Seanachai

You know, you can walk into Lars's bathroom to take a piss and reach right into the toilet tank to get a fresh beer? He even keeps ice in there so they're nice and cool. Hell, for that matter, you can reach in between the cushions or under any piece of furniture in the place and come up with a bottle of something.

What exactly was it he found gamey? Did he resent infantry up against armour, or armour being forced to cope with infantry in an urban setting? Or some other factor?

I am at work. You don't think I'd be posting this early in the morning if I wasn't, do you? I mean, unless I hadn't yet been to sleep...

As the only ones sober, if nothing else. Wasn't there a thread a few months ago about this sort of thing, where several of the grogs wrote in about small unit actions conducted by mixed national forces? I thought there were at least a handful where Brits and Americans fought in the same action jointly. Where's Dorosh? He's always going on about this sort of thing.

Yes, Boo, good, good. Open yourself to the anger. Open yourself to the Dark Side...

Why should I? You're not truly 'real' to me...

No matter which side your play, nor what force mix you choose in a game of CMAK, the important thing is to always shoot the Australian troops.

Yeah, that was impressive, Speedy. Christ, the 'Holocaust Denier' and 'Neo-Nazi Recruiting' threads have lasted longer. Try and reconstruct the ingredient list that inspired it. Hate to see a formula like that pass from the world, you loon.

Ah, where to begin. Michael, we live in degenerate times. There was a time when a man could expect to receive an honest day's hatred for an honest day's posting of opinion, gibberish, and satirical abuse. But no longer. What went wrong? The world changed, Michael. It wasn't that we became less opinionated, or annoying, or arrogant. It's simply that those who despise us have become...smaller. We remain the towering figures of Board arrogance we were, and always shall be. But those who show up to dislike us now are, all too often, children or fools. Receiving their taunts is like being licked to death by kittens. It's an unseemly way to go. It demeans us. Why, I hear that even Andreas has been seen standing by the motorway holding the sign 'Will Garner Hatred For Food'. That's no way to spend one's declining posting years. In part, I blame the General Forum for leaching away the hatred that is rightfully ours. Opening up a Roman Circus of fools could only dissipate and dilute the bile that could more appropriately be showered on individuals like you and I. What could we do? We went to the General Forum. But amidst the cacophony of utter, sodding stupidity that it became, who could even take note of how much more deserving of hatred we were? When you have the posturings of a Jon J Rambo, a Gunslingr, a Sergeant Bevis, who will take note of those who put some actual thought into being hated? No one, Michael. Why read Shakespeare, when Reality TV beckons so stridently? Who can even hear a call to Forum Elitism when it's drowned out by voices screaming that their diaper is full? I take some heart, Grog Dorosh, in separating the caterwauling of the 'politicos' from the rest of the GF. And so should you. I thought that characterization very unfair, Michael. Both in attitude, demeanor, and actual pose, I thought you much more reminiscent of 'Il Duce'. The 'Himmler' remark was tawdry. I mean, you're a vicious little dictator who will run roughshod over those who oppose you, but you're certainly not a cry-baby genocidal git who faints at the sight of blood and who's only desire for power is derived from the need to overcome being chosen last in team sports. Mussolini, perhaps. Himmler, never. Play fair, 'Breakthrough'. Our Michael is a dictator, not an 'also ran' cream puff who probably retired to bed each night holding Hitler's underwear. Not that I've noticed. Of course, I don't read all your posts. I need to eat and sleep, occasionally, and there's only so much time in any given 72 hour period. I may have missed your call to genocide, but I do try and keep up. Within the limits of human endurance, of course. Never think it, Michael. The gods know I hate you. I can't be alone, nor the only one who is worthy. Live in hope, Grog Dorosh. Michael, like you now, I despaired. I thought 'no matter how much irrelevant gibberish I post, now matter how often I pop into a thread and simply confuse or annoy people, no matter how much common sense I display regarding the relevancy of us all, I'm either ignored, or shrugged off, or attract only the attention of idiots whose hatred wouldn't satisfy the needs of government bureaucracy or Microsoft customer support. I felt...invisible. Unappreciated. Like Cyrano, I paraded my panache before the crowd, and was regarded with either confusion, or dismissal. All too often, I felt that my efforts were not merely misunderstood, but seen as 'irrelevant'. I even went so far as to go to 'other forums'. Do you know what I got, Michael? I got Gaylord. But I was wrong, Michael. Hatred, like the seasons, is eternal. And like the Spring, its time will come again. Cultivate patience, Michael. Hatred is a garden, and nothing blooms before its time. Stay the course. Ask yourself, as I have 'Am I not worthy of hatred?' You are, I am, and hatred will be ours again. I will study him in more detail. Remember, Michael, that we did not achieve hatred overnight. Why should our Mortal Enemies spring onto the scene like Athena from Zeus's forehead? And now, I'm for bed. To dream, as all who long for hatred, of that Mortal Enemy who will make all things right. Who will bring everything that I am, and have done, into focus. Who will vindicate me. Who will validate me. Who will complete me. And who will give my long, long struggle the meaning that it deserves.

