Seanachai

Picture yourself on a train in a station, With plasticine porters with looking glass ties, Suddenly someone is there at the turnstyle, The Knight with a gun on his thigh. thump, thump, thump, thump Dalem in the sky, with diamonds Dalem in the sky, with diamonds Dalem in the sky, with diamonds Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh! What was that, Persephone? This OS X stuff is bizarre. Pity the modem connection sucks. Hopefully it's a temporary, MSN related phenomenon. The foot is fine. Nothing wrong with the foot. Gout has never been mentioned in connection with the foot. As everyone knows, only degenerate English, Anglican noblemen with a foot propped up on a pillow, waving a cane in the air while swilling Portugeuse fortified wine and damning the French get gout. Nothing to do with me. Dalem in the sky, with diamonds Dalem in the sky, with diamonds Dalem in the sky, with diamonds Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Well, I'm at home, and the new Mac G4 is connected up, and I've gotten onto the Internet, and, therefore, this Thread, on OS X, which I've never used before. But everything is very strange. I think I'm having some kind of flashback. Will return later when I no longer see Mace singing 'Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds' while Dalem plays the flugelhorn. Mind, I don't see this in my apartment, just on the computer. Very odd.

Axe2121 you useless pillock. 'Bugger off' as an opening remark is a Trademark of the Cesspool. Our lawyers will be contacting your probation officer on this issue.

Boo...SAND THE DONKEY! I want to see a high-gloss on that pelt. Then lacquer him and stand him astride the Cesspool in a heroic pose. The SSNs can perch on him and coo to each other.

I rather think not. The UberGnome does not cross-dress. Not even for your amusement, dear Boo. It simply does not become me, and would frighten pets and children.

Indeed you do, Boo. A Colossus carrying a belt-sander with a keen eye for those who displease the Olde Ones. Maybe we can have it grafted to your arm, and you can do a Bruce Campbell from the 'Evil Dead' sort of thing for the 'Pool.

I'm underwhelmed. Boo, I would have expected a little more enthusiasm about this evolution of your status on this planet. I mean, it's like you've finally made the jump to 'mammal', but you grumble like a disgruntled amphibian. Now, where's that bright smile and tail-wagging cheeriness that should accompany such an improvement of your lot? Don't make me sing 'Wind Beneath My Wings' to you, Boo.

Oh, yes, very nice. "Me, I like to go to fast, you know? Very fast! If you Americans can have guns, why can not I go as fast as I like, eh?" When he first began the drive in I thought my life was passing before my eyes. But after a few minutes the action was so dull and incomprehensible that I started paying closer attention, and realized I was simply channeling syndicated reruns of Dalem's weekends. There was a bit with Sten the dog and Joe the cat that was kind of entertaining, but all the stuff about Dalem was tedious.

Away with you, you little flutterers. I look upon you with condescending pity. Mice, Swedes, what are these to me? Small, furry vermin, and nothing more. Today I am in a mood of great joy and inner peace. My new Mac computer will be delivered within a matter of hours. Airborne Express's online tracking system has told me so, and they would not lie to me, an Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread. Mouse, Swede? Resume your small chittering. You are forgiven, my children.

Boo? Art there, oh Boo? Someone bring Boo before me. I wish to elevate him. After much pondering and reflection, not to mention a lot of thinking about things, I have decided to make Boo Radley an Official Minion. Oh, I realize that Boo is already a Knight of some lesser house (House Croda, or something awful like that?), but I wish to make him an honourary member of the Bardic House, and to second him to the Grue in the role of large, thuggish enforcer. Pondscum may cackle on about being an 'evil genius' (not that he's either, of course), but what, in the end, is an 'evil genius' worth? Sod all, frankly. Attention Deficit obsessors who create overly-elaborate plots for dealing with the most mundane of chores. Now, Boo...he is a simple soul. Give him a belt-sander, and a clear set of instructions, and let him go about his business, and Bob's your uncle. And he understands the references. When he's likened to 'Lenny' from Steinbeck, he knows that he's being likened to 'Lenny'. At any moment you expect to hear him suddenly mumble "eh, Juicy Fruit", so you can stare at him in amazement before fumbling for another piece of gum to give to him to see if he says it again. So, Boo Radley shall be a large, thuggish, deceptively simple Minion of the Bardic House so long as the rivers run and the grass is green. So it is written at great and somewhat aimless length, so it shall be done. [ August 21, 2003, 01:27 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

No, but I wear dismissive and casual arrogance like one bred to it, don't I? I was born out of my century. When I was young, I could have been D'Artagnan. Now that I'm old, I can do an easy, smiling Richelieu. I continue to cast my pearls before you swine in the hopes that someday I'll come in here and find your little trotters clicking as you learn to string them together to grace your bristled throats. Worry not, MrSpkr. I forgive you, my son. [ August 21, 2003, 12:56 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

