Seanachai

Happy Birthday, Fair Emma! I imagine on your birthday the city of Glasgow shuts down for the Holiday and slaps itself on the back with pride for having given you to the world.

So far, it's been almost a complete sweep. No one will stand hip to shoulder with the Gnome, except the loyal Justicar. looks at the last sentence for several moments Have I fallen into some sort of Parallel Universe where Peng is going to show up with a beard and reveal himself to be some sort of 'Mr Rogers' creature of unmitigated good, or something? Roight, then! You've all turned into a bunch of Australia huggers, you have! Well, I'm not having any of that 'old world' thinking around here. If necessary, I will 'go it alone' in my bashing of AussieJeff and those others who insist on being Australian. But I won't really be alone, do ya' see, because I am currently working on a 'Coalition of the Willing', which is a great new concept and which I have just now coined all on my own. Support for this new Coalition, as I have named it, will be massive. Already, a great many Knights of the Thread actively support it, although almost all of them wish to remain unnamed. Doubtless for fear of reprisals from Australia, and Australia's supporters, amongst which we will have to include those who pursue a craven policy of Appeasement of these Down Under Ruffians. But I am not a Gnome who is inflexible. If, within the next 48 hours, AussieJeff, Mace, Noba, Speedy, Stuka (wherever he's gotten to), Goanna (same thing), and any or all other Australians of the Thread, as well as Lars (for no good reason at all) agree to move to France, then further violence at the hands of the Coalition will be unnecessary. I urge all Australians to consider this proposal carefully. Further slanging of you lot must follow should you prove intransigent.

Bah! I don't care how crazed on barleywine AussieJeff becomes, or how much he blusters and rants! Until we have full proof that lenakonrad has no WMDs, then they cannot be raised higher than Knighthood! His incessant personal emails to me describing me as a monster are one thing, but this insistence that a foreign national of indeterminant citizenship not make full disclosure of their position regarding almost any inane thing that any of us can come up with is simply unconscionable! How can we break the will of these people if we are not given a free-hand by their sponsors? And AussieJeff's descent into utter madness! Isn't this a sign that their constant exchange of emails has...well, actually, he was pretty much incoherent and given to raving long before lenakonrad strode mysteriously on to the scene, so I guess we can't lay fault there. What is my point, you ask? No one knows! But I insist that we all get a chance to put the boot in on AussieJeff, with extreme, villainous sneers as we do so. Who's with me?!

I always liked Lurkur...alright, that's a lie, I may be the 'nice one', but I don't like any of you, especially when you're lowly and resemble yapping lap-dogs. However, I hated Lurkur a bit less than many of you. That was a lovely drawing. If only it was true. Sorry for the recent delay (again) of turns, and my silences punctuated with irritable bellowing. Damn arm's gone numb again, all pins and needles, and no aparent reason for it. Thought it was getting better. I really hate physical deterioration, especially when it's not up-front and obvious in terms of what it all means. Off to the Doctor tomorrow...or perhaps the next day, as I have some work tomorrow, and out-of-work Gnomes can't afford to ignore the sniff of a paycheck. I know, I know, everyone who reads the mention of 'arm going numb' is thinking "heart attack" or something like it, but this has been going on for 10 days. Anything truly serious would have kacked me by now (and at least I'd never have to read another post in which AussieJeff made pretensions at sanity). As I stand here, poised forever on the brink of...well, 'forever', I have only one request. I demand that lenakonrad tell us the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about themself. No lies, now. I'm a Gnome on the brink of the eternity. Inquiring Gnomes want to know. If the being comes clean, and fills us in sufficiently as to its true nature, I say, Joe, let the bugger in. Oh, and Lars, I got your sodding postcard from Mexico. Let me just say that my Postal Carrier of many years has recently been replaced by an aging, white-haired older woman who looks like everyone's ideal of an attentive pre-school teacher. You're going to hell, Lars, and when you get there, I'm going to be your supervisor. She doesn't even knock on the door, anymore, when she has a package for me. She flings it in from the porch, after making the sign of the cross and fleeing. I know this, because I just got a package from Boo. But my friend who has access to Airport Security equipment is out of town until Friday, so I don't know what it is. Thank the gods that Boo, at least, uses an anonymous padded envelope... [ March 19, 2003, 11:51 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Silence, Toad! And pray that Great Fred forgives you for being Australian, and, so, removed from being in the proper Hemisphere for being One with Him.

