Seanachai
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Posts posted by Seanachai
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While I realize this bugger is not THE Berli, nor pretends to be, the screen name disturbs me. I do not think it should be allowed.
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You know, I haven't played a good game of cribbage in donkey's years. I used to have a really good cribbage game on my computer. Time to go see if it still works on this system...
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It's time you lot stop blaming Berli for your own errors in judgement. Even if he might, in fact, be to blame. Somehow.
Bah! I wave my hand at you. It's time for the other lot to stop blaming Berli for their own errors in judgement. I'm not them, and I know EXACTLY what to blame Berli for. And he knows exactly what to blame ME for. It's more than you might think.
We're comfortable with each other and our culpability. We are, after all, both Old Ones of the Peng Challenge Thread. If you want to achieve the same level of comfort, and speak for/lay blame on the bugger, email me your phone number, and I'll have him call you anywhere between 6 AM and 5:59 AM, seven days a week.
The International Dateline and Time Difference isn't going to do you a bit of good, lad. The Prince of Darkness is on a completely different schedule than little folk like you and I.
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Sure. Do you have my email? I think you must. I get facetwit spam from thee often.
I do. And no, don't thank me. If I'm going to have to suffer the whole 'Facebook' phenomenon, I don't see any reason why my pain shouldn't be EVERYONE'S bloody pain. Do you know how many people are my 'Facebook Friends'? And do you know how many of them hate me with a passion?!
I blame Berli. The whole thing was his idea. It should come as no surprise that 'The Great Evil One' was the person who suggested I sign up for Facebook...
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Percy Bysshe Seanachai
Long been my favourite poem, that. Now, instead, I feel I'm about to throw up in my mouth a little.
Bastard.
Ah, now, I can rest.
I won't, of course. Do you want me to send you a link when I follow the advice of several friends, and begin to blog?
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I met a traveler from an Internet land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the Wasteland ... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose smile,
And sardonic look, and look of having no command,
Tell that its Poster well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Seanachai, Old One of the Peng Challenge Thread:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The endless internet Forums stretch far away..
-Seanachai's Lament
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Moriarty, happy one year closer to death
It's Moriarity's Birthday?! Bless my stars and garters! A happy day for us all, then!
But, Moriarity, unlike Berli, I won't celebrate your approach to death.
I regret every year that shortens the time we have to mock and abuse you. If I had my way, you'd live for another hundred years, each one filled with a paean to what a pillock you are.
Happy Birthday, sir! And many, many more!
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The devil made me do it!
It's time you lot stop blaming Berli for your own errors in judgement. Even if he might, in fact, be to blame. Somehow.
Nidan, your punishment shall be light, since, as far as I can see, you were simply following the bad example set you by Boo.
You shall be required to do a virtual 'song', by posting here the lyrics to an Abba song. Of course, and I really mean this, when you post the song here, I want you to do the analog/reality version in your home.
You scurry off, my little lad (cracks me up to say that, because I'm fairly freaking sure you're twice my size in every way but weight, because I am, as we know, a short, stout fellow), and you pull up the lyrics to whatever Abba song moves you, and then post them here. And, after you hit 'send', I want you to stand in your home and sing all the lyrics.
We will then take that as your having down penance.
Now, anyone can go out and get the lyrics, and post them here. And that, in and of itself, will be regarded as being the Peng Challenge equivalent of actually having 'sung' the song.
But you are an honourable man, and so am I. If our positions were reversed, I would, unquestionably, post the stinking lyrics, while standing here in my apartment, singing the song.
So I know that you will do the full penance. And I know that you will feel the shame.
But although I am a hard man, I am not unfair. You may be quite drunk when you do it. I recommend it.
You may choose your own time. I do not hand out such a judgement on Boo, because, frankly, and it pains me to say so, I think that he might either not meet the letter of the requirements, or might actually enjoy it.
You are not required to dance while you sing the song.
And why should you do this? I could answer that I am an Old One of the Peng Challenge Thread, and all here are answerable to me.
But that would be simple megalomania, and, while everyone here would certainly affirm that I'm a megalomaniac, that is not why you should do it.
