Hakko Ichiu

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Cubbies Phan: But without further adue, Cubbies continued on with the story about Mace the ugly Vulcan who....<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> ...because of an unfortunate glitch in the processor of his Universal Translator mistook the sheep's cry of "Baaa.." for an extended pronouncement of "pawn fahr". As a result...

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Hiram's Ghost: ...the nearest Ozzie who's named...<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> After the famous antipodean chanteuse, Kiki Dee. "But you can call me Featherstonehaugh," he murmured, "although it's usually pronounced...

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by jwxspoon: You should all be reasonable and come to Myrtle Beach. It's a lot more fun here than any of the other places I've yet heard mentioned.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Well, y'all have more strip bars than we do in the Ol' North State.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Slapdragon: Besides, I am from Iowa, which trumps Southern Genetics any day. You are all recessives to me...<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Where in Iowa? I used to date a girl from Iowa, and I'd hate to think you're MY bastard son.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Slapdragon: Fat Coeds, they are better at South Carolina...<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Occasionally in-breeding results in a superior product, but over the long run the harmful mutations win out.

Chapel Hill, NC. Lorak the Pointy-Eared is down the road a piece in Winston-Salem and there are a couple of people in the Apex/Raleigh/RTP area, including, IIRC, Ol' Wild Bill Wilder hisownself. We have our own micro-brewery, in fact, we have two within stumbling distance, so I say have an event here. Besides, with UNC in the middle of town there's plenty of eye-candy. Mmm, coeds in sun-dresses...

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Slapdragon: Now, I must get back to keeping the Australian contingent from successfully claiming that fine (or at least when I was there I got a traffic fine) country is actually at the top of the world, despite evidence from a globe positioned strategically in my office to block my work calender and the Attorney General's picture.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> So, Spanklizard's picture of John Ashcroft in a sheep suit is so distracting that he has to use an image of Australia as a stand-in for a cold shower. I don't think he's really married to a Brazilian, or he wouldn't need such poor things over which to sublimate (or is it project?). Welcome to the 'Pool, Spank, I've always thought you belonged here, preferably downwind of me. Then again, I've always maintained that Lewis belonged here too; maybe I'm not that great a judge of character. Not as though you have any character to judge, of course. <BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>From the communications orifice of Hiram: I was raised a poor black child in Mississipi and was fed cornbread and lima beans until the age of 14.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> The childhood malnutrition explains a lot about your mental capabilities. In other news, my birthday is coming up soon, so I think I shall write a new installment of Grog-Porn™, if I can tear the gang at Leather Tiger Press away from the office hookah long enough for them to publish it. Coming soon to a top shelf near you... Who knows, maybe it will even drag Geier back to the pool. Of course, it might help if I sent him a turn.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Mark IV: It's gotta be killing you playing the biped game every day, man. Be yourself, find your inner quad... it's almost hunting season, too. <HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Do we need a license to hunt lawyers? Or can shoot them on sight like a pest species? And what's the best load for a lawyer? I prefer to bag them at a distance, as they are often dangerous at close range -- not to mention the smell.

The Japanese commandant of the prison camp in "Bridge Over the River Kwai" used to begin all his addresses to his prisoners with the words, "I hate the British." I want you all to know that I feel the same about the esteemed Mr. Mark IV of ill fame. Still, I must acknowledge the good when I see it, and therefore I commend to you all his remarks in the following thread: Historiographical Morons I hate him. He is gamey like a 4-week old pheasant. His taste in Scotch is dubious. He lives in Kalifornia, at least for now. But he knows how to put the boot in, and I can but admire that.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Posted in another incarnation by the shifty and inscrutable Zhou Xia: I know that many of you have been agonizing over the question of the week ... what WILL I get Joe for his birthday on Sunday? <HR></BLOCKQUOTE> A year's supply of Depends™ Adult Incontinency Support Garments is winging its way to Beulahland even as we speak.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by David Aitken: Oh, and since when did you measure the size of time anyway?<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Whassamadda? You never heard of "Big Time Software?" How about "small-time graphic artist?" On another matter entirely, I think the next incarnation of the MBT should be entitled, "I invaded ÜberFinlandia with 24 Motorized Rifle Divisions, and all I got was the Peng Challenge Thread (and a bad case of crabs)." If you don't like it, bite me™.