That was... Awful, and no way of mistaking it, or trying to pretend otherwise. But at least you made the effort...shudder...I'll never forget that...although someday I'll...no, I won't forgive you, either, but I'll never foget that. But Nidan, when the turkey buzzards fold wings, and settle to feed on your carcass (doubtless left in some desolate place by your wife, or an ex-wife, who simply couldn't stand your continued existence any longer), know that I will raise a glass, and toast your memory, and say: Jesus Christ on a Crutch, Attempting To Do a Cheer for the Green Bay Packers, but he was an awful, wayward man. You can't ask for a better epitaph than that, lad. Not unless you work very, very hard at your poetry. Hell, man, I've written better poetry than that, written it onto the backing of an empty six-pak, rolled it into a cylinder, inserted it into an empty bottle of Jameson's, and thrown it into the Minnesota River (just below Hidden Falls). Still, I think your heart's in the right place. Pity. A little more effort, and we could rip it out and send it up as your final tribute to 'I'm an Idiot, But I Long To See the Peng Challenge Thread Drag Me Into An Awakening of Wonder'.

How to put this, in a way that won't demean me, and cast my soul into some sort of 'slough of despond' for eternity...which would serve it right, given what I'm about to say: Boggs, you lackwitted, annoying piece of ****e: You're in. I don't like you, have no use for you, and, having lived in Florida for the longest 12 months of my life, I'm pretty sure I've met you, and regret not having paid more attention and paying the money to have you forever removed from America's long descent into idiocy. But at least you stand up on your hind legs and bark like a very stupid, unpleasant, soon-to-be-neutered-if-there-is-a-god small, yappy, 'isn't it great that I can poop on the beach' dog. I hate you, and dismiss you. Sort out your status with the Justicar. He can't be crueler to you than Nature has already proven to be. Or rather, Nature is never as cruel as She's been to you for more than a generation. She throws up monsters, fools, and halfwits on a regular basis, on Her road to developing humanity, and teaching the rest of us both sorrow, and pity, for such as you. [ March 18, 2003, 04:01 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I'll have no truck with this sort of inquiry after the nature of divinity. One accepts one's personal saviour as a seal and walrus devouring shaggy predator, or one does not. And questions like this raise issues that blur the very lines between belief, faith, and salvation. Joe, I hadn't looked for this sort of dismissive and jocular bigotry from you. Shall I once again sing "The Hymn of the Immaculate Digestion"? Now some men pray to gods and some sacrifice to devils Some folk go to church And some to satanic revels Some place faith only in science While others worship money But my god’s greatest of all, although you might find him funny Refrain: There’s a Power watching over me And I now proclaim his name He’s a great, white polar bear named Fred He loves me and he guides me Comforts me and chides me And he’s promised that he’ll eat me when I’m dead Well I used to walk alone, And I often walked in darkness Through a spiritual landscape Filled with ugliness and starkness But now aurora borealis Flames all around my head ‘Cause a great white bear has promised, that he’ll eat me when I’m dead You can talk about your heavens You can talk about your hells You can ponder and debate my friend About where your soul will dwell But when I’m dead and gone And Fred’s eaten that last bit I will spend eternity, as a pile of frozen **** Refrain: There’s a Power watching over me And I’ll declare his name He’s a great, white polar bear named Fred He loves me and he guides me Comforts me and chides me And he’s promised that he’ll eat me when I’m dead Now Fred performs no miracles Except that of digestion To punish sinners, raise up saints That’s just out of the question No temples have been raised to him Except the mound there’ll be When he’s finally digested, and excreted me Don’t fill me with embalming fluid Let’s skip that old cremation I will return all that I was and am And be at one with all creation So when I’m dead and gone And shuffled off this mortal coil Passing through great Fred’s intestines, will be my final toil Refrain: There’s a Power watching over me And I even know his name He’s a great, white polar bear named Fred He loves me and he guides me Comforts me and chides me And he’s promised that he’ll eat me when I’m dead If you believe in my polar bear Then he’ll believe in you And when you’re dead and gone my friend Great Fred will eat you too And we will pass together Through the bowels of another species And be immortalized forever, as polar bear feces

