Seanachai

And we are in all of her prayers. Well, not you so much. You're a Lady of the 'Pool, after all, and not much in need of them. It's for the vulgar hairy-backs that prayers are needed. Dearest Persephone, I wish I could get you the photo of myself 'walking on the water' in Canada. A classic. But it seems to have gone missing. Doubtless Berli wishes to prevent my ascension.

Yes, I remember her being there at my second court appearance. What a tower of strength she was. And so good about not pointing out that if there was any hint of justice in the American court system, I'd be chained to a rock for vultures to tear at my entrails. She kept telling me everything would be fine. You can't even buy that sort of faithfulness. Although the lawyer did cost us a huge sum, and he seemed very earnest about not wanting me to go to jaill.

Too true, Mace. Please keep your lot in line until I return from the North, when I hope to once again undertake the 'Crushing of All Australians'. Having to deliver a tribute to you lot has filled me with a horror that can only be alleviated by delivering a right good crushing to several of you. It would be nice, for one thing, if at least some of you were crushed. So far, it's been a very mixed armageddon.

Furthur good news: Official pathology report in this afternoon: All Nodes Clear. They will do a bone-scan, just to be on the safe side, but right now it looks like we win, cancer loses. My Mom will likely go home tomorrow or Friday. On Friday morning, at the insistence of my Mother, with the blessings of my sisters, the manly nod from my brothers-in-law, and the 'yeh, yeh, get the hell out of here' from my step-father, I will head North, to Canada. Look for a massive falling off in the wittiness and entertainment value of this Thread until Sunday, August 3rd, or so. Until then, of course, I will do what I can to respond to the many, many highly valued gibbering idiots that have made this Thread one of the very best places to be on the entire Web. My Mother, oddly enough, sends her regards to all of you. You puzzle her, and although she despairs that you do not seem to appreciate my true worthiness, she feels that 'well, if you have fun there, they must be very nice people.' How to explain to a woman who believes in goodness that the main part of you are un-lanced boils on the bum of humanity? She'd probably have all you lot over for Thanksgiving dinner, but especially the Kiwis and Aussies. She went to New Zealand and Australia for a trip a couple of years back, and she thought that everyone there was 'just wonderful'. Interestingly, she thought the Kiwis were just a bit obsessive and odd, but very nice.

Now here is a bit of strangeness in the Universe. I stayed up until about 3 or 4 AM the other night, stressed out, reading the whole 'Conspiracy' thread, in which that little neo-nazi punk Schoerner finally showed the uniform that many of us all knew he'd been wearing for quite some time. I remember when that little ****e first started showing up here. And do you know, I almost sent you an email that night thanking you for posting that link that responds to 'Holocaust Deniers'? I read it for hours, and went to many of the connections. Thank you for your good wishes, and thank you for your efforts on that thread. [ July 23, 2003, 11:29 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Too true, Berli. She always asks about you lot, of course. My whole family has been subjected to large doses of 'the Peng Challenge Thread'. She always says: "And how is your missionary work amongst the ignorant Combat Mission people going, Steven?" She calls me Steven. Simply can't break her of it. You can be an Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread, conversant with all the devils and vices between heaven and hell; corrupt and illuminated, enlightened and unutterably lost, and to her you're still her 'handsome' young man who was no good at sports but so good with words, and made friends so easily... Silly woman. They always remember what was best about you, even after it was all gone. None of us will get into heaven without their memories.

And we here in Minnesota regard you Wisconsinites with that special, older sibling tolerance reserved for the beloved, if somewhat air-headed and 'most likely to get pregnant in the back seat of a car' sister State that you are. You buggers drink brandy and coca-cola. I mean, really, 'whoops-a-daisy-and-another-Packer-fan-is-born'.

Ah, Grog Dorosh. Some day we'll get you to that Canadian cabin, and we'll drown you. In beer, of course. I've often brought friends to meet my Mom and my sisters, and they've always said, 'Wow, your sisters are all wonderful, and your Mom is one of the most gracious and endearing people I've ever met...er..." And I have to tell them: 'I, um, take after my Dad. Well, without the drive, ambition and accomplishment, of course.'