Here in Raleigh/Durham, NC, the main industrial area, which contains lots of bio-tech and government buildings has been evacuated. The local Jewish school has closed for the day. I imagine this is happening across the country. Now is the time for prayers for the dead, comfort for the wounded, and the planning of massive and swift retaliation.

Hiram, My deepest sympathy. I hope you and your family find what you need to help you through this time.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Agua Perdido: Nixon was from Whittier, you twit. That's a good 40 miles north of OC. Orange County was the home of Robert K. "B-1 Bob" Dornan (formely, R-CA)--who lost his last re-election bid to Loretta Sanchez (*snicker* bombin' Bob lost to a girl!) Agua Perdido<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> No, B-1 Bob lost to a bunch of dead people who rose from the grave to fulfill their patriotic duty to vote.

42 may be the ultimate number, but 23 is the number that fnord matters. Read Robert A. Wilson's Illuminatus trilogy and all shall be revealed. Or better yet fnord don't. The "member" number 23 was held by someone styling himself "Archer," but he is long vanished. Coincidence? Don't be too sure. Someone you know is one of us. [ 09-04-2001: Message edited by: Hakko Ichiu ]

Scene: A concealed command post in Kommerscheidt. A Green Platoon Leader scans the outlying terrain for enemy activity. A Grizzled Battalion Commander enters from the rear (of the CP, sit down, Bauhaus). GBC: in a hushed, yet urgent whisper Situation, Lieutenant? GPL: Sir, we spotted Kraut infantry moving rapidly toward the tree line, at least a platoon, so there's probably a full company that we haven't seen. Plus they have armored support... GBC: What actions have you taken? GPL: I ordered harassing fire from (censored) and (censored). Apart from that, the men are holding their fire. GBC: Good man. We're expecting (censored), (censored), and (censored) by 0500 hours, and heavy (censored) shortly thereafter. We'll teach that Swedish S.O.B. a lesson he'll live to regret, if he lives, heh heh. GPL: Swedish, sir? I thought we were fighting the Krauts. GBC: Technically, yes, Lietenant, but on this occasion they're commanded by the Lutfisk muncher generally known as Geier. GPL: swallows Geier, sir? But he uses the most frightening tactics known to the Cesspool. He...He... GBC: He disappears for long stretches without warning and doesn't answer turns. I know, but this time we're ready for him. We have our secret weapon. loudly Sergeant!! Enter a hugely muscled, yet surprisingly handsome and debonair hamster in a sergeant's uniform. He carries a very large flamethrower. Sgt. Professor Doktor Hamster X (for it is he): Okay, Major, I've got my fecking flamethrower; let me at 'em. GBC: All in good time, Sgt. Professor Doktor, all in good time. We need to be patient and wait the enemy out. Enter Seanachai from a side door Seanachai: Gosh folks, while we're waiting, let me regale you with a jolly tale of that time I faked my own death. It really was quite jolly, and not a little bit influenced by the lays of the Celtic bard Ossian... Fade to Black...quickly --- That was better, sir, if I may say so. Certainly more original. Thank you, Meeks. But might I be so bold as to enquire why you don't simply e-mail Mr. Geier and ask him why he's not responding to turns? Far too simple, Meeks, old fish. Public humiliation is the best way to roust that old lay about. Put the wind up him, if you know what I mean. Besides, I need to do something that fits my... my... Idiom, sir? Exactly. [ 09-02-2001: Message edited by: Hakko Ichiu ]