You vicious bastard. We all agreed that you only sent us along the right road to get back to the car just so we could appreciate how much you'd lied about how far it was. And me limping along on a foot that had only recently recovered from nothing particularly embarassing at all, while a cross-section of your many, many cousins drove by us in pickups and SUVs honking, shouting insults, and throwing empty budweiser cans at us. By the way, is there a great deal of drug smuggling on Lake Minnetonka that requires your cousin to have a monstrously over-powered, flat-bottomed piece of nautical ****e that only rides well if you're idling or going full throttle? I mean, really. There was no way to 'adjust' the speed. You either went flat out in a bid to win free from Coast Guard spotlights and deliver the cargo to the docks in Orono, or you growled slowly along to dock. The damn engine was a 250, not 225 HP, and about the size and build of a short Harley rider. It was, of course, a treat to go frisbeeing across the lake with all the feeling of control that comes from the knowledge that the boat you're in is designed to convey the idea 'large genitalia' to awestricken young women who will never be found face down in the water because of natural buoyancy, rather than an actual ability to handle the medium of 'water'. [ August 20, 2003, 11:30 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

All the elements of the Special Olympics without any of the pathos, nor triumph of the Human Spirit. A contest where one can, without feelings of shame, sit back and mock the spastic, witless efforts of the participants.

Boo, you would have wet yourself over the sort of beauty talent we were constantly exposed to. Minnesota, actually, has many beautiful women. We are a healthy, robust, dairy-farming State, after all. And Lars does not hit rocks. After years and years of drunken meanderings, he knows every contour of that lake the way your dinners are intimately familiar with every twist of your intestine. And that analogy is disturbingly apt. I'm sure there are any number of late weekend nights when Lake Minnetonka has said to itself 'Damn, when am I going to pass this Lars?' Besides, this is a weak-kneed southern Minnesota suburban lake (although quite large). There are no damn rocks, and the few there might once have been the municipalities have all gone out and rooted up and placed them in parks somewhere or something. Not like Lake of the Woods, the Terrestrial Paradise, where one minute you can be cruising along with the engine wide open, and the next minute your lower housing is waving at you from 60 yards back and the boat is slowly coming to rest, staining the waters around you with essential fluids. [ August 20, 2003, 11:02 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Two Australians meet, and no beer is drunk? Hell, no Australian is drunk? Excuse me while I go outside and peer at the sun to see what colour it is...

I was wondering why Christina wouldn't come over and join us. Now I know... </font>

I suddenly have this vision of Lars, his face contorted with anger, whipping Dalem about the head and shoulders with a coat hanger screaming "NO MORE METAL HANGERS! NO MORE METAL HANGERS!" Who do you suppose will play him in the movie version of 'Lars Dearest'.

Er, no. The foot is fine again. There is nothing wrong with the foot, no embarassing conditions, nothing wrong with the foot. I hope this finds you well, Lady Persephone. I have been very bad about correspondence lately. Even my postings here have been a little off, of late. But with the coming of my brand new Macintosh computer tomorrow, I'm sure I will be revitalized. Oh, and for the rest of you, if you ever want to make Berli laugh until tears of mirth run down his face, and he's gasping for breath in between guffaws, just share with him your moments of excruciating physical pain. No one appreciates agony like our Berli.

No, I simply enjoy being carried from place to place on the shoulders of you, Lars, and Papa Khann. Although for our next trip I may see about having some sort of palanquin knocked together and delivered to Lars' boat. It makes me feel regal, being bourne from place to place on the shoulders of sweating minions, pointing out bathing beauties and shouting "That one there! Bring me that one, the sultry wench with the fire in her eyes!"

He gave you beer when you visited, didn't he? Probably many, many beers. In Australia, that's the equivalent of being 'adopted into the tribe' as practiced in slightly more advanced cultures long since destroyed by modern socieities.

Probably drugs. Kids these days, eh, Michael?

Eichenbaum, I stand corrected. I am amazed to find that I am not the slowest member of the Peng Challenge at returning turns. In celebration of my new, speedy hare image, I will send out turns tonight to all and sundry.

Bail bondsman just show up, Boo? You're a good one for this question, in any case. Answer Eichenbaum. Am I not the slowest returner of turns?

Sorry, Eichenbaum. Most of them are probably still shaking off their hangovers. In a few hours the more coherent members might make a showing.

Just fulfilling my role in the food-chain, Eichenbaum. And of course I play CM. No one in the Peng Challenge is slower at returning turns than I am. Ask any of them.