Seanachai

And I just spent a week in Vegas with a masseuse. Seanachai, fix or do somfink!!! </font>

Er...sweet Lady...perhaps if we were to compare answers, consider questions, and work together to determine the essentials of damnation, we might, you know, achieve the Second Level of Hades together? I'm only after saying...

Show me the way to go to Paris 'Cause I'm tired and I want to indulge in a 6 course meal, with apéritifs, digestifs, and innumerable bottles of wine appropriate to each course, and then I wanna go to bed... -folksong that never really caught on the gnomish Olde One looks into deep into the eyes of each visitor to the Thread reading this post I remember The French. What heady days those were, when Pawbroon posted on the Peng Challenge Thread. When we all learned that love could be 'self-inflicted'. When we wondered about the coming of 'the Scot from the North'. When, even when we knew what all this meant, we were still strangely confused. That was the glory of 'The French', after all. One could understand every word, every concept could be crystal clear, and yet, ultimately, you were left with a vague feeling of confusion. The knowledge that struck to your very center that somehow, somewhere, someone was laughing at a joke that you might not be understanding on every level. What, indeed, could be more French than that? It made us stronger, better, and stranger than we were, to wonder if perhaps we weren't truly getting the 'entire' joke. And who could deny the surge of pleasure they felt when they'd read to the end of the entire post, and began to laugh softly at what they discovered when they'd put it all together mentally? It was as though reality were being run through a Babelfish directed by a witty and satiric intelligence. strikes a contemplative pose, staring into the distance...only somewhat marred by taking a hurried and surreptitious quaff from a mug I miss The French. In fact, in his honour, I am currently drinking French beer... Alright, that's a lie, because the stuff is piss, and everyone knows it. But I am drinking...French wine! At least I assume it's French wine, although there are these hastily and shoddily applied labels on the bottle that read 'Freedom Wine'. I bought it out of that section of the Liquor store that was labeled 'Victory Wines'. It makes me proud to be an American to know that, in the wake of our recent liberation of significant energy reserves from the iron-heel of a dictator, that the people of this nation recognize every nation's right to set their own course, to speak their mind, to maintain a contrary position to any that would seek to dictate international opinion and actions. What greater tribute to the French than that we should re-label their wine 'Freedom Wine'! Because, of course, true tyranny begins when one voice speaks and tells the many not merely what they should do, but also what they should believe. Not like France. No, in France, there is a cacophony of voices, all arguing about 'what is right'. And no one (well, except for Le Pen, of course), labels them 'unpatriotic', nor accuses them of 'aiding terrorism'. The French sent us The Statue of Liberty. Of course, we've been working hard to 'redefine' what exactly is meant by "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me… I lift my lamp beside the golden door." My understanding is, they're working night and day to come up with a 'Statute of Liberty Limitations' declamation, the draft of which reads: "Give me your wealthy entertainers, your right-wing dictators, your migrant workers willing to work without any social security Your trash, both high and low, that I can patronize Send those willing to work for slave wages, and willing to run the gauntlet of my anger I lift my lamp beside what's behind door number 1" But there's still some rough edges. But, I digress. The fact is, when Pawbroon posted here, it seemed to me that Dumas, Rostand, and even that odd duck, Voltaire, posted here as well. That there was the whiff of Descartes on the wind that blew over the Cess. We are a poorer Thread, with less to say, since he neglects us. It is only by the postings of giants that a very small space can expand the minds of small-minded people. Pawbroon, I salute you. The French. Yourself. I'd post something moving and significant in French, but my French speaking friend, when raised by phone, was dead drunk and giggling! What could be better! Allons enfants de la patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrivé! Contre nous, de la tyrannie L'étendard sanglant est levé

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Third Level of Hell! Here is how you matched up against all the levels: <table cellspacing="1" style="margin: 5px; background-color: #000000; border: none; font: 10pt arial, verdana, 'sans serif';"><tr style="font: bold 12pt arial, verdana, 'sans serif'; text-align: center; color: #ffffff; background-color: #333333;"><th>Level</th><th>Score</th></tr><tr style=background-color: #220033; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Purgatory (Repenting Believers)</td><td style=color: #3344bb; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Very Low</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #110022; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)</td><td style=color: #3344bb; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Very Low</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #220011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 2 (Lustful)</td><td style=color: #c40033; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Very High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #330011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 3 (Gluttonous)</td><td style=color: #c40033; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Very High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #440011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)</td><td style=color: #4466dd; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Low</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #550011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)</td><td style=color: #ff1133; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #660011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)</td><td style=color: #c40033; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Very High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #770011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 7 (Violent)</td><td style=color: #ff1133; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #880011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)</td><td style=color: #ff1133; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #990011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)</td><td style="color: #ff1133; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">High</td></tr></table> Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test Seems about right, actually.

