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The Peng Challenge Thread - Landing Heads Up 49.87% of the Time

Joe Shaw
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Patchy Senior Member

Patchy

Posted
Posted
Originally posted by Treeburst155:

Penelope, I mean Persephone, would you accept a real photo sent by snail mail, or does it have to be one of these newfangled digitized cyberized thingamajigs produced on expensive cameras that don't even have film? Drop me a line if a REAL photo will suffice.

A real photo will work...I'll send you an email.

Persephone

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Noba Senior Member

Noba

Posted
Posted
Originally posted by Abbott:

Shaw Shameless Hippie Australian Wannabe

As far as the Immigration Department is concerned, I doubt that the medical exemption he claims nowadays will be enough for residency. Probably due to the excessive amount of "drugs" he uses to control the condition. And we certainly don't need any Bankers.

Mind you, there is a an option of coming by boat but that seems to have dropped off a bit this year. Maybe if he was quick he could beat the cyclone season.

I wonder if those detainee camps have computers ? Probably not. He would therefore disappear for a couple of years, lost to public view. See ! there is a silver lining to all this.

"Come on over Joe, we'll look after you".

Noba.

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Noba Senior Member

Noba

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Posted
Originally posted by Yeknodathon:

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

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

Joe!

Get your grubby mits off my BEER!!!!!

What the HELL are you on about now?

Joe</font>

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dalem Senior Member

dalem

Posted
Posted
Originally posted by Malakovski:

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

ANNOUNCEMENT

All Knights, Squires and Serfs....Send me your piccies if I haven't received one from you yet.

After seeing those pics of dalem?</font>
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Guest PondScum

Guest PondScum

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Posted
Originally posted by dalem:

Aww, the Lady Persephone makes me look far better than I do in real life. Not as good as Fair Emma, hubba hubba, but still...

And not as good as ME, you tired old crone and former liege.
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MrPeng Senior Member

MrPeng

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[un-bolded] PL [/un-bolded]is well known for his complete lack of taste in liquor and well, just aboot everything else in life. So can it be any surprise that he would even say "imazay"? (sorry can't utter such a vulger thing in the presence of our delicate Persephone or our delecatable Emma]: igpay atinlay is the most linguistic license such a vile concotion deserves) NO! it is NOT a surprise. What is a surprise is the dearth of heartfelt barrages of derision, the pelting with rocks and garbage, the verbal stoning that the foul little swine so richly deserves.

[un-bolded] PL [/un-bolded]'s taste in liquor is akin to eating raw oysters in months without "r's", wearing white shoes after labor day, and smoking fine herb in a regular tobacco pipe. He is obviously a thing of low and plain taste and really has no place among men, women and pods with finely tuned palates. He even BOASTED of drinking Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum - {sorry ladies I should have said "aptainCay organMay's icedSpay umRay" and spared your delicate and delectable ears, lobes and other parts)Ahem.

What sad times are these in the pool when such villians are allowed the freedom to make such suggestions "ineway oolerscay" INDEED!

I find myself in dire circumstances and STILL I would not subject even my most hated enemy (you OWE ME A TURN FIONN!!!) to such baseness. No. I am in DIRE CIRCUMSTANCES I say and I at least have the DIGNITY to drink Stoli - frozen. And If FIONN were here I'd offer him up a shot. Hell, I'd even offer LoserName a shot, that peckerheaded swine. For [un-bolded] PL [/un-bolded] I would offer stump water before I suggested icedSpay umRay.

Hokay.

Peng

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Panzer Leader Senior Member

Panzer Leader

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Sigh.

Here Panzer Leader is again, slightly drunk, berated by Pengpin for his wretched taste, and struggling again to enlighten the masses, to bring peace to earth, wisdom to the stupidity of da ert.

Let me start with a parable. It is about a battle between the forces of righteousness against those big-headed fools who have the temerity to call them selves [sneer]Philosophers.[/sneer] I call it...

<big>Folly of the Wise</big>

There once was a man with a large head. This head was grotesquley large, big enough that he sometimes had trouble fitting through narrow doors. He took to pinning back his ears and wearing cold-weather hats, but it was to no avail, for his head still loomed.

He even lifted weights at the gym, but even those thigh-like arms and tree-stump neck couldn't reduce the frightful appearance of that head. People snickered and called him "Balloon-head."

Of course, this fellow, we'll call him Malikovsky tried to be proud of this... feature, even though he was deeply embarrassed by it. He told himself (and anyone who would listen) that this great head of his was a sign of intelligence, insight, wisdom. To back up these claims he read every book he could find, propping it up on his little twig-like chest so his saucer-eyes could make out the words. He was methodical and (somewhat rightly) guessed that any book that was still in publication though it were 100+ years old would SURELY fill him with the wisdom his ego so lusted after (or is it ID?)

(Aside: You will notice that the drunker I get, the more parenthetical comments I make. By the end of this post I should be making a true patch-work non-sequiters and tangents. Read and see!)

After many (wasted) years of reading this tripe, he believed he was ready, and stepped forward into the great wide rather spongy world of the Cess, where he'd read (in the "Contemporary" section) that the true philosophers lurked. It was his most courageous step, and his greatest, even if it did spell his ultimate doom.

Sallying forth, his iambic pentameter strummed the ears of a few, causing a stir (the big head was more a splash) and generally making a nuisance of himself. He saw this as "a great start."

