Seanachai

Or we could just give them Boo's ears. There's a long tradition of removing ears in the Peng Challenge Thread.

Ha! Nothing to hide my arse! How about the fact that you are known to have connections with members of the Peng Challenge Thread, and have even supplied them with wine, eh? Which, by the way, was drunk on an island in the middle of a lake where we were surrounded by untold numbers of bikini-clad young women, and was very, very good. We even used glasses to drink it. For the most part, anyway.

Oh, I guess that still begs the question of their status and title. What are we calling the Iraqis these days? Wards? Protectorate? Economic Opportunity? Perhaps we should call Muffin and Timmy the 'Official Cesspool Captives Liberated from the Tyranny of Boo', or somesuch.

Having freed them from the tyranny of Radley's friendship (doubtless at some point an international tribunal will be called to review their suffering and take appropriate action), I imagine that we should introduce them to Freedom and Democracy, and allow them to select new friends without threat of reprisals from Boo. Also, I imagine that shortly we'll be informed by the Government that Haliburton will take on the responsibility of helping them to reconstruct their lives.

Might that not inspire too much horror in them, as it would be all too reminiscent of Lars' emails from the last exchange? I mean, does a guy in Las Vegas really need to know all the ins and outs of various animal urines as a fashion accessory?

Joe, it had to be done. This question of Boo denying we of the Cesspool proper contact with 'Muffin' and 'Las Vegas Timmy' had become intolerable. When you win, Joe, and we are at last given access to 'Muffin' and 'Timmy', I shall want a hand in the emails contacting them. These individuals are, in all liklihood, quite disturbed and will need sensitive handling. Not only are they, apparently, in correspondence with Boo on a regular basis, but they were subjected to several days of Cesspool 'reply to all' emails on a variety of odd and no doubt off-putting topics. I imagine that these two are now quite fragile. Imagine the horror of first being subjected to association with Boo, then being barraged with a series of strange emails from 'Poolers, none of whom you know, talking about things you do not understand (and very likely do not want to understand). Of course, for 'Muffin' and 'Las Vegas Timmy', the whole incident probably seems like just a continuation of the 'sock puppet theatre of cruelty and madness' that their whole association with Boo has probably deteriorated into.

Latent? There's nothing LATENT about Seanachai's too-long-story gene. It's been out of the closet for YEARS. </font>

If it were a "Guiness", do you think I would be sending it off with narry a second thought? And yes, you shall see. All three of you. I am sending off the last of it, to make room for the new batch. P.S. Joe, you twit, I was annointed and made kniggit at the Ascension of King Meeks, long may he be gone. Do A Search, you ninny. </font>

And now, an address to Leeo. Ah, Leeo! How well I remember when you first shuffled in here, soggy, as all you Northwest Coasters are, from your own inability to figure out which way the wind is blowing when you go to relieve yourselves. I challenge you to a game, my dear Leeo. You have, in private email passed amongst only 15 or so truly utterly vulgar and useless human beings, impugned my courage. As I now recall your 'remarks', you stated that I was 'afraid' to meet you on the Field of Honour. I took this to mean that I had not spent enough time calling into question every aspect of your person, abilities, and intelligence here in the Peng Challenge Thread. There was simply no possibility of a game of CM with you ending in anything less than the sort of humiliation for you that even the most anxious halfwit would struggle to reject before taking his own life. How glad I am to find that, after all this time of allowing you to flop about on the shore of the Peng Challenge Thread like some sort of gill-netted trash fish stripped out and heaped up to rot, you're now anxious to prove your unworthiness of anything other than scorn by back-handing a challenge to me. You tit. You very small puddle of poodle urine. What's next for you, Leeo? A full episode interview with Nicole Smith? Send me a setup. For all that you might have been, I will grant you the grace of dispatching you myself.

