Seanachai

Oh, a Kate Bush jolly singsong! Here's my favourite... 'Bang!' goes another kanga On the bonnet of the van. "See the light ram through the gaps in the land." Many an Aborigine's mistaken for a tree 'Til you near him on the motorway And the tree begin to breathe. "See the light ram through the gaps in the land." ("Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha") Coming in with the golden light In the morning. Coming in with the golden light Is the New Man. Coming in with the golden light Is my dented van. Woomera. "Dree-ee-ee-ee-ee- A-a-a-a-a- M-m-m-m-m- Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti- I-i-i-i-i- Me-me-me-me-me," "Dree-ee-ee-ee-ee-" Woomera. "A-a-a-a-a- M-m-m-m-m- Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti- I-i-i-i-i- Me-me-me-me-me. "Dree-ee-ee-ee-ee- A-a-a-a-a- M-m-m-m-m- Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-" The civilised keep alive The territorial war. "See the light ram through the gaps in the land." Erase the race that claim the place And say we dig for ore, Or dangle devils in a bottle And push them from the Pull of the Bush. "See the light ram through the gaps in the land." You find them in the road. "See the light bounce off the rocks to the sand." In the road. Coming in with the golden light In the morning. Coming in with the golden light With no warning. Coming in with the golden light We bring in the rigging. Dig, dig, dig, dig away. "Dree-ee-ee-ee-ee- A-a-a-a-a- M-m-m-m-m- Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti- I-i-i-i-i- Me-me-me-me-me," "Dree-ee-ee-ee-ee-" Woomera. "A-a-a-a-a- M-m-m-m-m- Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti- I-i-i-i-i- Me-me-me," "Dree-ee-ee-ee-ee- A-a-a-a-a- M-m-m-m-m-" Woomera. "Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti- I-i-i-i-i- Me-me-me-me-me," "Dree-ee-ee-ee-ee- A-a-a-a-a- M-m-m-m-m- Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti- I-i-i-i-i-" Woomera. "Me-me-me-me-me." Ma-ma-many an Aborigine's mistaken for a tree ("La, la, oo-ooh!") "See the light ram through the gaps in the land." You near him on the motorway And the tree begin to breathe. Erase the race that claim the place And say we dig for ore. "See the light ram through the gaps in the land." Dangle devils in a bottle And push them from the Pull of the Bush. "See the sun set in the hand of the man." "Bang!" goes another kanga On the bonnet of the van. "See the light bounce off the rocks to the sand." You find them in the road. "See the light ram through the gaps in the land." In the road. "See the light." ("Push 'em from the") Pull of the Bush. "See the light bounce off the rocks to the sand." ("Push 'em from the") Pull of the Bush. "See the sun set in the hand of the man." ("Oh, re mikayina!") The Dreaming -Kate Bush [ August 26, 2004, 08:34 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Oh, Joy incarnate. I shall spend Saturday night with the Minnesota Miscreants. Wait a mo'... They're a lot of pillocking tossers! Oh, well. They make me happy. So I shall recite to you all a story: harp music throughout Now it's said and said truly of the hero Finn MacCool that if one day goes by without his name being mentioned the world will surely come to an end. So judging by the ways things have been going its lucky that I'm mentioning him here tonight Finn was a great hero all together and it was said of Finn MacCool's generosity that his house was the stranger's home and if the leaves of the forests of the world were red gold and the waters of the world white silver Finn would have given them all away. Well Finn was hunting once he was very fond of hunting, and why wouldn't he love it, his own nephews were hunting dogs under enchantment boys under enchantment as hounds, you know the greatest hunting dogs in the world they were and their names were Bran and Skilaine But its not the story of Bran and Skilaine that I'm telling you tonight — 'though I do know it Finn was out hunting one time, and he had with him one of his greatest friends a man by the name of Conan Maoile That means Conan the Bald They called him Conan the bald for he had no hair on his head but had that much on his back and his legs and his arms that they used to shave him once a week and all the stockings and gloves of all of the heroes that Finn had with him ever wore were made out of wool from Conan Maoile. Conan Maoile — he never saw an open door but he thought it his duty to walk through it he never saw a man frown but he thought it his duty to strike him but it's not the story of Conan that I'm telling you tonight. Finn had with him this time also another great hero by the name Diarmuid of the Love Spot. and Diarmuid had a mark on his face and he had to keep that covered with his hat For if any woman saw it she would fall passionately in love with him. And he was one of the greatest hunters in the world but he would never hunt wild boar but it's not the story of Diarmuid that I'm telling you. These three men they were hunting one time In the island of Erin Erin that is in the Clyde God bless and keep it for ever Maybe they were hunting the white stag of Erin but whatever they were hunting they did not catch it but the dark of the night caught them hungry, weary and far from home. They saw a wee light twinkling in the distance twinkling and winking away across the moors and they made their way towards that light then knocked on that door... and the door creaked open and there on the steps was an old man with long white hair down to the heels of his feet and long white eyebrows like brushes, he looked up to them and he said 'Oh I see you standing there in the pouring rain but you'll just behave yourselves like gentlemen if you're going to come into my house I'll have no shenanigans from the likes of you." Well Conan looked at Finn and Finn looked at Diarmuid and very surprised they were to hear themselves spoken to so harshly by this little sprig of man sprig of an old man and them the highest heroes in the land and they followed him meek enough into his front room. And there was a wee white goat frisking about that room and the old man said will you just tether this white goat to that hook on the wall and he handed Conan a long grass rope and he left the room. Well Conan tried to tether that white goat but he couldn't get near it Diarmuid tried and Finn himself after him but not one of them did better then the other till at last the old man came back into the room and he tethered that goat as easy as you take one step after another. It was at this time that a beautiful young woman came into the room as well a very very beautiful young woman, and not to make too long a tale out of it for her hair was like the midnight and her eyes were like the morning, not to make too long a tale of it they were all smitten with love for her — or something like it. And Diarmuid, whom all women loved, said to her 'bright pulse of my heart and apple of my whole understanding how can I ever pass one lonely hour of my life in the absence of your sweet company?' and other such things that young men say on these occasions. But with an angry flash of her eyes she spun on her heels and left the room saying 'truly once I was once your's and little enough you cared for me then' well she slammed the door behind her and was gone and there's little enough sleep they got that night for pure curiosity. And in the morning before they took their leave Finn said to the old man 'Sir, why was it that you could tether the white goat that none of us could catch and why was it you spoke so sternly to us, the highest heroes in the land and why was it that beautiful young woman spoke so harshly to Diarmuid, saying that once she had been his and he had cared not for her then, for truly neither he nor we have ever seen her before and what is her name, at all? And the old man said 'Her name — is Youth and there's little enough that any of you cared for her while she was yours until she was gone and the name of the wee white goat is the World and there's none can bind that but me. and my name — is Death. Finn In the Old Man's House -Robin Williamson

