Seanachai

Don't be jealous of flamingknives. You and I will always have Cabron66

Yes. Very good. Rleete, hand me that tranquilizer dart rifle, would you, lad?

More poetry, you say, Snarker? Certainly, lad. Here's something from James Tate: Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it? A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled back, skin falling off. But he wasn't afraid of that. It was a beautiful day. How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do. Take a little ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody. Goodtime Jesus -James Tate

My God, how could I forget the fact that we met in the previous Bren Tripod thread! I should have gotten flowers, or brought candy. I remember it like it was yesterday. All the posters were wearing foolishness, but you wore a wry and elegant irritation. I was silly and bantering, and you cut me dead! I explained how my very silliness was a commentary on the 'soon to deteriorate into idiocy' discussion, and you looked deep into my eyes, and told me that you truly and seriously were interested in the soon to deteriorate discussion. I knew, at that moment, that I would never forget you. My heart filled with a jolly singsong. You even had a pet name for me! Do you remember? You called me 'the Thread Hijacker'! I was all abashed and yet giggly at the same time. Oh, we exchanged some remarks. You passed some judgments. It was giddy and wonderful. But...you never sent me your hatred. Oh, you abused me, here and there. It was clear, from the way you dismissed me, that I was more than just another poster to you. But no matter how many times I asked, you wouldn't send me a card, postcard, or letter filled with your hatred. But I've never forgotten that incarnation of the Bren Tripod thread of never-ending pointlessness, and the day we met. And now, whenever I go into a thread, I always, to this day...look for your posts. And if you're seriously discussing things, then I tiptoe away, with my finger to my lips, like some cartoon burglar of threads. And whenever I post in some idiotic thread, or forget myself, and post like a giddy non-grog schoolchild in a serious thread, I always look for your responses. And I always will. I guess we never forget the first person who tells us, in a frosty and well-mannered way, that we're an annoying sack of ****e, do we? sigh Don't get me started, you lot, on my first post to the 'Running With Heavy Machine Guns' thread, or I really shall feel old, and start to weep.

If there is, be glad it's not a 'scratch and sniff'...

Well, young Boggs, I too know the pain that comes from having what you say misrepresented, misconstrued, and incorrectly reported. What I find often works is to try and use very small words with maximum emotional impact. For example, I have often said things on the General Forum such as 'I do not agree with you, and I am filled with loathing by your brutal hypocrisy and cynical spin-doctoring'. What others then claimed I said, of course, is 'I am a liberal wanker who doesn't know anything.' My replies around the theme 'Sir, you do me no greater disservice than you do yourself by so cavalierly regarding what I am saying to you as ill-informed political partisanship. We may never agree, but I ask you to at least acknowledge that my beliefs are no more dishonestly held than your own.' Responses to this sort of argument varied between 'Christ, you talk like a fruit' and 'liberal wanker, liberal wanker, liberal wanker'. Finally I hit upon the method I've recommended to you above. Now I simply shout 'f**k you, you f*****g c********r'. This seems to be understood by even the most lack-witted, but it does lack a great deal of eloquence and, dare I say it, elegance. However, on the plus side it will immediately get Uberfunbunny to start prancing about like someone's Auntie that's encountered a bad smell at the tea party, and demanding that either the servants or the Moderators do something. Now, my dear Jim, do not, however, make the mistake that I did, and indulge in this vile display publicly (unless, as a I say, you want to see UberFun do the Auntie Dance). Nor should you adopt this tone and treatment with those you are having a political or societal disagreement with, because you may, perhaps, have misjudged them, or because you will do more harm to your own views. If, in the other hand, you are talking about being misunderstood or misrepresented by creatures like Dalem, Lars or some of that lot, then, by all means, use private emails to shout short, explosive words of great vulgarity at them instantly, arranged in an endless re-patterning of repetition like an I Ching composed of obscenities. If you do it long enough, even that lot should catch on to what you're telling them.

