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To the last Challenge I grapple with thee. From Peng's Heart I stab at thee. Twice.


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agua, why am i not surprised that you surf the tech forums on a saturday night? what do you do afterwards? cuddle up with a bucket o' ice cream and watch titanic till the sun comes up? well if your looking for some company just post for genine or gyrine or whatever the name was, i'm sure you two would have a great time together complaining about young whipper snappers and your shuffle board scores. i tried making this post as short as possible for you in case you felt the need to take one of your 16 naps a day by now.

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<blockquote>quote:</font><hr>Originally posted by Stuka:

Nah, we tried the sheep costume thing and it didn't work for us.

NOW, the SS Colonel and the French maid outfits.....hubba hubba!, thats another story altogether.

(Lib looks sooo good in her Nazi gear)<hr></blockquote>

Why does it not surprise me that a former squire of Moriarty wears a French maid costume

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<blockquote>quote:</font><hr>Originally posted by Patch:

And now, a Christmas song for Mace:

The First Noel

The first Noel the angel did say,

Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;

In fields where they lay keeping their sheep,

MaceBauhaus.jpg

Bauhaus, what are you doing there next to Mace in that sheep costume! Sit down!

Persephone<hr></blockquote>

Hey Persephone!

I see you stealing some quote of mine in your sig line. Where are the royalties? I don't spread my wisdom around for FREE, ya know.

BTW, did I really say that, or did you make it up? Makes no difference, it is truly a quote for the ages.

Mace and Stuka!

Good new, Ozzie Boyz! I just booked you FIRST CLASS on a flight to Chicago. The plane leaves on Saturday, December 8 and returns to Oz on Saturday, December 15. Damn, I got a GREAT fare deal by waiting till those dates were history. See you in Chicago!

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Listen pal, the Village people were arguably the most influential band of the 70's. After all, never before had a band combined both Indians and cops in a single unit, not to mention the construction worker.

Besides that, they were a very forward thinking group. I mean they pretty much started the style of "nothing but underwear and a hard-hat" and the infamous "pants with no ass". They really boosted enrollment in both the YMCA and the Navy, and that's just the tip of the iceberg*

TO compare them to the tripe that inhabits this swill is social treason in my book. I knew the village people, and the closest you, Ima Jeff**, have come to the Village people is the Village idiot.

Footnotes:

*An iceberg that I dare not investigate futher.

**Card carrying (in the REAR pocket) of the YMCA, refused entry into Navy for "dubious reasons for wanting to sign up."

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<blockquote>quote:</font><hr>Originally posted by Lawyer:

Hey Persephone!

I see you stealing some quote of mine in your sig line. Where are the royalties? I don't spread my wisdom around for FREE, ya know.

BTW, did I really say that, or did you make it up? Makes no difference, it is truly a quote for the ages.

<hr></blockquote>

So, you don't remember saying that? Then I guess you don't remember getting up in front of the bar and doing the chicken dance either.

Persephone

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the figure pushes forwards against the driving rain, occassionally losing his footing on the treacherous path that leads to Schloss Peng. Fortunately, the high level of alcohol in his bloodstream counteracts gravity at all the right moments.

he passes corpses of SSNs that have accumulated over several Threads; so many?, he wonders, thinking that perhaps the load he bares may allow for a final solution to the newbie question.

Drawing nigh, and drawing his name in the mud whilst taking a leak, he comes to the gate; he sees twisted figures leaping and cursing, throwing barbless and mindless taunts at the castle walls. Some asiatic character with an iron skillet seems the worst offender.

Ignoring them as he would a post by PanzerLeaderGameAbandoner, he shifts his burden to his off-hand and pounds on the door:

Open! Open to a Knight of the CessPool! For I bear tidings of the defeat of an Olde One!

a hush falls over the gathered scum. A small window over the gate opens, and the loathesome, vulture-like head of Pshaw hangs out...

13 CPC 234, Sec.4, par.2 categorically states...

the figure yells up

SHAW you fecking moron! Open the gate or I'll play castanets with your generative organs!

a pause ensues; the Justicar pulls his head in, and with much muttering, begins to open the gate. With great screeching and grinding, it rises five feet (64km for our foreign members) and stops. Seeing the Justicar's petty revenge, the figure shrugs, knowing that someday Shaw too will be eating cockroach poop, and thus stoops and passes under the gate.

a rush of mewling, simpering SSNs surges forwards, but the gate is quickly dropped back. That sharp CLANG of an iron skillet being crushed is heard.

inside the keep are all the familiar smells, all the familiar faces... although bauhaus looks a little TOO comfortable in that outfit.... Like a beaten dog that tries one more time to gain his master's love, the figure sees Peng come towards him in a gait that is more stagger than walk

did... did'tcha bring, bring me SOMETHING???

glancing furtively around, the figure passes what appears to be a Mason jar to the Hater of Smilies. He then turns and announces to those both headed to the bar, to the WC, and passed out on the ground:

I bear with me the scalp of an Olde One! From a Battle fought for the Honor of a Dame! Gather 'round that ye may hear the tale!

nothing happens

Oh, and I brought four litres of Talisker, too!

all rush towards the figure... to be continued... shortly... kinda....

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Speedy, Ah didnae knoo wah's tha matter wi ye - tha raist o' tha stankin' scum are managin' tae force their PBEM drivel aintae mah ainbox. An mae bein' sae modest an' all!

Ah thank tha prroblems wi' your aind mon. Tree harrrder!

