Seanachai

Ahem...I don't know how to begin. Our Queen...the Fair Emma, has just informed me (and the sufferer himself), that Berli makes her think of a cross between 'William Wallace' in "Braveheart", and Richard Gere, in "An Officer and a Gentleman" Dear God, Berli? What's keeping the pistol barrel out of your mouth? Our own fair Queen sees you as a cross between some ahistorical, blue body paint and pierced pseudo-Pict, and Gay Boy Squid. How can you live with that image of yourself?

No, twit, y'haven't. You mumbled somefink aboot being a God once, and we all ignored you. No pipe down you insignificant little lawn ornament </font>

If I had any idea who you are, I'd probably be a little peeved right now, as it is, I'm incensed, and I don't mean Nag Champa. </font>

Er...relapse...feel like ****e. Going home, going to bed early. Sorry, Joe. We'll do lunch. Boo, be a good thug, would you, and give the Justicar cab fare home. [ January 21, 2004, 05:23 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Perhaps. We shall see. Tomorrow, my agent; she that styles herself 'Dori, Adjustor for Progressive Insurance', shall call me, and make known to me what shall be the fate of my car. I grow old, and weary. Fetch me the Justicar. We must make provision for the future. I have spoken with Berli, that bastard. Are there barbarians at the gates? Well, not good barbarians. Not 'high quality' barbarians. Not the sort of barbarians you'd take home to plunder the family homestead. But barbarians exist. Mind you, they suck. But plans must be laid. Contingencies made. Marshall we now the might of the Peng Challenge Thread. All that said, who's for a Jolly Sing-Song?

Amazing. A one sentence, 'ten seconds from reading to response' post made during a check for emails has gotten more notice, comment, and commentary from you lot of un-evolved, sad little genetic refugees than any of the vast, flowering epics I've written in the past. I've written posts modeled on all the World's mythologies. I've done so in the style of the American Indian, and the Outback's Aboriginals. I've mimicked Shakespeare, Kipling, TS Eliot, and Snorri Sturlsson. I've created whole, online mythologies. I've created Mad Kings, Fair Queens, dour Judges, and recast Armageddon as a Musical with a Caribbean beat. I've written poetry, satire, repartee, and short fiction. I've mocked every single nation on earth. I've demanded the hatred of thousands, been stalked by the Mighty and Mad, and, against every goddamn expectation in the book, I've never actually been banned. And I make one joke, based on a sardonic twist of another poster's words, acknowledging the intent and wordings of a great American writer, playing, in fact, on the implications of the both the poster's and the Author's psychological states, which post we shall, for satirical effect, characterize as a 'Dick Joke'; and I'm mocked by the Goodalers? They accuse me of 'being too low brow?!' Now is all my vast and beautiful train of works made glorious. For now we see how a master Conductor can make even the sound of vermin whimpering ring out like the Choir Celeste. After untold thousands of posts, a great expenditure of intellect, and more hours than it took to create the Pyramid at Giza, I've taught the concept of 'irony' to the Goodalers. Mind you, twelve hours with a cattle prod and pepper spray would have been more satisfying. But then, the joys of the intellect almost never rightly conjoin with the satisfaction of a truly, truly, good kick in the fork of one's enemies. I have now all the satisfaction of a man who's taught a dog to drink beer. Oh happy the soul that witnesses bringing enjoyment to the lesser orders!

Between the endless Air Sim remarks and now...American football remarks, you're dangerously close to being stripped of all Heraldic status. But we forgive you, because you mocked the insufferable Eagles, and thereby brought pain to Hiram.

Uplifting? Hardly. An upraised middle finger is not the same as a soul's leap of joy. Spirited? Perhaps. In the same way that curs fighting over scraps in the gutter is 'spirited'. Ribald? I think not. Vulgar and plebeian, certainly. Boggs, while you no doubt delight in what you see as the 'energy' of the Cheery Waffle, your efforts to 'spin' the image of this collection of lackwitted toads would make Goebbels throw up his hands, and his lunch. Spokes Creatures for Pedophile websites have said they wouldn't associate with you publicly. Jim...we need to talk.

This then, would make Dave H your...Dick? Whoa! Call me Ishmael. This is a story that must be told!

Goodnight, Goodalers. Sleep well. Try not to poison the bedbugs.