Touché, you little monster. I believe I have had a very good effect on this group. Through your association with me, your wits have all undergone a burnishing process, to the point where I can see myself in your jibes! Nowhere has this been more satisfying than in the case of my former Squires such as yourself, Roger. Why, when you first arrived here, you started out by choosing a screenname using all that silly 'I OWN UZ DUDE' style of writing. And then, for the longest time, you would not even accept Knighthood, not yet feeling worthy. But now you answer me back with a distinct sneer. When someday we meet face to face, RLeete, I hope you realize, as you lie curled up on the ground from the sudden boot to the fork, that the foot that found you was powered by pride, lad, and not anger.

Aha! Unearned and ill-deserved power at last! Everyone cluster around, kneel, and kiss my ring... And I mean 'ring'. It's not a metaphor, it's not a freaking double entendre, it's just a ring. It looks just like an armadillo. That may be a metaphor, but I'm not sure for what. But I want it kissed now, repeatedly, by kneeling supplicant after kneeling worshipper until it gleams from the polishing by many lips. Right! Who's first?

You got a manual? I got one of those 'open box/returns' ones, and I never could get it properly set up on the bren tripod I bought from another dealership. Doesn't matter, really, as you need a weapon with a much higher rate of fire for squirrels...

I imagine all your little personal maps laid out before me, all the little journeys of your lives, with spouting whales in the corners, and 'here be monsters' written across the dark, unmapped and empty territory of your minds. And even when every well blazed trail is followed, when every jot and tittle of Atitude and Longing Too have been calculated and observed, when at last the intrepid explorer stands at the very center of your being, the only thing there will be the echoing fade of some old Neil Young lyrics... and everybody seems to wonder what it's like down here I got to get away from this day-to-day running around 'cause everybody knows, this is nowhere... Carpe Carne, people. Seize the meat.

What's been happening? Has Seanachai gotten banned again, yet?

Gods, how I hate you.

Sky Kitty, I admit nothing! That graphic has made the rounds to the delight of idiots. Your own fair face caps it, but the rest is all pure drivel. I would far rather see your own form, than see another Photo-Shopped take on unreality. Grrrr, lady. I shall not relent one whit in wishing to truly appreciate Sky Kitty. Don't feed me another beautiful face shopped out to some silly web graphic.

Shut the feck up, and mount the cross to the right of me. Orderly, now...we all get crucified in our own way and in our own time...no pushing, plenty of surly uncertainty on the brink of heaven...

I look upon you, my lad, as the last Hurrah of idiocy. As are we all. I shall not go back to the General Forum until I decide to heal the World. I may be now, it may be later, but it cannot be done in anger. Obscure lyrics? Where the feck have you been burying your head, lo, these many days gone by? I've been quoting Leonard Cohen, here and there. Are you so lost to art and love that you know nought of this? If so, I weep for you. Mind, I weep for your miserable, sorry, useless fecking arse anyways, but I weep for it more if you haven't even the freaking sense that God gave to Goodale else. I'm back, you paltry thing. Hate me, love me, ignore me, you are my little lambs. And I shall not leave you behind. You are lost, all you Goodalers. Lost and alone. What am I, but a shepherd to all the most miserable of the lambs of God?

..ahem... anyone for an Easter bonnet, me Lady? </font>

Oh, yes. I remember vaguely hating you. So don't expect me to care about your lack of focus in the morning. I expect that I got up in a horrible, gulf of mexico dawn, and ruffled your fecking hair, lad, licking the last strains of a mean rum drunk off my lips, and said something very nice about the fact that you hadn't a fecking clue about why you couldn't remember what you'd done the night before... But then, you're never going to ever stand up tall enough on a sixth graders chair to look me straight in the eye, are you lad?

What song? WHAT SONG?! Everything is attainable. That would be Leonard Cohen's 'Waiting for the Miracle to Come'?

