Seanachai

Probably the cutest thing about Australia is this internal battle for dominance and assertions of regional superiourity. It's like finding out that different sections of a Petri dish mock each other.

Silence, you East European refugee! Er...that is... Be less visual, you pillock!

Thank you. I was trying to remember what those bloody things were called just the other day. The answer, by the way, is 13. And now, a DAR (no, not 'Daughters of the American Revolution'; that is, not 'prissy upper-class matrons unwholesomely longed for by such East Coast drongos as Nidan)', but rather, 'Durable Action Report'. It is part of the ongoing saga that is this place. It is going out in a style to acknowledge and honour an event that occured on this day in 1939. See if any of you small dying creatures can sort out what that might have been: Seanachai pried his eyelids open with difficulty. His cheek was lying in a puddle of something that reeked of fermentation, and the rough grain of the table top stretched out before him like some hideous appalachian landscape of clear-cut ridges receding into a polluted distance of unknowable horror. Someone was shaking his shoulder insistently, repeating over and over 'Comrade Commander, Comrade Commander' in a voice that said 'lickspittle' in 9 languages. He got one arm under him and pushed off from the tabletop, lashing out with the other to knock aside the hand on his shoulder. "What is it?" he snarled. "Stop touching me, you f'ing idiot! Did I give you permission to touch me?!" The last in a sort of barely coherent scream. The pasty faced young man in front of him recoiled in horror. "NO, Comrade Commander! I humbly beg your pardon! But I have news! And I wasn't sure you were breathing!" He tried to focus. "Where's my goddamn drink? Did you take it, you puffy faced little streak of piss?!" "NO, Comrade Commander! I...you spilled it, I think. It's..." "Stop gibbering, you swine, and fetch me another bottle of vodka! Fast up with it!" he snarled. "YES, Comrade Commander!" The little toad scurried off, mumbling and wringing his hands. Bloody fools, that's what you got on the Front these days. He laughed harshly. Nothing but bloody fools, and righted his glass. He tried to focus on tangibles like 'time' and 'day'. The junior officer scurried back, bottle in hand. "Drink!" he shouted at the stooge, who stopped, frozen in horror, looking at him like a poodle caught in the headlights. "I have it right here, Comrade Commander!" he quavered. "No, Drink! DRINK! Drink up, you peasant! Drink until this whole stinking war makes sense!" "But...I...Comrade Commander, I..." His eyes were rolling, and Seanachai hoped he wasn't about to watch the world's first epileptic seizure brought on by the advent of manhood. "Drink, or I'll send you up to oversee the battle with Peng's troops, you fool!" The terrified junior stuck the bottle in his mouth and began to suck on it like a sailor too long at sea. "Good! We'll get drunk together!" The poor fool desperately nodded his head, still drinking. "Peng! That bastard!" He could barely focus. His head felt like it was going to explode. He jerked the bottle out of the hands of the junior officer and finished it off. Suddenly he felt a wonderful clarity. He didn't understand why he'd ever been worried. It was all so simple. "I'll simply challenge him," he mumbled to himself. "I'll challenge him, and I'll do it publicly, and I'll start a new topic about it. And I'll name it after the swine, and I'll make sure it never, ever dies!" Suddenly he felt like a god. "And at first, he'll be flattered, and make the mistake of participating. And soon his name will be everywhere, and he'll be a goddamn legend, and no one will even remember why, but he'll have to be 'on', day after day, trying to cope with being Peng! And he'll destroy himself, trying to live up to the ongoing nightmare of meeting the expectations of a bunch of waterheads who can't count up to 21 without removing their shoes and undoing their fly! And he'll have followers. Create him, and they will come! Mock him, and they will laugh! Praise him, and they will mock! But attack him, and they will defend. Defend him, and they will follow. Question him, and they will cast you into the Outer Boards." He smiled at the junior officer, who was now crouched in a corner, whimpering. "And I'll be his friend and confidante. I'll create an entire mythology surrounding his horrifying plunge into the maw of public expectations and private envy. I'll be the Apostle Peter and Judas Iscariot bound up in one, long-winded, seemingly senile and smilingly doddering old fool." His grin was now beyond simply demented, and well on its way to 'barking mad'. The cowering officer whispered "You're insane! And vile!" And Seanachai, smiled, and responded, "Don't be silly, lad. I'm the Nice One..."

Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable, Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table, Pounded on the table, Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom, Hard as they were able, Boom, boom, BOOM, With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM. THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision. I could not turn from their revel in derision -Vachel Lindsay Never fear, Boo. I am always with you, you are never alone. A little parade, is it, Boo? clap hands, here comes the Lindbergh baby... Well, when the ÜberGnome goes for a stroll, Boo, all the world pauses, and flocks to line his route, and pass some unkind, cutting remark. My due, as it were. The accolades that I have earned by dint of much application. Let them strew petals before the chariot of Caesar, but make my passage smooth with the abrasive power of their hate. Although the hate, of late, has been rather second rate. Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, Boo. But I am heartened beyond the ability of all but myself to describe (most of you lot can't describe anything other than defecation in a moving way...) by the recent reappearances of Geier and Goanna, to name but two. And the Fair Emma at least peeked in to help one of the lads get in touch with his 'inner interior designer'. Such gentleness, such goodness. And such a dab hand with a Glasgow Kiss. Of course, I see Hiram skulking about, demanding hatred. More like 'begging' for hatred, really. It's sad. Hiram, you get great hatred, significant hatred, lad, by earning it. You have, to this point, and especially of late, managed to rack up some mild disdain. I look at your posts, and think to myself: Aha, yes, there's young Hiram. And, oh, look, he's happy. How nice. He's taken a break from his busy schedule of attempting to silt up the gene pool to let us know that he'd "like a bit more hatred, please, sirs", like some sort of feckless, trailer park dwelling Oliver Twist. Well, well. Who'd have thought that leaving New Jersey could actually turn out to be a descent? Possibly the first man in America to make what would, in any other case, be a hands and knees climb to betterment into a skateboard plunge to idiocy. Still, treat it as the right one, as it were. I suppose I could spare him a quick slap from the backs of the tips of my fingers. Now, then. For the rest of you, there's been an almost astonishing fall-off on standards, lately. Oh, I hear the windy grumblings of the Justicar, and of course we all delight in the endless need of you lot to chatter on like a lot of teen girls who've retired together to the bathroom to discuss boys, but the taunts, of late... Well, they've been pathetic. Posting in general has been a bit anemic. In fact, reading the Thread lately has been like holding an empty spam can up to your ear in hopes of hearing the sound of the sea. Do you realize that I did not have to abuse Australia or Australians in any way whatsoever in the previous Telethon thread?! There simply wasn't a taunt worth the investment of time. But I know this is about to change. I know this because it's clear that I am going to have to post a lot more. At least for the next week or so, when there might be a brief interruption. There's a very good chance that I might be returning to the cabin in Canada for another glorious week by myself. That depends, though, on whether certain disturbing and upsetting circumstances here in town are resolved. I shall say no more about it for now. [ July 18, 2003, 10:43 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

You have a girlfriend now, time to let the Donavan McNabb doll go... </font>

Go ask Alice. When she was just small.

Bugger. And I just finished...well, I just finished some time ago...can't be too sure of some of that time, when you get right down to it... In any case, I at some point in the not too distant past just finished telling Shaw that you were probably a bloody useless and annoying little tit. It just goes to show. What, I'm not sure. I guess, actually, that you can be wrong about anyone. Oh, and good on you for making Shaw come over all reasonable and nice. I also reiterated for him my feelings about all those Commonwealth types: Aussies, Kiwis, South Africans, Indians, Canadians. You know, all those peoples who paid back with blood and glory everything the Brits had ever done for them, without worrying about paying them back for everything they'd ever done to them. Nationalistic acts of unconditional love, as it were. Umm. Funny old thing, life. Now piss-off, you little adopted Kiwi berk. Don't want anyone thinking we've gone soft, do we?

Here now, she was with the French lad, now wasn't she? How rude would that have been, hitting on the woman with her husband standing right there? Besides, she seemed desperately concerned with where Orono was, and for the most part we didn't even know where we were. You certainly didn't know where the boat was most of the time, and you were running it.

