Seanachai

So, what, are they telling you that you've always been loved? That you're respected by your peers? That you're a valued member of your community? You ought to go to the shrine of your choice and light a candle, then, eh? Unless you simply mean that your brain is all wet and has been hung out to dry. Can't help but think it'd be nice for it to get a bit of a hosing, and set out in the sun.

With a door in their sides to a small fridge full of cold beer?

Boo is an elephant, torch-eyed and horrible, foam-flanked and terrible Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM!

One time on the drive to our cabin in Canada my young niece and nephews began to sing that. Except, for reasons that can only be glimpsed in the dark recesses of the brains of Puritans, they had been taught to sing it as '99 bottles of soda on the wall', because there are many adults who frown at children singing about beer. What makes this all the more dreadful is that we don't call it 'soda' here in Minnesota. We call it 'pop'. Which at least strains the structure less than 'soda'. The nice thing is, there's just enough stumble when you use 'soda' that even children very quickly grow tired of the awkward vocal, and quit singing.

Bugger. I think Keats just shat himself...

I think I will start referring to MrSpkr as the green princess...

What the hell, Joe, I didn't know he'd been shuffled off. Have you considered sending me memos on this stuff? Or maybe I knew it and just forgot. I don't pay all that much attention to anything that I don't want to. In any case, I wanted to piss upon him from my considerable height. I reserve the right to award golden showers to whoever deserves them, regardless of their status otherwise.

The difference in mind between man and the higher animals, great as it is, certainly is one of degree and not of kind. -Charles Darwin, naturalist and author (1809-1882) The difference in mind between Man and Aussies, great as it is, is just a matter of how many beers have been drunk. -Seanachai, drunkard and Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread

It's Darwin's Day, then, eh? Probably appropriate that Boo's Birthday is the same day on which the World celebrates the 'Theory of Evolution'. Here's to Alfred Russel Wallace! The man who truly gave us 'survival of the most fit', and, because of his work defining the 'Wallace Line' between Australia and all the rest of the World, is the Other Father of Evolution. They call him 'Darwin's Moon', for the fact that he revolved around the greater name, and was always eclipsed by the man who got all the credit, but the fact is, he was the first to conceive of a General Theory of Evolution. He spent his years delineating the fact that on one side of the Eurasian Continent, there were mammals and birds that all the world was familiar with, and on the other side of the line of species demarcation was...Australia. In some cases, the demarcation that came to be called the 'Wallace Line' was no more than 15 miles. Anyone on the Peng Challenge Thread knows it doesn't take more than that to distinguish the various species that inhabit the rest of the world from the species that exist only in... Australia. So, today we celebrate Darwin's Day, the birth date of the man who gave us the Theory of Evolution, may it grow ever more defined! But to you lot, of drunkards, roisterers and fools; clever when needed but otherwise tools, I give you a larger toast: A toast to Alfred Russel Wallace, who taught Darwin to know what we now know! He put a line between Australia, and the rest of us; long may it stand! This man collected, killed and shipped just about one of every goddamn thing that moves between Indonesia and Australia, and sent it back to England. Lars and his cousins woulda been proud. So: Darwin, Darwin, Darwin Oi, Oi, Oi! Wallace, Wallace, Wallace Oi, Oi, Oi! And to Evolution: the only Theory in the Universe that, with almost balletic competence accounts for both Myself, Boo Radley and the duck billed platypus, "Here's bloody to ya!"

And the Reef of Aussie Damnation spreads further and further into the Ocean of Hell... Here's to it!

Ummm... Stuka, how to put this? What the f*ck is a 'hampster', eh? Most especially, what the feck is a "Facebook Hampster"? Is this some sort of sick Aussie code for Zoophilist Oral Sex? I swear to all the gods, when you Aussies arrive in the Afterlife, the only beer you'll be imbibing will be Pabst Blue Ribbon super-heated to a thousand degrees and pressure-hosed up your arses causing your walnut-sized brains to explode out through your nose, and you'll still be drunk and happy. It's impossible to properly punish people for whom Reality is just some place where they once threw up too much beer and pub food on the way to the next place where they threw up too much beer and pub food...

