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The Peng Challenge Thread The Chunder in Red Thunder!


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Yeah, you bore me.

He Bores everyone. It's his profession, his stock in trade. Now I do have some sympathy* for him, after all he did usurp the job from Old Foul Joe in fact he just about pushed poor old Joe out of the bus before it stopped - not that that is a bad thing, of course.

Noba.

* Ok, Ok - so I lied.

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Actually my forefathers grew the stuff in a polder behind a dike just a couple of miles West of the town of Schoonhoven in the 18th century. I even have the paperwork to prove it. I kid you not.

The only thing is, they did not grow the stuff for smoking it. It was used for making ropes for ships. But hey, maybe they were puffing it too :).

Oops, I did it again :D

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What in the name of Peng has happened to this place?

I've spent years telling those who would listen* about the dark, epic cesspool of my youth. When Olde Ones still roamed the earth; where knights jousted and jested for honor, or at least a smidgen less dishonor. Where fair maidens, queens and several deeply conflicted 50-year old men posting as maidens were treated with the utmost dignity as knight after knight lay prostrate in the muck and mire lest Queen Yk2 smudge her dainty slipper. Back then the devil himself would pour molten derision on the pathetic, witless fools who would tumble into the pool, hoping to bend it to their own unspoken ends. How well I remember their screams and the smell of roast pork. Who could forget when Mad Meeks himself set fire to the kingdom (not terribly difficult given the methane issues) and laughed maniacally as his burning edifice collapsed on top of him?

Now I make my way back after escaping from an Emerald Empire re-education camp only to find a portrait of my former (tor)mentor Boo Radley above the reception desk?! Good Lord, did we sell this place to an immigrant family, or worse, one of those podunk european countries? Who do I talk to to complain about this?! *ding*ding*ding* HELLOOOOOO!!? *ding*ding*ding*

And what was up with that guy in the creepy rubber Joe Shaw mask? Wait, that was really Joe? Oh that's too bad. Time has not been kind to that guy.

All right Boo, I sense your campy, madcap and cramped yet creepy vibe close by, what is the meaning of all this?

*granted, most of these people were strangers in the streets of Detroit or mental health professionals.

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Meet the Feebles - Peng rated PG.

Emrys the Insipid: "Oh, oh, my gracious me, [insert banal observation]."

Omnes: "Oh, ho ho ho! What excelsior wit, good sirrah!" (golf claps)

Manky Piker: "Duuuudes, listen up! Umm, forgot what I was going to say... um..."

Omnes: "For laughing!" (knee slaps and high fives. Several fall) The sound of a bucket being emptied is heard from the pit, then the noise of someone painfully retching wafts its way onto the stage.

Seanachai is bound to a spit roast affair in the background and rotates above his grave, 'ol Foul Joe is crying tears of despair behind a scratched and chipped 50's tv screen.

Manky Piker: "Duudes, I remembered my line! Its a good one, um..um.. oh: YOU SUCK!"

Emrys the Insipid: "That was uncalled for, Panzer Mike. You have no right to show me up with your superior grasp of comedic timing! Have at you, you no good ragamuffin!" (Attacks Punky Piker, slapping at his target with his eyes closed. Michael II stares in bewilderment at this turn of events, unsure of his next course of action.)

Omnes: cheers, jeers and assorted barracking noises. The chant "Fight! fight! fight!" quickly rises, a bottle is thrown at the audience.

Boo Radley (off stage left): "Fer Chrissake's, get the Donkey out there! Pronto! Ad lib your heart out baby! Weird is good, the weirder the better!"

Yeknod arrives, all look to him in hope as the bucket of spew flies from the pit and scones him on the fetlock. He falls into the pit, lines unsaid.

Peng the Not Yet Dead (off stage, the pit): "LOOK WHAT THEY'VE DONE TO MY CREATION!! SOD THE LOT OF YOU!! SOD OFF, SOD OFF, SOD OFF, SOD OFF!!!"

Curtain.

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What in the name of Peng has happened to this place?

I've spent years telling those who would listen* about the dark, epic cesspool of my youth. When Olde Ones still roamed the earth; where knights jousted and jested for honor, or at least a smidgen less dishonor. Where fair maidens, queens and several deeply conflicted 50-year old men posting as maidens were treated with the utmost dignity as knight after knight lay prostrate in the muck and mire lest Queen Yk2 smudge her dainty slipper. Back then the devil himself would pour molten derision on the pathetic, witless fools who would tumble into the pool, hoping to bend it to their own unspoken ends. How well I remember their screams and the smell of roast pork. Who could forget when Mad Meeks himself set fire to the kingdom (not terribly difficult given the methane issues) and laughed maniacally as his burning edifice collapsed on top of him?

Now I make my way back after escaping from an Emerald Empire re-education camp only to find a portrait of my former (tor)mentor Boo Radley above the reception desk?! Good Lord, did we sell this place to an immigrant family, or worse, one of those podunk european countries? Who do I talk to to complain about this?! *ding*ding*ding* HELLOOOOOO!!? *ding*ding*ding*

And what was up with that guy in the creepy rubber Joe Shaw mask? Wait, that was really Joe? Oh that's too bad. Time has not been kind to that guy.

All right Boo, I sense your campy, madcap and cramped yet creepy vibe close by, what is the meaning of all this?

*granted, most of these people were strangers in the streets of Detroit or mental health professionals.

Ah, Lurkur my trustworthy former Squire! Back from the Onion Wars are we? Did we claim many victories? Gather much tribute and odds and ends from various garage sales? Still doing soft core propaganda art? Nothing wrong with a little titillation while teaching important lessons on war-time morality, I always say.

Come in, come in. It's about time you bought a round, you miserable slacker.

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Why thank you my Liege!

I'll buy a round, and if I had tales of my adventures, I'd tell them. Sadly, all that time in the green camps only resulted in me acquiring a taste for stale rice and fish heads. They'd have shot me on the first day, but only I knew the secret location of the Salmon Nurses Calendar Models.

It's been a while since I've racked up any losses or defeats, and I returned figuring that a little while here would make me want to kill something right quick. In the meantime, I have continued creating (ahem) suitable materials to keep young men's interests in the martial arts erm, on point.

alex_potter_pilot2_01_by_kurt60-d7ks2h5.png

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