That passage had my hopes up for half of it. But I guess his meek looks fooled them, and they only went over the car. SirReal </font>

Ah, yes, I see. Now we're supposed to challenge you. I understand that, having found life, reality, the ability to read instructions, and shoes with laces, as opposed to velcro straps, a challenge, that you would want, nay, even demand, a break from all the day to day challenges. That you would shuffle in here like some impossibly testosterone poisoned teenager and require that, against all the expectations of rational folk who can actually use utensils like knives and forks, you would actually be greeted with a witty challenge, or challenges, from which you might take your pick. How sad for you. How truly heroic, though, that idiocy springs eternal from such an otherwise barren field. What is this, only your second visit here? I distinctly remember your first attempt to get a game here. It lacked. You take as your starting point insufferable pride. You seem not to realize that that is where you end up, not where you begin. Where you begin, is by coming in here and amusing us all by challenging someone to a game. We all deride you. We might some day hate you, should you prove to be worth the effort. Right now, you're making me think I should simply watch where I walk. Right now, I would throw away the pair of shoes that tread on you, rather than bothering to simply clean them.

Sunday, August 3rd, 1:45 PM American Customs station, Baudette, Minnesota Our scene opens at the interface between two worlds: The World of 'Authority, Duty, and Responsibility', and the ' World of Poor Bastards Who Just Want to Be Getting On With It'. Before us, we see a window, set into the wall of a building, that slides aside so that the bright-eyed, well-groomed, impeccably uniformed, twenty-something Customs Officer can speak to the rather distressingly unkempt and untidy older man who is sitting at the wheel of the Honda Civic that has just erratically pulled up. Customs Officer Hello, sir. Where are you coming from? Seanachai A lot of people have asked me that, you know. I like to think that, although I may not be mainstream in my thinking, I represent a subconscious ethic that all Americans share, and speak to their hearts, although sometimes our heads might clash. Customs Officer What? Seanachai Ah, you want to know where I just spent the last nine days? Customs Officer Yes, sir, that's what I asked you. Seanachai Miles Bay, Lake of the Woods. My family has a cabin on an island there. Customs Officer And where do you live, sir? Seanachai South Minneapolis. Customs Officer Are you bringing back anything from Canada? Seanachai Yes, I bring a message of peace and brotherhood to all mankind. Cast away your hatreds and your prejudices, and join hands in a circle in which the shock of recognition shall run the whole circle round, to tell Boo Radley that he is the wind beneath our wings! Customs Officer Sir, are you bringing any drugs back from Canada? Seanachai Back? No. Customs Officer Are you bringing any alcohol back? Seanachai What? Customs Officer Are you bringing back any alcohol from Canada, any beer or liquor? Seanachai Beer? Oh, yeah, the whole car's full of it. Do you want one? Customs Officer How much beer do you have in the car, sir? Seanachai How old are you? I don't have any bloody beer in the car. I'm coming back from a cabin in the middle of nowhere. How could I possibly have beer to bring back? We are talking about un-drunk alcohol here, aren't we? Customs Officer Sir, are you bringing any weapons in from Canada? Seanachai Why, have we run out? My God, this war is having an effect! Customs Officer Could I see your ID, sir? Seanachai Certainly. Although I warn you, that picture makes me look much thinner without the pointy red hat. Customs Officer Sir, could you pull over under the canopy and get out of your car and come back into the building this is not, technically, phrased as a question. We'll try and get you back on your way as quick as we can. Seanachai I have to pull over? Customs Officer Yes, sir. Seanachai I have to come in? Customs Officer Yes, sir. Seanachai Look I brushed my teeth and shaved, and everything. I'm an old man. Are you checking me because I don't have any alcohol, tobacco, or weapons? Because I can go back and try and load-up. Customs Officer Just pull your car over under the canopy, sir, and come into the building. Seanachai Mind, it would be a tough row to hoe, given that it's Sunday. I mean, I might be able to buy cigarettes or something, but there's no place I'm going to get any beer short of pitching a cinder block through the window of the OLCB shop back up the way. And I don't even know how the Canadians can get weapons. Customs Officer Sir, please pull over to the canopy, and get out of your car. Now. The Officer, wearing rubber gloves, and carrying a variety of tools, passes the old man as he heads into the