Seanachai

You barely drink beer at all, you rum sodden puddle of yak puke. You ought to at least be doing songs from the Islands...

I've actually heard this song. I imagine he occasionally wakes up and takes a large handful of pills every time he thinks about having done it. I don't imagine it helps, much.

Well, Joe, truth to be told, I feel more strongly about 'location' than I do email address. I like to know what sort of bugger I'm dealing with. And nothing gives me a better handle with which to beat another human being to death with than their location on this planet. Oh, yes, we get the annoying 'cross dresser, I don't really have a bloody home because I was raised by travelling circus rats' like Dalem. But for most people, it's a sure fire manner of determining the best way to mock, belittle, and utterly dismiss them. Or, at worst, having to barely and grudgingly acknowledge them as something other than something I'd spit on. I hate wasting good spit. Now, the email address is, of course, necessary for the whole 'Challenge' thing. On the other hand, it's long been understood that you and I see the 'Challenge' in different ways. The Challenge I present them with is simply to amuse me, interest me, and make me acknowledge their otherwise tacky and undoubtedly shameful existence. While you, a man who plays a game when the moon is in the correct corner of Andromeda while kazoos are playing a celebratory hymn to the ending of Ramadan according to the Gregorian calendar...well, let's just say, Joseph, that it's hard to get a handle on exactly what 'Challenge' you're on about. But the inclusion of a valid email address is a very good way of separating out the tossers. 'Hotmail', 'Yahoo', etc, is the gods' own way of identifying the teenagers, returned arseholes, and cowards. "I don't give out my email address, because I don't want to be stalked or spammed". That's just another way of saying 'I don't have a real email address', or 'I don't want to be subjected to the same treatment I wander from site to site handing out to others'. But that's not what I came to talk to you about. No, I came here to end the tyranny and terror of the Justicar. That's right! It's time! It's time that the Olde Ones finally step in and put an end to this pointless, elitist, endlessly pointlessly elitist, endless... I'm sorry? What was I saying? Oh, yes. I like women. They smell nice, and they're stupid in a whole different way from men, which is refreshing. Also, I like canadian bacon. And puppies. Puppies are nice. And Small Emma. She's the funniest person I know. Although she gets startled and cries when the dogs bark too loud. As for the rest of you, if I piled you all up and called it a community, I'd get hate mail from rats for denigrating vermin warrens. Oh, and I like wolverines. Not sure what that's all about, but I do. Did I mention women?

In my dream, I'm suddenly in the army And the army life is good, but I'm ankle deep in blood So I went to see the quartermaster And the quartermaster said, your socks are awful red I found the master sergeant I said "Sergeant, I am hurting, I'm considering deserting" He said "Do whatever is in your conscience" So I tried to make a run, but I was stapled to the gun And the cannon were lined up all in a line Dark and cold They aimed them all straight upward And thunder rolled So I found the first lieutenant He said "God, they're going to bomb us, from their vicious flying llamas!" I dove into the llama shelter I became Charlotte Cordet, and the battle fell away And the peace that reigned in Upper Dreamland Was badly negated when the giant slugs invaded I turned to face my fine young officers I was barking out my orders, when they crashed across the border And the cannon were lined up all in a line Dark and cold They aimed them all straight upward And thunder rolled The cannon were lined up all in a line Dark and cold They aimed them all straight upward And thunder rolled Army (Dream Song) -Boiled in Lead

Time to move on, vermin! Evil Men Have No Songs

We're not evil. Not as such. We even have a 'Code of Conduct', such as it is. Thou shalt honour the Ladies of the 'Pool. Thou shalt not gibber on endlessly about your 'manly bits'. Thou shalt make every effort to make thine posts both interesting and witty, but mostly witty. And we have certain deeply held beliefs. 'Everyone already here is better than you'. Well, that's not so much a belief as a truism. Most have achieved this superiour status by preceding you. For most of them, that's the only way they're ever going to get anywhere. Now, be a good creature of dubious worth, and post something witty. Oh, and if you like, you can Challenge someone. A favourite target is the Justicar, who hands out games like Father Christmas on crystal meth. Don't be afraid to Challenge 'Your Betters', otherwise you might as well pack it in, because it's unlikely we could find anyone beneath you. Have fun, and be sure to visit our 'Bugger Offe Gifte Shoppe'!

Armageddon...salty snacks...I imagine there's money to be made, Macey!

He's over qualified. Besides, if we hand out that title one more time, we'll probably have to set up rankings and name a unit commander.

I'm going through Wisconsin. Iowa is full of Iowans. Also, I'm not up to date on their 'statute of limitations' parameters.

