Seanachai

lenakonrad : COME TO MY ARMS, MY BEAMISH BOY!

Nope. Just a bit oversexed. </font>

Wait under the Bo tree for me, MrSpkr. Soon, all your petty anger, disappointment, and ennui will blow away like dust in a new spiritual wind traveling from my soul to yours. Without tax, imposts, or custom declarations, by the by.

Isn't life strange Isn't life cruel Penguins from Konrad And poetry from Boo Questions from Shaw Fill no one with awe there ought to be clowns...

Pondscum whiles away the hours, receiving golden showers, and consorting with the bums...I'd be daft as Joe Shaw, and as crusty as old Noba if I only was deranged... The City! Ah, yes, with its bustle, its commerce, its thousand and one stories burning to be whispered into the Sultan's ear. It's streets filled with a heady mixture of people; hot, cheeky office worker babes playing with their hair and casting sidelong looks at well-dressed young men with cell phones and 'power' ties. Black guys in starter jackets shouting 'you fine' at young asian women who gigle behind their hands with their girlfriends and pretend not to hear. Young hispanics making rude gestures to each other and laughing, speaking in quick, staccato Spanish. None of them with so much as a glance to spare for a short, heavyset, unshaven figure in old, sloppy clothes who stalks through their midst, drinking it all in. I decided Nicollet Mall was too busy for what I wanted, and Hennepin was too likely to result in physical confrontation. So I made my way over to Marquette Avenue, started at the north end, and headed south. I'd spent the night before working on my rap. I was pretty sure that coming up with interesting, possibly portentous gibberish on the fly would be a lot harder to do than it sounded, so I'd spent a lot of time reading over old posts by Mensch and Meeks, as well as posts by Pawbroon to give it that cosmopolitan edge. Walking down the street acting insane is a lot harder than you'd think. I'd always thought I'd be a natural at it. But when it came time to do it, I was suddenly all self-conscious and nervous. I walked for almost two blocks, and couldn't manage more than an occasional, mumbled comment. I'm pretty sure the people around me simply thought I was trying to remember an address, or something. All my carefully prepared soliloquies evaporated. By the third block I was about ready to admit the whole thing had been a stupid idea, and go have a beer somewhere. In desperation, I fell back on suddenly chanting out tried and true catch phrases. "Make your time! Now is your destruction! Fix, or do somefink! I pissed him off on purpose to make him show his teeth!" People stopped and looked at me strangely. One woman said, 'what are you playing at, asshole?' One young guy laughed and said 'All your base are, belong to us.' I was too disjoint, to obscure. And clearly I was too desperate. I felt too much like what I was: a guy trying to act strange on the street, rather than a strange street guy. I skulked off down a side street, then wandered for a while until I ended up by the plaza around the Government Center, where I glumly sat on a wall, and tried to decide what to do next. Well, they say if you want to write, you need to read. Read people you admire; not so you can ape them, but as the means of finding your own voice. I realized that I needed to understand what it was I was trying to do. I walked back to Hennepin Avenue, quietly this time, to look for a teacher. Next: If You Meet the Buddha On the Road, Copy Him (But Somewhere Out of His Sight)

It's a Polish Dutch thing...

I bet you've already swilled down all that South African wine, haven't you, without so much as a taste for myself, Dalem, and Papa Khann? Selfish bugger. I hope you poured most of it into that woman in the picture; a far worthier receptacle than your putrid, pink-squirrel slurping self. Oh, and I hate your Thread title. Awful stuff, truly awful. We all need to get together soon, and mock and revile you.

You are jumping ahead in the story, and you are not doing it well. You see the outline of the greater truth, but your barely ticking over brain is obscuring its full perception Return to your seat and await enlightenment, Mr Nidan. [ May 01, 2003, 01:00 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

It should be used, and used aggressively, if it is the only form of birth-control being used. Remember: Accidents cause people.

