Seanachai

You've never read Kipling then, you tosser?

There must be a reapraissal of the Offices of the Peng Challenge Thread. It is important that we get the Justicar working hand in glove with the new Inquisitor General of the Peng Challenge. Hell, they're both annoying, they're both Texans, and there would seem to be no impediment to setting them both free to annoy pretty much everyone else. And Meeks. What has become of the Kingship? I think, at this point, that the best thing we could do for the Kingship is to take a vote. How many of you lot want a king, and how many oppose it by all means? Monarchy is best handled by means of an election, after all.

And if a certain Gnome was left quite alone with only the human dilemma as laid out by the Fair Emma Who gave him a new direction in which to look for his next...correction then he would not be alone as he sought to bring everyone home And he would know what was lacking and send all the idjits packing as he called for a jolly sing-song to set right all that was wrong. So join in an UberGnome singing about the renewal that all will be bringing to a Thread more perfect than any AND HOW EVERYONE IS GOING TO HAVE TO PULL THEIR DAMN THUMBS OUT OF THEIR ARSE, AND MAKE SOME BLOODY DAMN EFFORT, AND NOT JUST PONCE ABOUT GOING 'OOH, LOOK AT ME! I'M POSTING IN THE PENG CHALLENGE THREAD, AMN'T I JUST, THOUGH! ' Sorry, that last bit didn't scan so well. But it fit.

Okay...I shall try... Ranting and wailing wanting a railing, Seanachai sits in his chair... ...So endure us you must though you moan and you fuss, We still love you, dear Seanachai. </font>

This isn't the only thing Janis apparently swallowed by the gallon. One quite clearly led to the other. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. [ March 07, 2003, 12:45 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

That's the spirit, lad! Bad; Vile bad verse, but at least you cared enough to do your best! Or worst. It all comes down to the same thing when read. Now come on, you lot!

Little man, you are not yet amusing me. Try harder. A bit of song. A piece of poetry. In your case, even some poorly executed clog dancing would at least help. Give me something to lay before the gods of the Peng Challenge to show that you're not simply a wanker. A story. A rant. What's wrong with the Peng Challenge Thread, lately, is that everyone thinks they know what's needed to belong, and no one has a bloody clue. We don't want to hear another stupid bugger attempt to insult people. Christ on a crutch, and showering down mercy, we've all seen better insults than the most of you could gain from reading the Classics. What we want to be, is amused. We want to see a bit of thought go into your posts. We want to see you 'buy in' to the Peng Challenge Thread. Amuse me.

I've been...away. I went into a bit of a decline, then moved to despond, and finally ended up in a full-fledged depression. And then, one night when my personal demons were loudest, and everything in my life was crying out to me 'failure', 'futility', and 'despair', I hit rock-bottom. I thought to myself: Why not? Why not load up that 20 gauge my Ol' Da' gave me, all those years back, and put the barrel in my mouth, and pull the trigger? Who'll notice? Who'll care? And then, I thought, 'Wait'! What about the Peng Challenge Thread? What about all those lads and lasses? If I die, who will teach the little children about the glory of taunting, and who will lead them in a jolly sing-song? So I went to the Peng Challenge Thread. And I read the posts of the folk. And thank all the gods that I couldn't find a single, goddamn 20 gauge shell in the entire sodding apartment, or I would have blown out my goddamn brains then and there. What a bunch of useless, pointless ****e. And suddenly I realized that I needed to live. I needed to post a new message of hope, and glory, and at least, not so much stupid, annoying ****e, for all the world! Or, at least, any sense of despair I might f'ing well feel should find as it's target the lackwitted idjits I've found posting here lately. Alright, lets begin with some of the more promising of the scabbed-over sores that pass for posters on the Peng Challenge Thread these days. Vadr, recite for us all who your patron is. Tell us something interesting that involves at least a bit of higher brain function. Grovel, a bit, in a manly way that acknowledges a desire to move up the food chain. The rest of you inflamed coldsores disguised as Peng Challenge wannabees, will be reviewed in your turn. Christ, in all my puff I've never seen such a bunch of wanking idjits. I'm all for democracy, but the posts I've read lately have been a lot more like giving pedophiles, Pomeranian dogs, and Jerry Springer viewers the vote. Not on my watch, might I say.