A sickly lemur that growls a lot and tries to hump your leg? </font>

Well, no ****e. He's not even human you twit. Some form of lower primate I suspect </font>

Well, now that my death-dealing cold is fading, and my car is somewhat 'less' stolen, I guess I'll have to start sending turns again. I'm for bed. Soddball, be a good chap, take some thorazine, and go run into the wall of your flat until morning.

Everything was fine until Soddball started raving and got all nasty and vulgar. Very low fellow, Soddball. Not our class, I'm afraid.

Moon had everything working fine, then Soddball started raving and now it's a bollocks again. It's Soddball, I tell you! [ January 20, 2004, 04:18 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

BFC has relented, and allowed the sodding Goodalers to continue to post. This is seriously screwing with the Apocalypso. I guess the struggle between Evil and er...well, rather tacky, inelegant and tasteless Evil, as represesented by the Cheery Waffle, will continue. I was going to go all Charlton Heston and stand on a pinnacle and wave a wooden staff while the wind whipped my robes around, and call down blood and fire and point a trembling finger at the destruction of the Cheery Waffle. But oh, no! Let's be all sodding New Testament and forgiving and ****e! The Church of Seanachai is not amused.

Moon, you're screwing with my Prophecy. Are you sure you want to do this? The Cheery Waffles are naughty in my sight!

Dark blue. Minneapolis Police called this very evening to say they found it on the north side of Minneapolis with the ignition punched out. Not sure what other damage has been done, or how much has been stripped off it. Will call impound lot in the morning to see if the uncaring minions in charge of hostage cars can tell me what kind of shape it's in. The cop on the phone simply knew the ignition was gone so I'd need it towed from the lot. He didn't know whether it could go rolling on its own wheels, or whether I'd need a bloody flatbed. Second call, of course, will be to my insurance company to see if they will do anything more for me than wish me luck and let them know if total expenses and repairs come to more than my huge deductible so they can send me some stamps to make up the difference. Rather braced, actually, to get it back. Never expected to see it again. Mind, when I do see it I imagine I'll wish they'd simply set it on fire and drove it into Dalem's neighbourhood as part of the bi-monthly Columbia Heights Road Warrior Reenactment Society's Gala Celebration and Swap Meet.

Oh, and I blame Kitty.

Many threads ago I predicted that there would come a day when the battle for scarce resources would lead to a deathmatch between the Cheery Waffle, and the Peng Challenge Thread. Ever has Seanachai been a prophet. And like a prophet, I went to the Cheery Waffle, and told them that the End of Days was coming. I told them to repent, uproot their tents, load their camels, and make their way to the One True Thread. They mocked me. Alas, Alas, Babylon! There can be only One. All will be judged. The Apacalypso cometh. a distant sound of steel drums, and a catchy dance beat

Cool! We're back to the way it should be... Your life sucks more than mine. The world is once again on an even keel </font>

I demand that Berli reply!

Australians are the coolest People in the world Let's all go down under With strings of colored pearls And lay them at the feet Of the heirs of English crime And listen to old Men At Work And have a real good time And we dug until we hit the rocks Then we threw away the spade And built a platform to get a better view Of the Thanksgiving Day Parade Jesus. Am I drunk? Is this what loss is like? This whole bit about loving Australians?! Isn't that just simply wrong?! Fecking Christ! I hate Australians! But...when I talk to Mace....damn good lad, Mace...I just don't know, anymore. Boo! Where is Boo?! Christ, you're all a very great puddle of piss. I mean, besides the Ladies, and Berli, and that fecking bastard Peng...and...Boo...and that fecking psycopath Meeks...and, well, frankly, Moriarity...and Bauhaus...and that annoying bullocks pizzle, Joe Shaw... Dear God. I can't believe it. I want to live. I hate all of you. All the time. I hate all of you bastards, But, when I looked at where life had taken me...and looked at where I was...I knew that...I could always way implicate any of you sodding sacks of ****e in a murder investigation. And there's not a one of you who has the fecking wit to explain away anything I could say. Because you're a lot of fecking halfwits. My Gods, but I'd love you as if you were my own flesh and blood. Except for the fact that 90% of you are dimwitted fecking fools. You are my own flesh and blood. You bastards.

Don't be stupid, Mike. </font>

Dude, you don't even know how good you have it. I'll swap with you any day. Cheer up, nong. It can get worse. *hugs* Kitty </font>