hmmm...hmm...hmm If Boo only had a brain...hmm...hmm...and AussieJeff had the nerve...hmm...tiddily pom, tiddily pom... Roight, then. I imagine the more intelligent among you have been wondering where I've been. That being those of you not wandering around with your zipper open, your right hand thrust down the top of your pants and out through the front, groping around, and mumbling to yourselves "Ohmigod, where did it go?!" Lord. Talk about 'phoning it in'. I've read the current Thread, and the computer generated outgoing message of a voicemail system is more entertaining than you lot. Except Leeo, of course, who's an idjit, but he's a righteous idjit, and at least recognizes that only a roundworm infestation is less amusing than most of the recent posts. But that's not what I came to talk to you about. No. You see, I've been rather busy. Oh, not with any kind of employment, of course. I'd heard the 'Economic Recovery' will take place in Iraq, and I'd been looking into brushing up on my Arabic, when the most extraordinary thing occured the other day. I'd had a day-labor stint at an office downtown, and was wandering up the Nicollet Mall (main drag through the Minneapolis Financial/Retail District), looking for a liquor store, when I saw a strange figure moving towards me. He was tall, thin, and extremely disturbed, talking to himself and making extravagant hand gestures. 'Ah', I thought to myself, 'crazy person'. On a lark, moved by forces that I do not pretend to understand, I moved directly into his path, looked up at him, and shouted "Evil red suits! We are not Bahai!" He stopped, glowered down at me, and said "What?" I again shouted "Evil red suits! We are not Bahai!" He stared at me for what must have been at least two minutes, then slowly nodded. "Straight and tall, or not at all," he said to me. Half expecting to be jumped and pummeled, and having to call my family from HCMC, I nodded back, and said to him "Wombat. Commission the Patricians. Alcatraz, Alcatraz!" He smiled. And walked on. I headed towards Witt's Liquor, and began to laugh. You constantly encounter these guys in the downtown. It made me realize how much better off I was, despite being only sporadically employed. And I decided to take the bus downtown the next day, and wander around. I was really amused by my encounter with the street crazy. I decided to check out the scene. But, as Nietzsche might have said: 'When you check out the scene, the scene also checks out you." Tomorrow: Seanachai Hits the Street

I bet they do it for WineCape just to show me...

AHA! Let the swilling in Minneapolis begin!! LARS, DAMN YOUR EYES! WHERE'S THAT SOUTH AFRICAN WINE, YOU BUGGER?!

We can only assume that your troops, having suffered the degradations of your command, felt it was kinder to kill the enemy than have them live with the humiliation of being captured by a commander like yourself.

All my friends refer to Combat Mission simply as 'It', as in: "Oh, Christ, he's talking about It again." Although my one friend Alison did come over once and when I showed it to her she said "Hey, that rain and thunder soundtrack is nice. I could see putting that on before I go to sleep. Can you just get the soundtrack?"

Oh, hell no, Joe! There's no doubt that your cheerful, smiling, almost magically dim face and white hair helped us avoid getting thrown out of that waterside restaurant where Lars kept demanding that the waitress bring him a 'pink squirrel, and put a tu-tu on it!' While horrendously disturbing as a concept, there's no doubt that you're wonderfully reassuring to skittish young women who are trying to extricate Lars' hand from their undergarments while being polite and hoping for a decent tip despite the rather frenetic slapping they have it indulge in. Your Justicarial frown is worth it's weight in any substance you care to name, and your soft-spoken but firm demeanour says to all restaurant and bar help: Excuse us. My friends are horrible idjits, and that man who currently has his hand up your skirt is actually one of nature's noblemen. We will now proceed to the lake, where the man who is attempting to immodestly fondle you will drown himself while driving home drunk and stupid. That sort of reassurance is worth at least two more rounds of drinks after you'd normally be cut off. Joe, you're a treasure. Don't ever change.

Oh, hell no, Joe! There's no doubt that your cheerful, smiling, almost magically dim face and white hair helped us avoid getting thrown out of that waterside restaurant where Lars kept demanding that the waitress bring him a 'pink squirrel, and put a tu-tu on it!' While horrendously disturbing as a concept, there's no doubt that you're wonderfully reassuring to skittish young women who are trying to extricate Lars' hand from their undergarments while being polite and hoping for a decent tip despite the rather frenetic slapping they have it indulge in. Your Justicarial frown is worth it's weight in any substance you care to name, and your soft-spoken but firm demeanour says to all restaurant and bar help: Excuse us. My friends are horrible idjits, and that man who currently has his hand up your skirt is actually one of nature's noblemen. We will now proceed to the lake, where the man who is attempting to immodestly fondle you will drown himself while driving home drunk and stupid. That sort of reassurance is worth at least two more rounds of drinks after you'd normally be cut off. Joe, you're a treasure. Don't ever change.

