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Complaint Tablet to Ea-nasir - Image Gallery Page 2

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Ea-Nasir Meets Nanni

You put ingots which were not good before my messenger and said: <<If you want to take them, take them; if you don't, go away!>> Are you Nanni, the complaint scribe? The copper was meant for you to smith weapons for the Ugarit State Army, it was never meant for you to complain about incessantly!

Worlds Oldest Complaint

You are without a doubt the worst Mesopotamian copper merchant I've ever heard of. But you HAVE heard of me.

GUY IN 1750 BC: can everyone please stop chiseling tablets complaining about Ea-Nasir, you're just giving him a bigger platform

i bless the rains down in castamere @Chinchillazllla ... GUY IN 1750 BC: can everyone please stop chiseling tablets complaining about Ea-Nasir, you're just giving him a bigger platform 1:41 PM . Mar 29, 2023 89K Views

xkcd ea-nasir comic

RAINDROPS ON ROSES AND WHISKERS ON KITTENS ۱۳ HEY, THESE ARE STONE WITH A COPPER VENEER! paja BRIGHT COPPER KETTLES LEAVE ... FLAKES ON MY MITTENS!? d I'VE BEEN BAMBOOZLED BY EA-NASIR! ✓ 1.3

Best Quality Copper In The Whole Of Mespotamia

1478 QUAT COPPER IN THE WHOLE OF мечоротAMIA

ancient sumerian period drama

keuhkopussirotta Follow Why are period dramas always drama? I want comedies. Two Victorian seamstresses determined to prank, annoy and inconvenience their s----- landlord, an idiot plot gay comedy of a roman soldier and this hot greek guy he just met, the adventures of an inca dude trying - and consistently failing - to impress women and get laid. Lighthearted buddy comedy set in ancient Persia, or pre- colonised America. No pop culture references or deliberate historical inaccuracies, just people doing dumb and funny people things to highlight just how much people really haven't changed. A tribe in 10 000 BC is sitting in a cave discussing something serious and important, and then someone's like hey everyone shut the f--- up, look at the dog, she's dreaming, and everyone halts everything they're doing, to intensely and silently stare at the dog who's twitching her legs and barking in her sleep. winelover1989 Follow A conman running some kind of a bronze scam and stashing all the evidence against him in his home as personal trophies as he keeps getting away with it keuhkopussirotta Follow ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT MY GOOD MAN EA-NASIR??

Ea-Nasir as a Servent in Fate

xcalibur25 Follow ●●● expanding that comment I made about how Fate should make ea-nasir a servant, one bonus is that this exchange is possible: Guda: "Alright everyone, here's the new servant who's going to join the fight with us! Introduce yourself!" Ea-Nasir: "Hello esteemed comrades, my name is Ea-Nasir, the greatest copper merchant in...” Gilgamesh, pulling out Ea: YOU #fate #fate grand order #ea-nasir #gilgamesh

The Immortal Failure

r/ReallyShittyCopper Posted by u/Robotdolphinclub0 9 months ago S The Immortal Failure The Immortal Failure I stood there, before this grand monument of old humanity, within the ancient Library of the Heavens. Nearly Ten thousand years had passed since the descendents of those frail wetware beings had birthed my race. The peoples of the old planet had escaped, adapted, and then thrived beyond the gravity well of their birth, but a rare few had truly retained their memory. We had maintained some records of our history in these halls- storing the records of antiquity that we could verify in virtual realities and cybercosms, and sometimes, very rarely, the physical artifacts that some rare preservationists had kept at great expense. They had crossed the great expanses of the void in tiny cradles of air and life, propelled by fusion or antimatter drives- and we remembered those brave voyagers. Millions, billions, and then trillions of individuals and collectives had voyaged further- striving, hoping, and growing the grand project of civilization to other stars. Many had clawed and conquered their way toward immortality or to live in the records of history, but ultimately failed. Still, others succeed, for a while. Here, in the library of the heavens, on a grand swarm of city-structured habitats orbiting an artificial sun, some records were maintained. The geniuses. The creators who had aided in our grand path from crude survival with sharpened stones and fire, to terraforming worlds and forging elements from stellar engines. Others had been remembered for more humble reasons- as important accidents of history, or as faces of dead cultures. And then there was His record. The cast and recast tablet. Though many of us lived for centuries now, in gilded, ever-changing bodies of silicon and polymer, or transmitting our mindstates as light signals between the stars, no person of any body had truly survived as long as this tiny, ancient joke. He was a story. A name preserved in infamy- the imagined vestiges of his culture created and recreated and imitated as a fashion or aesthetic for those fascinated by the ancient archeologies of Earth. And there, standing in the historical simulation of his dusty time, i spoke to the ghost of that long-remembered man. I had come here to bring it all to life, once again. To smell what he smelled. To hear what he heard. To watch him dig the soil that sustained him. The illusion flickered on around me. Our laws surrounding resurrection had prevented his recreation in full-preventing him from growing to full consciousness, but nonetheless, we had preserved some version, a half-biological simulacra- a biobot-for ease of conversation. Though he was not truly alive, we had ensured that he would never truly die. His name and deeds, so utterly ordinary in the time of his own life, had, through the efforts of millions of minds passing down his legend, achieved that form of rare immortality. And so the hairy, fleshy little ancestor looked up at me, unknowing at my true nature. A hundred years after the death of his original body, most traces of him had likely been utterly forgotten. But not all. For eventually, his record was recovered. The recreated sands and mud of his house stood around us, baking in the illusion of a sun nobody had visited for five thousand years. The sounds of forges blowing and breaking stone echoed through the windows made from clay. Then he spoke in my direction, angrily, as he read the clay tablet addressed to him, and his immortal failure, in the translation of a tongue no mouth had spoken natively since writing had been first birthed near the rivers of old Babylon: "Tell Ea-nasir: Nanni sends the following message: When you came, you said to me as follows: "I will give Gimil-Sin (when he comes) fine quality copper ingots." You left then but you did not do what you promised me. You put ingots which were not good before my messenger ..." 155 upvotes 6 comments

time to laser-print my entire blog on titanium plates and bury them underground

charlesoberonn "I wish ancient people preserved their writing and artifacts better" I write in electronic signals on a piece of hardware that can't retain its efficacy for more than a few decades. charlesoberonn Time to laser-print my entire blog on titanium plates and bury them underground. stumpybelham brb etching my one-star yelp review of the sheet metal supplier that sold us s----- copper on a granite slab alexisthenedd We are never going to give this guy a f------ break are we lordandgodoftheobvious Ea-nasir knows what he did. mctreeleth But more importantly, WE know what he did. Because it got written down in some rocks. prokopetz The funny part is that clay tablets are supposed to be ephemeral. When you're done with them you just soak them in water, smooth them out, and re-use them for a different message. They weren't meant to be any more permanent than an email. The only reason we still have that particular clay tablet is because a. Ea-nasir was a huge weirdo who collected all of his hate mail, and b. his house later burned down, and coincidentally did so at exactly the right temperature to bake the collected tablets into pottery rather than destroying them. It's basically the equivalent of an email getting inscribed onto a steel plate by accident. 111,237 notes Apr 18th, 2022

In the afterlife, souls can see how many living people still know you once existed

writing-prompt-s writing-prompt-s In the afterlife, souls can see how many living people still know you once existed. You, who had lived a fairly normal life, finally saw the count drop to 0 just 200 years after your death. 500 years later, 95% of the Earth's total population suddenly knows about you. anotherhawk And they all know I sold really, really s----- copper. 104,243 notes Sep 29th, 2020 .. tl

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