It all comes down to this. Until the second season, anyway, at which point we may tear off our pants and dive right back in to this endless source of guilt that is a franchise. I suppose we’ll spare you the details of that tearing off of pants thing. For now.

(Pontifus = white; Otouto-kun = blue.)

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It appears as though the last two episodes will have posts of their own, as, even after cutting all most of the irrelevant and/or offensive rambling, the final two episodic transcriptions ended up among the longest. But that’s alright. Any excuse for more blog content is a good excuse. Right?

The comments this time are a mixed bag. Though perhaps this means they’re no different from those that have come before. At any rate, I’ll let you take the measure of them for yourself, and (conveniently for me, who has had to come up with introductions to eight posts now) spare you a long-winded preface.

(Pontifus = white; Otouto-kun = blue.)

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Once more into the pantsless thing. Having burned ourselves out on episode eight, or something, we seem to have had less to say this time. And not much of that has any intellectual value at all. But, what the hell; this is Strike Witches. You’re not here to watch us position this show in a postmodern, postcolonial context (something the show more or less does to itself anyway). I’m guessing you’re here to watch us react to a fictional global culture whose women don’t wear pants. And react we shall. On with the reacting!

(Pontifus = white; Otouto-kun = blue.)

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Somehow our pontifications on Strike Witches 8 flowed like wine in the streets, and, as such, that curious eighth installment, like the first, has earned a post of its own. If only we had a neat explanation for how and why that happened. But Strike Witches isn’t about neat explanations, is it?

(Pontifus = white; Otouto-kun = blue.)

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The war against the Neuroi intensified. Underwear was stolen and returned. And my brother and I made a slight miscalculation in our viewing of the seventh episode that resulted in the violent end of our innocence.

We are no longer fit for marriage.

(Pontifus = white; Otouto-kun = blue.)

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And so it was that your humble hosts forged onward into the very heart of Strike Witches, that paragon of Japanese cultural excellence that inspires so much musing upon the structural function of fanservice and the emotive impact of shoujo-ai insinuations given particular cultural contexts. Though perhaps we phrased such things differently in our discussions.

On a related note: you know you’ve seen too much Gundam in too little time when “it’s about time somebody hit somebody.” What have you done to me, Zeta!?

You know the drill — I’m in white; Otouto-kun’s in blue.

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The record of our grand adventure continues. With the first episode out of the way, and the lack of pants becoming less of a novelty than a common element of setting, my honorable sibling and I dove into the meat of Strike Witches. Though whether said meat was flavored more with action or with slice of life, we could not tell.

Same as before: my comments are white, and Otouto-kun’s are blue.

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