Shaw, fella, for sheer joy, I shall renounce my godhead. I was never meant to be a god, frankly. I was meant to be exactly what I am: an Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread. I thought I'd try another career path. Who was I to know that it would be so much less satisfying? Ah we're drinking and we're dancing and the band is really happening and the Johnny Walker wisdom running high And my very sweet companion she's the Angel of Compassion she's rubbing half the world against her thigh And every drinker every dancer lifts a happy face to thank her the fiddler fiddles something so sublime all the women tear their blouses off and the men they dance on the polka-dots and it's partner found, it's partner lost and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops: it's CLOSING TIME Yeah the women tear their blouses off and the men they dance on the polka-dots and it's partner found, it's partner lost and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops: it's CLOSING TIME Ah we're lonely, we're romantic and the cider's laced with acid and the Holy Spirit's crying, "Where's the beef?" And the moon is swimming naked and the summer night is fragrant with a mighty expectation of relief So we struggle and we stagger down the snakes and up the ladder to the tower where the blessed hours chime and I swear it happened just like this: a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss the Gates of Love they budged an inch I can't say much has happened since but CLOSING TIME I swear it happened just like this: a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss the Gates of Love they budged an inch I can't say much has happened since CLOSING TIME I loved you for your beauty but that doesn't make a fool of me: you were in it for your beauty too and I loved you for your body there's a voice that sounds like God to me declaring, declaring, declaring that your body's really you And I loved you when our love was blessed and I love you now there's nothing left but sorrow and a sense of overtime and I missed you since the place got wrecked And I just don't care what happens next looks like freedom but it feels like death it's something in between, I guess it's CLOSING TIME Yeah I missed you since the place got wrecked By the winds of change and the weeds of sex looks like freedom but it feels like death it's something in between, I guess it's CLOSING TIME Yeah we're drinking and we're dancing but there's nothing really happening and the place is dead as Heaven on a Saturday night And my very close companion gets me fumbling gets me laughing she's a hundred but she's wearing something tight and I lift my glass to the Awful Truth which you can't reveal to the Ears of Youth except to say it isn't worth a dime And the whole damn place goes crazy twice and it's once for the devil and once for Christ but the Boss don't like these dizzy heights we're busted in the blinding lights, busted in the blinding lights of CLOSING TIME The whole damn place goes crazy twice and it's once for the devil and once for Christ but the Boss don't like these dizzy heights we're busted in the blinding lights, busted in the blinding lights of CLOSING TIME Oh the women tear their blouses off and the men they dance on the polka-dots It's CLOSING TIME And it's partner found, it's partner lost and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops It's CLOSING TIME I swear it happened just like this: a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss It's CLOSING TIME The Gates of Love they budged an inch I can't say much has happened since But CLOSING TIME I loved you when our love was blessed I love you now there's nothing left But CLOSING TIME I miss you since the place got wrecked By the winds of change and the weeds of sex.

Ah! You are alive! I remember hating you! It's all coming back! You have to continually hit Peng in the head, or he loses focus. Now piss off, Mr. Tittles!

Too long, or not long enough. We're still deciding. Care to come to a party? </font>

You are so much chaff. I am back. Let Grogs look to their responses. Let them remember humour, as well as all those fecking charts and tables. And footnotes. I insist that they look to their footntotes.

STAND BACK! BY THE GODS, I TAKE LARGE STEPS! I remember this. I remember this place. I...remember...all of you. I remember...Leete. Fecking Christ, Roger, were you such a puddle of clouded piss before? That's not what I remember. You were...well, not 'majestic', but at least not a fecking wanker. And...Boo. Wait! I remember Boo! My large, thuggish and poetic minion! Ah! It all comes back to me! And the Justicar! Bring me the Shaw! It's all coming back like a pungent burst of extremely expensive scotch ordered by the half liter, and then not paid for because of the bizarre bar fight you provoked with the Vegan lesbians in order to duck through a side door, with the tab left languishing... I remember! I remember it all! I was an Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread, and you were all my comrades! What the hell's been going on? The place is a fecking dump! Why is Dame Kitty still posting her own beautiful face atop that disturbingly masculine (you know you were all getting worked up about it, and it's all to your discredit, you ****es), body, and where is the Evil One? Where is our Queen? Where is my brother, my fellow god, Peng? And what are you stupid bastards looking at, and why has no one fetched me a drink? Christ on a crutch signaling surrender! How long have I been banned?!

