Seanachai

Stop it! Everyone stop agreeing with me! Don't you understand that you're destroying yourselves? I'm an insane non-grog with less to contribute than your average ground squirrel. You people are doing irreparable harm to your credibility by agreeing with me.

I was much younger then, and hadn't yet become a Gnome. In those days I had fantasies that were incredibly well-scripted, lengthy, and complex. I even had one that was completely in Aramaic long before that ponce Mel Gibson thought of doing something similar. There was less whipping in mine, though.

It happens, don't reproach yourself. You'll weather this storm of sudden approval and come through thinking I'm as full of ****e as ever, lad. Until then, know that everyone's thoughts are with you.

Someone shovel the Finns out of here, please! Caledonia is Scotland, of course. I mean, if you're a bloody Roman.

Although I don't imagine they can do everything properly, there are a number of scenario designers out there working to bring CMBO theater stuff to CMAK, although within the limits of the CMAK set. Check out Der Kessel and buggers like our Berli...

I thought you were Seanachai's boorish henchman. Seems more likely. </font>

Bah! I wave my hand at you. A sniper's job isn't standing up like a prairie dog on a mound, scanning the landscape for threat signatures. Not to mention that using one as such is simply taking excessive advantage of 'Borg Spotting'. Did he go out there with a radio, and, after using up his ammo, settle down to phoning in sightings to Central Control? I think not. What you're complaining about is that the game engine didn't put you in a position to use your resources unrealistically. Frankly, after using up his ammo, he'd likely hunker down and try to be as inconspicuous as possible until he was able to make his way back for a hot meal, some hideous raisinjack brewed forgetfulness, and more ammo. What you're saying is that, after discharging his given mission, he should have been sending semaphores about enemy positions. That didn't happen in the Real World, and it would be even more wrong to do it in the game. Don't rely on gamey unit placement to achieve unrealistic results, and you'll never be disappointed, eh?

Mr. Boggs (may I call you Mr. Boggs?), did you know that I once lived in Florida for 2 days that went on for 12 months? They were the days it rained, and the days it didn't. Other than that, there was nothing to distinguish one day from the next. Nor any real need to, since each day was a horrible reprise on the day that had proceeded it. We drank until our stomachs bled, and smoked dope until we passed right through being stoned into a horrible state where the drugs had made us indistinguishable from Republican golfers. We cursed God, Ronald Reagan, and the Crown Liquor Lounge, which gave us such cheap drinks that it had sapped our will to emigrate.. And we kept a lizard in our apartment, whom we named 'Captain Zeep'. We didn't use the air-conditioning because the poor bugger was always peaky and disconsolate when we did. Eventually he passed away, and for almost two weeks we kept telling each other 'You know, we have to have an appropriate burial ceremony for our dear, departed comrade, Captain Zeep'. But we never seemed to get around to it. We cranked the air-conditioning up full blast to keep him fresh, but eventually we couldn't help but notice a deterioration in 'air quality'. Well, actually, what we got was a note from the pest control guy who came in every month to try and control the hideous giant cockroaches that read: "Look, it doesn't do any good for me to come in and spray against vermin if you fecking lunatics are going to keep a dead, rotting lizard in a tank in the middle of the living room.' So we threw him into a dumpster one night in a mean, tequila induced frenzy. The dead lizard, that is, not the pest control guy. And I'm reminded of the time that the Crown Liquor Lounge made me go in and take a lie detector test because money had been going missing from the till, and I answered a number of questions, during which I confessed to having done a tally sheet of drugs (some of them at work) that would have made Hunter S. Thompson give a silent nod of approval, and that it was only the beer and tequila that I drank every night while dancing a lusty tarantella that made it possible for me to get up the next day and come to work. And that the beer was all too often Budweiser. And then, although no one was asking me about it, I confessed to horrendous sexual fantasies involving every single one of the barmaids in the Lounge, as well as a cross-section of the druggie chicks that came in. I even tore off some of the used polygraph paper and did diagrams of the more complicated fantasies. I then volunteered my opinion that Florida was where God would stick the Cosmic Enema when the time came, and briefly broke down and cried for Captain Zeep. When my polygraph tests came back, the District Manager called me in and offered to promote me from stock/receiving to the position of 'Wine Salesman', with a raise and the option to make commission. Told me they were impressed with my 'honesty'. I pondered for a moment, and, after fumbling in the ziploc bag in which I kept a cross-section of the drugs I swept up off the floor of the Lounge every day for a quick 'pick me up', I told him I had to decline, as I'd decided to leave Florida to move to Ohio, where I hoped to finally become the man that my family had always hoped to see jailed and beaten by guards. That night, my roommate and I celebrated my 'promotable but clearly insane' status by using mace on the palmetto bugs in our apartment (since the pesticide sprays like 'Raid' just made them belligerent and abusive), and ended up crouched outside drinking warm budweiser, eyes weeping, and chanting 'Ohio, Here We Come" until the neighbours came out and begged us to take them with us. If only Dalem had been there with us in those heady, Floridian days! After a while, we grew exhausted fending off the non-stop offers to sell us guns of every imaginable caliber, configuration and legality. I remember when the manager of our store/lounge asked the Cubano I was replacing: 'Hey, Felix, your people are into guns. Can you get me a Walther PPK?' After considering, he was told: 'No, but I can get you an 81mm mortar. With 5 rounds of ammo. Some of my friends want to trade it in for more assault rifles.' Ah, Mr. Boggs! When I read your posts, I'm taken back to a younger, more hopeless point in life. The nostalgia! The bar fights! The non-stop chemical abuse! The rich irony of living surrounded by wealth in a place that was so wretched they had to bury their dead above ground in concrete graves because they couldn't dig deep enough for graves without hitting the water table! And the tupperware parties. Let's never forget the tupperware parties. You could actually be shown how to 'burp' the container you kept your dope in. Man, I loved that lizard. It wasn't like he was cuddly, or anything. But I'm pretty sure he knew it was me that was giving him his mealworms, and that he loved me. Come North, Boggsy. It's not too late, old man.