What I'm taking notes on, you sad arsed little pillock, is how many times you use 'your' when what you mean is 'you are', the contraction for which is 'you're'. Christ on a crutch checking the dictionary, get it right, Gaylord, even just f'ing once, and I'll let Panzer Leader have you for a Squire. You're, you're, you're, is 'you are'. Your is a possessive, for the love of all the gods!

Er...'Lady' of the 'Pool (it is you, isn't it, Hiram, trying life from the 'other side' as it were, isn't it?) any creature that would willingly (and by that I mean that there is simply no other alcohol available, of any type, except Creme de Whatever or wine coolers) drink the vile slop called 'Southern Comfort', should walk softly and carry a bucket in polite company. As I understand it, historically the only good purpose that this peach flavoured heavily alcoholed swill has bee put to was by Sherman's troops, that knocked the ends out of hogsheads of the stuff in the streets of Atlanta in order to get a better conflagration. And to what purpose? From the ruins Georgia built a modern city and then filled it once again with Southerners. Might as well build a world class zoo for displaying rats. All that aside, and despite the fact that I am, once again, not caught up, I'm back. Again. More as soon as I've read more.

Well, after I last posted, I sat down and decided to have a beer, and wait for someone to post something interesting in response. I've now knocked off something on the order of three or four cases, haven't slept worth a damn, and only cracked a smile once or twice in the whole period. I did like the song-fest that lately resulted, which is the only reason I'm responding at all, and that to post a song for YK2 and Persephone. Superman's Song Tarzan wasn't a ladies' man He'd just come along and scoop 'em up under his arm Like that, quick as a cat in the jungle But Clark Kent, now there was a real gent He would not be caught sittin' around in no Junglescape, dumb as an ape doing nothing Superman never made any money For saving the world from Solomon Grundy And sometimes I despair the world will never see Another man like him Hey Bob, Supe had a straight job Even though he could have smashed through any bank In the United States, he had the strength, but he would not Folks said his family were all dead Their planet crumbled but Superman, he forced himself To carry on, forget Krypton, and keep going Superman never made any money For saving the world from Solomon Grundy And sometimes I despair the world will never see Another man like him Tarzan was king of the jungle and Lord over all the apes But he could hardly string together four words: "I Tarzan, You Jane." Sometimes when Supe was stopping crimes I'll bet that he was tempted to just quit and turn his back Oh man, join Tarzan in the forest But he stayed in the city, and kept on changing clothes In dirty old phonebooths till his work was through And nothing to do but go on home Superman never made any money For saving the world from Solomon Grundy And sometimes I despair the world will never see Another man like him -Crash Test Dummies

The gnarled and bent figure, chin in hand, contemplates the Wasteland. He pats the head of the odd little off-white terrier at his side, and says: "Good dog, Patch. Now, go be eaten by the Hell Hounds." Do you know, we've never, actually, had the chance before. I mean, our loathsome existence was always subject to containing ourselves. But now, there is something 'Other'. An obviously sanctioned entity of posts that are far more disgusting, vile, and useless than the Cesspool will ever be. Ladies, Seniour Knights, Knights, Squires, Serfs, and All Those Who've Made the Peng Challenge Thread the Longest Running, Most Posted To Bit of Internet Idiocy In Human History! I call upon you! I rouse you up! Like the Knights Templar, the Order the Knights of the Cesspool most resembles, I declare a Crusade upon all pretenders to the Peng Challenge! What are these 'Master Goodale' threads that we should suffer their calumny? How, when we have paved the way for all threads that would sing their own song, should we suffer these weak, puerile threads to exist? Come, my Obnoxious Brothers (such as you are)! Come, and let us show Soddball and his lackwitted teenagers what a true Holy War is like!

MasterGoodale is not governed by Peng. MasterGoodale is governed only by the laws of frot. Back! Back to your thread, say I! </font>

Goodness, isn't it great to see how 'Mainstreaming' is still impacting our Society?! I look forward to many another WTF topic in the future!