I liked that, actually. It read rather well. Except for the last two lines. Mean spirited bugger. As if I weren't the nice one. What, are we all going to hug Berli this Spring? [ March 15, 2003, 01:43 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I know it's a terrible error in judgement for a mere mortal to intrude when the gods are thundering, but I'll butt in anyway. Isn't it true that during 2002 you accumulated actual, written, documented proof that a lot of people on this forum truly hate you? And although many fine members actually paid for the opportunity to tell you of their hate, haven't you always assumed that EVERY person who ever posted on this forum also hates you? So what's the big deal? :confused: </font>

Wow, that's tough. A hard row to hoe, as it were. Of course, given your screenname, I don't really give a toss. Never had much use for teens from Allied countries who were all swoony over the SS. Good luck, though.

Stop playing to the crowd, Fionn. Eveyone knows that you hate me. Oh, and not to overlook the point of the Spaniard, or whatever he is, I almost invariably play Soviets, because all the little boys want to be Germans. [ March 15, 2003, 12:36 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

That would be your game experience with 'tactical combat' as opposed to actually fighting a war, and what my extremely annoying Economics Prof used to call 'not being able to deduce from the Microcosm the behaviour of the Macrocosm'. Except that he never could get over it, of course. Sodding Economics Professors always thought you could posit reality from it's behaviour in a fish tank. Nothing is mistaken about the difference between 'tactical' combat, and winning a war. America whipped the Germans like a whimpering pup, and it wasn't simply on the basis of material, tactical, nor even operational superiourity. In some cases, it's simply, as Wellington put it, 'who can pound longest'. In other cases, it's a matter of doctrine, ability, and training. If you're uncertain about it all, witness the fact that the Peng Challenge Thread has existed for far longer than any Grog discussion of tactics, equipment, or doctrine. There are many occasions where simple bloody-mindedness will prevail.

What a good looking child. Anyone else reading George RR Martin and getting some discomfiting feelings about House Arryn?