Good idea. Try an intelligible post. That may be too difficult. Turn this water I'm drinking into wine. Wait! I'll get a larger glass. You never know...

You've got a weird theology, Mother Superiour... accepts croquet mallet...

Get on AIM, White Dalem...

If you're looking for me, You better check under the sea, 'cause that is where you'll find me, Underneath the sea...lab, Underneath the water, Sea lab, at the bottom of the sea.

Oh, and just so you all know, you're a bunch of hateful, reckless lemmings...

This is all a lie. If he was really my friend, he'd give me the keys to the gun room, so that once I've drunk enough of his liquor I could kill him with extreme savagery for his hateful and often nonsensical political views. The sword was a compromise. And he dodges when I try to stab him, rather than standing still like a real friend would.

Suppurating, pus filled blisters make you cranky, don't they?

Revisionist whore. Cabron666 was, in fact, my Mortal Enemy. Then, in some manner that still isn't clear, Emrys stole him away. After that, he just became a complete slut and started hating Peng and you Horsemen with indiscriminate slatternly abandon, and the intense relationship of Hatred that we'd shared was sundered forever.

This weekend I witnessed a young girl being saved from a life of reckless behaviour, cigarette smoking and casual sex by Paul Anka singing 'Ave Maria'. You probably just sat around watching Reality TV programs and shouting at your terrified, brutalized children to get you another beer. I'll get you the exact dates I'll be in Chicagoland in the next few days.

So, my youngest sister calls me Saturday night, and leaves me the message that her middle son, Joey, who's 9, came to her and said: 'Mom, I want to see that movie Viper's Holy Grail'. So she thought for a minute and said: 'Do you mean Monty Python's Holy Grail'? And he said, 'Yeah, yeah! Let's go rent the video Burmese Python Holy Grail'. When she called me, she said her sons were watching it and laughing hysterically. I have to call her to find out if Joey was disappointed because there were no reptiles in it...

Wow! That was wonderfully incoherent. Your Analyst must be a favourite at parties. Hmm, hmm, hmm, scrub, scrub, scrub... He's all yours, Berli. Don't forget to use square-headed nails.

Bugger, just got caught up on the last couple of pages. Hey, Leeo, man. You know I love you, right? If I could, I'd be at your side right now. You'd know then that nothing worse could happen to you. You take care, buddy, and know that our thoughts are with you. I'm not sure how the thoughts and well-wishes of a lot of utter tossers and lackwits could make anything better, but they're yours, in any case. You know, I just want all the pain suffered by people I like to just bugger off and go away. But I can't manage that, man. But I'd like to do what I can to bring a tremulous smile to your face again. So, because this is the Peng Challenge Thread, and we're not good at hugs, or even manly slaps to the back, how 'bout Boo and I sing a duet of 'You Are the Wind Beneath My Wings' to you?

Haha! I win! I'm the first to post after 'the Night at Dalem's. E'en as I'm posting, Dalem is trying to toss all the empties, and soothe his pets' demands for 'death with dignity'.

I hereby declare Dalem to be the Apostle of the Abomination. You know, he's a wonderful host, and a great guy to talk with, but besides the stink of his political views, you're eventually driven out of his place by the eye-watering stench of someone who's been eating too much yak. Jayzus! We're talking the kind of chemical stink that makes the Bhopal disaster look like a room air-freshener gone wrong. And that's just his politics! The effluvium of metabolized yak had his pets demanding to be euthanized. In my attempts to escape the stench of moral decay and suspect dietary habits, I locked myself into a basement bathroom with a copy of Grog Dorosh's article 'Warriors of the North', in the ASL Quarterly, or some such. The entire experience left me with the certain knowledge that when I die, I will be instantly transported to Heaven, because I've already endured more Hell than even former Republican Presidents and the Bad Popes laid up for themselves.

Hey, Berli bugger, call me and let me know how you're doing. Don't worry about the time... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Like you ever worry about the time when you call me. Sometimes it's like a game we're playing. I can just see you, sitting there, checking post times and doing calculations on your fingers..."Is he likely to be deeply asleep, yet, or should I wait a little longer?" I'm doing 3 hours off and 5 hours on, then sleeping for an hour and being up for 8 for weeks, now, trying to throw you off and actually not be asleep when you decide to call. I swear to the gods, Korean War POWs didn't go through this sort of treatment in an effort to break them. But it's okay, because 'my bucket is full', laddie!

You gonna go to a doctor, you lunatic?! I'm not rubbing salve and changing the bandages on your suppurating burns when I come to Chicago, you know.