Leeo has shown us all the way. Let us now review our blessings. Bless the Cesspoolers, Oh Thou That May or May Not Be. Bless them each singly, and together. Bless their many dependents, including girlfriends, boyfriends, wives, children, beloved relatives, pets, bartenders, waitresses, and bail-bondsmen. Bless them as a group of annoying individuals, and as the industry that they represent. Bless the songs they love, the spirits they drink, the food they eat, and the thistles. Bless their taunts,their curses, their mockery, and their laughter. Bless the Squires, the Knights, the Seniour Knights, and, most of all, dear Potentially Holy Almighty, bless the SSNs, without whom all of this would not have been necessary. Bless the Goodalers. Bless the Outerboarders. Bless the Moderators, who have caused us to lie down with the lamb, and the lion, and who show up on cue to clean up after both. Bless, by dint of your strength and ultimate goodness, the Australians. Bless the sodding Kiwis. Accept, Oh Ultimate Being, the blessing of the fecking Finns. Bless the 'Freedom Nation' that was formerly known as France. Bless the Argentineans. Bless the sodding Limeys. Bless the Canadians, eh? Bless the South Africans. Bless the Spanish. Bless the Belgians. Bless those bastards, the Dutch. Bless the Asians (sorry, Oh Lord, but bless them en masse, as we Westerners can't tell them apart). Bless the goddamn Swedes. Also, possibly, the Norwegians and the Danes. Bless the Poles. Bless the Latvians. Bless All the Peoples of the World. And Bless the Americans, Lord, because otherwise they'll send an airstrike right up you holy bum, because they're the World's Only SuperPower. They, if anyone does, needs your blessing most of all. Bless them each and every one, Oh Lord. Bless the Irish whisky. And the Single Malt Scotch, and the Rum, and the Vodka. Bless the beer, Oh Lord, and keep it coming! Bless the wine (well, hell, you always bless the wine, now don't you?). Bless Boggs' peace pipe, and bless the Bo Tree, Oh Lord. Bless the Ladies, Lord. Be they tough as nails, or soft as a prayer. Or both together. And they always are. Bless the soldiers who fight for what they believe, and bless those who believe that soldiers should never fight again. And bless the idea that one day they'll all meet for a really great barbecue and kegger. Bless those who believe in you, Oh Lord, and those who don't, and those who're a bit conflicted on both points, but believe that it never hurts to believe in something, even if all they believe in is belief. And finally, Supreme Inconsistency and Possible Master of the Universe, bless Peng, who is my buddy, and Berli who is also my buddy, and if you've got a spare moment, and I haven't been all that fecking annoying lately, maybe give me a bit of a nod, as it were. And bless this space, that isn't otherwise worth a randy ****e in the big scheme of things, but makes me somewhat happy. Oh, and bless Boo, God. Because thuggish henchmen are starting to be at a premium, what with the economic recovery passing over everyone who didn't actually need it. And I'm not spending a penny more on thuggishness than I've already put down, thank you very much.

