In further news from the British Isles guaranteed to just really [deleted] me off, we discover -- to our complete and total disgust -- that England has hauled off and banned replica katanas.
Yes, Gentle Readers, in their mad dash to protect every-bloody-one from every-sodding-thing on this little sticky green dirtball, the Brit Gummint has now made it against the law to "sell", "import" or "hire" a reproduction Japanese sword in Albion.
The mind boggles. It really does.
Two things manged to penetrate that red blur:
1) Apparently, the Government promised those folks who have authentic katanas -- the various dojos, collectors, and all"genuine" martial arts enthusiasts (as opposed to what -- fake martial arts enthusiasts?) -- that their swords would be safe.
I'm guessing in an effort to soothe the waters before they got troubled.
Hey, your buddies are about to take it in the neck, but here's a pat on the head to keep you quiet.
Yeah. Any student of history want to give me an average length of time it takes the average government to go from, "Oh, we're just going to take these, not those" to "We're taking those. Now."
The second thing to leap off the screen was this asinine quote from some anthropomorphic cow wandering around the British countryside attempting to dictate policy:
"[Barbara Dunne] ..."It's an achievement to get the weapons banned. I don't want children to keep seeing them in shop windows and thinking it's normal."
Allow me to re-quote that: "I don't want children to keep seeing them in shop windows and thinking it's normal."
That quote right there, Gentle Readers, is the distillation of why those idiots and I will never see eye-to-eye: To them, an inanimate chunk of metal hanging in a shopkeepers window isn't ... "normal". She is petrified by the thought that some children might not be as pathologically terrified of a lifeless piece of metal as she is.
This is the kind of inbred, gauch-eyed, snot-slinging hysteric who, upon looking out her kitchen window on Ragnarök Day and seeing Arthur ride forth at the head of his Knights to the defence of his beloved England, would have him arrested, committed, and Excalibur melted down into some jackarsed peace symbol because "someone's feee-eelings might get hurt by all that iron-mongery!"
Sod 'em, the lot of 'em.