building Seanachai muttering Sure, first they take our freedoms, then they try and seduce our cars away from us. Inside, everything is clean, and fresh, and wonderfully institutional. Another young, bright, firm-jawed Officer with a 'surprisingly well-styled haircut given that it's just slightly beyond a crew-cut' asks the old man to fill out a 'customs declaration form'. He takes some time filling in the one page sheet. There seems to be several pages, but he concentrates on the cover page. Eventually, the Customs Officer comes over to look over his answers. Another Customs Officer (they're all the same, at this age, like chinchillas, it's a wonder they have names; later on, they develop some personality) Sir, you state here on the declaration that you're bringing back 'fruits and vegetables'? Seanachai Yes? Customs Officer Where did you get them, sir? Seanachai Er...well, the broccoli is from Cub Foods, down on Nicollet Avenue...I think I bought the apples from the Cub Foods in Edina, though. Customs Officer But you purchased them in the US, sir? Seanachai Oh, yeah. Wait, do I get points for that?! Customs Officer And you also state that you're bringing back 'meat'? Seanachai Whoa. Yeah. Does that negate my 'fruit and vegetable' coup? Customs Officer What kind of meat, sir? Seanachai Jimmy Dean pork sausage. Customs Officer Was it purchased in the US, sir? Seanachai Yeah, of course. I suppose Canadians can buy it too, though. Aren't we supposed to have some sort of Free Trade agreement? Customs Officer Sir, currently, because of 'mad cow disease' you cannot bring meat products back from Canada. Seanachai Really? That would explain why they are currently embargoing our potatoes*. I mean, how can you be a 'meat and potatoes' man on the border these days, when you can't bring meat in from one side, nor potatoes from the other? Can't we all just get along? Customs Officer Sir, here where you're asked if you're bringing any 'disease agents' into the country, you've written a question mark. Why? Seanachai Okay, look. Are you telling me that enough people with a legitimate reason to do so are transporting 'disease agents' across the border to make it necessary to ask about them? I mean, why isn't there a bloody follow-up question about 'weapons grade plutonium', or 'reservoir poisoning compounds'? I just want to make sure I understand the question. Customs Officer Sir, we want to know if you are transporting any means by which the health and general welfare of the United States might be compromised or endangered. Seanachai Nope, just me. No children in the car. Customs Officer Sir, we do not regard these things as 'joking matters'. Seanachai What about that load of Wisconsites that were through here about 15 minutes ago? They were joking about 'disease agents' all over the place. Customs Officer Sir, they are from Wisconsin steely gaze does battle with sheepish look. They think that 'disease agent' means 'hookers'. Seanachai Pull the other one, that one's got bells on it. Customs Officer Strong Catholic Church in Wisconsin, sir. Seanachai True enough. Roight, then! I'm not carrying any disease agents, the only products I'm bringing back from Canada are what I brought in with me, I haven't any drugs, alcohol, or tobacco products, mores the pity, and although I despise the current Administration, I represent about as much threat to it as a neutered terrier. I can still recite the Pledge of Allegiance after all these years, and I know how to sing that one tune as either 'My Country 'Tis of Thee' or 'God Save the Queen', which makes me very contemporary. I registered for the draft back in 1974, and, if asked to serve, I will certainly say 'what?' The First Customs Officer Sir, we're done checking your car. Did they give you your ID back? You can be on your way. Alright, gentle readers, the above was a descent into fantasy. For one thing, you cannot joke with these lads. They are extremely earnest, and humourless. If they even suspect that you are joking about them, rather than with them, you will be held at the Border for untold hours, and, in most cases, you will have to try and re-assemble your car without the benefit of any of the tools that were used to disassemble it. Even the Canadians have gotten heavy. Their Customs Officers now wear flak jackets. For Godssakes, when was the last time anyone wanted to shoot a Canadian? I mean, Dorosh aside, it's simply ridiculous. *No Joke: the Canadians are not allowing Americans to bring in potatoes. Supposedly, somewhere, there is a 'potato fungus' that they are concerned about. It is simply not possible that the American decision to ban Canadian beef because of concerns about mad cow disease are in any way affecting the decision of Canadian Customs to confiscate American grown potatoes. The price of potatoes on the Canadian side of the border was about 2-3 times that of what the tubers would cost on the American side of the border.

