Hakko Ichiu

Just for giggles, here's the Babelfished version:

You say that like it's a bad thing.

Glenfiddich Solera Reserve - 15 year old. It's what I gave up the Macallan for.

Do I get to shout a lot? When can I start shouting [ September 15, 2002, 02:55 PM: Message edited by: Hakko Ichiu ]

Hey, he was never convicted!

So, the sneaky Germans invented the anti-tank Frisbee. Gamey sods.

Where's that confounded bridge?

Hmm, then I guess it's the old reliable north country cologne. Deep Woods OFF. Unless you have a better suggestion, Milady?</font>

Shame on you, R_Leete, for even implying that Boo (I can call you Boo, can't I?), has sexual relations with Mrs. Radley. Have you no respect for the woman's honor, not to mention taste and fashion sense?

When you subtract a negative from a negative, doesn't it become a positive?</font>

You got the emphasis wrong.</font>

This is a false premise. I played against Geier in one of his so-called "scenarios". The old carrion eater did gamey things such as having Fallhamsters and keeping a tactical reserve, and he actually managed to beat me. Ergo, it was the map's (and hence the mapmaker's) fault. QED He (or any of us) needs another reason? [ September 10, 2002, 10:40 AM: Message edited by: Hakko Ichiu ]

Madmatt, Amidst the excitement of the ordering process, I managed to mis-type my e-mail address. Order #80760 Correct e-mail: ethanr@mindspring.com Don't know if anything can/needs to be done, but I thought I'd let you know.

So you're saying the Russians invented the RPG during WWI? Gamey sods.

Have you tried downloading a new copy of the demo? Your first d/l might have been corrupted.

Just had the same crash-to-desk-top problem on turn 32 of Citadel. It's repeated several times, always on a mouse click, sometimes on a unit, sometimes just on the map. Specs: Win 98SE Athlon 700 192 MB RAM Geforce 256 SB Live!

Why? Did he retire to Florida?

Scene: A raised platform overlooking the scenic gorge of Okimanko. A grey-haired figure contemplates the changing colors that herald the new season. He sips from a ceremonial cup of saké, pulls back his sleeve, picks up a writing brush and dips it into a waiting reservoir of ink. Taking a roll of paper, in one smooth motion he inscribes the following poem: Falling Autumn leaves. Who shall see them first if not The olde, drunken Gnome?

Someone needs to go on a date, me thinks. Of course sometimes an 88 is just an 88. Here's one that won't be in CMBB: Dog sniffs autumn breeze. Thunder rumbles along the trail. Bright flower blossoms.

Shame on you. If that's how you treat your Laphroaig, then I demand you surrender your supply to me forthwith. For myself, I imagine I will be breaking out the Glenlivet Solera Reserve with filtered water on the side for that all important first battle.

Either the sound track from Aleksander Nevsky or Liza Minelli's Greatest Hits.

Fool! I would never attack with two water techniques in the same series. That would be far too predictable.

I can't help noticing that Charles has only one hand visible and Matt has the "clenched" look on his face.

As you wish, Lady: Spring is here, spring is here, Life is skittles, and life is beer. I think the loveliest time of the year is the Spring, I do. Don't you? Course you do! But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me, And makes every Sunday a treat for me... All the world seems in tune on a spring afternoon, When we're poisoning pigeons in the park. Every Sunday you'll see my sweetheart and me As we poison the pigeons in the park. When they see us coming, the birdies all try and hide, But they still go for peanuts when coated in cyanide. The sun's shining bright, everything seems alright, When we're poisoning pigeons in the park. We've gained notoriety, and caused much anxiety, In the Audobon Society with our games. They call it impiety and lack of propriety, And quite a variety of unpleasant names. But it's not against any religion, To want to dispose of a pigeon! So if Sunday you're free, why don't you come with me, And we'll poison the pigeons in the park. And maybe we'll do in a squirrel or two, while we poison the pigeons in the park. We'll murder them all amidst laughter and merriment, Except for the few we take home to experiment. My pulse will be quickening with each drop of strychnine We feed to a pigeon - it just takes a smidgeon To poison a pigeon in the park. [ August 21, 2002, 08:08 PM: Message edited by: Hakko Ichiu ]

Jo, girls are different, even in the workers' paradise of your Red Chinese masters. Surely this is something you learned in kindergarten, probably behind the school dumpster. Of course, in your dotage it is something that might have slipped your ever more slippery memory. I say let Roxy have her 'Pool-boy, so long as we have the option to kill him should he present us with a fruit kabob. Furthermore, I think all the Senior Kaniggets and Olde Ones should do a quick whip 'round to buy young Roxy a riding crop, the better to keep Mike-you-idiot in line. A little discipline does a young boy good.