Seanachai

I anticipate hanging upside down from a lamppost: Hubris

Ah, yes, the 'Rules', I suppose. Well, right now I'm not after being interested in 'The Rules'. No, I"m after making a completely horrible and hubristic 'Power Play'. I'm after restarting the Thread...again. I am not accepting of Squire 37mm's decision to restart the Thread. Why? Call it vanity (cue 'Tim the Enchanter. Or rather 'Time, the Disenchanter'). This morning, I suffered a Diminishment of Self In the Universe. I suffered a 'depiphany', as a friend of mine has characterized it. I realized that I was 'old, foolish, and useless', as it were (cue 'Tim the Enchanter caparisoned as a Hare Krishna with a tambourine'. Well, actually, one of those strange little 'prayer drums' that you beat by rotating them rapidly and causing the pellet on a string to flick back and forth). We have had 'Squires' before that began a Thread out of turn, and gone with it. All 'right thinking folk' will support 37mm's effort. So, I ask Squire 37mm to yield to me the next Thread. steely, if somewhat watery-eyed gaze I await the verdict of my peers. Not since the 'Meeks Apostasy' have I attempted such a thing.

This may be a veiled reference to BFC's upcoming decision on allowing me to decide who gets to live and who gets to die. Of course, it could be about simple game industry stuff, but I'm betting some of you buggers should be sweating it.

That's..that's beautifully incomprehensible, even to me, and I almost understand Aussie! Goanna, Eldest Australian, is gone. May his name be forever washed clean with fresh chunder. I call upon the Justicar to acknowledge the need for a new 'Eldest Aussie'. I propose that Mace, the only Aussie Knight born, and never made, shall hereafter be declared: Eldest Australian. Time for all the Eldest to go walkabout again. Time to renew the World. Lots of 'new ones' here, Shaw fella. I'm after thinking on a whole new 'Crush All Australians' crusade. That'll undoubtedly bring in a new rush of Aussies. That bugger REVS is starting to get to me. We're going to need some useless bugger to take them in hand. Cold and lonely the Wasteland has been, lately. Winter comes to us, as Summer is coming to them. I'm for naming Mace 'Eldest'. Boo!, me thuggish henchman. Kick Rleete in the fork. Hiram, first Squire of House Bard! Kick that bugger 37mm in the arse! I fear lest human voices wake me, and I drown. Everything slips through these cold fingers Like trying to hold water, trying to hold sand Close your eyes and make a wish, and listen to the singer One more round, bartender, pour a double if you can. Where was I? Ah, yes. Shaw, we must talk. Where are the Quests? Oh, none of your 'find the first incidence of where Morse defined the American Spirit', or 'provide the link where Meeks declared apostasy and spit upon all lesser shades of authority'. No. I mean, real quests! We've got two Squires awaiting descent to the status of Knighthood! How can we propel them down the stairs? I propose that, having achieve Squirehood...Squireship...I propose the useless little buggers take the oldest path to Knighthood. Beyond the endless bickering, idiocy, and posturing of the Cesspool, awaits — the Wasteland. Beyond the neon glow of stupidity that routinely turns the Peng Challenge Thread into a bar on the beach-side of the main drag, there is...Nothingness, lit with a dim fire in the distance. Send them out, Justicar. Send them out to confront judgment. Send them out. Quest. Walkabout. Judgment. Send them out. Send them first to me. And I will send them to the Other Ones. Anyone can post here. Anyone does. Set them a post. The Fool will show them the path.

It means that the Empire upon which the sun will never set is now deep in darkness, and an American protectorate courtesy of Tony Blair*... *Well known Hollywood hairdresser

Sans the Brit Pop Group, I've been to parties like that. The 'art form' is the chundering that occurs at the end. Ahhh, good times. Mace </font>

Seanachai, you're fail in the Zen of the Aussie language! The correct saying is of course 'You lot couldn't organize a piss up in a brewery'. Mace </font>

Do a transfusion from the regulars. That'll fill up a case, at the least...

You sots couldn't organize a bottle party in a brewery...

Oh, look, the Aussie has a pancake on his head...

Kick the Aussie bugger in the fork, Berli! Bloody Aussies...

Just another pushpin in the 'Aussie's make up a fecking language with no basis in reality' bulletin board, you bugger. What you're saying is that a goodly portion of your 'distilled' language is the result of a need to make your bloody song lyrics sound less than idiotic. Hideous. It's like a Brit Pop Group got together and after a night of whisky, beer and indiscriminate internecine fornication declared that they'd created a new 'art form'.

That's a VW Microbus, ya' Nong! Otherwise known as a 'Drunken Hippo'.

It occurs to me that here, on this Tuesday night of the Patch, that you lot are just as useless as you've ever been. But I forgive you. In honour of the fact that the better part of you couldn't pour piss out of a boot if the directions were printed on the bottom of the heel (cut to footage of 37mm holding a boot upright directly above his head, reading the instructions on the bottom of the heel, and the inevitable result when his lips stop moving...), I give you a Jolly Singsong! 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 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? [ November 16, 2004, 11:28 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

To an Australian, the time needed to open one beer after the last one was finished counts as 'nearly eternity'.

Yeah, what the useless Aussie said!

Link doesn't work for the Mac version of the game. Yet another way we're being marginalized and driven down by the autocrats...

My income is still not commensurate with my desires. When is BFC going to address this, is what I want to know.

How could anyone be afraid of Kiwis? They're like the Brown Barbaloots in their brown barbaloot suits of the International Community...

Oh, no. Any association with Croda demeans anyone, it's not limited to being a member of his vile House. And that's Sir Croda to you, you prat!

You are never alone, stikkypixie. We are always with you.

Good, a scale of affection. It places me nicely. I missed you too, Dave.

Aussies fear me. They've stopped lining up. Word must have spread. Also, I haven't been drunk enough lately to be able to communicate with them. Hard to believe, I know, but I've been busy, and broke.

I don't think we should class Goodalers as SSNs. I mean, not Knights or anything, but certainly not SSNs. Sort of a professional courtesy thing. And I though Snarker made it to Squire?