Seanachai

Wer' be th' whiskie be hid'n naturlie. </font>

Don't worry, wives and children like me! It's because I'm so well-spoken and jolly. The bloody Shar Pai might want to whimper a bit, though. There's a lot of good eating on that type of dog...

Oh, and just as a 'by the by', most of you Goodaler lackwits are a load of soft, plushy toys who will eventually show up in a Pixar Films remake of 'the Velveteen Rabbit'. The ultimate demise of this 'thread' will be when you all hop off to get buggered by 'real rabbits'...

Jesus fecking Christ, Axe, what does it take to make you return turns in a timely fashion? Do I have to drive to freaking Canada and massage your instep while you moan about being an 'old married man', and listen to your endlessly pointless stories about 'being a really big man in the local Canadian CM scene'? I've had fecking pets put down that weren't as useless as you are. Between your claims that 'you never got my last turn', and your equally useless claims of 'already having sent that turn', I feel like I'm playing someone so halt, dumb, and terminally stupid that I should get some sort of Federal subsidy for my work with the mentally handicapped. Put your bloody wife on, fer the love of all the gods. "Hey, baby! I can play CM against you like a man! Yeah!" Not like the limp, 'I'll take the garbage out just as soon as I finish not sending a turn to Seanachai, love' action that you're getting now! Jesus! There's old men in Minnesota that're sending their life savings up to Canada so that they can get it up more than you seem capable of...

It seems that I'm...On Quest. In March, I must make my way to Chicagoland, to visit old college friends who miss me. On the way...well, on the way I have to meet as many of you ignorant buggers as I can. Apparently, I'm already somehow, horribly, entangled with the concept of Beloit. But my time is my own. It actually tickles my evil, outlaw heart to think of meeting up with a copper in Beloit. Berli, be a good Ultimate Fecking Evil From Which All Right Thinking Men Hide Their Faces, and set up some sort of Meeting with any Chicagoland buggers who want to spit in my face, and kick me in the crotch. Oh, who am I kidding. Berli couldn't arrange a bottle party in a brewery. Rune? Are you reading the Thread? I'll be arriving in Chicagoland in a tenday or so. I'll send you the details once I inform my family I'm going to be arrested in Illinois. NG Cavscout, send me your real name and email and such. so that I can can use your good offices to actually get through Wisconsin with no more than the usual problems...

Is there any way to get to Chicagoland from here without going through fecking Beloit? Don't even begin talking about 'Iowa' fer chrissake...hideous place... I'll let you know... Oh, and do you know where the name 'Beloit' comes from? It's the sound a quarter makes when it plunges into a toilet.

Eh, you're just a homebody. You will not put on the shining mail, nor take up the sword, nor risk yourself amongst foreign foes. I don't fault you, lad. I just...pity you, a bit. Keep the home fires burning, keep Papa Khann happy with fecking fruit in his fecking beer, and we'll all get together when I return, eat some abalone, and piss off a cliff...

Let's make it a 'dumb bugger red state halfwit/clever and erudite blue state natural' sweep, and say that I agree as well. There you have it! America, united once again, offering the hand of friendship to our foreign allies. Except, of course, in Dalem's case, it's more like Zippy the Pinhead manifesting as a rightwing nutjob. Hey, Dalem! Wanna drive to Chicago with me, you tosser?

It's "Hello, how are you?" in Ohio-ese. </font>

How much do you have?!!!

Terminal stupidity?

When your mother sends back all your invitations And your father to your sister he explains That you're tired of yourself and all of your creations Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ? Now when all of the flower ladies want back what they have lent you And the smell of their roses does not remain And all of your children start to resent you Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ? Now when all the clowns that you have commissioned Have died in battle or in vain And you're sick of all this repetition Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ? When all of your advisers heave their plastic At your feet to convince you of your pain Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ? Now when all of the bandits that you turned your other cheek to All lay down their bandanas and complain And you want somebody you don't have to speak to Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane ?

