Seanachai

The rules become more succinct with time. Probably a good thing. Now that you're here, could I offer you this pamphlet? It's called 'All Along the Watchtower'. It's about the Church of Seanachai. It's all about the secret of everlasting life. Well, it will at least feel everlasting.

Vigorously applying towel You lot keep an eye on Boggs. Something's gotten into the bugger, and he seems to be trying to apply it broadly. Shoveled 7" of snow this morning. My thoughts were on you all as I flung shovelful after shovelful of the nasty, cold, white stuff into the wind. For I recognized much of you lot in that winter phenomenon. Like snowflakes, each of you are unique. And like snowflakes, you are all lightweight, inconsequential and easily shoved about. But taken all together, you become heavy, sodden, and annoying, blanketing everything, and a shovel is often necessary to get through you. You're a fine body of creatures. Even those sub-humans, the Australians. Especially Mace. When I'm feeling despondent, I play his .wav files over and over, and, I don't know, it just seems to make things a bit better.

And don't think there hasn't been a hellish number of complaints. Put it back in your mouth where it belongs, for God's sake. Everyone's afraid to let anyone get behind them.

How did you type then? Inquiring minds want to know. Mace </font>

Please spare us these sorts of disturbing personal confessions. What you lot do in your sordid euro private lives is none of our affair, and only heightens our uneasiness.

And now for a jolly sing-song to take my mind off the snow that's still falling and will have to be shoveled (again), in the morning. I dedicate this one to Götz Von Berlichtigen! The tax man’s taken all my dough, And left me in my stately home, Lazing on a sunny afternoon. And I can’t sail my yacht, He’s taken everything I’ve got, All I’ve got’s this sunny afternoon. Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze. I got a big fat mama trying to break me. And I love to live so pleasantly, Live this life of luxury, Lazing on a sunny afternoon. In the summertime In the summertime In the summertime My girlfriend’s run off with my car, And gone back to her ma and pa, Telling tales of drunkenness and cruelty. Now I’m sitting here, Sipping at my ice cold beer, Lazing on a sunny afternoon. Help me, help me, help me sail away, Well give me two good reasons why I oughta stay. ’cause I love to live so pleasantly, Live this life of luxury, Lazing on a sunny afternoon. In the summertime In the summertime In the summertime Ah, save me, save me, save me from this squeeze. I got a big fat mama trying to break me. And I love to live so pleasantly, Live this life of luxury, Lazing on a sunny afternoon. In the summertime In the summertime In the summertime Sunny Afternoon -the Kinks [ December 10, 2003, 02:51 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

You vulgar little heathen. No one hates Australians more than I do, and I tell you, sir, that those are authentic Australians I am hearing and loathing in the game. What is throwing you off is simply the fact that the Australians who did the voices were sober when they did the recordings. I can't speak as regards the Kiwis. Quite possibly they are accurate, possibly they are simply voices culled from various archived, unreleased Pink Floyd songs that have been subjected to electronic modification. They're Kiwis. Who can tell? Play the game in a paddock and see if a stampede starts.

Wow, the horse tranquilizers have let go just enough to allow Lorak to post, but not cleared enough to side-step psychosis. Glad to see you again you old sod. Where've you been?

My Queen, your abode has been de-grenouilled. You may once again disport yourself amongst your adoring subjects. Have some Madeira, m'dear!

You spelled 'tit' wrong, you pillock.

Wow. Wish I'd seen what the idjit originally posted, before he edited. And Dave H, the 'Thread that shall remain nameless' is where Kitty came from, you tit. The Thread where she was always welcome. The Thread where she was first made welcome. Scurry about, Goodalers, scurry about. So easy to maintain that 'democratic anarchistic we're all maggots here non-elitist thing' all the time, isn't it? No need for anyone to step in and ever explain away another poster? No rules? No elders? Not that I'm one to ever bring up another thread's stumbles...well, not an unsympathetic one, anyways.

Kitty, how do you get them to do this sort of thing? Stupid bastards never apologize to me. And they should. How disturbingly drunk was the disturbing drunk Soddball? Disturbingly so? I mean, if he edited his fecking remarks in the Goodaler thread, we're talking auto-ban, aren't we? Damnation, Soddball, don't go getting your limey arse banned before our Challenge is resolved. You are a low fellow, Soddball. You have heard the mermaids singing, each to each, and yet you insist on throwing yourself into a dumpster each night, spraying spittle, and raving like a wino who's insufficiently watered his rubbing alcohol before imbibing. It's only the esteem I bear for your 'lucid' moments that allows me to take up the thread of your Challenge to me. We have heard, Soddball, We of the Peng Challenge, what price you want for victory. But what price are you willing to pay for defeat? That went unmentioned in your post to me in the Thread of threads. So, Soddball? What do you risk?