Why would this be upsetting? They're talking about absorbing them into America, not Minnesota. You don't think I regard Ohioans and Illinoisans as Landsmann, do you, let alone the bloody Texans and Floridians?

If we admit what we've lost, then we might as well admit that we have lost. I never wanted to go quietly into that good night. But perhaps there is no alternative.

Ah, Shaw, it is hard for me to admit that sometimes your way is the best. It seems, now, that I am to be banned. I am old, and tired, and, of course just a wee bit daft, and so, I welcome it. Some one do me the great good favour of forwarding my comments and urefinger's to the Moderators, and ask them to ban us both. I promise to go quietly, so long as I do not go alone. It will be quite restful on the other side, I have no doubt.

It's important to remember that, while the Moderators and BFC allow us a certain amount of latitude, and while we normally police ourselves, everyone has agreed to the rules of this forum. And that people who repeatedly and abusively ignore the rules they've agreed to will be banned from this Board. Even those who do it here, in the Peng Challenge. All it takes, of course, is for members of this Forum to complain to BFC about the behaviour of a poster. So perhaps it's time for someone to play elsewhere.

Bah! I wave my hand at you. You carry on, lad. You may be happy to grin and pull the forelock, and make a slight slurping noise as you retract the excess drool from the corners of your mouth as you gear up to describe how happy you are that nature saw fit to let you muddy the gene pool on your passage through a life that would intellectually shame a ground squirrel, but I shall take pride in the fact that, half-witted dwarf bastard that I may or may not be, I'm a self-made man! No one would own up to my existence. I am what I am. You are what I see. Now bugger off, and annoy the little people.

Yes. Well, the general community doesn't use the term 'SSN'. That's peculiar to this place. And as for Shaw taking you under his wing...how good are you at gnawing off one of your own limbs in an emergency? Did you see that bit about the rock-climber who cut off his own arm with a dull pocket knife in order to escape hanging by it from a cliff and dying of exposure, thirst and starvation? Pretty soon you're going to regard him as an under-motivated little silky boy who didn't understand what true pain was like. Yes, you will. What you'll mainly learn is that underneath Joe Shaw's fussy, headmaster, 'point of order' exterior lies a truly, truly vile incarnation of your own father, whatever your feelings about him might be. And we all know what your father did to your mother, now don't we? Picture that, and then try and enjoy yourself. It doesn't matter how much you scream, or hold your hands over your ears while singing Christmas carols, because Shaw and his hideous joke scenarios will have exactly the same effect on your life. If we turn you over to Berli, it will come as a sort of unsought and unrealized mercy. Because once you've seen how awful the day to day grinning idjits are in the Peng Challenge, then a quick boot in the groin from the Prince of Darkness will seem like a clap on the shoulder from an overly familiar CO by comparison. Keep that thought. If you still feel that way in a few weeks, and can still articulate it, I'd be more than happy to show you the very real error of your ways of thinking. No charge. It's all right to attempt that sort of bravado in the face of the Justicar of the Peng Challenge Thread, because, after all, he's bound himself by his own rules. But don't go after that sort of poncing about with one of the Olde Ones. Not even me, and I'm the 'Nice One'. Because, once we come to know you, lad, we know you. And there's no one that knows people like a vivisectionist. So you go give some ****e to SirReal, and worry a bit less about the marshmallows, and remember that Joe Shaw has actually come to my house, eaten my food, and dumped all my bloody silverware on the bloody floor. Christ, did he ever look like a pillock, standing there with the drawer swinging free from his hand. And that he's still a more significant disturbance of ether than you are, because he looked up at me and said: 'Why don't you fix this bloody drawer, you half-witted dwarf bastard?!' [ July 13, 2003, 10:55 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Hey, Leete, you daft sod, I just caught up with your signature. When, why and where did Madmatt say that?

You know, there's a lot of good cuddling on a Dorosh. I mean, if you're prepared to sacrifice someone else to do it. Better all round, probably, to just kill them and use the bones to make soup. Most people'd prefer it.