ROIGHT, THEN! Tomorrow, way early, I leave for Canada. I expect you lot to watch your step, tread the line, and do the right thing. I have never, in all my long life, met such a group of villainous, objectionable, vulgar cretins. Nor have I ever had the displeasure to meet such a large group of complete, idiotic bastards that I'd be more proud to call friends. You are the wind beneath my wings. Never mind that all that wind is coming out of your backsides, and that from ear to ear the gale force breeze blowing through your heads could strip a pigeon of feathers in minutes. You're as lovely a group of halfwits as even Kipling would have been happy to make a poem about. So, although I've posted it before, I always liked it, and so I'll post it again, just because I'm too tired, drunk, and happy to do something new. A poem for all you Cesspoolers, ala Rudyard. The Young Cesspool Squire When the Scum Sucking Newbie goes out to the 'Pool 'E acts like a pillock an' 'e posts like a fool, An' 'e weeps because others are frequently cruel And 'e's not fit to serve as a squire. Serve, serve, serve as a squire, Serve, serve, serve as a squire, Serve, serve, serve as a squire, Squire of the Cesspool! Now all you serfs what's drafted to-day, You shut up your cake-hole an' 'ark to my lay, An' I'll sing you a squire as far as I may: A squire what's fit for a 'Pooler. Fit, fit, fit for a squire Fit, fit, fit for a squire Fit, fit, fit for a squire Squire of the Cesspool! First mind you steer clear o' the 'general' taunt, that labels you stupid, useless, and naught -- that shows to the world that you cannot be taught -- An' it's bad for the young Cesspool Squire. Bad, bad, bad for the squire Bad, bad, bad for the squire Bad, bad, bad for the squire Squire of the Cesspool When comes the laughter -- as it will past a doubt -- don't pose and don't preen, and don't go on the shout, For the 'Pool will just sneer, and spit yer arse out, An' it crumples the young Cesspool Squire. Crum-, crum-, crumples the squire Crum-, crum-, crumples the squire Crum-, crum-, crumples the squire Squire of the Cesspool But the worst o' your foes is the other young fools: who'll be set on yer arse, by the powers that rule: they'll send you out battles that make you look like a tool, An' you'll die like a fool of a squire. Fool, fool, fool of a squire Fool, fool, fool of a squire Fool, fool, fool of a squire Squire of the Cesspool If you're belittled and spat on, completely ignored, Don't piss and don't moan, and return to the Board; Be witty and tough, and amusement afford Then it's beer for the young Cesspool Squire. Beer, beer, beer for the squire Beer, beer, beer for the squire Beer, beer, beer for the squire Squire of the Cesspool Now, if you should find a Knight notices your worth and offers to sponsor your place on this earth and offers your pain up to give others mirth, Know that mirth is enough for a squire. 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a squire 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a squire 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a squire Squire of the Cesspool Your Knight's foes will curse you, and laugh at your pain your Knight will laugh too, and you'll feel there's no gain and you'll curse all the 'Pool, and call it insane, An' you'll then know the curse of a squire. Curse, curse, curse of a squire Curse, curse, curse of a squire Curse, curse, curse of a squire Squire of the Cesspool When you first go to taunt, you'll probably suck, And the Knights will run over your arse like a truck, Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck And march to new taunts like a squire. Taunt, taunt, taunt like a squire Taunt, taunt, taunt like a squire Taunt, taunt, taunt like a squire Squire of the Cesspool! When 'arf of your taunts fly wide and go wrong, Don't revert to expletives or ****e jokes, you nong; Just buckle down lad, and get set for sing-song, the song of a young Cesspool squire. song, song, song for a squire song, song, song for a squire song, song, song for a squire Squire of the Cesspool And if you should finally arrive as a Knight having taunted and held on and fought the good fight then remember to make the new squires wade through ****e Cause ****e is what makes a good squire, ****e, ****e, ****e for a squire ****e, ****e, ****e for a squire ****e, ****e, ****e for a squire Squire of the Cesspool You're no longer a squire, and now you're a Knight, you've learned how to taunt, and mock, and make light of all of the bastards who once gave you ****e and hate like a young Cesspool squire. hate, hate, hate like a squire hate, hate, hate like a squire hate, hate, hate like a squire Squire of the Cesspool When you're wounded and left in the Cesspool of Peng, And the bastards come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to the taunt and blow out their brains An' go to your Gawd like a Knight. Go, go, go like a knight, Go, go, go like a knight, Go, go, go like a knight, Knight of the Cesspool!