Papa Khann will never let us down. We're like gods to him. Where would I be without my Papa Khann, I ask you?

I felt that all the way here in Florida. And that's the truth. </font>

Do you know, I'm always amazed to see that you're still alive, Oberst. You seem to be some sort of large, constrictor like reptile, that goes into a period of intense lethargy after a period of posting, isn't seen for months, and then pops up again like a fecking Disney character on stimulants before settling back into utter immobility and non-posting. I think I will call you Kaa, the Serpent, from now on. Oh, and let me remind you, lest you forget, that I've beaten you like a gong in every game you've bothered to finish...

Oh, it's alright when the donkey does it. It's the unhealthy interest the rest of you take in it that disturbs me. I mean, if an Ass can't go on about his ass, then what's the world coming to? You'll always be bearded to me, Roger. Like a big ol' friendly bear, or a psychotic church elder. I'm quite keen on both, if for very different reasons. What was it that was said about Lord Buckley? 'He stomped upon the terra...' Well, I'm not sure it's in my contract, but I'll see what I can do...

No now. Un goodly Seanachaisms. Seanachai comes from a different space-time continuum than our own. </font>

Friday good. Cancer bad. Seanachai hate cancer, like Mace hate sobriety. Dalem bad. Gaming good. Seanachai likes Dalem like Mace like beer. Berli evil. Peng crusty and vicious. Seanachai wander far, far, look for better companions. Find none. Best companions, most hateful, here in Cesspool. Sister tough. Kick living ****e out of cancer. Pity cancer, like pity 'Nazgul' on General Forum. Bigger tool than Cancer. Sorry, I hadn't switched out of my 'trying to reach hearts and minds' mode from an earlier posting session on the GF.

Lighten up? Why, Roger, me little lamb, I bob above the landscape like thistledown! It's your own, ponderous, bearded, furrowed-brow self that stomps about the place like Godzilla with hemorrhoids. Compared to my singing, effervescent repartee, and general all-round good-natured postings, yours are starting to look like the stormy growls of some Calvinist Minister for whom Armageddon isn't coming quick enough. Say, did your ISP get my complaints about the 'pro-Nazi' content of your website?

Umm...dunno. What works for Papa Khann. I think he should be there, too. He's such a soothing presence when you start shrieking about killing all Third Worlders in job lots, and demanding that all U.S. laws not directly concerned with capital crimes be immediately repealed. I'm open any night, although not tomorrow (Monday). Biopsy surgery (again) for me sister. End of the week?