D'ya know, normally when I 'adapt' a song for the Peng Challenge, I take something mainstream, and classic, and (for anyone with half an f'ing brain) utterly recognizable, and unashamedly make it my own. But then, occassionally, I encounter a song so classic that it isn't, in fact, yet a classic. From whence my dilemma arises. Not, actually, a dilemma. Rather, I acknowledge my need to 'adapt' this song to the Peng Challenge Thread, while pointing everyone who isn't a complete sodding idjit in the direction of the original. Especially in these dark, dark days, when so few people have actually listened to such classics as 'Blonde on Blonde'. Or 'Abby Road'. Or 'I Am Henry the Eighth I am'. So, with all apologies to Dan Bern, I give you the New, Revealed, Anthem Candidate of the Peng Challenge Thread: The Peng Challenge Thread Parade Everybody was ecstatic 'Bout the light show on the thread And everyone got crazy And nobody went dead And the five televisions Huge upon the stage Had come to pay their union dues And make a living wage And the bathroom was the clubhouse Where the colors all got made And plans were cast in feathers For the Peng Challenge Thread Parade And the DJ spins his records From here out to the sun And he flings them through a big hole In the ozone one by one And somewhere beyond Mercury The wax begins to melt And we touched a perfect stranger And we loved the way it felt And we all hung together In our crew cuts and our braids Floating down Forum Above the Peng Challenge Thread Parade You and I were discussing Kitty While you poised to thrust above her And I told you how I admire her And how you'll always need to love her And I told you how so many lost Their way to MrPeng And we slowly started dancing And began to remember many things And then we all held hands And no one was afraid On our way to abuse all others At the Peng Challenge Thread Parade And Michelangelo finally came down After four years on the ceiling He said he'd lost his funding And the paint had started peeling And he told us that his patron His Holiness, the Pope Was demanding productivity With which our friend just couldn't cope And he rode off on his skateboard With his brushes and his blade Muttering something 'bout some food And the Peng Challenge Thread Parade And we who were born in one millennium And will die in the next Are slightly underappreciated And slightly oversexed And as the seconds and the minutes Start to vanish one by one I'm watching more cartoons As I get my toenails done And we went downtown to deliver Turkeys to people with AIDS And then we headed uptown To the Peng Challenge Thread Parade And the music keeps on grinding And the electrophonic crunch And my father's hair is thinning And my mom ate some for lunch And you, you were my babysitter And you let me break my tooth And we sit here tied together In a bar in the back booth And the band is in an uproar Only the drum machine's been paid And we'll have to bring our own tunes To the Peng Challenge Thread Parade Australians are the vilest People in the world Let's all go down under With strings of colored pearls And lay them at the feet Of the heirs of English crime And listen to old 'Men At Work' And have a real good time And we dug until we hit the rocks Then we threw away the spade And built a platform to get a better view Of the Peng Challenge Thread Parade And I love whoever's next to me I love them so, so much They let me lean against them Like a beautiful crutch And everyone should come up On the stage and grab the mike And tell us one by one Who they are and what they like And the SSNs are the only ones To have lately gotten laid And I'm feeling young and eager For the Peng Challenge Thread Parade And you explained to me that without your fans You'd be back out on the street With nothing but chitlins on your plate And splinters in your feet And if you die, you're gone you said And your friends are left behind And you'll be a statistic And we'll be deaf and blind And darkness is a virtue And molasses is not afraid To slow down the countdown To the Peng Challenge Thread Parade And somewhere in the distance An orchestra shows its face With Persephone on the oboe Berli on double bass Peng plays the viola Shaw the tenor sax Emma blows harmonica In vanilla skin-tight slacks Hakko oozes alto sax Moriarity the trombone Bauhaus squawks the trumpet Andreas the xylophone Goanna he shreds the violin In a green Italian suit Hiram talks on the telephone On a tape with an endless loop Geier he blows the clarinet With an old-time rockin' feel Lawyer dings the triangle Morse the glockenspiel Mace puffs on the tuba OGSF the big bass drum Stuka throbs the cello Like he would a woman, with his thumb And high up on the podium In tails with his baton poised Seanachai leads the orchestra In a glorious, awful noise And on a float of dripping oil paint The orchestra, it played Kissing the whole universe In the Peng Challenge Thread Parade And life is like a fairy tale Every step feels like a dream That keeps on getting nearer And more and more extreme And we just got switched with Venus And we're closer to the sun And I got no problem with it Nor should anyone And the cops just blew on in here And we're in some kind of raid I just hope they will release us For the Peng Challenge Thread Parade

