Seanachai

He's got a point. Bash the Belgians. They're getting uppity, lately. And he noticed the Cheery Waffles, but not the Peng Challenge Thread? We've gotta get a new PR whore... Oh, wait. That's usually me. I may need replacing.

Now, now. I find Seanachai rather amusing in a pathetic and child-like way. That is, he has a pathetic and child-like urge to displease. </font>

I had been neglecting you lot, lately. I thought you might be pining for me.

Gaylord, you only become insufferably annoying when you hold these little conversations with yourself.

Whatever happened to Brylcream, that's what I want to know...

How does he keep them from getting tangled in his hair? :confused: </font>

Drop Bears, by their very nature, have to lower themselves all the time. And after a few VBs, you can't get a Drop Bear to shut up.

A Drop Bear, a Rabbi, and an Australian go into a bar. The Aussie tells the bartender, 'Give me a Vic Bitter!', and the bartender does. The Rabbi tells the Bartender, 'Give me a Vic Bitter'! And the bartender does. The Drop Bear says 'Give me a Fosters'! and the bartender does. The bartender says: We don't get many Drop Bears in here. And the Drop Bear leaps up on the bar, leaps high into the air, and lands on top of the bartender's head, killing him instantly. Then he says 'With beer like that, I'm not surprised...'

Drop Bears are mythical, Bush Rangers! Besides, everyone knows Drop Bears aren't dangerous if you don't make significant eye contact with them.

puzzled silence What does that even mean? You're right, Dorosh. I can't tell if it's a dearth of useful hate and anger, or some sort of weird language barrier.

Which athlete are you currently indentured to, you foot licking pervert?

Killing the lot of you wouldn't justify more than a badly rhymed limerick, let alone an epic.

Oh, and Snarker, this thread title is the worst, the very worst. 'Painful rectal itch' bad. Refrain from starting another thread until you get your money back from the 'Can You Title This Thread? If So, You Could Earn 1,000s of $s As An Internet Halfwit' School of Writing that you found on the inside of a matchbook. In fact, don't get out of your bunk at the Institution until the bedsores require serious medical attention. And then pour lemon juice over them before pulling on your stained and tattered underwear. This is a seriously awful thread title, Snarker. Even you should have been able to realize that.

You Goodalers are weak. Weak as water! Five AM, and not a single post from any of you. Too busy sleeping and cuddling your treasured collection of soft toys, no doubt, rescued from the garage sales and rubbish heaps your parents consigned them too when they finally got you to move out of the basement and into an apartment with some marginally employed cousin who needs a roommate to make rent. Of course a few of you, like Axe2121 are trying to nuzzle up to the missus who's murmuring "Not tonight, honey, I've taken a lover". And Mike the Wino is lying on a bathroom rug (face down, so he doesn't aspirate the vomit), mumbling his way through the lyrics of 'Dancing Queen'. Dave H, of course, is curled into the fetal position and whimpering, contemplating whether people will find out he religiously attends Star Trek conventions caparisoned as a 'Vulcan', while Snarker is trying to remember if he let all the cats out, and designing cute hats for them in his head. Smope is trying to figure out how to work a bic lighter in the bathtub, and Master Goodale himself is deep in the throws of his recurring dream of waking up as a cockroach and having to learn German in an effort to make his life look significant, rather than simply annoying. Keke, is, of course, twitching and and snorting while he dreams that he's chasing Russians with a gigantic dill pickle, shouting 'eat me, eat me.' If Lewis Carroll had plunged through the Looking Glass into this thread, he'd never stop throwing up.