Treeburst? Is that you, lad?

cue the steel drums Sorry to have to take this out into the public venue, as it were, but it's the only way to make sure that my Challenge is seen by all the recipients in a timely manner. Oh, yes, I could have emailed them, you'll say. But most of them have me blocked with their ISP, so that's not the eight-fold path it should be. I hereby do issue a Combat Mission: Afrika Korps Challenge to that manipulative gang of thugs known as The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypso. You know them, of course, as the four vicious individuals who control the Combat Mission Forums from behind the scenes. A sort of Combat Mission Tri-Lateral Commission, as it were. But they are more than that. I name them now: Michael Dorosh, Michael Emrys, Andreas, and Berlichtigen. I Challenge you Anthropomorphic Personifications to a game of CMAK. And none of your fixed ****e, silly buggers scenarios. I Challenge you for control over the Apocalypso itself. Should I win 3 out of the 4 games, you will acknowledge me as the God of the Apocalypso. You will also periodically then address me as 'Boss'. Should I lose 3 out of the 4 games, I will acknowledge your power as supreme. I will hold no other Anthropomorphic Personifications before you. And I will write for each of you an ode praising your unique...personification. None of your 'off the shelf' stuff, either, but an original ode. Should the Four of You decline this Challenge, you will be revealed for a bunch of nasty little poseurs who between you isn't worthy of the hatred of Iron Chef Sakai. Now, let the great axe fall.

Hmm...as far as I know, neither Lou Reed nor John Cale were limeys, and that strange Nico chick was a Swede, wasn't she?

I have just come from a lengthy conversation with Peng. We are in agreement that the Artsy Pop Cult Diva Sara Brightman sucks the life out of 3 preteen children a week in order to gain the energy needed to keep cranking out horrible ethereal dreck disguised as music. Which leads to: Sara Brightman is an Abomination in the Eyes of Seanachai! If you would be worthy before Seanachai, you will not listen to her music, nor buy her CDs, nor tolerate her presence upon the planet. Should you enter a place of business or residence where her vile moaning is being played, you shall loudly and with gestures proclaim Her to be an Abomination in the Eyes of Seanachai, and demand that the CD be turned off, removed from the player, and shattered with curses and imprecations.

No, Joe, the Justicar cannot interpose himself here. For I have called out the vile Soddball, that most loathsome of Goodalers. The time of our duel is at hand. Soddball, in keeping with the high traditions of the Peng Challenge, has come in here and done his best, horrible and rather pathetic though it was, to Challenge me to a game of CMAK. I can do no less than consider his Challenge. Hey, Soddball, you ferret's tinkler, what do I win when you're ultimately defeated?

I demand that some of the Swedes who aren't complete pillocks be deputized to go over and repo his copy for starting up yet another sodding pointless thread on the 'I got my copy theme'.

Exactly what Peng just said, Mace fella. Kitty in Furs Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather Whiplash girlchild in the dark Clubs and bells, your servant, don’t forsake him Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart Downy sins of streetlight fancies Chase the costumes she shall wear Ermine furs adorn the imperious Macey, Macey awaits you there I am tired, I am weary I could sleep for a thousand years A thousand dreams that would awake me Different colors made of tears Kiss the boot of shiny, shiny leather Shiny leather in the dark Tongue of thongs, the belt that does await you Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart Macey, Macey, speak so slightly Mace, down on your bended knee Taste the whip, in love not given lightly Taste the whip, now plead for me I am tired, I am weary I could sleep for a thousand years A thousand dreams that would awake me Different colors made of tears Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather Whiplash girlchild in the dark Mace, your servant comes in bells, please don’t forsake him Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart With apologies to the Velvet Underground.

Malakovski, my experience with Kitty is that she prefers a man with backbone, and that she expects to find him groveling at her feet. Tiptoe away with the scourge marks and consider yourself lucky that you aren't a wholly owned subsidiary the way Macey is. You've been a good squire so far, Malakovski, except for that little disappearing act, but, given that that was for the purpose of entering into wedded bliss, I absolve you. So run. Run for the trees, Malakovski. Run behind the lines, boy!

Try lifting the glass to your mouth and tilting your head back, rather than forcing your mouth against it as it sits on the bar in front of you and trying to reach the bottom with your tongue.

I can count to 21 now! Mace </font>

Drunk again, and pantsed, I see, Mace Go check it out. It works fine.

You have finally made me laugh. You can die now.

Between Dalem and Hortlund, Dalem wins the 'say something interesting' contest.