While true that even the veriest babes can take from me even the contents of my wallet, I still hold so much avuncular affection for them that I never hesitate to read many of them bed-time tales from my collection of my written stories. I understand that some of them suffer 'night terrors' well into the late teens. Don't make me prove to you, Pondscum, that it's never too late to have a disturbing childhood. This will be our second 'survivor'. My middle sister overcame Hodgkins at 14, then breast cancer in her 30s (from the radiation treatments for her earlier cancer). My Dad, sadly, succumbed to lung cancer. He was a smoker, of course.

Good on you, Cavscout, and your mother-in-law! Er...I'm a bit puzzled about the moss thing. Mind, there's nothing as soft, cool, and cushiony as a bed of moss...but...well... Never mind, then. Better, I suspect, not to go there. But you do realize that 'Mother Earth', lad, doesn't necessarily need direct deposit? As to the non-driving thing: Sigh. I assume this is a reference to the very odd, regretable, and simply bizarre tendency of Minnesotans to drive slowly in the left lane, against all sodding reason? As opposed to the tendency of the FIBs to drive in all lanes and on both shoulders as though 'arseholery' is going to be a required question on the entrance exam for heaven?

I...swallows the lump that remains from Dalem's last versification foray in the previous Thread...I don't know what to say, Dalem. You're a Prince, lad. That means an almost 15% decrease in brain-cell damage from reading this Thread. And that's just for the run-of-the-mill halfwits! My own retention will be even higher!

Ah, Harv. Dweller in that most perfect L7 of provinces. Thank you. Now bugger off and get me a Labatt's you little prairie flower!

Now, a quick post to tell all the regulars why I am so happy tonight. First, I am happy because it looks very much like my trip North to the Terrestrial Paradise, Lake of the Woods, Ontario, is very likely on again. But that is only the result of the very important reason that I am truly happy tonight. A few weeks ago, my Mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. The cancer was determined to be Type II, an invasive cancer. Actual staging of the cancer was yet to be determined. The doctors gave her an immense amount of information, told her what her various options were, and left her to decide what she would do. My Mom opted for mastectomy as the manner of treatment. Today they did a check of the sentinel nodes to see how far the cancer had progressed, and performed the mastectomy. The preliminary analysis of the node check indicates they are clear. This is not a full and comprehensive pathology report, but it gives us every reason to hope that the cancer was caught early, had not spread elsewhere in the body, and means that my Mother should be around to despair of having produced a son like me for many years yet to come. The surgery went well, and she was resting comfortably when I left the hospital tonight. I am filled with indescribable, if guarded, relief, and great joy. Tonight, I love you all. Well, not Berli quite so much, because I know it would just annoy him. We will see how things go, and what the final pathology report shows. Of course, anyone who wishes to throw our current game out of sympathy for my tension and concern should try to do so in a discrete way that leaves me believing I won by my own tactical superiourity.

Alright, I'm quite, quite HAPPY tonight. To find out why, go to my newest incarnation of the Thread of threads. Here, halfwits: Those I Taunt

