A 19th-century percussion-cap pepperbox isn’t the sort of gun you’d expect to find in a board-game that’s been updated more than once, so I’ve no idea what the designers were thinking.
Here are a couple of real pepperboxes (these are by Allen & Thurber) of the style that the game-piece is based on:
The game’s called “Cluedo” over here (that -do suffix is a pun on another, older boardgame called “Ludo” - IIRC that game is “Parcheesi” in the USA, so the pun won’t work) but I haven’t played it for…
Gosh; more than half a century.
And of course I had a chance to be nit-picky and pedantic, because the “revolver” wasn’t a revolver but a semi-automatic pistol. The game token vaguely resembled a Dreyse M1907, but the card image was spot on.
It was odd that the company modelled their token on something so obscure, especially since the token (and the card even more so) showed what research had been done. Why not something more familiar like a Luger, or a 1911 Colt as in the American version “Clue”?
Indeed, why not an actual revolver? The British version of the game would be just the place for a “Webley Service Revolver”, like the one in this 50th Anniversary special game set.
At a guess it may be because older detective stories and murder mysteries were always mixing up “revolver” and “automatic” and just plain “pistol” so - accidentally or with tongue-in-cheek deliberate intent - the game did it too.
YMM, as always, V. :->
*****
Incidentally a pepperbox revolver allows another fiction error to become correct terminology, although it may not be what the writer intended. Here’s one example from “The Hound of the Baskervilles”:
““Hist!” cried Holmes, and I heard the sharp click of a cocking pistol.
"Look out! It’s coming!“…we heard scream after scream from Sir Henry and the deep roar of the hound. I was in time to see
the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground, and worry at his
throat. But the next instant Holmes had emptied five barrels of his revolver into
the creature’s flank.”
Conan Doyle and his contemporaries almost always meant “chambers”, since the guns they wrote about were almost always regular revolvers, but if - just if - a character in the late 18th to mid-19th century was using a pepperbox, then “barrels” really was the right word.
stop telling robots they 'pass' as a compliment, passing the turing test is not required from robots for them to be valid, also stop assuming robots even want to pass, it's not the only thing that being a robot is about and is based on anthropocentric standards that you really should be dismantling in the first place
I love your funny jokes and pictures, they are not only humorous but also legible. side note, unrelated, really quick question, by any chance do you have any heart problems that would lead to complications if you were exposed to electricity? just curious, no reason
You have some wonderful stories of basically getting away with stuff at the studios.
I’d learned one very simple trick: say yes. Simply say yes. Like Joseph E. Levine, on “The Producers,” said, “The curly-haired guy—he’s funny looking. Fire him.” He wanted me to fire Gene Wilder. And I said, “Yes, he’s gone. I’m firing him.” I never did. But he forgot. After the screening of “Blazing Saddles,” the head of Warner Bros. threw me into the manager’s office, gave me a legal pad and a pencil, and gave me maybe twenty notes. He would have changed “Blazing Saddles” from a daring, funny, crazy picture to a stultified, dull, dusty old Western. He said, “No farting.” I said, “It’s out.”
That’s probably the most famous scene in the movie, the campfire scene.
I know. He said, “You can’t punch a horse.” I said, “You’ll never see it again.” I kept saying, “You’re absolutely right. It’s out!” Then, when he left, I crumpled up all his notes, and I tossed it in the wastepaper basket. And John Calley, who was running [production at] Warner Bros. at the time, said, “Good filing.” That was the end of it. You say yes, and you never do it.
That’s great advice for life.
It is. Don’t fight them. Don’t waste your time struggling with them and trying to make sense to them. They’ll never understand.
“My body is a temple of the Lord” is the first line of the sermon of St. Francis of Assisi and I need to know what this means. Does he mean he can never masturbate because the Lord lives in his dick?
Because dicks can’t talk, so the Lord in your dick is silent. But when he’s happy, he looks at your face with his one eye, and then you’re happy too, and that’s his blessing.
No, he’s not silent. I can hear his voice in my dick. He tells me when to cum. He tells me that it’s okay to cum because the Lord is in his dick. He says it’s okay to cum inside of the Church. He tells me to cum and not to worry about things. He says it’s not just cumming that’s the problem. It’s not even the cum. It’s not even the sex. It’s just about cumming. He tells me about God.