Madmatt Films and Cesspool Productions proudly present the epic martial arts slanging match, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Peng Challenge. IN A FAR OFF CESSPOOL, MYSTERIOUS WARRIORS BATTLE FOR A MYSTERIOUS CAUSE WITH MYSTERIOUS TAUNTS LEARNED FROM MYSTERIOUS BOOKS IN MYSTERIOUS MOUNTAINS. THE STAKES ARE HIGH AND THERE ARE NO RULES. (that's because we're too lazy to post them -- ed.) --- A bamboo grove by a meandering stream. In the foreground, a rickety bamboo bridge; in the background a rickety bamboo hut. A scholar sits in the grove in deepest meditation. In an act of utmost unconscious graceful perfection he reaches down to scratch his nether areas. He heaves a sigh as he perceives a gaggle of mandarins, courtiers and lackeys approaching over the rickety bamboo bridge; they pause at the highest point. A senior lackey, Jo Sha, detaches himself from the group and cautiously approaches the scholar. Jo Xia: (prostrating himself and banging his head on the ground three times) Oh, esteemed one, we have come to make obeisance in your presence and beseech you to return to the 'Pool. See all the most senior notables of the Mutha Beautiful Thread have come to pay their respects. There, standing upon the bridge are Sha Na Chi, Ber Li, Jay Di, Gai Er, Ay Ken, Er Bisu, Lo Lak and many others. They all beg you to illuminate once more the waters of the 'Pool with the radiance of your wisdom. The scholar rises lithely as a praying mantis. With consummate grace he pulls the folds of his robe from the crack in his posterior. He glances down at the prostrate Jo Xia, then toward the crowd on the bridge. They hold their breaths in anticipation of the answer. Hakko Ichiu (for it is he): Arise, Jo Sha, and walk with me. They proceed toward the bank of the stream Do you see that turtle there in the stream? Would it be happier with its bottom in the stream, or in a gilded cage at the Imperial Court? Jo Xia: Well, err, at the Imperial Court it would have lots of lovely, crunchy lettuce and all the female turtles it could roger. Hakko Ichiu: Ooh, good answer. I see your point, but still, there is one thing I must do. Out of folds of his robe he produces the flamethrower Green Fecking Destiny. Leaping high into the air, he fires it at the base of the rickety bamboo bridge, which proceeds to collapse, tossing the assembled mandarins, courtiers, and lackeys into the water. Weighed down by their robes and leather undergarments, they thrash impotently about in the water and drag each other down. Soon none is left above the surface. Hakko Ichiu puts away the flamethrower, a smile of satisfaction on his face. Jo Xia: Well now you've gone and done it. There'll be no one left in the 'Pool, except maybe Lawyer, who was too busy oppressing the productive sector to make the trip. Hakko Ichiu: Pish tush. Put your mind at rest, Jo Xia. A little water never hurt a denizen of the 'Pool. They'll all wash up eventually, although I shudder to think of the costs of environmental remediation. Jo Xia: That's as may be, but the bridge has collapsed, and there's no way to get across the stream. What do you say to that, smarty pants? Hakko Ichiu: (thinks for a moment, then gestures to the rickety bamboo hut) Do you want to go back to my place? Jo Xia: I thought you'd never ask. Fade to black ---- You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll clog your nostrils with sewage! If you post in one thread this year, it has to be Crouching Tiger, Hidden Peng Challenge! [ 08-26-2001: Message edited by: Hakko Ichiu ] [ 08-26-2001: Message edited by: Hakko Ichiu ]

This is just a plug for a thread of vital importance(written, of course, by me) in the General Discussion forum. You'll all recognize it immediately from the title. No, Johan, it is not Grog-Porn™. And you'll get your turn in the next day or two, once I've recovered sufficiently from jet-lag to hand you your square-headed heinie in an empty lutfisk barrel. And everybody knows that if there were no Canada it would be necessary to invent it so that we white, American males could have somebody upon which to heap abuse without being accused of racism.

Hmm, zunächst die schweizerdeutsche Version. Die kann ich ja gar nicht vorstellen.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Warphead-: Aha... und wie verträgt sich das mit dem "Battlefront Manifesto"? Rein Interesse halber :confused:<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Ich nehme an, daß Battlefront die Mitteln fehlt selbst eine deutsche Version zu produzieren. Also, haben sie mit einer deutschen Firma gepartnert. Die hat mit dem Manifesto nicht zu tun, also ist CMBO bei Software-laden verfügbar. Meiner Meinung nach, ziemlich praktisch, oder?

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Mace: Careful , we don't want to harm dumb animals, the RSPCA (translation: ASPCA) may be watching! Mace<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> I think he left off the modifier "trouser." Hope that clears things up.

Nah, mahn. De Bald One he wahn de natty dreadlocks. Irie, mahn, no problem. Jah love.