I could say that you should do so, or I will smite you, hip and thigh, and lay about your buzz-cut headed self with all my powers of mockery and scorn, but that is simply 'might makes right', and that I will not do.
What I will say is just this: Because simple justice requires it. You not only misrepresented yourself as me (you might notice that, honourable man that I am, I never simply post as Dalem, although I could), but that what you posted was not clever enough to have come from me.
You don't have to be drunk, of course. But it makes it easier, and a bit more fun. I will simply take your word for it that you actually sang the song.
Because we are all, all, honourable men.
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He finally figured out a trick to get the bottle back from you, eh?
Don't be stupid. He simply buys two bottles, now.
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And a Happy Birthday to our own RLeete, who despite the name, did NOT invent 'leet speak', and cannot be held accountable for the fact that 50 million internet using teens regard spelling, grammar and thinking as something pointless and slightly foolish, like washing their hands after they crap, or being courteous.
Oh, and Boo and Nidan? We all know that I have NOT been signing in under your accounts. I think you owe everyone here an explanation as to why you have been making these outrageous claims and foisting off your reprehensible posts in my name. When you have posted your explanations and apologies, you'll be assigned further punishments.
And just so that we're all clear, Dalem was almost magically drunk the other night.
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And now, a simple, straight-forward tale of Small Friends:
The other day, before I went up North to my family's cabin with Dalem and our friend Melissa, I went out to dinner with Jen & Chris, and my Small Friends Emma and Nora. I was given the privilege and obligation of walking Smaller Nora to the car, who is very much cognizant of her 'right' to command the friendship of Grandma Steve, who has, since time immemorial (for small children aged 6 and 3 and a half), been the adult that Small Emma has the 'right' to order about.
And I put her into her car seat, carefully strapping her in and making sure all the buckles were so, and straps pulled tight, and all was ship-shape. And I left the car door open, in case her Mom or Dad wanted to check the work and make sure I'd done my duty correctly. Her Mom, at that time, was moving Small Emma's 'booster' seat (she's a big girl now, and doesn't need the full 'child seat' setup) into what Emma calls the 'Way Back'. When Mom&Dad, Emma and Nora and Grandma Steve go somewhere all together, the Pacifica needs to have one of the rearmost fold-down seats pulled up for Emma's seat, which she thinks is very cool.
So, as her Mom was fiddling with putting the 'booster' seat into place for Emma, I was left sitting in the back seat next to Smaller Nora, who looked at me, looked at her door, and said: 'Grandma Steve, you did not shut my door!'
And I smiled at her, and said: 'Oh, you're right, Nora! I forgot to shut your door! I'm so sorry.' And then settled back, knowing her Mom or Dad would shut it when they got into the car.
And she looked at me, quietly, for a moment, and then said: 'Get OUT!'.
The tone of voice clearly said: You can't shut my car door sitting there, you half-witted old fool! I was saved by Small Emma, lazing about the back of the car, waiting for her seat to be put in place, who said 'I'll do it!', and did the monkey-climb thing through the space between me and her sister, and leaned over her sister to pull the door shut.
After dinner, as we were driving home, Emma in the 'Way Back', and me sitting next to Nora in the back seat, Emma said: 'Grandma Steve, let's play 'Rapunzel'.
I said to her, 'Okay, Emma, how do we play that?'
She smiled (and she has the most puckish smile on earth, silly little bugger that she is), and said: 'Well, you will be the Prince, and I will be Rapunzel, and Nora will be the Wicked Queen. So, you say the rhyme so that I let down my hair, and I let down my hair, then you climb up, then Nora is the Wicked Queen and she finds you, and she pushes you out the window, and does an evil laugh.'
Fine and good, if you allow for the fact that we are all seat-belted in, and it's all just pretend. I've had worse gigs.
So I sing the rhyme that I learned as a child, which was 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair, so that I might climb the golden stair!'
