Seanachai

The Bestiality is worlds enough. If you're going to go on to some 'Association with Kitty' inspired food fetishism, we'll heave you out. There'll be no vegemite slathered orgies of Aussie depravity on my watch, thank you very much.

Hiram only likes universes that swallow...

Oh, goody. That vile trollop Wildman is back. Should I point out to him that he's never, ever yet managed to complete a goddamn game against me?! I'm not going to buy another email explaining that until the Air Force's latest 'internal investigation' is completed, his time might be limited due to giving depositions, consulting with his appointed Defense, and epic episodes of vomiting due to his most recent attempt to achieve a higher state of being through alcohol. Wildman, my little lamb— I'VE STILL GOT COSSACKS SITTING IN THE BLOODY FOREST WAITING FOR YOU TO DO MORE THAN SHOOT UP TREES! Lord love a duck, even Rleete can kill trees. And he didn't have to use German AFVs to do so...

Ah, how art mimics life...

Well, that's a relief. Otherwise no one would have a fecking clue. I guess it's still safe to schedule neurosurgery in Pennsylvania, then, eh? Rather like Life, then. Except with worse punctuation, typing, and even more incomprehensible. I'll take 'vs human pbem qb hpq' for 100, Brian. In a previous incarnation, I was a cryptographer!

Now the d and the a and the m And the n and the a And the t and the i-o-n Lose your face, lose your name Then get fitted for a suit of flame And reverse, two, three, four!

Everybody mambo! salsa beat

Dalem, you toad. I will be there Friday night. I will bring 'Jack Frost' (the one with Nastinka, that Boo was gibbering about earlier). Who can forget great lines like: Jack Frost: Wait, Grandfather Mushroom! Crow T. Robot: Uh, I though Jerry Garcia was Grandfather Mushroom...

Shut up, Dorosh, just SHUT UP! CLOSE YOUR FESTERING GOB, YOU TIT! CEASE YOUR ENDLESS VERBAL DIARRHEA! SWALLOW YOUR OWN TONGUE AND DIE, YOU PONCING GREAT PILE OF MOOSE DROPPINGS! Whew. Does you good to simply do that now and again. I don't even know what this thread is about. Sorry, sorry, carry on. I find if I go more than a few months without telling Dorosh to shut up and die, I get cramps. That was apropos of nothing, you lot. Go back to your discussion.

You miserable little bastard. You oughta be calling me 'Dad', and fetching me cooling drinks, don't you know. Berli, Peng and I built all this for you lot. Conjured it out of nothingness, and gave you a place to come and make your own new, shiny world. And devil the drop we've seen of righteous tribute since. Can't remember the last time I came home and found a bottle of the good stuff, lovingly packed in a 'tosser proof' container waiting for me on the doorstep. No one likes you, Meeks. But I can give you the nod of respectful hatred without feeling the need to cuddle, afterwards. Sometimes, 'tis true, the whole place needs a good slap with a wet flannel. Glad to see you posting in a fulsome, expanded style. I used to post at length. But then I discovered, through emails and online chats, that even the buggers that I thought of as intelligent, well-spoken and well read, admitted that if I posted anything beyond a short paragraph in short, easy-to-understand words, they simply skipped it. Apparently the sort of intelligence that can deal with flights of fancy, language and the glory of the human spirit has almost completely fecking died out. I blame the neo-cons. Get a grip, Elijah. Rules are for 'the little people'...

SILENCE, APOSTATE! So, back for tumpty-tumpty posts so far, and you haven't even groveled before me. I should give you such a kicking...

What is it with Papa Khann and fruit? I mean, the man must have altars to 'regularity'. He even puts it in his beer.

And you kept claiming you were simply looking for ice for your drink every time you came over...

Ha! Your base insults don't faze me any more than your bad science! Alkiviadis hugger!

HA! Amateur. THC is stored in fat cells. LSD immediately and completely passes through the body after forever warping your responses to serotonin... That's why you were in the Marines, and I served in the Drug Wars. I was simply better trained than you, and more expendable.

Man, if I had a $1 for every time I've had a flashback that I was back in 'Nam...I could probably afford some counseling as to why I keep having flashbacks about a place I've never been. You know, as you get older, you start having fewer episodes of 'dejavu'. Instead, you get more flashes of 'Oh dear God, I didn't just do that again, did I?!'