Bah! And again I say, Bah! (no, Mace, that's not baaa don't get ewer hopes (or anything else) up) On all sides, Swedes arise to vex me, like nostril-boring flies on a mighty reindeer. Geier practically begs me to send him a turn. I graciously condescend to do so, and what happens? He waits two-election cycles before replying and for what? Two measly scouting parties, that's what. Meanwhile, on the dreaded Outer Boards™, I find myself forced to give lessons in basic economics to a certain Dr. Alimantado, whose medical credentials I frankly have to question. And what do I get for all my troubles? A nice piece of Lutfisk? A bottle of hallucinogenic reindeer urine? A night of passion with Miss Erotic Sweden 2001? Not a bit of it, not a sausage. If you ask me, the whole bloody country should be taken over by the Norwegians, or better yet, the Danes. I shall have to ask Professor Doktor Hamster X to see what he can do. Buwahaha.

It's difficult to make those vowel sounds when your mouth is full, isn't it PawBroon.

Well, if this isn't the final insult. "Missing in action", indeed! Bah, feh, balderdash, horsefeathers, codswallop and turtle crap. When I began my long absence (or, I might say, respite) from the 'Pool I always said that I would make my return when I could write something appropriate to my, to my, err ... your idiom, sir? ... yes, thank you Meeks. As I was saying, I wanted something appropriate to my idiom. And as you all know, a truly 'Pool-worthy piece takes time and care (unlike the endless bloviations of, say, Seanachai). Now Lorak's gone and bollocksed it all up by publishing his ridiculous MIA list. I am forced to re-submerge myself in the foetid, noisome waters of the 'Pool and once more hearken to the demented chitterings of its squamous denizens. Still, I am what I am, and I refuse to re-enter the MBT with anything less than a post of the first quality, so here I go: A bamboo grove by a meandering stream. In the foreground, a rickety bamboo bridge; in the background a rickety bamboo hut. A scholar sits in the grove in deepest meditation. In an act of utmost unconscious graceful perfection he reaches down to scratch his nether areas. He heaves a sigh as he perceives a gaggle of mandarins, courtiers and lackeys approaching over the rickety bamboo bridge; they pause at the highest point. A senior lackey, Jo Sha, detaches himself from the group and cautiously approaches the scholar. Jo Sha: (prostrating himself and banging his head on the ground three times) Oh, esteemed one, we have come to make obeisance in your presence and beseech you to return to the 'Pool. See all the most senior notables of the Mutha Beautiful Thread have come to pay their respects. There, standing upon the bridge are Sha Na Chi, Ber Li, Jay Di, Gai Er, Ay Ken, Er Bisu, Lo Lak and many others. They all beg you to illuminate once more the waters of the 'Pool with the radiance of your wisdom. The scholar rises lithely as a praying mantis. With consummate grace he pulls the folds of his robe from the crack in his posterior. He glances down at the prostrate Jo Sha, then toward the crowd on the bridge. They hold their breaths in anticipation of the answer. Hakko Ichiu (for it is he): Arise, Jo Sha, and walk with me. They proceed toward the bank of the stream Do you see that turtle there in the stream? Would it be happier with its bottom in the stream, or in a gilded cage at the Imperial Court? Jo Sha: Well, err, at the Imperial Court it would have lots of lovely, crunchy lettuce and all the female turtles it could roger. Hakko Ichiu: Ooh, good answer. I see your point, but still, there is one thing I must do. Out of folds of his robe he produces the flamethrower Green Fecking Destiny. Leaping high into the air, he fires it at the base of the rickety bamboo bridge, which proceeds to collapse, tossing the assembled mandarins, courtiers, and lackeys into the water. Weighed down by their robes and leather undergarments, they thrash impotently about in the water and drag each other down. Soon none is left above the surface. Hakko Ichiu puts away the flamethrower, a smile of satisfaction on his face. Jo Sha: Well now you've gone and done it. There'll be no one left in the 'Pool, except maybe Lawyer, who was too busy oppressing the productive sector to make the trip. Hakko Ichiu: Pish tush. Put your mind at rest, Jo Sha. A little water never hurt a denizen of the 'Pool. They'll all wash up eventually, although I shudder to think of the costs of environmental remediation. Jo Sha: That's as may be, but the bridge has collapsed, and there's no way to get across the stream. What do you say to that, smarty pants? Hakko Ichiu: (thinks for a moment, then gestures to the rickety bamboo hut) Do you want to go back to my place? Jo Sha: I thought you'd never ask. Fade to black ---- A tad derivative, wouldn't you say, sir? I know, Meeks, but it's awfully difficult to end these things. Maybe I should try something a bit more contemporary next time? Very good, sir. As you say, next time.