But this is not the rhyme the Small Friends know, because their knowledge of the 'Rapunzel' story comes from the Shelly Duval 'Fairy Tale Theater' videos made in the 80s, rather than the story that I was read as a child. But I cannot find fault with this, because I was the one who GAVE them the Fairy Tale Theater DVDs (and, quite honestly, they're fantastic).
So I had to learn the new rhyme, which is:
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, so pretty and so fair!
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair!
And so I did the new, correct version, to everyone's satisfaction. And then my Small Friend Emma made - well, I can only describe it as a 'sound effects' noise. A sort of doo-doo-doo-doodle-doodle, noise to indicate that she'd let her hair down. It was...brilliant.
And then she said: 'Now it's your turn, Nora! You have to push the Prince out the window, and then do an evil laugh!'
So Smaller Nora, who looks like the veriest archetype for a Raphaelesque cherubim, all blonde-haired, blue-eyed and apple-cheeked, looks at me, and shoves her hands out and goes: "Push!" then "Ha-ha-ha!" and then "Now, bleed."
Because, in the Fairy Tale Theater version, after the Prince falls to the ground, blood comes from his eyes, and he's blind. No one told Smaller Nora to throw in that detail. She knew how it went.
I started to laugh so hard I could barely talk. I shouted at her Mom 'Jen, what have you been TEACHING her?!'
That is my friend, Smaller Nora. "Push, ha-ha-ha. Now bleed."
We play that game a lot, now. The little girls love it. They love it because they get to laugh, and the adults laugh, but the adults are just a bit nervous about it all.
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You know, after the experience of my buddy and Old One of the Peng Challenge Thread Berli the other day, locked into 12 hours in a car with a hopeless feckstick, I've come to the following conclusions:
If you're upset and concerned about someone else's beliefs, you're probably a Democrat.
If you're irritated by and dismissive of someone else's beliefs, you're probably a Republican.
If you're angered and outraged by someone's political beliefs, you're either a liberal or a conservative.
If you hate and despise someone else for their beliefs, you're either a goddamn foreigner, or you should be one. Get out of our country. Take your baggage with you.
If you're just upset, concerned, irritated, dismissive, angry or outraged: Welcome to America. Every single one of us are the product of people who crossed an ocean so they could indulge at least one of those emotions without fear or hindrance, and get the same back again from everyone else.
We're all entitled to any or all of those emotions, equally, especially regarding each other. Only anti-Americans reserve them exclusively for themselves, and deny them to any 'other'. And I piss upon them from a considerable height.
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And, because I am an Old One of the Peng Challenge Thread, and have responsibilities, many, many responsibilities, but also privileges, I feel it is time for a Tale of Small Emma, and Smaller Nora:
Anyone who has ever visited this place knows that I have two Small Friends: Small Emma, and Smaller Nora. They underwent a period, recently, of which I may write more, from my notes, at a later period, of sisterly civil war. There was much grabbing, frog-marching and pushing on the part of Small Emma, answered on the part of her younger sister, by hitting, pinching and hair-pulling. And, in the small-child's answer to a larger and stronger sibling, the childhood equivalent of a 'nuclear strike', biting. Mercifully, the latter incidents were surprisingly few. Possibly because their Mom isn't a toothless UN tiger, limply keeping the peace by hand-wringing and fretting about everyone 'playing nice', but an Imperial Strike Force fully capable of sending all the combatants to their bloody rooms with their heads in their hands, weeping and promising to live better lives.
Mommy Jen isn't having with any 'she did, I did' justifications. The guilty take a short walk off an even shorter pier. Believe me, Grandma Steve knows. As someone who has stood before the same grim, judgmental appraisal, it doesn't do any good to simply put the ducks in a row. Those ducks had better be able to sing the 'Ode to Joy' once they're in place.
Mind, this isn't to say that my friend Jen isn't about the best person on the planet. She's a dear person, a marvelous hostess, a great mom. And I don't say this simply because I always send her my most recent 'Tales of Small Emma and Smaller Nora'. I say it because she's been one of my best friends for over a decade, and because she's raising the best little girls ever, and because if it wasn't for her and her husband, Chris, I'd probably be living under a railroad bridge somewhere. Of course, it would be one of the better railroad bridges in town. I have my standards.
