretched and yawned hugely after a busy day painting pictures of mammoths on his cave wall. Well, maybe he wasn’t so busy painting as he was sampling the latest offering from Camelot’s vineyards, the effects of which might also explain why the critics of the day, when they couldn’t avoid having to describe Bertie’s style, had to fall back on that hoary chestnut: primitive.

“Great Lighthouse!” snorted Bertie in disapproval. “Durn waste of resources, if you ask me. Much better to improve the vineyards; get better yields, don’t ya know. Good yields are important to a drinking chap such as myself. Might be some business opportunities, too, for those ambitious lads in trade. I wouldn’t know anything about that, of course. No future for an aspiring painter in the Great Lighthouse, anyway. It just sorts of sits there, a blight on the landscape. We want public works that demand the decorative arts. Maybe a big cathedral at some point; I could make my mark painting that! Need a gimmick, though, gotta do something to make myself stand out from the crowd. I’ve got it! I’ll propose to paint the ceiling!”

Having settled that matter to his satisfaction Bertie took off at a quick trot to the local pub for a pint –or so – before dinner. On his way his tipped his hat to mad-box, who was so busy drawing what appeared to be a crude map on the ground that he didn’t even see Bertie.

“Wonder what he’s up to now?” mused Bertie. “Looks like he’s placed pebbles into pincher-like columns around a particular section of that map he’s drawing. That chap is full of energy; makes me tired watching him. He’ll do himself an injury one of these days. And where did he get that loincloth? Ugh! Chap needs a better tailor.”

Spying Gregski on the pathway ahead, no doubt engaged on the same mission as Bertie, Bertie speeds his pace and the two walk together to the pub for a pint – or so.

 

[Bertie]

Sigh. In another thread, mad-bax observes

that Bertie is a drunkard and can't spell my name

He is right, and penance must be paid . . .



Schoolmarm Thwackum stood at dawn at the head of Camelot Lakes Lane. She paused for a moment, her azure eyes drinking in the peaceful suburban Saturday scene. There was no sound save for the faint rustle of a hawk’s wings as it lazed overhead, waiting for its prey – any prey would do – to show itself, the victim’s last few slow moments spend in ignorant bliss until it felt the hawk’s talons appearing from . . . where?

Schoolmarm Thwackum’s aquiline nostrils flared once, then again, deeper. She took a long step, her black-tanned mastodon boots, heeled with long saber tooth tiger incisors, stirring the languid dust of Camelot Lakes Lane. As her pace picked up her tightly fitted black loin cloth clung closely to her taut robust frame. Passing by mad-bax’s split-level pied-a-terre (estate agent lingo for “cave”) she sensed something stirring within; but something was always stirring around – or within – mad-bax, so she ignored the sensation. Instead she fixed her eyes on the hovel down at the end of the block, her destination. She strode purposefully on.

A crude plank door stood akimbo against the doorjamb of the hovel at the end of the street, off its hinges. Or it would have been off its hinges had iron working been discovered along with the consequent knowledge of how to craft hinges; but no matter. The schoolmarm gently yet forcefully drummed the head of her whippy black riding crop into her glove-encased palm as she gazed upon the rundown hovel. “There’s talk of building a Great Lighthouse,” she mused, “can it be that tax payers would rather line the pockets of powerful, politically-connected contractors rather than clean up squalor like this?” She shook her head sadly as she entered the dimly lit hovel at the end of Camelot Lakes Lane.

Snoring – and loudly – asleep in a disheveled bed lay Bertie, snoozing off an evening of jollity consisting of quaffing a pint – or so – with Gregski. The covers had fallen partly off Bertie, exposing parts that are best left unmentioned. Schoolmarm Thwackum looked down at Bertie, a cruel smile flitting across her full voluptuous lips. She tapped her riding crop into her palm once; twice. And then turned the control dial up to eleven.

THWACK!!!!

THWACK!!!! THWACK!!!! THWACK!!!!

Bertie leapt up yelping, feet churning, wild-eyed.

“What?! Who?! Why?!”

THWACK!!!!

“Yelp! Schoolmarm Thwackum! YELP! I graduated, years ago! Honest! Why are you here?”

“Stop your bleating, Ethelbert. You were a slacker when you were in my class, and you’re a slacker now.”

THWACK!!!!

“Yelp!”

“You never could spell a lick. It was embarrassing and disappointing when you were in my class; but now it’s become intolerable.”

THWACK!!!!

“Yelp! Schoolmarm Thwackum, what are you talking about.”

“Scroll up in this thread just a tad, Ethelbert. You wrote ‘mad-box’. ‘Mad-box’????!!!” THWACK!!!! THWACK!!!! “It’s bax bax bax!”

“I’m sorry, Schoolmarm. Mad-bax, I’m sorry! A typo! Just a typo! Call her off!”

“Not good enough, Ethelbert.” THWACK!!!! “You’re going to learn to spell even if it kills me. Or rather,” the cruel smile again, “kills you.” THWACK!!!!

“Yelp!”

“Now pick up yon piece of flint, Ethelbert, and get working on the walls of this hovel. By noon I want to see them all filled up with: ‘I won’t misspell mad-bax again.’ Got it?”

“Snivel. Sniff. Got it.”

Bertie proceeds to write (good trick, considering writing hasn’t yet been discovered):

I won’t misspell mad-bax again
I won’t misspell mad-bax again
I won’t misspell mad-bax again
I won’t misspell mad-bax again
I won’t misspell mad-bax again

As Bertie beavers away, Schoolmarm Thwackum reflects on other projects in Fanatannia that might benefit from her, um, personal attention. “There are those two lazy warriors, George W Bush and Clubbings ‘R us, who explore worse than Ethelbert can spell. Then there’s that Constitution! Whoever wrote that was never in my class! As a piece of creative writing it might not be bad, but as a fine example of exposition?” THWACK!!!!

She glances over at Bertie laboring with his flint. “Sigh. Unfortunately, this might be a lifelong commitment.”
THWACK!!!!

 

[mad-bax]

Really funny.

 

[Chieftess]

Not right now... This is emperor level, not a level you want to be building a lot of wonders at.

 

[donsig]

Not right now...

You're referring to the lighthouse right, CT?

BTW, nice loincloth.

 

[Chieftess]

Yes, I'm referring to the lighthouse.

BTW, want me to toss you to the lions as bait for more lioncloth apparel?