Here, now! You're never going to get anywhere mocking Shaw's spelling or useage, for God's sake. stern look That's not the way we do it. Make fun of the fact that he's a balding, possibly diseased, rake-thin, non-racist and unbelievably boring posturing know-it-all, lad, and you'll be fine. Oh! That's right! We've got another Newcomer. Look up the posts of Sir Real and give that bugger some serious ****e. Then you'll both be gainfully employed; you with abusing him, and him with reading it.

Oh, say it ain't so. He's got eleven of the damn sprinklers... </font>

Can't remember ****e about the turret numbers, but they must have been from the Liebstandarte, because I remember the keys on the turrets. I suppose I could fire-up the DVD that Berli left here as some sort of weird 'blessings on this house' after his first visit with Peng but I'm too caught up in ratting about in the fridge for yet another beer. Man, that was a great visit. Did I mention that Berli and Peng were really, really drunk and climbed the tree in back of my building? And that this is a really small tree for two lunatics to be in at the same time?

This was only so-so, if mildly amusing, but then, with the last sentence, it just soared! I imagine it pissed off the Aussies and the English. But he still needs to try harder. Someone give the bugger a game. Nidan, are you doing anything besides marvelling over the fact that technology can keep grass from dying? Because I'd hate to interrupt anything truly significant, like some New York lackwit marvelling over the sustaining powers of water on plantlife. Hey, NG Cavscout, or whatever, insult Nidan. Bugger needs to have less time on his hands.

Don't be daft. How many aces and eights?! Could be a damn good hand. I have never argued with you about Coventry, Joe. Hell, back in the day, I was the first to suggest it. But you must never forget my tender heart, burning with forgivnance and the need to tell people to shut the hell up. And Pondscum, you nasty little posseur. Send me a setup. Although I'm sure you'll be several days finding as nasty a rigged scenario as you did the last time, you great, bloody, cloth-headed berk. I can still hear the weeping of my men...

Which would, of course, make me simply First Amongst Equals. I could reply, ala General Bullmoose, that what was good for Seanachai, was good for the Cesspool. But I'm not sure I want to go on record with that one, in case it should ever be reverse-engineered on me. To paraphrase Terry Pratchett, Joe, and to do so with a true understanding of what he's all about, rather than, as some do, merely being able to quote him to amuse themselves: Some must speak for the voiceless. And some must speak to those who won't shut-up. Let me just say, to finish up, Joe, having actually met you: Balding? Perhaps a bit. Diseased? Very doubtful. Fat? Not even remotely. Racist? Stupidest thing I've read in ages. Boring? Did I mention that you're not balding so's anyone would notice? [ July 13, 2003, 08:28 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Wait... <font size=-1>even...</font> <font size=-2>Panzer Leader</font>? You've gone and spoiled my entire sodding world model with that little relevation. This is going to require some serious drinking. </font>

Invited in?! Gods, Berli's probably just brought beer back out through his nose if he read that one. No one is ever invited in here. Ever. Just pick out some likely idjit, and taunt and abuse them, hopefully in an humourous way, to a game. Mind, even if they approve of your efforts, they might still tell you to piss off. But have a go at it. Extra points if you mock and deride the Aussies. Next Thread, we might have a go at someone else. But it won't be the same, of course. Nothing's more vile and objectionable than an Australian. Do you realize that they keep all their very best beer for themselves?! They don't export a drop of it. Selfish swine*. *Boo, please not the correct use of the plural, same as the singular, which, outside the fair State of Ohio, educated people, even Australians, know. [ July 13, 2003, 08:00 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

'Course it's not as much fun, at least if you've got something to say. I would have thought a Kiwi, for the love of all the gods, would have gone to the effort of posting a really good taunt here so that we'd have a bit of a work-out on the Aussies. I don't think that a lot of folk realize how much fun it is here if you've got something you want to go on about in an humourous manner. I mean, bugger the General Forum. All you get there is weird personal prejudices and very bad tirades. Here a person can really expand on their lunacy. As long as it's couched in the form of a Challenge, of course. Roughly. In a way. Or proffered as some sort of comment on the way the Thread should go. Or whatever.