Alright, young man! That's enough of that. Someone's getting a time out if they don't stop all this sulking and put on their happy face. Christ, that even made me gag, just writing it. ROIGHT! SHAW, YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MAN! YOU WILL ACKNOWLEDGE MY BLESSING, YOU WILL ADJUST YOUR ATTITUDE, YOU WILL STAND UP STRAIGHT, ZIP YOUR BLOODY FLY, AND STOP EYE-BALLING ME! ARE YOU HEARING ME, SHAW, YOU PONCING GIT? WELL, ARE YOU?! Did I hear a hearty 'Yes, Seanachai', from you Shaw? Because I believe that I should be hearing a hearty 'Yes, Seanachai' from you, Shaw! Now, perhaps you feel that you've been 'treated unjustly'. Well, look here, Shaw. Look at my pointing finger. See the tears? Can you see them? No? Not one pearly drop, poised like salty dew, quivering below my eye on me cheek? Nothing? THAT'S BECAUSE I CAN'T BE HAVING WITH ANY OF THIS, YOU BIG GIRL'S BLOUSE! In all my born days, I've never heard such a lot of bloody whinging! I demand, demand, do you hear me, that you leave off this unseemly sniveling and perform the duties of your office. What sort of example are you setting for the Serfs? Look at Wisbech Lad over there? Do you see the speculative look in his eye? Can't you just hear the gears turning? 'Hmm, all one has to do is act wounded, and throw a fit, and you'll get all sorts of attention and affirmation'! Damn it, Joe! The only thing that stands between us and having to give the fecking SSNs 'hugs and kisses' is that we all do our duty! You've gone soft, man. I can only assume that serious alcohol poisoning or some sort of poxy 'mid-life crisis' is to blame. A man of your position, of your stature shouldn't descend to this need for...for...assurance! Acknowledgment! For bloody 'coddling'! Now, I want to see you shake off this sudden, unmanly concern for 'affirmation', and get out there and do your duty. What is it, lad? Troubles at home? I like to think that I'm approachable. That, no matter how shameful the problem, that I'm ready to hear about it. Wasn't I there for Dalem when he went 'gay' and got a cat? Didn't I listen to RLeete's endless pissing and moaning about the 'duties of fatherhood'? Haven't I spent night after night bailing Lars out of the county lockup (that reminds me, it's just about time to get offline to call the bail bondsman...it is Thursday after bar-time, isn't it?). I'm wounded, lad, that rather than simply telling me what's bothering you, that you're making such an issue of this whole 'blessing' business.

Sorry, that's cheating. It's important that, somewhere around turn 5 or the penultimate beer, you completely forget what it was you were supposed to be accomplishing, what you're facing, whether you get reinforcements, etc. It's the 'human factor' in making sure that the game remains true to the actual nature of warfare...

So every setup you've ever sent me was simply the result of your having a 'bad day', rather than being afraid to face me in honest combat? And, yes, I'm still unhappy about that last slaughter, you tit.

Dammit, Redwolf! Stop being so analytical! Mock Boo, as he deserves, and have done with it. Given all I've gotten from your posts, have you learned nothing from me in return, you German bugger?! Mock him! Revile him! Belittle him! You know you want to! I demand that you stop taking this analytical approach to the game engine, and call Boo a whiny big girls blouse for having had to work so hard to kill four Tigers with Shermans!

Hmm. I think this is simply a 'Is This a Bug, Or Just an Opportunity For Me To Boast About How I Beat the AI in the Face of All Adversity' threads. clap, clap, clap Yes, Boo. Move the empties around once again to show us how you defeated the evil, war-mongering AI despite the fact that it leaped upon you from cover all unexpected, like!

But the sense of humour. I'm a big fan of our Jason, but there are times when the rest of us are labouring over his sense of humour like the local Women's Auxiliary Corps attempting CPR on a practice dummy. Quick, Jason! Come in here and say something biting!