Oh, and on that note, I wish to recognize the arrival of my Squire, R Leete, to the stature of Knighthood. In recognition of his singular inability to defeat me in a PBEM (I won the only game we ever played, which was just sad, because he should have swept me into the sea), and his many fine rants of late, I raise him up to Knight of the Cesspool. R Leete, you're a Knight now. Go piss on some of the lackwits and laugh at their hurt expressions.

Oh, and on that note, I wish to recognize the arrival of my Squire, R Leete, to the stature of Knighthood. In recognition of his singular inability to defeat me in a PBEM (I won the only game we ever played, which was just sad, because he should have swept me into the sea), and his many fine rants of late, I raise him up to Knight of the Cesspool. R Leete, you're a Knight now. Go piss on some of the lackwits and laugh at their hurt expressions.

Woot! When, oh Lars, shall you, I, dalem and Papa Khan once again roam the lake, swilling fine South African wines? R Leete is sending me a bottle of mead which I'd be happy to throw into the mix. I would have drunk it with my good and true friend Jen, but she went and got pregnant, and can't drink anymore. Might as well swill it down with you useless clowns.

Woot! When, oh Lars, shall you, I, dalem and Papa Khan once again roam the lake, swilling fine South African wines? R Leete is sending me a bottle of mead which I'd be happy to throw into the mix. I would have drunk it with my good and true friend Jen, but she went and got pregnant, and can't drink anymore. Might as well swill it down with you useless clowns.

Do you know, 'Dispatches' was one of the best damn books I've ever read. I must have read it a dozen times. I first got it as a strip-cover book when I worked at B&N, and I went out and bought it. Nidan, you useless toad, the Sienkiewicz books you should read are his trilogy of titles that he won the Nobel Prize for: "With Fire and Sword", "The Deluge", and "Fire in the Steppe". It is "Fire in the Steppe" that deals with the conflict between Sweden and Poland. They read like a cross between Sir Walter Scott and Dumas Pere. Normally, a faint shadow of humanity like yourself would barely register on the radar of a superiour being like myself, but I was intrigued by the fact that you've actually read 'Dispatches'. I think a game might be in order. Send me a setup. Nothing more than 1500 points, thank you.

Do you know, 'Dispatches' was one of the best damn books I've ever read. I must have read it a dozen times. I first got it as a strip-cover book when I worked at B&N, and I went out and bought it. Nidan, you useless toad, the Sienkiewicz books you should read are his trilogy of titles that he won the Nobel Prize for: "With Fire and Sword", "The Deluge", and "Fire in the Steppe". It is "Fire in the Steppe" that deals with the conflict between Sweden and Poland. They read like a cross between Sir Walter Scott and Dumas Pere. Normally, a faint shadow of humanity like yourself would barely register on the radar of a superiour being like myself, but I was intrigued by the fact that you've actually read 'Dispatches'. I think a game might be in order. Send me a setup. Nothing more than 1500 points, thank you.

My gods, but you're hopeless sometimes! Why would you drink with anyone you hadn't declared jihad on? I don't want their goddamn friendship. I don't want their bloody smiles and slaps on the back. I want their sodding HATRED! Awash in their loathing, I can finally feel clean. Do you think I want to suffer through the slime of their affection? The degradation and filth of their approval? Must I be tormented with the vileness of their camaraderie? No, Pondscum. I will drink only with those who long for my death, who toast to my torment, and whose fondest daydream is to see me driven, broken, naked, and bereft, across the wasteland. After all, it is what I long for as regards them. Except for the jolly sing-songs. I'll bloody well sing with anyone.

My gods, but you're hopeless sometimes! Why would you drink with anyone you hadn't declared jihad on? I don't want their goddamn friendship. I don't want their bloody smiles and slaps on the back. I want their sodding HATRED! Awash in their loathing, I can finally feel clean. Do you think I want to suffer through the slime of their affection? The degradation and filth of their approval? Must I be tormented with the vileness of their camaraderie? No, Pondscum. I will drink only with those who long for my death, who toast to my torment, and whose fondest daydream is to see me driven, broken, naked, and bereft, across the wasteland. After all, it is what I long for as regards them. Except for the jolly sing-songs. I'll bloody well sing with anyone.

You illiterate toad! Read Henryk Sienkiewicz, and you'll have read a real war story!