you can leave your hat on you can leave your hat on Stop all this inane chatter, the rest of you, and return to the pure, good, and ultimate purpose of this Thread: a Peng Challenge dedicated to The French, Pawbroon! I myself will be weighing in here shortly with a princely post of some length, just as soon as I've found...le corkscrew! Now, Gaylord, shut the hell up unless you want to post something meaningful, Konrad, very nice Nightmare, and why, in the name of all the gods, do the Dutch keep showing up here? Does anyone know? Isn't it tulip season, or something? Carry on. [ May 31, 2003, 07:16 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Are we to understand that now that you've been shouted at that only flowers and avowals of love will make you stop snifling? Shaw, get one of the recent lackwits to send Hortlund flowers, and whisper him a few quick, honeyed lies. It'd be a strange world if we all wanted the same things, eh? Shudder You want a setup from Panzer Leader? Good God, why? Have you ever dealt with one of his setups? He'll tell you less than half the parameters (usually things like 'date' and sometimes 'length of the battle', but not much else). The terrain will be a marvelous pastiche of whatever will make your part of the battle impossible (expect him to shine now that he can construct and import his own maps), and there's the constant nagging feeling that he told you it was a meeting engagement, only you find yourself defending. Or maybe attacking. Sometimes it's difficult to tell. And what is going on? I had assumed this 'Mouse' that's now posting was simply Panzer Leader posting under yet another identity. I mean, he's posted as Sancho, and as his own wife, and gods know what else. But now it appears that they're two distinct (if not very bright) entities. Between them do we have a single, not very bright member of the Thread? Who is this 'Mouse' creature? And is anyone responsible for it? Where did it come from? And is everyone remembering to put the food away in tightly capped containers? [ May 30, 2003, 01:40 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Why, it's Lord General Mister Bill. He's allowed in here as long as he's wearing the MBT mascot costume of himself! That's right, as the barely sentient mascot of the MBT, he must wear a costume of himself. As long as he does that, it's all properly sorted.

Gods. Trust you to spot the urine in a black and white photo. Still, for the true hobbyist, I suppose it's a labour of love...or a least, water sports...