Okay, look. I'm pretty sure I've never had it off with Jennifer Aniston. And I know I've never done it with Brad Pitt. I think that Ben Affleck should probably be neutered simply for thinking about marrying J-Lo, and I wouldn't touch the bizarre 'Jenny from the block' JelLo creature on a dare. SO I DON'T CARE ABOUT THESE ALLEGED HUMAN BEINGS! Joe, you need to get out of the hotel lounges, planes, and cheap rooms you've been spending all your time in, and get into the fresh air. I think you need to insist on doing a training session here in Minneapolis, and when you visit — We'll all go ice fishing! Can't say no to that, can you?

Over complicated, should read... Couple of .22 rounds behind the ear </font>

Man, I hate Dalem. Did I mention that everything that's wrong with this country can be traced to him? He's fraying the very fabric of our national culture...

You just can't keep a crucified bunny down. Got pictures? Mace </font>

And now, just because I'm feeling a bit introspective, a melancholy singsong! The Dutchman's not the kind of man To keep his thumb jammed in the dam That holds his dreams in But that's a secret only Margaret knows When Amsterdam is golden in the morning Margaret brings him breakfast She believes him He thinks the tulips bloom beneath the snow He's mad as he can be but Margaret only sees that sometimes Sometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes Let us go to the banks of the ocean Where the walls rise above the Zuiderzee Long ago, I used to be a young man And dear Margaret remembers that for me The Dutchman still wears wooden shoes His cap and coat are patched with love That Margaret sewed in Sometimes he thinks he's still in Rotterdam He watches tugboats down canals And calls out to them when he thinks he knows the Captain 'Til Margaret comes to take him home again Through unforgiving streets That trip him though she holds his arm Sometimes he thinks that he's alone and calls her name Let us go to the banks of the ocean Where the walls rise above the Zuiderzee Long ago, I used to be a young man And dear Margaret remembers that for me The windmills whirl the winter in She winds his muffler tighter, They sit in the kitchen Some tea with whisky keeps away the dew He sees her for a moment, calls her name She makes the bed up humming some old love song She learned it when the tune was very new He hums a line or two, they hum together in the night The Dutchman falls asleep and Margaret blows the candle out. Let us go to the banks of the ocean Where the walls rise above the Zuiderzee Long ago, I used to be a young man And dear Margaret remembers that for me The Dutchman -Michael Smith

What are you worried about? I'm the one who actually has a crucified Easter Bunny in his apartment! We used to get complaints because the window directly across from the couch is directly in line with the living room window of the building next door, and the people there used to complain about the fact that they could see it whenever they watched television, and it...upset them.

Well, you know...it's all a bit dim to me, now. I mean, I remember that we spent a long time reading the various major gospels, in order to get everything 'just right'. I mean, if you're going to crucify the Easter Bunny, you don't want it to look like you did it one Sunday afternoon in a mean, drunken frenzy. You want everyone who sees it to realize you spent a certain amount of thoughtful, considered effort on it. I believe we put the nails through either 'paw', and we used one nail to drive both 'feet' together into the cross (this was awkward, as soft, plushy bunny toys have rather thick and plushy limbs). Afterwards, of course, we sat in the living room drinking orange juice and throwing dice, and toasting Pontius Pilate, my second favourite character from the Bible.

I can't believe I actually drove you to your door. I should have left you in a snowbank. I would have too, except that there are no snowbanks to be had. </font>

Ah, Peng. Your hideousness completes me. In your honour, I will, this Easter, dig out of my closet my Single Religious Symbol. A number of years ago, me and my buddy Bob went out and purchased a 3 foot high, soft plushy fur, pink bunny stuffed toy. We then gathered wood from my folks' garage, gathered thorny limbs from the thickets below their house, and bought square headed nails from the local hardware store. Bob insisted that they had to be square headed nails. We nailed the lumber into a cross, and then we crucified the Easter Bunny. We wove the thorns into a crown to grace it's head. We used the square headed nails. As a crowning touch, we used red modeling paint to paint each paw, the bunny's forehead, and a narrow slit in the side. We even used the Bible to check out which side the 'spear wound' should be on. And for many, many Aprils thereafter, I used to hang the damn thing over my couch. A Catholic friend came over one time and said: You know, not much offends me. But that offends me! And then he started laughing. I stopped putting it up every Spring when I reached the point that the Center for Disease Control stopped letting me have other people into my apartment. Didn't seem much point. But, Peng, in your honour, the Bunny rides again!