Soddball, here in Minnesota, we have a term for people like you, and that is: Icky. It's not a proud taunt, nor boastful abuse, but we all know what it means, and we're all a bit shame-faced about using it. Remain 'icky' Soddball. You are, like a hog shouldering aside lesser rooters-of-the-earth, a figure that 'stomps upon the Terra'. There are times when your shovelling snout turns up truffles, and then there are those times when you cool yourself by rolling in the cooling mud created by your own urine and feces. Hail to thee, Soddball! Mightiest Warriour of the Horrible and Vile Cheery Waffle Thread! (oh, and not to mention extremely annoying limey bugger who would, in a well run country, already be in gaol). Your well wishes for me Mum are much appreciated. There's no doubt that you'll achieve a slightyly higher level of hell as a sign of mercy for this uncharacteristic outburst of humanity.

This is specious logic. I am, except during times of family crisis, as happy as a lark. While this begs the question of how we know that larks are happy, I can certainly attest that they fly as though they were happy, so we shall let the metaphor stand. And, as far as intellects go, mine is a towering cliff, unrivalled in its significance on this Forum, and from it's edge the rest of you downy little lot plunge like so many population-stressed lemmings. So, poetic rodent, please note that you need to reappraise your judgement.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I fervently hope that you will find a place in heaven. I sure as HELL don't want you here </font>

Ah, well. You've returned with your shield, then, eh? Now, not to task you too sharply, given that you've been busy filling foreigners with disgust and hatred for everything 'American' (or did you have the good taste to fake a very bad English accent and trash Britain in the eyes of the world?), it seems to me that we were, you bugger, playing a game at some point. I still have the files. Now, if you're done playing cat and rat in the 'Reno' of the Middle East, what's become of our game. Oh, and thank you for your kind thoughts. It just goes to show that even daft military lunatics can still have tender hearts!

Ah, yes. The 'Poor Man's McAuslan'. Your good wishes are much appreciated. Of course, your wee Spaniel emailed me days ago, and promised that you'd be chiming in just as soon as he could explain to you enough key concepts for you to wrap your large, worn, flannel of a mind around the significant bits, Jimmy. An intelligent and long-suffering animal. Get him a new chew-toy. Ten thousand years of loyal, loving and working partnership with mankind, and your wee Spaniel draws you in the canine lottery of life. Talk about a sense of evolutionary foolishness. Neutering must have come as a huge relief. Aye, Jimmy, I'm lookin' at you! Good on ya', ya' daft Aussie Scot.

Ah, Elvis, Elvis. Childhood playmate of Peng himself. What, indeed, can I say to you? Well, and this is more than you deserve, I recently read "Lamb", by Christopher Moore, and you remind me of 'Biff'. Having cozened some poor woman into accepting the physical and spiritual degradation of inflicting your genetic material on another generation, I can only imagine that you spend most of your time listening to Elvis Costello, and playing endless games of CM against Hiram and his Lady, doubtless encouraging them in their own attempt to cloud the gene pool past all hope of a sunny day for humanity. How well I remember our game, the only one we've played, which you won by a convergence of circumstances, poor scenario design, and evil-minded bastardy that are unlikely to be repeated while this age of the world endures. Wank on, Elvis. Love and kisses to the wife and child, your own window of opportunity on eternity, and the best to your family.