Wasn't it Berli who taught Howard Dean to scream that primal scream? It did have a sort of Jarhead je ne sais quoi to it. </font>

And now, a jolly Canadian singsong for the Goodalers: On sleepless nights down in the laundrymat Watching the clothes, ghosts playing tit for tat We light a joint, talk about our old friends Dead or alive our stories never end Turn it over,look on the back page There's Johnny GoGo looks like he'll never age Sits in the Park House, drinking beer and landing flies Just after noon, waiting for the trouble boys. That's just the way it is here No less and no more severe That's just the way it is here So pull up your socks and lean on your peers Did you hear about Hank? Booze rotted out his liver Gray and depressed, He gave his wife the finger What about his kid, What about his ex-wife Ask themselves the same thing when they turn out the lights I still remember the first time I saw him sing 2 black eyes, from a knuckle and a biker's ring climbing up the speakers, hanging from The Balla rafters Hamilton punk king swinging to his own disaster That's just the way it is here No less and no more severe That's just the way it is here So pull up your socks and lean on your peers Pattie couldn't make it She jumped right out the window 3 floors down cuz they cut off her cable Dan took the same fall Fire ball on Hunter Street Landed on the sidewalk Looked just like a chicken wing It was a heartfelt night it was raining Tim told us the whole story Hanging at the gas station I never wanted to hear that description But now I know what is and isn't fiction That's just the way it is here No less and no more severe That's just the way it is here So pull up your socks and lean on your peers Lean On Your Peers -Blackie and the Rodeo Kings

Axe, adjust your kilt. Your denim boxers are showing, you git.

The Seanachai-Soddball match has resumed. Humiliation of someone has once again become imminent.

Not right? NOT RIGHT?! Just when did you decide I had become a liberal? Not right... sheesh </font>

Mommy, make the bad man stop...

mumble, mumble bloody Aussies...mumble Now, as I meant to say earlier, how 'bout a jolly singsong? When I was a miller in Fife, Losh! I thought that the sound o' the happer Said, ``Tak' hame a wee flow to your wife, To help to mak' brose to your supper.'' Then my conscience was narrow and pure, But someway by random it rackit; For I lifted twa neivefu' or mair, While the happer said, ``Tak' it, man tak' it.'' Then hey for the mill and the kiln, The garland and gear for my cogie, And hey for the whisky and gill, That washes the dust frae my craigie. Although it's been lang in repute For rogues to mak' rich by deceiving, Yet I see that it disna weel suit Honest men to begin to the thieving. For my heart it gaed dunt upon dunt, Oh, I thought ilka dunt it wad crack it; Sae I flang frae my neive what was in't, Still the happer said, ``Tak' it, man, tak' it.'' A man that's been bred to the plough, Might be deav'd wi' its clamorous clapper; Yet there's few but would suffer the sough, After kenning what's said by the happer. I whiles thought it scoff'd me to scorn, Saying, ``Shame, is your conscience no chackit?'' But when I grew dry from a horn, It chang'd aye to ``Tak' it, man, tak' it.'' The smugglers whiles cam' wi' their pocks, 'Cause they kent that I likit a bicker, Sae I bartered whiles wi' the gowks, Gied them grain for a sowp o' their liquor. I had lang been accustomed to drink, And aye when I purposed to quat it, That thing wi' its clappertie clink Said aye to me, ``Tak' it, man, tak' it.'' But the warst thing I did in my life, Nae doot but ye'll think I was wrang o't; Od! I tauld a bit bodie in Fife A' my tale, and he made a bit sang o't. I have aye had a voice a' my days, But for singin' I ne'er gat the knack o't; Yet I try whyles, just thinking to please The greedy, wi' ``Tak' it, man, tak' it.'' Now, miller and a' as I am, This far I can see through the matter; There's men mair notorious to fame, Mair greedy than me o' the muter. For 'twad seem that the hale race o' men, Or, wi' safety, the hauf we may mak' it, Ha'e some speaking happer within, That said to them ``Tak' it, man, tak' it.''

Even Cesspoolers know it's 'Jamoomba', you tit.

Redwolf, as regards this benchmarking stuff: When will I know if I've won or not, and what prizes will be distributed?

Every one a masareti...Boom, Boom!

Oh, thank you, Mace. I just finished the last weld on my synapse net by-passing the portion of the brain you inserted that image into. Fortunately I have such a large cognitive center that I won't be negatively impacted by the loss of that zone. Now, who's for a game of golf? ... .... .... Dear God, Mace, what have you done to me, you bastard!