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Peng Challenges Seanachai Squarely In The Fork


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It was very dirty. But having personally analyzed nitrate, phosphate, and fecal coliform levels as well as testing for particles, turbidity, pH and a slew of other things, I can tell you that the Fox River is far cleaner than it was 5 years ago, much as the Illinois is stupendously cleaner than it was 10-15 years ago. I'm not sure I would swim in either, nor would I eat fish pulled from the waters, but using these waterways recreationally is very far from dangerous.

I let my dog go in the water. She seems to be okay.

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Originally Posted by Patchy

I let my dog go in the water. She seems to be okay.

When you say "go in the water" do you mean that in the physical sense or the urological sense.

Or in the case of Nidan1, they both mean pretty much the exact same thing.

This is why he never gets invited to pool parties.

He's even banned from Kiddie's pools because he's such a bad example.

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Why, yes, I did buy the Uncle Sam's Misguided Children module, and yes again, mostly 'cus of the Eagle, Globe and Anchor on it. I'm about to head out the door for work, so I'll send a set up when I get home

You can graduate the boy out of the Corps, but the man will always remain.

Berli is a traditionalist. He's sentimental. He likes to think that underneath all that ****, there must be a pony.

Silly bastard talks to me most every night.

I enjoy his patois. His fine, guttural, Illinois nasal bitterness is unsurpassed.

I just wish he'd get on a schedule. It's the 'not knowing' that makes his calls so abrupt.

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I'm trying to improve the average IQ of my new homeland.

Anything you bring with you to boost the national IQ average will be more than offset by your own short comings.

**detects possiblity of some future boozing at a local pub**

err... moving to Melbourne?

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Peng exists, and suddenly, you are locked into a Life and Death struggle with Peng. Some laugh, some mock. You buy Peng several beers. In a very strange bar, in Minneapolis. Peng is glorious. You are now glorious. Everything is glorious. You wish Peng would come back again. He was good to talk to.

Berli shows up, and suddenly, you know Berli. He despises you. He sleeps on your couch. He tells you that, when he decides to destroy the Universe, he really likes the fact that you can walk up to Hennepin Avenue and find a good Used Book Store.

Various Miscreants show up, and drink with you. They are all good people.

Joe Shaw arrives, attempting to frown and rain down judgement. He dumps your silverware drawer all over your kitchen floor, and stands there looking like a goddamn pillock.

I am the Seanachai. I am the foolish old man of the Peng Challenge Thread. I am short, and stout, and in great need of a good diet.

I know where all the bodies are buried. I know why the suppliant maidens were shocked, and why they weren't as suppliant as people said. I know why the gods hate the Australians. It's not for the reasons you'd think. I know why BFC continues to allow us to exist. I know why the least and the stupidest want to post here.

I know a lot of things. I know more than you do.

I know that I am an Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread.

You don't even know why you post here. But I do.

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You can graduate the boy out of the Corps, but the man will always remain.

Berli is a traditionalist. He's sentimental. He likes to think that underneath all that ****, there must be a pony.

Silly bastard talks to me most every night.

I enjoy his patois. His fine, guttural, Illinois nasal bitterness is unsurpassed.

I just wish he'd get on a schedule. It's the 'not knowing' that makes his calls so abrupt.

Hope you enjoy that nasal bitterness when he puts the knife in and twists ... he was, is and always will be a Jarhead after all. ... I can see the movie in the making ... Sam Elliott portrays our comrade in arms as he takes on a platoon of Royal Aussie Jarheads ... even the ones without criminal records.

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I go away, I come back.

I honour the true Ladies of the 'Pool. I mock the Justicar. I sit with Berli, and with Peng in the Wasteland. We pass the bottle, hand to hand, and we contemplate the People.

In the Wasteland, we discuss many things. Idiots. Politics. Life. We indulge in that most useless of all conspiracies: Intelligence.

We throw another stupid post on the fire, there in the Wasteland. The flames illuminate us. We judge you.

I'm the nice one. The other two are unimpressed by my arguments.

Occasionally we wonder about the future of the Thread. Peng would end it. Berli deigns not to give a good goddamn.

And I?

I'm a silly old man. How can something so foolish not be good?

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I know where all the bodies are buried.

I know why the suppliant maidens were shocked, and why they weren't as suppliant as people said.

I know why the gods hate the Australians. It's not for the reasons you'd think.

I know why BFC continues to allow us to exist.

I know why the least and the stupidest want to post here.

I know a lot of things. I know more than you do.

I know that I am an Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread.

You don't even know why you post here. But I do.

This has a familiar ring to it. Where've I heard this before? Oh, yes, that's it...

"I know just how to whisper and

I know just how to cry;

I know just where to find the answers; and I know just how to lie.

I know just how to fake it and

I know just how to scheme;

I know just when to face the truth and then

I know just when to dream. And

I know just where to touch you and

I know just what to prove

I know when to pull you closer and

I know when to let you loose. And

I know the night is fading and

I know that time's gonna fly;

And I'm never gonna tell you ev'rything I've got to tell you

But I know I've got to give it a try. And

I know the roads to riches and

I know the ways to fame;

I know all the rules and then I know how to break them. And

I always know the name of the game.

But I don't know how to leave you..."

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Joe Shaw arrives, attempting to frown and rain down judgement. He dumps your silverware drawer all over your kitchen floor, and stands there looking like a goddamn pillock.

In other words, like he always does.

I know more than you do.

No you don't. You're just slimier.

Michael

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