Yes, my cheeky friends, it's time for further revelations! I have been away from all of you, other than for sporadic remarks here and there, for many days now. But you see, my life has taken a very strange and unforseen turn. Certainly I never saw it coming, even after dealing with the weirdness of the Peng Challenge Thread (which is like a world unto itself, except rather poorly made, and with serious emotional issues). When last I was here recounting my life-altering experience, I had just made a fool of myself on Marquette Avenue in downtown Minneapolis, and, after some reflection, decided to go over to Hennepin Avenue to look for a Bodhisattva of Street Weirdness. So, follow now, as the camera moves from high over the city to swoop down, angling past tall buildings, rushing down the canyons of city streets to focus in on a heavyset, short, goofy looking gnome-like figure at 10th and Hennepin... I walked along to Hennepin, heading for the north end. If you can't find a street loon on Hennepin, it's because it's deep winter and they've all frozen to death. At 10th I immediately picked up a black guy, looked to be about 60, with a graying fluff of kinky hair around his head, a beat up black carcoat, tennis shoes, and threadbare gray pants that might have once belonged to some business suit. He was carrying several small, worn out, duffle style bags; one in either hand, and over one shoulder. He was talking in a normal voice, but to no one in particular; just a normal, regular-voiced spiel to no one, or everyone, or maybe he wasn't even aware that he was talking out loud, and we were all being treated to an inner monologue that clearly went on 24/7. "There's a plague coming, and they won't hear it, they don't listen, but it will sweep every nation and no one told me that all heads must bow before the wrath, THE WRATH, and no one knows what will be saved, but the plague will take every soul, and only those who are going to be saved will know who was taken, and when the taken come to judgement, they will know that the wrath was visited, and everyone, everyone must bow before the wrath, and it won't matter if you were tired, or what you were doing. Move on. Yeah, move on. But the plague is coming, and it will visit all mankind, and strong and weak will fall, and NO ONE will stand, and the plague will be biblical, and the plague will be big, and all will be small and weak, and I'm weak and I will stand, and I will move on, and no one, NO ONE can say what will fall and what will stand when the plague comes..." On and on, as meaningless and beautiful in its complexity as a graphic display of fractals. Aha! I thought to myself. How could I forget Bibllical/pseudo-Biblical gibberish? One of the mainstays of minds that have jumped at least one wheel off the track. Hell, the only way to tell the crazies from the devout, most of the time, is to see who's still pulling in good money. I followed Plague and Wrath, as I was thinking of him, for 7 blocks. He moved forward purposefully, but not quickly, and sometimes he'd stop and sway for a minute, and stare, and then take up the rap again. He never looked at anyone, just moving through his own space with enough perception of the city to keep from walking into anyone. Not that it took much effort. Even on the crowded sidewalk, people slid to either side of him as soon as they registered him. Like a crazy Moses he parted the waters of the crowd without effort, oblivious to the urban miracle. I skulked after him like Pharaoh's army gone all sheepish. When we hit Washington, where the old library was waiting to be torn down, he swayed for a moment, and then headed off towards the old warehouse district. I turned back to Marquette, to give things another try. I headed down Marquette, and began by mumbling, but then moved up to a 'just this side of being too loud' tone of voice: "And all those who were not found written into the Book of Life, were cast into a Lake of Fire! And I was cast, I was cast out, I was cast from iron, I was half caste, I was cast into life, and I was lost, and I walked my own way, and I came to the lake of fire, and I was washed clean of sin, and sin, Sin, SIN, was washed from me in the lake, and everything was swept away, SWEPT AWAY, and I have swept every floor in hell, and every floor in heaven, and every floor in purgatory, and sin swept me off my feet, and I have swept where no man has swept before..." And I started to have this...feeling. I thought about all the construction sites I'd worked on, as a labourer when I was young, and how often what I'd been doing was 'sweeping up'. And I thought about the liquor store I worked at in south Florida for those two horrible days that lasted for 12 months (the days it rained, and the days it didn't rain), and how every morning, 7 days a week, before I began my work as 'stock supervisor', I swept up the adjoining bar. And I thought about all the other jobs, during a long life, and how many of them had, at some point or another, involved cleaning things up. And I realized that I'd been sweeping up places for a fairly large chunk of my life. And that I'd never liked vacuum cleaners. "And I took my broom, and I swept clean the doors of perception, and I was swept from my feet by the perception that doors were just windows you can move through. And I swept aside all objections. I swept because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no BROOM!" It was...magical. It was lunch time, the sidewalks were crowded, and people were stepping around me! I stared straight ahead, occasionally bobbing my head during a significant bit of monologue. I was moving slowly, and still getting brushed by, here and there, but I'd moved into a bubble of weirdness that left me almost completely alone. People were avoiding eye-contact, and giving me what room they could. I'd started out mimicing the conversational, sing-song weirdness of the 'plague and wrath' guy for many blocks. But I was now breaking it up as time went by with exclamatory statements, little pseudo-parables, and occasional repetitive bits of gibberish. It was all good. I made my way over to Hennepin. I headed north on Hennepin, doing my rap. "A new broom sweeps clean, Clean, CLEAN. They told me that I'd be swept away, swept away, I told them I would sweep until all the tents of Israel were clean!" I'd worked it up, and now moved through the foot traffic in a slightly hunched over stance with my hands clenched slightly before me, like a man clasping some familiar and long remembered tool, or one dancing in madness with a spirit personified. At one point, two women stepped off the curb into the traffic lane to give me the sidewalk. And I wasn't within 2 feet of them! "Sweeping in, sweeping out! Sweeping in, sweeping out! For in the sweep of death, what dreams might come!" I was there, and I wasn't there. I was stalking down the sidewalk, surrounded by people. Most people acted like I wasn't there at all, except to give me a wide berth. Sometimes people who were walking together would say something to each other about me. I heard one guy say 'poor crazy bastard'. A woman said to her friend 'it's so sad that the State doesn't do anything to help them'. I felt a crazy giggle welling up. And then, in the middle of my best bit of quasi-Biblical 'sweeping' gibberish, I looked up and realized I'd been stalking forward for several yards, straight towards the 'plague and wrath' guy I'd followed before. I trailed off into a squeaky mutter. I fell into silence as I came up to him. He looked at me with this mad, glittery look, and smiled. "Straight & Tall wants to see your sorry ass over at the park by the Post Office", he said so quietly I almost didn't hear him. Then he swayed for a moment, staring blankly into space, and headed on down the sidewalk. "Plague will be visited on everyone, rich and powerful, poor and weak, the plague is coming, and all mankind will feel the wrath..." He started up as I stood there, shivering a bit with the shock of it all. Next: Seanachai Enters the Lion's Den, To Discover...What? [ May 27, 2003, 02:47 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Snarker, you disgusting baggage. Your obvious and belittling lie of a photo is so obviously not me that my outrage dries my mouth to the point where I cannot find the spit to coat your face with as you deserve. I would never wear bizarre homeless wear of that type until after Memorial Day, you hapless oik.