Well, then, you can do what you always do with pimples, and BITE ME. </font>

What are you gibbering about? I stand up, as all right minded folk should, for the concept of carnivals of hedonistic excess (sounds as much like the Vatican as the Republican Party, actually), and for some reason you are so fixated that only that one, rather sad and sorry carnival of hedonistic excess occurs to you. I'm not simply standing up for current carnivals of hedonistic excess, Boo. I'm standing up for all future carnivals of hedonistic excess, as well.

None of that sort of degenerate, defeatist talk! When you turn your back on a carnival of hedonistic excess, you turn your back on life.

It's a bug when it happens to others. When it happens to you, it becomes a feature...

You are never alone, Ronn. We are always with you. Now, why do you want to be able to use Combat Mission with your AK-47?

It's still better than Seanachai's. Do you know any Madonna songs? </font>

Joe, as I was explaining to the good folks at Qwest tonight, I'm actually a day short and a dollar late...times some large integer. But, my dear Justicar, from whence springs this show of pique? That I did not lump you together for blessing with the hoi polloi? Did you want to share your post with the Swedes and Aussies? No. You received your own 'Post of Blessing'. And, yes, it was a few days coming. Is that not because of the need to make sure it was...unique and applicable? Did you not also receive individual and unique blessings from both Peng and Berli? Were not the eyes of the Cesspool entire focused on the Blessing of the Justicar? Give over thy anger, oh Shaw. Leave off these pretenses of sullenness, and know that on that day of days, when the Great Scorer attends to what is written beside thy name, that that Blessing by myself will stand you in better stead than all the good deeds and achievements of your life. For with that Blessing in your hand, the very Powers that work the Universe as though it were their own model train set shall take note, and bow in solemn conclave and acknowledgment. The tick tock of entropy itself will form words for those who can hear: "Here, wots this then? Says he's got a blessing." "Don't they all." "Ooh, give it a look. It's from Seanachai. And there's even riders from Peng and Berli." "Never a one. Let's see it then." "Coo-ee. He's even blessed his groin and teeth. Blessed him even in the act of defecation." "Bloody good blessing. You don't get blessings like that, anymore." "Too right. What'll we do, then?" "Wellll...I think it's gotta be Houris, single malt, and roistering for all eternity, then." "How many Houris?" "It's Seanachai, Peng, and Berli?" "Yup." "Better let him choose his own, then. And he sets his own invite list, too." "Done, and done." "Here, his Permanent Record says he golfed!" tense silence "Let it go. I mean, look at this bit - says he's to be blessed even in the stables. And by all the holy virgins. That's gotta buy him a dispensation even for having golfed." "Roight. Not many blessings like that, to be sure." "Bloody A right. Okay, who's next, then?" "Ummm....MrSpkr." "Oh, joy! I'll get the charcoal briquettes and the battery acid, then, shall I?"

Sorry, Mr. Boggs, but I am the very model of a major modern gentleman. It occurred to me that I have not seen a setup from you. After a certain amount of rather half-hearted investigation, I discovered that you are waiting for me to choose sides in something Rune sent to me. I hadn't paid that much attention to what Rune sent me. He sends me things all the time. Sometimes it's hard to tell why, or what the point of them is. For a while I worked under the theory that he was a member of some Voudoun cult, and that his attachments were the equivalent of finding black cockerels or monkey paws on my doorstep every morning. In light of our promised match, I have dug out his latest votive offering, and will shortly send you my choice of forces. I imagine that you will soon find yourself arrayed against me as Papa Legba, while I meet you on the field of battle as Baron Samedi. Until then, I wish you to know that am fond of you, Boggs. Your existence, like that of the Justicar himself, reassures me. That very Justicar who I predict will soon be over his 'mad', and proudly strut the rules and rantings of his position before us once again, reaffirmed in his mission when he realizes the singular honour I did him by converting an actual order of Excommunication over into a blessing of himself. Until then, bide patiently, my dear Boggs.

Macey, I can't help but feel that a highly trained mixologist would be wasted on someone like you who sticks a funnel in his mouth and pours beer into it with one hand, and whisky in with the other. In fact, pretty much everything is wasted on you except wastedness itself. And even that could be more equitably applied, say, to a small Third World country...

Has to be. Posts exactly like him. A broken heart is like a Nazi And a Nazi's like the blues The fuerher that you have The fuerher you have to lose... (He Would Have Loved You) More Than Eva Braun -Danny O'Keefe