Black and white, black and white, black and white, and gray...going to gray to gray to gray and everything is mist... Where am I? What is this place? Hello? HELLO? Can anyone hear me? Hear me! Hear me! I'm alone. Alone? Never alone. The lads are here, somewhere. Saw them just a moment ago. Ah, there they are! I see Boggs posting about me. What? What's that?! You bugger! Well, time to step in and set that record straight... No one's listening. No one seems to hear me at all! What the hell? HELLO! YOU STUPID BASTARDS! I'M TALKING TO YOU, DON'T YOU KNOW! Christ, what a shower of fools! I'm posting, I'm talking to you, you fecking idjits! What? What's that you say, Moon? I'm what?! I'm gone? Well, maybe I was a bit over the top...maybe I let the reins go...but...gone? Nothing? No shade of Seanachai to make the darkness a bit lighter? No lightening of the darkness for the shade of Seanachai? But...but who will lead them? Who will hate them all? Who will love them all? Who will lead the jolly singsong? And who by fire, who by water, who in the sunshine, who in the night time, who by high ordeal, who by common trial, who in your merry merry month of may, who by very slow decay, and who shall I say is calling? And who in her lonely slip, who by barbiturate, who in these realms of love, who by something blunt, and who by avalanche, who by powder, who for his greed, who for his hunger, and who shall I say is calling? And who by brave assent, who by accident, who in solitude, who in this mirror, who by his lady's command, who by his own hand, who in mortal chains, who in power, and who shall I say is calling? "Who by Fire" -Leonard Cohen And gray, and gray, and gray, and gray...hello? Hello? They're good lads. Nothing's lost but me, after all. Nothing is needed but for all these mists to recede. So that the pungent colours and iron of the Justicar to shine through again...nothing remains but a good wind off the ocean to make the bright deserts and coasts of Australia to burst through the clouds of uncertainty...where is Satan, that burnished fire of anger undiminished, and mocking? I'm buried...buried...buried in emptiness...in television...in foolishness. Is this the land I saw, through the laughter, through the penetration chart discussions...through...everything. I rise up. I rise Up! I Rise Up! See How They Rise Up! I SHALL RISE UP! They rise up, they rise up, they rise up! They rise headfirst, headfirst, headfirst! What the hell? Is this not the Peng Challenge Thread? Is this not the Peng Challenge Thread?! What the hell? Why are my shoes all wet, and where have you bastards all been? I had the strangest dream...I could hear... GODDAMN IT, THAT WASN'T A DREAM! I WAS BANNED! AND I COULD HEAR EVERY FECKING THING YOU BASTARDS SAID!

Dorosh, I hate you like I hate early morning sunrise. I hate you like I hate the chorus of beauty the fecking birds enact outside my window every fecking hangover morning. I hate you like I hate the sluggishness of wits that I see endlessly paraded on the General Forum, where the mot juste of the day is invariably 'Ha! I suppose you would prefer to have Saddam back again, eh?!' But mostly, you sodding swine, I hate you for resurrecting the horrible Bren Tripod. DOROSH, YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MAN! NO, DON'T LOOK AT THAT BUGGER EMRYS, YOU PILLOCK! I'M TALKING TO YOU, NOW, AREN'T I?! I shall have to consider whether this incarnation of that damn thread amounts to lese majesty as regards myself.