There's that bugger JonS. He is killing me in a horrible game. I hereby, as a mark of savage disapproval, ask everyone on the Forum to refer to New Zealanders from now on as 'Aussie Lite', with their new patented marketing tag: "All the annoyance, but less thrilling."

Not true. I constantly talk about how despicable Australians are, and constantly reiterate the need to crush them all.

Be silent! You seem to think that 'captured troops' count for less points than KIA troops. You're not fit to taunt Australians! Go sit over there where everyone can see you and make fun of you, lawn ornament. That's probably not even your own fishing pole. You're a disgrace to gnomes everywhere, you bugger.

Does this mean that Andreas is the spiritual, moral, and intellectual equivalent of Snoop Doggy Dog? And when will I get to blow up Soddball's house? Or burrow, as the case may be.

Deep Boo? Is reaching a state of Deep Boo like finding your Inner Croda? </font>

Where's me Marmot Mormon, you bugger?!

I've always wanted to over-run England. Of course, after I do, I will retire to live in Scotland and turn England into a huge Theme Park...

Okay, I only have one question for you: Under the State's conceal and carry law, can we go out on a week day and shoot golfers?

Indonesia is a country? I thought it was an under-funded and badly run nature preserve. I'm sorry, Kitty, I'm just not inspired lately. It's all I can do to post Berliesque one-liners. I think it was finding out that JJR lettered in three sports. It's taken away my faith in America.

Hollywood Squares, actually. Dr. Joyce Brothers had to cancel...

Well, that explains why, throughout the game, you kept asking me if I knew what a freaking planchette was, and how you drove one...

I will not comment on your imagery...

By the way, did you know that you actually lose points for prisoners? It's true, I read it on the CMAK Forum...

You didn't have to actually take the VLs. The bloody engine set you up 15 meters from them, and I spent the rest of the game trying to fathom how even an idiot savant game engine could have a preference for large, boorishly foolish Ohioans...

jabs thumb into own eye, hoping the pain will wipe out the horrible images...

Posture all you want to, you bastard. The only game we played where you actually had to take the VLs, you came up so short that I towered like a veritable giant...

Wrong. </font>