Right, if you're reading this, you're new. None of the rest of the lot bother with 'the Rules' much, except to mock and revile them, and that is a good thing. We don't actually have 'Rules'. We have a way of doing things that creates a very strange community. Here is how we do things: This is, by common consent of the inmates, for the public consumption of the Outer Boards, and to maintain the forebearance of the Moderators, a Challenge Thread. Obviously there are opponent finder forums, there are ladders (paugh), and there are any number of chat areas where one can come by a game. Here, things are a bit different. To this Thread comes the person who wishes to make of his Challenge a bit more than an 'oh, say, would anyone like to play a game of CM? You would, oh, smashing!' In this place dwell those who, before flicking a bit of dust from the perfect lace of their cuffs, and removing their glove made of the finest calfskin to throw in your face, will declaim some witty challenge, perhaps recite a few lines of verse, and tweak you with an insult while complimenting you with abuse. Of course, we also have quite a few that will, while you're watching the whole flicking dust off the sleeve, removing the glove bit, kick you right in the fork and then dance about on your spine while singing some very shoddy lyrics about how great they are, and what a halfwit you are. But within the heart of every one of them I know there is a deep reverence for the shades of D'Artagnan, Cyrano and Von Münchhausen. Now, despite the many different approaches to the Art of the Challenge, a few things are held by all in common. Challenge a Specific Individual: Don't offer general challenges to everyone. This marks you as an idiot. Pick out someone, preferably someone whose style appeals to you, and challenge them. Of course, those of us who've been here a long time have heard everything, and you're not likely to get a game unless your challenge is really quite good. If you flounder around for a while, doing your best but only managing to make an ass of yourself in an amusing way, someone will probably take pity on you and prod one of the other newcomers to give you a game. When Challenging, Show Some Class: This is relatively simple. Don't frenetically wave your privates about, don't frequently point to the privates of others and make loud and boorish statements, and remember that only the lower primates throw their feces around to get attention. Challenge With the Heart of a Cyrano: Use wit. And panache. Amuse us, enlighten us, make us realize that yet another brother has joined this hallowed company of fools. Use, in other words, as much beyond half a brain as you are capable of. Annoy Not the Ladies of the 'Pool: They lounge about, and drink wine, and they are not for you to make mock of . Oh, they may exchange some jests with you, and some will even play a game. But they are not here to be harassed or abused. And remember this, always: Little boys that think manhood is achieved by misogyny and the degradation of women will get short shrift here. Finally, If You Would Be One of Us, Then Join Us: Fill out your profile. Include an email address, a general location, something about yourself. In the beginning, of course, this will be the little we know about you by which we may mock you. As time goes by, and we come to know you better, we will have all sorts of things at our command with which to mock you. And consider that, if you don't wish us to know anything about you, why should we care to welcome you into this very strange little community? Finally, there are any number of fools who will wander in to these Threads, firm in the knowledge that there is simply nothing more significant on this planet than themselves. When they don't get the response they're looking for they first become disruptive, then abusive, and usually proceed to hateful. We simply freeze them out. It is known, hereabouts, as being sent to Coventry. It means that no member of this Thread will acknowledge their existence any longer. They generally go away. Some, of course, in their desperate need to be acknowledged as 'a real grown-up', will eventually end up being cautioned by the Moderators, and banning from the Forum is always a possibility. If you think this just some low-brow flamefest where any vulgarity goes, think again. Try heading over to the Cheery Waffles. Look for Soddball, and tell him I am still not him. But to Challenge here, you must be at least intelligent enough to read and acknowledge the way we do things. Or, of course, you could just sod off.

It is not permissible for you to use the term 'lesser mammals'. Thrown into a holding pen with cats, squirrels, dingoes, tree shrews and rats, you would, at best, be entitled to use the term 'first amongst equals'. And the dingoes could probably bring a defamation suit.

In response to Boo's tasking of Jim Boggs on the issue of 'obscenely prolonged games', I feel the need to make a few observations, and pass along some remarks on my current game with the inimitable Boo. First off, why would anyone have an issue with Boggs and Moraine Sedai being locked together for the foreseeable future in a life and death struggle to establish a 'dominance heirarchy' of the baboon troop commonly refered to as 'the American South'? The longer they're kept busy with each other, the longer the rest of us can forego the need to sleep in shifts for fear of being crept up on and subjected to some interminable monologue on 'the War'. By which, of course, any Southerner means 'the American Civil War', the losing of which no Southerner ever gets tired of discussing. If possible, I'd extend their game to 100 turns. Now, as for Mr. Radley. I am currently enduring a game with Boo, that he set up. It is a 35 turn game with variable ending, which means it will most likely go to 40 turns. I am having difficulty with the idea that Boo fears 'running out of ammo', given that he has spent about 30 turns of this game barely moving forward to the edge of my original setup zone. If I were to give a name to Boo's tactical style, it would have to be the 'Continental Drift' approach. I'm sure that, on the last turn of the game when he finally gets close enough to one of the VLs to determine that it's location is marked by a 'flag', the overall effect will be 'impressive'. In the interim, however, and after watching Boo 'command' his troops, I've decided that my best response is to simply sit quietly and wait for climate change to kill him off, leaving his troops leaderless, and so, finally, in a position to pose a threat to me. Then I will have to act.

