Seanachai

Don't you be calling me no Ho, Axe...

It would make me very happy to see a victory in a case like this. Keeping a good thought for all.

Emrys, fetch thy mare, and take me home...

I'm at work. Why aren't you drooling into your pillow? </font>

Why are you awake?

You have repaid all the faith that led me to welcome you to the 'Pool. I now hate you a lot.

You know, whenever I read any sort of continuous, run on posting by Goodalers, it makes me feel like I'm watching a pornographic remake of the Wizard of Oz. Shouldn't Mike the Wino be posting about now?

Perhaps a human sacrifice involving some West Coast bugger?

Where's that bloody Belgian...and what about that idiot Australian, Speedy? Must I do all the singing?!

Well, sod that all for a lark. Here's a singsong for all you lot. I like it. It's my New Year's wish and song for all of your miserable arses... Here's tae yir ain kith and kin here's tae your sisters and brothers those wi' the bonnie blue e'en and the hundreds and thousands of others of them that are happy and glad and those who would never say never rarely downcast and sad may you prosper forever and ever Here's tae the lads o' the fair and their lassies that rove in the morning here's tae the gullible pair never listening nor heeding the warning here's tae the lads in the band here's tae the Castelyards Cooper and tae the bonnie new bairn may the wind and the rain never stop her Here's tae the glass and the can here's tae the lassies that matter here's tae the rascal that ran and the stuff that ye tak' wi' your water here's tae the fool on the hill and his pals that are down in the valley that drink down a half wi' their gill never thinking nor checking the tally. Here's tae the boys on the park and them that head down to the paddock here's tae the song o' the lark and the lads that are netting the haddock may their days be long and fulfilled may their hours be happy and cheery and may all of your wishes come true and your hearty self never be weary. Here's tae yir ain kith and kin here's tae your sisters and brothers those wi' the bonnie blue e'en and the hundreds and thousands of others of them that are happy and glad and those who would never say never oh, rarely downcast and sad may you prosper forever and ever The Glass and the Can -Wolfstone

The drinking season? What the hell does that mean? Being awake?! You're an Australian. You don't have fecking seasons!

Sod that! I see you there, you bugger! Talk to me! </font>

Sod that! I see you there, you bugger! Talk to me!

Where the hell is everyone? Damned Aussies. Used to be no matter how late it got here in the Land of Arrogance, there were always at least Aussies to talk to...

No. I don't wish to bring down the 'tone' of the place. Do you lot know what my Christmas Eve ritual was, for many, many years? I used to settle into bed, and read Tolkien's 'Farmer Giles of Ham' all the way through. I didn't do it this year. I don't know why. I think I will do it on New Year's Eve, instead. To all those of you idjits that have children, I wish for them to have a new, and good year to grow up in. Perhaps it's hearing about how many children perished on the rim of the Indian Ocean this past week. I was talking with my friend tonight, the Mum of Small Emma, and she was going on about 'and the water comes, and you've got your child in one arm, and you're holding on to something with the other, and your child is swept away.' And then she started to cry. I had to go off to the bathroom for a long time. Mind, I was merely blowing my nose. I'm not tender-hearted, or anything. I've been ill. Damn gout. Makes me all edgy, and irritable. [ December 30, 2004, 02:48 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Well, Happy New Year to you, you damn, daft Dutch bugger. And to all the rest of you lot, too!

The Gout makes me angry. And fretful. And bored. Not as bored as most of you lot make me, but certainly it diminishes my enjoyment of the world. So I'm not going up North this weekend. Partly because putting a shoe on hurts (almost as much as reading some of the tedium posted in the name of 'taunting' here hurts), but mainly because you lot need direction. I was chatting with Moriarity tonight, and he said something very interesting. He told me that the depth to which I hated you all was a measure of my concern for you all. Okay, he didn't actually say that at all. I inferred it from his various other interesting statements. On the best day most of you insects have, you couldn't be as interesting as Moriarity. And I don't say that to build him up, but rather, to denigrate you as you so rightly deserve. So, since you're no more capable of weighing in on the side of righteousness and truth than a duck-billed platypus is of writing the Great American Novel, I shall simply proceed as it amuses me to proceed.

I've always wondered what the feck was wrong with you. Now I know. Oh, and Dalem? It hurts. It hurts a lot. I'm not going up north this weekend.

When you finally arrive, you little lackwit, you'll realize that hate is the sincerest form of a hug, and vice versa. Do you think I would bother hating those who're not significant to me? Most of you don't raise a ripple on either my intellect, nor my emotions. The day I hate you, lad, will be the day you've arrived. Until then, don't presume to understand hatred. Ponce about making angry faces at the other new arrivals, but leave 'hatred' to your betters. After all, 'hatred is simply love with it's back turned'. You've yet to reach the level of 'annoying with a right good will'. Hatred is quite beyond you.

No, you idiot. I've modeled my entire life on Captain Renault, the Claude Rains character. You can only count to two when you've mittens on, right? Not that any of you Aussies are ever manly enough to live in a climate that calls for mittens.

Was it Kerchberger?

It's so quiet, here. So...peaceful. Oh, there's the 'mad' smilies, and the endless references to 'tnt'. But otherwise, this place is rather like a monastery for people who were always chosen last for childhood sports. I can see why you 'Goodalers' stay here. Dribble a little, shout a bit, and periodically check the front of your trousers to see if they're wet. It's like a little evolutionary cul-de-sac for individuals who couldn't compete on a bigger stage. I suppose it's impressive enough that you can bear your young alive, rather than piling up a nest of rotting verbiage in the hopes that it'll cause a 'hatch' of new members. Pity about the smell, of course.

It's so quiet, here. So...peaceful. Oh, there's the 'mad' smilies, and the endless references to 'tnt'. But otherwise, this place is rather like a monastery for people who were always chosen last for childhood sports. I can see why you 'Goodalers' stay here. Dribble a little, shout a bit, and periodically check the front of your trousers to see if they're wet. It's like a little evolutionary cul-de-sac for individuals who couldn't compete on a bigger stage. I suppose it's impressive enough that you can bear your young alive, rather than piling up a nest of rotting verbiage in the hopes that it'll cause a 'hatch' of new members. Pity about the smell, of course.

I long to go to Slovenia...and give you a right good kicking. Actually, I have friends who're Slovenian. Second generation, of course. They live in Ohio. Lots of bloody Slovenes in Ohio. Ohio went Red, of course.

I more see myself playing a part in Wuthering Heights, as Kate Bush. *skips down the road singing* Mace </font>