Good God, whose Stylist mod was I using?! I would cover up the horrible grooming by doing the underpants dance of victory...but...well, apparently I've already done the dance somewhere else, and neglected to bring along one of the necessary items of folkdance regalia...

Lacks wit. Also, any real point. No particular taunting quality. It seems to be the braying of an ass that's eaten sour sileage and is now in some distress. Hortland, my fleecy little lamb, if this Thread ever needs a bouncer, you would not be considered for the position. If you don't like someone's posts, I'm sure there's some neo-Fascist puddle of self-righteous piss on the General Forum that's simply crying out for the validation that your post would convey. Now, everyone play nice together. If you have no interest in someone, ignore their posts. Or at least taunt them in an interesting way, to the general amusement of all. But in general, those of us who have been here the longest, and therefore have had the opportunity to come to know and hate you all to the extent that you deserve, are completely disinterested in whether you dislike each other outside this place. Seriously, the knowledge that a ground squirrel can't stand a vole is more significant to us. So carry on without the 'personal' observations or requests. If you're going to come in here and make a serious point, filled with personalities and prejudices, be good enough to reserve the treatment for Outer Boarders, who have no rights, no lives, and no more significance to us than mayflies.

Good God! Was that Stuka? I guess this means the bank holiday is over in Australia?

Probably just below frame. I wouldn't count on pointy at his age... </font>

There are no innocent people, Konrad. There are only corpses of varying degrees of guilt.

Shaw and I will fix this when he gets back. Obiously you need order, direction, and the regular boot. I can't believe anything would, by choice, go into the Goodale threads. Well, except Soddball, but he's a limey. It's different for them. Loss of Empire unhinged the buggers completely and now they seem to revel in degradation.

'S truth, you know. Every morning I get up, have a beer, and re-create the Universe. You lot are the result of when I oversleep, and have to do a shoddy job to get up to speed. The General Forum is what happens when I have intestinal flu. [ May 22, 2003, 04:18 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I have seen many horrifying things in a long life that's alternated in a rather haphazard way between evil and extreme silliness. But if anyone posts anything like that 'Master of the Illegitimate Undead' representation of Bauhaus again, I shall run screaming to Miles Bay, Lake of the Woods, Canada, the 3 Acre Island just South and West of Oak Island. There, I will have a quiet, strengthening beer, before performing an Exorcism. Join me? It's a very nice place. Oh, and can Bauhaus do the splits while singing Michael Jackson songs?

Pondscum, you idiot. What's happening to my connection? A double post? Me?!!! [ May 21, 2003, 12:07 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I'm getting forgetful. Isn't Mike the idjit Kiwi who also posts as Stalin's Organ? Mike is the Clown who's crying on the inside, right, and Stalin's Organ is him as the Clown that's laughing on the outside? Or somefink.

Now that was sodding funny...

If you are still talking about Quickbattles, then you trade the (IMHO) bad automatic selector for a pre-game contest for pricing optimization. </font>

Well, you could try buying a more 'realistic' force for the Defender yourself. Of course I realize that takes all the 'surprise' out of it, but if you and the AI were willing to try a little role-playing, and weren't afraid to be a bit 'adventurous' with each other, I'm sure you would both still enjoy it and keep your experiences with each other fresh and engaging. Perhaps reading some of Hakko's GrogPorn™ before the game would help, as well?

Probably this should be moved not only over to the General Forum, but perhaps actually into the 'Labeling German Troops As Nazis' thread...

Gaylord, isn't there some Correctional Facility where you and your little friends could hang out together?