I'm going to Chicago in (wait one, while I figure out this 'calendar' thingy...) roughly, two weeks. I will drive to Chicago. I will be completely fecking broke. I expect to be able to cadge enough money for gas to get home. It's that, or I'll have to take up being homeless where the Chicagoans live and work. Who wouldn't contribute a few bucks to make sure that doesn't happen? While there, I expect to be 'kept' in the style to which I've become accustomed. So, all CM scum in the Chicagoland area should lay in a supply of cheap wine, paper bags, beef jerky, and I expect the best, the very best sites under all the local railroad bridges to have been scoped out and reserved. I have spoken.

Does anyone hate Berli more than I do? I think not... [ February 28, 2005, 10:55 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I come here...to reassure me that I have a soul. When I'm here, I look for the soul in others. I keep posting because I keep finding a soul. Mostly, I find the soul of others. I'll have to hope that I have one.

Is this a composite bow I see before me?!

Kicking my own bucket? Only a fecking fool would bet on that, lad. I will be here, whatever comes. You are never alone. I am always with you. That's not to say that I don't have my moments of darkness...of sadness. What man doesn't? But I am the Seanachai. You are mine...and I am yours.

Trouble comes fast And leaves too slow That's how I knew That she would finally go It's all dragged on now Far too long The rooms were too small And words too strong, so Can you understand my joy? Can you understand my joy? I feel like a little boy Can you understand my joy? I count my blessings Slow and sure My memory's not as good As it was before They cut off the lights And the phone calls too The landlord is knocking And he might break through Can you understand my joy? Can you understand my joy? I feel like a little boy Can you understand my joy? I got a plastic leg In the last short war You know I would still fight But they don't want me no more So I'm all set With a month of pills Just one more shot And there's no more chills, so Can you understand my joy? Can you understand my joy? I feel like a little boy Can you understand my joy?

Somefink indecent if I know you </font>

Yes, Seanachai is the Oldest One </font>

Ah...I thought you'd forgotten those nights when we passed the 3 liter jug of cheap red wine about, while the moon rose, and the world passed on it's way to finality. You ass! Send me a setup, you lame Scottish whore. If we haven't yet sat under that railway bridge, drunk... We will.

There are no common perverts, lad. There are only lame ones. GET UP! MAKE A BEAUTIFUL NOISE!

Wait! She's right! Then I shall live! She's right, you know. I'm almost sure that, even when I care enough to actually be truthful with you titmice refugees from winter's terror, I don't really give a toss about being a good human being. It's just not in me. But, on the other hand, everything I say in this, the Thread of threads, is the complete and utter fecking truth. This is what more wisdom filled and complex people than you lot of 'why are my shoes wet again...oh, yes, I needed to go to the toilet earlier, that must be it' buggers would call a 'paradox'. Or at least, you'd call it a 'paradox' if you had that much grasp of language. But take it not hard. You're in good company. There are others here..with no sense of 'Poolness... Shaw, you whore! Were you mocking my mocking of the mockery of the mocking of the Thread known for it's mockery? You fecker! I can't be having with that! I am filled with a wrath...like an eclair held too long against the nozzle that pumps in the cream...until I feel ready to burst! looks around furtively Got any dirt on Berli? Nothing personal, like...more just...you know, like 'everyone hates him' sort o' thing?

Older... pitches whelk shell sorrowfully out to sea, trying to get it to skip...

I was extremely disappointed in the turn out/response to betting on when I'd kill myself on the Hunter S. Thompson thread on the GF. Until such time as you lot are willing to bet on my eventual hideous demise at my own hands, I just don't see how I can continue to post here. I had hoped that a call from an OuterBoarder for bets on my eventual suicide would have been greeted with a cacophony of cries as the more tender natured shouted 'No, Seanachai!, don't do it!', and the roar of the crowd while everyone else fought their way to the railing to try and get their money down. Until my continued/discontinued existence is greeted with the same carnival spirit and good-natured bloodlust as a bear-baiting or dog-fight, there is no place for me here. I'm pretty sure that Boo is wrong, and that I shouldn't have any trouble at all holding the bow with both hands and drawing the string with my feet. Steadying the arrow shouldn't be an issue if done in a prone position. I'll email Berli with the results, so that he can let you know. Unless, of course, there's a hideous accident. And then won't you bastards look stupid for not having gotten your money down!