Ah, Shaw, what can I say to you? Ever since that day that I first met you in Salt Lake City, when I was driving around, cursing, looking for a place that would sell me beer during the heavily municipally regulated hours of late afternoon on a week day, and you, an unemployed mortgage banker, sprang forward at that stoplight under the freeway overpass with an old undershirt and a heavily watered bottle of windex, and proceeded to smear the bug guts of the desert over my windshield while chanting 'spare change, spare change, clean your windshield, mister?', I knew that we were destined to bring order, justice, and the Peng Challenge Way of Life to a yet unknowing world. Except, of course, that you were a Texan, and I was a Minnesotan, so you had only the vaguest sense of what any of those words meant. Even the definite articles. But we have laboured, side by side, to make this Thread a place where even the long-standing members shout 'Christ on a Crutch, someone make the Justicar shut-up about all this rules crap', and 'Good God, has anyone actually read to the end of one of Seanachai's posts and been able to piece together what he was on about?!" We have, Shaw, fought the good fight. The only difference, being, of course, that I've fought it well, using sound tactics, intelligence, and a mastery of words and concepts that has left me a semi-mythic figure of grave import, whose every pronouncement screams 'significance', while you garner cat-calls and jeers from a bunch of half-wits while thanklessly ejecting spotty teenagers and self-important gits from this most amusing of places. Funny old thing, life, eh? Thank you for your well wishes. I know, indeed, what they and all this means to you, my friend.

Oh, Rune. Just this once, won't you do the 'Mistah Christ-yun!' voice? I hate all your scenarios. I hate that you make scenarios. I envy you the fact that, if the amount of hatred earned for making scenarios was money, you'd be the wealthiest man in all America. And even if all you had to live on was the money you'd earned from the hatred generated from my playing of your hateful scenarios, you'd be very comfortably well-off, because I play your hateful scenarios all the time. How I hate you. If I could have achieved as many postcards filled with hatred in my call to all the community to send me postcards filled with hate, as your hateful scenarios so obviously deserve, then my work on this planet would be done. I would have achieved the very pinnacle of hatred, which somehow, still escapes me. Of course, neither of us would be as hated as Bill Gates. Nor as rich. Don't you just hate that? [ July 24, 2003, 01:11 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Do you know, I've often noticed your posts on the Board, and I rather like you. Well, in the same way you like a plucky, three-legged mongrel that simply has 'contender' written all over it. Written with another, more accomplished dog's feces, of course. In the hand-writing of the village idiot. In fact, I think that of all the ****e-smeared, gimpy mongrels on the entire Combat Mission Forum, you're my favourite. I thank you for your well wishes. I've done my best to repay them by granting you an extraordinary level of humourous abuse that I normally don't expend on anyone outside this Thread. A Testimonial, dear friends!

Not going North of the border, are you? Because I know some Mounties that owe me a favour. Watch yourself in the Boundary Waters, Lars. If Ned Beatty couldn't make it through a canoe trip without assuming the position, what's to become of a handsome, Gary Shandling look-a-like like you?! Thank you for your good wishes. What say when we all get back to town that we all go boating, and throw Papa Khann to the fishes?

When all the South is cleansed of it's stupidity and silliness, my hope is that you'll be left until the last. You may versify. Dalem's efforts are being studied for use as anti-personnel weapons.

Envy becomes you, Boo. You wear your desire to be worthy of me like another man might wear a tuxedo. Shoot your cuffs, straighten your bow-tie, and give your cummerband that final smoothing as you step out before all the world saying 'Good golly, aren't I just the spitting image of the Gnome's intellectual sartorial display?! Never mind the seed-cap, I'm from Ohio! Squint up your brain, and read my posts, and can't you just see how erudite I am, too?' You are never alone, Boo. I am always with you. Your good wishes for my Mom mean more to me than even the image of Governor James Rhodes writhing in hell. Which he is, and my Mom's doing well, so I'm damned happy.