So it came to pass (as it always will) that he came across one known simply as Panzer Leader (early war ass-kickin' PL not that broke-down palace Hitlerite licksptittle) and intrigued, Malikovsky dared to shake his feeble fist at the man. This, he thought, would make or break him - if he bested someone so wise and great as PL surely he could finally fit (his head) in (the doorway.)

(This, gentle reader, is whence comes the irony of the title. For would one truly wise see our meek ball-less PL as the great philosopher as our unfortunate Malikovsky did? And if one (rightfully) did see it true, then Malikovsky truly was wise. There is irony in here, but I fear I am one parenthesis away from fnding it.)

So, throwng down his puny glove, he challenged the immovable rock PL to a duel of strategery. And he lost. O' how he lost!

It was big. Women wailed their lamentation. Men begged for respite. Fires burned, animals lowed at the moon. Clouds spun across the globe and the earth shook with the tremors of his destruction.

And in the end, Malikovsky lay in the soft brown earth, breeches torn and soaked with his own blood. The skin on his face deflated and gray, as Panzer Leader walked away, whistling a pleasant tune and juggling a wee pair of yarbles in his hand. The earth rumbled and a dark eye pierced the night sky, as PL with a shrug quickly tossed the pea-gravel one_by_one into the maw of the chasm opening at his feet.

Berli satisfied, he went out to fetch a drink.

It is with irony that as I write this I am drinking (I haven't mentioned it yet) (giggle) Smirnoff Ice. I know, girly, nasty, whatever. It's all we had, it's all my wife would allow at that barbie we had a few weeks ago. Anyhoo...

If I could have my own stretch of sidewalk I called home, my own cardboard tee-pee, I would drink port. Either Sandemann or Dungeness. Barring the Port, I would drink Burgundy, white Burgundy from the Grand Cru known as Pouilly-Fuisse. For the hard stuff, it is Vodka first from Russia, second the cheapest, and third, any clear alcohol(Gin).

Now, I haven't the fine taste in liquor like our Master Peng but the stuff I like is good, very good. And you know what makes it so good. Crap like this Smirnoff Ice, for without vice, my gentle readers, there can be no virtue.

Give me a bottle of Night Train anytime, woot!

And that, dear reader, is the true irony of this tale. It is, if you will, the...

<big>Wisdom of the Fool</big>

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dalem Senior Member

dalem

Posted
Posted
Originally posted by Panzer Leader:

Sigh.

Dirtsniffer. Care not for what the likes of a Peng will drink. A Peng would no doubt huff the tailpipe of a city bus to stabilize his brain chemistry. Care for what you like to drink.

As I've always said on this subject (okay, I just thought of this, but still...), drink what you like, and like what you drink, and to hell with what anybody thinks about it.

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Berlichtingen Senior Member

Berlichtingen

Posted
Posted
Originally posted by Panzer Leader:

I am drinking (I haven't mentioned it yet) (giggle) Smirnoff Ice. I know, girly...

...Now, I haven't the fine taste in liquor like our Master Peng but the stuff I like is good, very good...

...Give me a bottle of Night Train anytime, woot!

You are a disgusting, DISGUSTING, little man. A complete disappointment to your sire, and a stain upon the honour of the Mutha Beautiful.

Pillock

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Berlichtingen Senior Member

Berlichtingen

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Posted
Originally posted by Yeknodathon:

What the one with the discernable aromas of hops and toasted barley slowly blended with yeast to produce liquid with hues so golden perfect that when lifted to the sun a dream-like dance of bitter-sweet currents of 5.1% alcohol swirl among flighty beer nymphs in a pint glass? The one where the finely crafted head leaps forward to quiver yer nose taunting yer with the delights of the first sip that would reveal the silken smoothness of a bitter so finely crafted by the backward folk of Kent that even the Justicar might be succumbed with the giddy thrill of a pint of .... er.... heaven.

For Berli this drink is not for normal mortals. No, it stands waiting for those who appreciate this ambrosia at the bar of eternity... *sniff* and I know where to get it, boyo.

But even as the faint waft of carefully brewed malt passes through our nasal hair I have this frightful image of the Justicar spying the bar and doddering forward to grope Berli's pint... (alone, tender and very tasty)... and with fumbling hands (thereby making it warmer than is necessary forcing the gentle aromas to recoil towards the depths of the glass) and slobbering jowls plunges fat, rubbery lips past the creamy head to swill on the beer nymphs that cry: "Berli, Berli, we are here for YOU" and pollute the golden ambrosia with half-chewed medication and bowel fibre.

Calamity, Berli and profanity of the most base and *sniff* vulgar kind… to have such perfection smeared across the top lip of the Justicar. Is it appreciated? No, just a shaky sway and the clattering of loose dentures as they fall into the glass, a dyspeptic burp that has taken days to emerge from an over-taxed digestive tract, and covetous grimace beyond a firmly formed bar maid to rest on packets of hairy pork scratchings.

No, *sigh* I wouldn't be allowing that at all.

Yeknod o' tha Thistle and Defender of the Paddock

*sniff* that was beautiful... 'cept the parts about the vile Justicar! I must hunt down this cur that would desecrate the alter of my BEER!To war! War I say! Rise up you legions of Hell! We march to war!
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Joe Shaw Senior Member

Joe Shaw

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Originally posted by Berlichtingen:

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

vainly attempts to deflect my righteous ire

Cry Havoc! and let slip the dogs of WAR, that this foul deed shall smell above the earth with carrion men, groaning for burial.</font>
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