Okay, here we are in the new day, after midnight, as it were...tumpty-tumpty-tum...Just move this over here, put the last few strokes on that...prepare the string of lights...check the wind...refill the glass for a perfect one inch head of foam...lift it in the general direction of Ohio, which is to say, 'nowhere'... and: Yes, I'm the first! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOO RADLEY! Congratulations on still being alive, you large, thuggish bugger. As a special treat and acknowledgment of this day, I'd be happy to tell you all about that farm I'm going to take you to some day, and how you'll be allowed to keep rabbits, and maybe even guinea pigs, and where your hillbilly neighbours will be made to run on a huge treadmill to power the various engines that bring you cooling water, and roasted chicken, and a water-powered calliope that plays circus tunes all day that will remind you of your childhood...

Oh, so the groveling and scraping worked out for you, then? Good practice for you, son. Given your almost complete lack of discretion and arrogant stupidity, combined with your inability to stand up like a man and honestly admit to a mistake while blaming others for your own errors in judgement, you're going to need a supple spine, an adroit tongue and an appreciation for a high gloss shine if you're ever going to maintain regular employment or something like social standing in the Real World. It's beautifully circular, though. You behave like a clueless bastard because you are a clueless bastard, then, like a clueless bastard refuse to acknowledge that you've behaved like a clueless bastard, and as a result of being a clueless bastard you have to abase yourself like a clueless bastard for being a clueless bastard. It's like 'The Circle of Life' for those who've achieved the ultimate cul-de-sac as an evolutionary dead-end. You're like the 'Irish Elk' of stupidity...

Wasn't me that wrote that, man. I watched him type that out. I was as weirded out as you guys. He'd put away a lot of rum. A lot of rum.

It wasn't 'designed', Joe. I played the bloody thing. It was shat out by the Devil after a particularly disappointing diner meal.

I am moved to make an observation, which is not so much an observation as it is a Challenge. Boo Radley, you are a low and loathsome fellow. Your taste is all in your mouth. You are a disappointment to all your kith and kin, but most especially to your parents, who always wanted a son. It is not right to characterize you as too stupid to pour piss out of your own boot, given that God made you the perfect mechanical for pouring piss out of boots. The fact that you're incapable of doing so from your own boot is simply a commentary on your inability to sense that you've filled them. Were you capable of appreciating the gentle 'slosh, slosh' that accompanies your every movement with the fact that your boots are filled with piss, I've no doubt that you would stop, grunt softly, beetle your brow with an attempt at thought, and then sit upon some lump of earth, remove them, and pour their contents over your head in a celebration of what passes as post-graduate cerebration for you. You are large. You are thuggish. You are a living example of what the one short, thick plank said to the other as it lay atop it. The fact that you have, in every previous game we have played, beaten me like a gong, I hold as nothing. Literature is filled with examples of Caliban overcoming Prospero because the latter did not anticipate how the brute stupidity of the former might set at nought the cleverness of the more brilliant mind. So, Boo, I challenge you to a game. I will repeat this more slowly, with smaller words and with simpler if just as insulting terms, if you need me to do so. In fact, to save time, I will do so: Me big man Seanachai. You ox-like cud-chewer Boo. You send me game set up, chop-chop, 'cause you dumb as two rocks banged together on head. You make it 1,200 points or less, prefer CMBB or CMAK. No like desert, as there is no place for you to hide stupidity. I look forward to your set-up, but I praise the gods from whom all blessings flow, that I do not have to watch the three day process of you attempting to decipher this post. After a certain point, the contemplation of you engaged in thought makes one begin to doubt the assumption of Darwin that Evolution is unidirectional. You have been Challenged, man-beast.

Godsdammit, Nidan! Do you know what that stuff runs an ounce these days? Get your blood tank off it!

I thought you were banned, feckstick. Grovel and scrape a bit to get back, or just passing through before they block your IP address again?