Joe the cat? Um, Dalem, you named your cat Joe Shaw, didn't you?

Good God, but Turin was an incredible berk, wasn't he? His character and story has 'High Germanic Weirdness and Idiocy' written all over it, doesn't it? I mean, sum up the whole Volsung Saga/Nibelungenlied stuff in a page or so, just hitting the highlights, and people will look at you like you've just crawled out from underneath a rock reserved for particularly disturbed halfwits.

Very common among former Marines </font>

Well, we've just heard from the auditors. Their analysis of the 'taunts' that took place during the 'Peng Challenge Telethon For Australia' has been completed and was forwarded to the Olde Ones this weekend. As such, it is now my rather painful duty to make good on our committment of 'having a go at Australia' on the basis of the received taunts. Australia, you are one of the world's treasures. A landscape of diversity and beauty, with fauna and flora of unparalleled uniqueness. Your aboriginal peoples have given to the world a mythology rich and and intriguing in its spiritual and psychological depths. Your settlers have overcome a colonial legacy of brutality and neglect, have battled unceasingly against drought and bushfires to become a modern, economically stable and proudly contributing member of the world community. You have an easy way about you, with a smiling and friendly populace noted for their hospitality and sense of humour. You are a stout and loyal ally, and have never tied your friendship or support to aid, or political and economic concessions. You have unstintingly given of your best in every conflict, fielding armies of volunteers whose bravery is legendary. Any Australian ever shot in the back was simply killed refusing to surrender when surrounded. As any nation does, you have had your growing pains, your crises, and have things in your history that you might wish were different. But you are a land of great promise, which, in the decades to come, will undoubtedly prove itself to be up to any challenge, with a nod, and a smile, and a 'no worries, mate!' Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi! Well, I hope you lot are proud of yourselves. When your taunts were weighed in the balance, it turns out we were actually so far in the red that we had to do a tribute to the bastards! I hope you can live with yourselves. Now excuse me, as I'm going to go sit in the corner and weep before taking a long, cold shower in bleach.

Humourously enough, you're right. I was almost always the last person 'out'. However, I was universally hated by teammates because, as you know, the only way to get someone who was 'out' back 'in' was to catch one of the opponent's throws on the fly, and I wasn't having with any of that sort of lunatic behaviour. The games usually devolved into a nightmare of 3 or 4 opposing team players all rifling balls at me at 60 mph as I desperately ducked and wove, with my own team shouting 'kill him, kill him' from the sidelines. If it took too long for a couple of them to simultaneously drill me in the face and kidneys, the ex-Marine Phy Ed teacher, who deeply hated me in any case, would laugh and start to throw extra balls into the game until there were about a dozen coming for me at any one time. It was very good training for participating in this Thread. [ July 20, 2003, 10:35 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I've always thought of Hiram as simply being a sort of ambulatory jack. A good man to have around if you need to prop up a heavy object for an indeterminate amount of time.

You shoot the Colonel, don't you, and try and make it look like a suicide? Daft bugger for letting you get your hands on a gun. Then, in the ensuing confusion and emergency, you take control of the HQ in the tradition of 'restoring order and quelling disaffection', and hang on there to keep things going until 'a suitable replacement arrives', having destroyed all copies of the orders saying you should be elsewhere.

Have Boggs and Lady Moraine finally achieved a game, or will we be subjected to the 'extended engagement' version of this Southern Special Olympics?