SirMacOberGruppenBloodyStompinSicFeuhrerBastardABCDJimmy

PS: Pillock

PPS: Ye're puttin' ".net" on tha aind o' mah email are'nt ye? Noo ".com".

[ 12-18-2001: Message edited by: OGSF ]</p>

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Gentleworms:

Tonight I do not come to taunt. Rather, tonight I come to celebrate one of the great gifts that the Great God Zymurgy has given us - the Fermentation of Grain. Yes. I celebrate fermentation tonight, but not the kind you think, (well a bit of that but the local was out of anything decent and so I am stuck with an "American Pilsner" and we all KNOW that "American Pilsner" is like making love in a canoe - it effing close to water.)

NO Gentleworms, I am here tonight to celebrate one of the other great forms of granular fermentation - The baking of BREAD. It is the time of year, when lighting the oven in the evening is a warming , welcome event, not a "Christ, shut the bloody oven off its 95 degrees out you bloody pillock - make a bloody cold salad or throw a slab of cattle on the barbie - OUTBLOODYSIDE - Idiot" kind of a thing.

No, no-one gets mad when the oven goes on when there is a freezing rain outside, and a christmas tree inside and the smell of the bloom of the first loaf of the season fills the house. This bread is not a bread machine bread. It is not a quick bread. This is a bread that requires time, patience and planning. This is a bread for savoring with a pint of strong ale and a stout stilton or aged cheddar.

This bread is made from a starter that must age for several days or even weeks, until it has a peculiar character: not a true sourdough, but a wild country bread made with rye and whole wheat flour. This is a bread suitable for sopping up the gravy of a Guiness Stout Stew. This is a bread of home and hearth, tradition, love.

I know this bread. I know what it needs; when a batch will make a good loaf, and when a batch will make a great loaf. I know this bread. I have made it for years and years; each winter when the windows fog and frost. I know this bread. I know that the recipe no longer matters. If it is humid like today it will need another half an ounce of flour for the kneading. If it is a dry day I can add a tablespoon of water.

The dough is a sticky dough. When I first baked this bread I thought it couldn't be right. No dough should be so sticky; such an utter mess. But I do not mind the way it sticks to my hands as I knead. The dough tells me it is ready to rise when it doesn't stick to my hands anymore. It is a small miracle of the bread that it can tell me it is ready to rise. So I stop kneading and put it in a bowl with a good strong olive oil and let it rise.

Sometimes I celebrate fermentation and the making of bread a bit more vigorously and cannot finish baking the same night. So I punch the dough down and let it rise again - a long slow rise in the fridge. I do not know if the long rise is better, but I do not mind it either.

And then the final rise - the proofing - and it is into the oven. A HOT oven. A spray of water gives it a more crispy crust. And once again the bread tells me what to do. It tells me when to turn the oven down by 50 degrees. The first hot oven bloom of exploding yeast and dough has its own aroma - sweet and compelling. Eat Me. But it is a Siren song. It is not ready to come out and meet the triple creme brie. No. It is only a tease. A come on, that first bloom odor.

The bread tells me it is ready when the aroma changes from that heady, sweet, grassy smell of yeast and wheat to a stronger deeper tone of brick and wood and coal. I can tell without looking it is ready to come out and cool. I can tell without picking it up and rapping it's bottom and hearing that hollow thump that it is only a matter of about ten minutes before it will be cool enough to tear off a piece and slather a rich tapenade of kalamata olives and capers on it. I KNOW my bread.

So I give thanks to the God of Fermentation tonight: for my wine, my whiskey, my beer and my BREAD.

Peng

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<blockquote>quote:</font><hr>So I give thanks to the God of Fermentation tonight: for my wine, my whiskey, my beer and my BREAD.<hr></blockquote> Ah Peng, the pity of it. Just look at the list above my friends and you can clearly see his downfall, his error, his ill judgement. And you were doing so well too. Moderation you said, was your new watchword. No more binges you said, no more taking more than was good for you you said, no more ... you said. But now we see the evidence that you are, how did they put it in earlier days, "not yourself". Peng's Delicate Condition perhaps? Such a pity. Forgive him CessPoolers, you can see from the combination he's listed above ... the poor chap is once again ... in his loaves.

Joe

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<blockquote>quote:</font><hr>Originally posted by MrPeng:

Gentleworms:

...

So I give thanks to the God of Fermentation tonight: for my wine, my whiskey, my beer and my BREAD.

Peng<hr></blockquote>

Can I get some of that with peanut butter? You know, the extra crunchy kind. Thanks!

Bread... bah!

Now Springerle cookies. Those are the Cookies of the Gods! Made 6 dozen this past weekend and I didn't have to write a goddamn opera about 'em either!

Proper ingredients, by hand preparation (no freakin mixers allowed), and use your eyes and your nose to dictate the cooking time. My great-grandmother's mother's recipe. Now that's tradition.

Yes, yes, I could have said great-great-grandmother, but it would have lost half the crowd from making them count too high.

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<blockquote>quote:</font><hr>Originally posted by Joe Shaw:

Ah Peng, snip Peng's Delicate Condition perhaps? snip... the poor chap is once again ... in his loaves.

Joe<hr></blockquote>

Joe? is that you?

I always thought "delicate condition" meant "Preggers?"

But what the hell do I know? I bake bread.

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<blockquote>quote:</font><hr>Originally posted by MrPeng:

Joe? is that you?

I always thought "delicate condition" meant "Preggers?"

But what the hell do I know? I bake bread.<hr></blockquote>

That's because YOU are a Philistine and don't know your motion picture history.

Joe

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