I think we've 'extracted' all the humour possible from the donkey arse cheeks, frankly. So let's move on to new and ever more amazing topics. ... ... Or how 'bout a jolly singsong?! Come, bonnie lass, and lie near me, And let the brandy cheer ye, For the road frae Fife to Falkirk's lang And cold and wet an' dreary. My trade, it is the weaving At the bonnie toon o' Leven; An' we'll drink to the health o' the fairmer's dames Who'll buy oor claith the morn cho: For ye can see them a', the lads o' the fair, Lads frae the Forth an' the Carron Water,. Workin' lads an' lads wi' gear, Lads that'll sell ye the provost's dochter, Sogers back frae the German Wars,. Peddlers up frae the Border; An' lassies wi' an eye for mair than the kye, At the tryst an' fair o' Falkirk Come, Geordie, lead the pony for the path is steep an' stony, An' we're three lang weeks frae the Isle o' Skye. An' the beasts are thin an' bony. We'll tak the last o' the siller. An' we'll buy oorsels a gill or two; An' we'll drink tae lads who'll buy oor kye. In Falkirk in the morn. Stan here an' I'll show ye, there's the toon below ye,. But ye'd best bide here in the barn the nicht For the nichtwatch dinna know ye. Ma brither, he's a plooman an' I'm for the feein' noo, man; Sae we'll drink tae the price o' the harvest corn In Falkirk in the morn. O, the wark o' the weaver's over, likewise the days o' the drover, An' a plowboy sits on a tractor noo; (too high tae see the clover,) The workin's no so steady, but the lads are past the ready. For tae drink a health tae the workin' man in Falkirk in the morn. Lads O' the Fair -Brian McNeill

A t-shirt that on the front says 'Boo Radley likes to be taken roughly from behind'. On the back it says Boo Radley=(Your Real World name, home address, and phone number, with area code). I wear it to the parks every day. Expect some interesting late night calls.

Gie us a hug, Boo, ya great, lumbering pile o' festering dingo kidneys.

Moppish fembot? Are the dealers in your ghetto giving free samples at the tacoria? What say we settle the issue of your supposed humanity once and for all. You've mocked my person, my politics, and my heartfelt spiritual beliefs. I could forgive all insults aimed at my person, because I acknowledge that my person is no more than what it is. And politics are merely politics, and nothing more than a disagreement about how individuals should respond to the distribution of resources and what is an appropriate response to being forced to share the same polity. But you, Dalem have gone further. You have mocked my spiritual beliefs. You have sought me out, and, although I have never come to your door on a weekend morning, wearing a narrow tie, smiling, and asked you to believe what I believe, you have seen fit to belittle that which I hold most dear. You have displayed an arrogant disregard for the one thing that distinguishes a man from the void that surrounds us all. You've belittled my Faith. And not even very well, I might add. In days past, I might reasonably be expected to hold your dripping, bloody heart over an altar of stone in a forest clearing. But I'm almost sure that, no matter how I cut and slashed at your lame carcass, I wouldn't be able to come up with a heart. For no one with a heart could so dismiss another's innermost beliefs. Of course, happily, an acceptable alternative would be for me to see how far your intestines would stretch towards a sacred oak tree, or such. And I'm pretty damn sure you've got intestines. In any case, I'd be willing to find out. Or you could just buy me several drinks, and maybe have some snacks on hand, and maybe have Papa Khann in attendance for some 'alternative wargaming', and we could call it quits. The choice is yours. But before you decide, I want you to know that I know of several sacred oaks within a 20 mile radius of your house. Now, what's it to be? A heartfelt apology and immediate conversion to my faith, or some roistering and wargaming? Or entrail tape-measurements of the local forest? Fortunately for you, my Goddess is pretty much happy with any of these alternatives. That's the lovely thing about Paganism. You're not locked into any particular option.

I'll do you for that one, Boggs. I demand a setup! I will take you to the place where pain knows no ending. You think Shaw is bad?! Haha! It is to laugh!

Wow, I completed something? What was it? </font>

Kiwis, here! Won't you buy my Polish kiwis! They're hairy, small and fruity And they'll always do their duty Come buy from me, my Polish kiwis Take one home, to amaze your sweety Their thin-skinned and awfully meaty Won't you buy a Polish kiwi? -Commonwealth folk song of questionable origin

Wow, I completed something? What was it?

Better a bleeding heart than no heart at all. By the way, I'm issuing a recall on your kid.

If it's beautiful enough, sometimes the song spreads to other parts of the anatomy, as well.

No, because the bugger's deformed. He's got two right wings.

The bugger was flogging Religion. You'd think he was going to get a percentage of the take, the way he goes at it these days...

Bugger. I thought this might be a song dedication, or something. Just Modders, moddering to each other.

Wow. Apparently my emails to the Indonesian government to have you jailed are actually being received and given consideration. Technology is wonderful, isn't it? Hope you're cool with the caning I also ordered for you.