I have been here, then, man and old man, 9 years before the mast. I have run with heavy machine guns, and manned a bren tripod I did, as we chased the white whale o'er the waves. I have had Fionn tell me that he always knew I was his enemy, and go off into paranoid ravings, which is more than most of you lot have. I have liberally applied the baseball bat of reason to the head of Gaylord Focker, and called Benny Manieri a bigoted twit. I was there on the Night of Wonderment when Cabron66 abused Grog Dorosh for not being a 'good Canadian', and took him on as my own personal stalker. I've been banned, and come back. I've been nearly banned twice again, and had to apologize, which I did with a right good will. I've ranted and postured and posted on the Political Forum, when there was one. I've been a fool, and a jester, and the very voice of sweet reason. I exposed the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypso, the true and secret brethren that actually control the Battlefront.com forums, and I demanded that Battlefront do me the honour of allowing me to be the first person to buy CMBB, stepping before everyone else, simply because it was right and proper. I exposed the fact that England is History's Greatest Monster, and that God Himself has turned his face away from the very existence of the Australians. I was the first to Challenge Peng, and with Berli and MrPeng, I went on walkabout, forever advancing before the folk that came to make the Wasteland into the World of the Battlefront.com Forums. I have known all the great posters and the great cranks and the interminable trolls. I made a place where women could post on this Forum, and be treated well; or at least as well as could be expected from a gang of war-game playing bastards. I've embarrassed myself and everyone else with my foolery. I had a good time. What? What do you mean, we've still got 2 minutes to fill? That's all I've got to say! Christ on a crutch, attempting semaphore. Ummm...I've...I've played some games, me! Yes, I have! One time, I remember...uh, did I ever tell you that Steve Grammont and myself spent an entire weekend drunk in a brothel in Madrid? No? Well, I'm pretty sure that we did! I remember him saying to me 'Seanachai, this has been one hell of a weekend!', and I told him 'Yes, yes it has, Steve! Would you like some more absinthe?', and he told me, 'Well, normally I draw the line at it once the girls start looking like all the girls I went to High School with wearing sheep costumes, but what the hell, eh?', and I said 'Certainly, I can understand, but this is the last tot, so best to be hung with a sheep as a goat, eh?' After that, it all became a bit...unclear. Are we out of time, yet? We are? Well thank Christ, because otherwise I would have had to tell you about the ti--

Eggs! The hero of Canton needs eggs...

Never, never start a thread when the only ones awake are the fecking Aussies.

Ah, yes, the Rules. I hate the fecking Rules. I've written the best Rules ever, and I've seen great Rules written. I was there. I saw them done, done them my own self. But, the Rules are required. Don't ask why. Don't goddamn ask why. There must be Rules. So, here we go then, on your water slide tour of the Peng Challenge Thread, you stupid bastards. If you need to read the Rules, you shouldn't be here. If you're simply reading the Rules to see what incarnation of the awful Rules this is, enjoy: The First Rule Is: This is a place where there are no rules. But the Rules are endless. Obey the Rules. Even though we have no rules. Except for the Rules. They're fairly straight forward. Even the stupidest of you should be able to follow them. Although they do not exist. Because we're the Thread without rules. But we have some. Get it. Or die. Rule the First One: You're actually supposed to challenge people here. To a game. No one gives a goddamn about that anymore. I mean, what Version of the Game are you challenging anyone to? Go figure. I mean, is it the game we can all play, like Combat Mission Afrifka Corps, or Barbarossa, or Shock Force, which only a small percentage of us can actually play? So, challenge someone to a game, eh? Or bugger off and just be weird, it's all one to me. Can't play Shock Force myself. Don't even know why we'd actually invade Syria. Complete goddamn waste of time, in my opinion. Let them collapse under the weight of their go nowhere economy, for my money. Rule the Second: Try to sound off about things in the world as though you are abundantly testicular. That means, for the challenged amongst you, 'Post, Preen and make noise like a big damn hero'. Rule the Third: While posting like a big damn hero, neglect to tell us about the supposedly massive size of your ***** and testes. No one cares. This is something you need to work out with a counselor about your relationship with the priesthood. Really, we feel your pain, but don't want to know the details. Rule the...whatever the hell: You will respect the Ladies of the 'Pool. They're not like you. They have lives. You will observe that there is a very serious hierarchy here, and that you are at the bottom. Try placing your remarks and inquiries about the bottom where your putative genitalia are. Which is nowhere. Know this: There are only three Olde Ones. Myself, Peng and Berli. There is the Justicar. He sorts out anything that resembles dissension. His name is Joe Shaw. He has time to worry about how fecking stupid you are. The rest of us, do not.

But now that I know where I am, I need... another beer. And then I will do the Rules. The fecking Rules.

I panicked

So, here we are again, eh? And maybe, besides the eggs and bacon, there will be toatst, eh?