Ah, I love the smell of creosote in the morning. Makes me think of — failure.
Anyway, we seem to be leaving the major period of internecine combat. I was very proud to be there, baby-sitting the other night when they realized that rather than fighting with each other, it might be MORE fun to gang up and double-team Grandma Steve. Little buggers. I was run almost ragged by the time their parents got home to laugh at me. Of course, as I quite humorously detailed my tale of woe, their Mom pronounced: "Well, it sounds like some little girls did not behave at ALL tonight. Maybe Grandma Steve can't come over and babysit any more."
And I thought, 'Hey! Why am I being punished?!'
The result, rather bizarrely, was two little girls simply plodding off to bed saying 'Sorry', while their baby-sitter was dancing, back-tracking and justifying their behaviour left and right, with many a 'But, wait, Jen, you have to understand, it wasn't all THAT bad', and 'But they were very good about not fighting with each OTHER', until I'd become the baby-sitting equivalent of a Holocaust Denier.
Moms are very clever. After that, I knew I had to take a stronger stance with them when they misbehaved. Since then, they've gotten more used to hearing Grandma Steve say 'No!', and being yelled at by their beloved adult minion. Moms are very clever.
I still get to baby-sit. I still indulge them, but we've all gotten used to me being more stern, and more of a — grown-up. Because they are very good little girls. But if I don't take a harder line with them, than I undermine their parents' efforts to make them into good people. And if I don't take a hard line, then I don't get to babysit, and then...who will be there to indulge them, and let them know that they shouldn't pay too much attention to adults, and all the rules?
Moms are very clever. But Grandma Steve has his own low-animal cunning. Mom will win, and my Small Friends will grow up to be wonderful women. But Grandma Steve shall win, too. And they will grow up to smile about it.
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I can't quit you, Peng Challenge Thread.
I have lived my life dancing a pavane that treads a delicate measure to the discordant music of my three political heroes: Josef Stalin, Harry Truman and Gandhi, as best typified by the statement: "If you can't stand the heat, then get out of Nagasaki. Especially you, you snotty British Imperialist swine.'
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I imagine so. If not, she offers a wonderful opportunity to burn some calories.
Michael
Opportunity? Bah! You're too old to do more than watch, and I'm too old to do anything but accuse you of being too old.
We're too old. You're too old to still be alive, you ancient bastard. And I'm too old to do much more than accuse you of being as old as you are.
But I can still paddle. And cook fish. Filet the bastards out, too.
Have you ever even caught a walleye, Emrys, you bugger?
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This weekend, I went North. Well, this weekend and a bit of the week.
I kayaked Lake Itasca, the headwaters of the Mississippi. Only about 5 miles of it. The North Arm and part of the West Arm; the weather wasn't in full cooperation. And I had my picture taken, standing with my pants rolled up in the 'Headwaters' of the Mississippi River.
It's not, of course. It's the bit where the WPA built a dam, channelized a stream, and cleared the banks a bit so that people could 'walk across the Mississippi'. The real outlet from Lake Itasca is through the swamp to the West.
Although now, both have an equal place in the Consciousness of the People. And History.
I have completed the Circle of 40 years length. I returned to that place, stood once again in that same silly stream, amidst a wash of tourists and their children, all of them angling for photos of their family members doing something in that little outpouring stream that they regarded as the very first beginning of the Mighty Mississippi.
And... I felt happy. I rolled up my bloody pant-cuffs and waded out there with dumb-assed tourists from Indiana and Oklahoma. I was splashed by their children. I had my picture taken. I marveled at the fact that I stood anywhere near a force that could destroy an entire city.
I waded down the stream, a bit, to get the full effect.
I am the Seanachai. I have been bathed anew in the Waters. My words come from sources that the most of you cannot even begin to conceive of, because you are but little scurrying creatures, appearing here and posting on your way towards death.
Also, I bought a cribbage board in the Gift Shop at the Visitor Center at the Headwaters. Couldn't find a travel one. It cost me $24. Hell of a lot for a cribbage board. Not that much for a cribbage board that came from Itasca State Park.