Chrissake, Joe, which clown? There are so many, after all, and I'm only an Olde One, not a god. Oh, I imagine you mean Bone Vulture. Well, I know there was some unpleasantness there, but I got an email from that idiot, AussieJeff, who told me that things were alright. I mean, other than his taste in men, I haven't seen anything particularly horrible about Bone Vulture. And, Joe, how can any of us fault where the heart may lead? Except, of course, We can, because that's what We do. Especially when an it's an inconsequential bit of Middle-Class, 'I always wanted to be significant, but was overly concerned with my penis and making money' piece of ****e like Vanilla Ice. But I admire Bone Vulture for following where his heart leads. Despite, of course, that his heart has led him to a puddle of talentless vomit. Of course, there's always lust. Shudder I hope he's content with his mooning over a low-rent David Bowie, 'Man Who Fell To Earth' wannabe. It's sad, really. After all, all we require for someone who wants to belong is that they stand up on their hind legs, wave their fore-paws in the air, and sing out like they've got the self-esteem of a stoat. Okay, there's a bit more. A literate stoat. And we've been making exceptions for Vadr now for a while. If he could prove that he's ever even read a book. Bloody Floridians.

Marmite slurping scum. No right-thinking Minnesotan would enter the house where lutefisk has been prepared, let alone eat it. Only the Scandos play at that ****e. And even most of them go green at the thought. Vile stuff.

Bone Vulture, let me just say that here, in the Peng Challenge Thread, we accept the fact that you prefer sexual contact with other men, and we do not denigrate you for that fact. Hiram has taught us both understanding, acceptance, and even, dare I say it, love. What we can't understand, or accept, is your sexual attraction to that annoying, talentless piece of annoying ****e that you keep posting pictures of, called 'Vanilla Ice'. Slurp down your flavour of choice, but spare us the endless pictures of that pompadoured, half-an-eyebrow-missing (what's that all about, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder?), chisel-featured, fashion-challenged idjit, thank you very much. Frankly, you should try to get a grip. Those of no account endlessly prove it by posturing endlessly in a tedious way, bereft of humour, intent, or message. Show us some spine.

I'm deeply concerned. Why are there so many bloody Southerners on the Thread of threads these days? Where are the Real People? The boggs has backed up, and suddenly the place is filled with Floridians. The smiling, mirror-shades HP types of the Southeast Coast all troop in here to say 'Yes, Ma'am' and 'No, Ma'am' and 'Can you say for certain, Ma'am, that they weren't behaving in an un-American way' . The Texans are still stomping around the place like a bunch of 'Big Hat, No Cows' pillocks, and we even have a Southern Lady out o' Georgia shrieking in her best, Old Plantation tones: "Bring me mah New Jersee Hairyback!" And the Australians, are, for all practical purposes, are part of the Southern Hemisphere! I think it's time we stand up and take the count! North and South! For and Against! Enlightened, Adaptable, Industrialized Northerners vs. the Gentlemanly, Agricultural, Inbred South! You foreign lot can choose up sides depending on your personal perceptions of worth. IT'S TIME FOR A GOOD OLD, US-VERSUS-THEM CIVIL WAR!

This one isn't ours, so it doesn't count. This was started by Outer Boarders, so we can show up and gibber a bit if we feel like it, but aren't held responsible for it. Eventually, a highly trained Forum professional will show up and shut this one down. The question is, how much whinging well the 'No More Peng' lobby manage before the sharp click of the padlock.

DOWN! You yapping poodles!

Interesting. Perhaps we should make the effort to have the next 4 or 5 titles reflect lyrics from ABBA, and see if we can actually start inducing catatonia in the Outer Boarders. Gaylord, does your collection of their CDs include lyrics that you could upload to people to refer to when choosing the next Thread title?

Interesting point, Berli. Hiram, what the heck are you doing? Sending it to her in jars? [ March 14, 2003, 02:21 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

A friend of mine once told me that he went with someone he worked with when she visited her father's grave in southern Florida. He'd been living on the Concrete Peninsula, as he called it, for about a year at that point. He said that all the 'graves were above ground mausoleums and such because the water table was too high everywhere in southern Florida for burial beneath ground. His comment was: Jesus, does this place ever suck. They can't even bury their damned dead...

Why do you think I stubbornly cling to the idea that you're one and the same person? It's not 'self-delusion', it's the defence a rationale mind has erected against something both vile and unthinkable. For which meal?