The Circle is complete.
Don't really like the cribbage board. Laid out funny. Probably send it to Boo. Does Boo play cribbage? Anyone?
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I swear by all the gods, Joe, if 'The Process' becomes any more fecking obscure, I'm going to come and stay with you and your family until the Mormons arrive to remove me by force.
So, if I follow the last few dozen posts of complete stupidity correctly, Boo has...let me check my fecking notes...proposed 'costard' as a 'Serf'. Which means someone else needs to...again, checkin' the notes here, Boss!, needs to take him as a 'Squire'?
Has anyone taken the Aussie pillock as 'Squire', yet? Or did I miss the ceremony, with the bouquet flinging and batting of eyelids, and all? Or is there yet another level of weird ****e that is still needed?
He's been hanging around here for fecking ever, right now. I'd like to get him properly slotted into the whole process of being just as stupid as the rest of you.
Has Peng been sober, lately, and here?
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Good to see Hiram (wasn't he my Squire? I quite believe so), again.
Hiram, the level of idiocy here has decayed badly. See what you can do to bring it back up, eh? You were always a truly good idiot.
We used to sit in the Waste Land, passing the bottle about, and commenting on it.
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Bugger Comcast and their fancy automatic spam blockers...
Forecast on Sunday is for 85 with isolated showers. We may even get out on the boat this time, so wear a swimsuit. Either way, you're probably going to get wet.
dalem, bring something. Seanachai, you bring something else. Papa Kahn, you bring whatever the hell they both forgot.
I will bring something different from Dalem. Dalem will bring something. Papa Khann will piss-about and mewl like a kitten, and try and pretend like it wasn't all his idea to begin with. He will be forced to come out to Mound despite his incessant big-girl-blouse status.
So, exactly who all the hell's birthdays is it, again? I was getting most of my info that night from Papa Khann, who is one of Nature's worst drunkards. Barely able to convey information after the bare minimum of drink. Cha!
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Maybe you're using the wrong bait.
And apparently your brain is on summer hiatus. I have seldom seen a more 'fancy-nancy' reply to a Cesspool post that just lay there on the surface, flopping, demanding a head-shot.
Do I need to get me a more cut-throat lurching henchman?
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Quite.
Michael
By all the gods, that's a nice pair of walleyes!
I've caught bigger, but not often.
That's also a very attractive young woman. I wonder if she can cook?
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How come she catches two? I never catch anything when I go fishing.
It's because your bait is small, limp, and just lies there.
The next time you give me an opening like that, I will kick you repeatedly until you die.
Idjit.
Christ.
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Cigars!! For it to be truely an 'evening', there must be cigars!
Good. Now, go and buff my shoes.
I swear by the gods, when I finally meet you face to face, you're going to have to carry me from bar to bar on your own goddamn shoulders, just to keep me from kicking you every 15 minutes.
Pillock.
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Beer. Girls. Fast cars.
That just about covers it.
Ahem.
'Beer', 'girls', kayaks.
Only unrepentant feck-sticks are into 'fast cars'. And most 'girls' have figured out that guys into fast cars climax as quickly as their over-powered automotive 'I'm sorry, usually it doesn't even take me that long to cross the finish line, honey; I'd make it up to you, but you're just kleenex to me' pieces of ****e.
And as for the 'beer', part, well, of course, the gods have given us an entire cornucopia of spirits with which to toll out our evening song of joy to them.
And as for girls...well, I've had girls. I prefer women, because at least afterwards, you can talk. And, quite often, cook a good meal. I mean, there's only something like 100 ways to do it, short of starting to repeat yourself in ever stranger locations, and adding in increasingly disturbing sock-puppets, but the experience of food is almost infinite.
Costard, you're under 40, aren't you?
It shows in the sloppy way you address the human condition.
Wha widnae oop an' rally a' tha new Peng Challenge thraid?!
in Combat Mission Shock Force 1
Posted
Because it's f*cking horrible, Nidan. Why do you think?
This is about like asking why he's called 'Boris the Bullet Dodger'.