I did not, you toad. I spelt it as I did so as to diminish the discomfort that might be felt by our more 'religious' members. Here in the Peng Challenge Thread, we are all about the 'Tolerance of Intolerance'. I may hate every sodding thing about you, but I will defend to the death your right to be the most annoying piece of ****e on the planet, so long as I believe you to have half a brain, the courage of your convictions, the ability to string your idiocy together in such fashion as to make me think, and the sense of honour to admit that I might be as annoying, stupid, and possibly valid as you are, in my own way.

You seek to post here, and yet you also post in the Master Goodale threads. A man must be either here, or there. Examine your allegiances, sirrah, and proclaim them. Do you stand with Peng, who shall, at Ragnarok, stand up and Challenge the very gods, or do you wish to make puppy noises and grimace at lackwitted teenagers (and that Pommie bastard Soddball, who is not me), and stand with Master Goodale? Declare yourself, and, if you choose the Cesspool, than declare yourself with honour. Something lengthy, with a theme, allusions, and a clear statement of why you've cast your loyalty where you have. We all witnessed, and the Justicar forever keeps fresh in the memory of anyone who still bothers to post in the Peng Challenge Thread, the 'apostasy' of Meeks. But who do the Powers loathe more, I ask you? Apostates, who forsake their allegiance to pursue schism (and their own spiritual, if twisted, vision of what the Thread should be), or heretics, infidels, and roight stupid buggers who keep posting over and over again about the power of TNT to unblock the lower bowel, and its ability to finally clear up that annoying acne problem? SgtGoody, you nearly prostrated under a shower of urine idjit, which side are you on? [ February 26, 2003, 02:53 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Dearest AussieJeff. You know the great esteem that I hold you in. Which is, in point of fact, almost no esteem at all. That being the case, it signifies that I do, in fact, hold you in some sort of esteem, which is more than can be said for most Outer Boarders, anyone from West Palm Beach, Florida, and chihuahuas (the pseudo-dogs, not the residents of the Mexican State). That all being said, it's become necessary to speak to you on a topic. A serious topic. A topic of much import. There is, lad, SIMPLY NO SODDING REASON ON THIS GODDAMN PLANET TO BE CONSTANTLY POSTING A BLOODY TWO FOOT LONG TRAIL OF NESTED POSTS WHEN THE ONLY DAMNABLE THING YOU'RE ACTUALLY RESPONDING TO IS ONE F'ING SENTENCE, ESPECIALLY WHEN IT IS, ALMOST INVARIABLY, THE LAST F'ING SENTENCE! Edit your bloody replies, you lackwitted Kanga Wanker. Anyone who hasn't the bloody wit to sort out the chain of posts that leads up to your almost magically half-witted response isn't worth taking by the privates and dragging around the bloody Thread, now are they? Remember, lad, we're not judging you by the 'length' of your posts, but by the ability to string together the words to entertain us. As things 'stand' right now, I have this extremely unwholesome vision of you standing in front of your monitor, tape measure in hand, and cackling "There, by God! That post is 14 inches long, and 10 inches wide! That'll show them the manliness of an AussieJeff!" In sooth, good Knight. Practice some restraint. And throw a towel over it, fer Chrissake! [ February 26, 2003, 02:33 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I'm going to meet Michael Jackson? You take that back, you little guttersnipe, or I'm catching a plane to Dutchland to kick your arse all around the Hague. Oh, wait. When I shut that eye and look out of this one, I want to give you a hug and buy you a stout. Quick! A jolly sing-song before I blink! the sea oh the sea long may it be long may it flow, between lena and me if it's he or it's she will remain mystery thank your god you're surrounded by water! Come along, me little Pole, and have a Guinness! [ February 25, 2003, 11:16 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Or at least, that will acknowledge you.

That was all in fairly good, straightforward English, and yet it made even less sense than most of your posts. How odd.

Well, I just spent a few moments skimming through the latest Master Goodale thread, and I feel much better about the Peng Challenge Thread. That entire thread is a vivid example of what drinking stagnant water, combined with a lack of proper fiber, will lead to.

Oh, look! The Austrian lad and the German lad are going to have a slap-fight. Avert your eyes, Cesspoolers. They may be after pulling on lederhosen and little peaked caps with cockades before starting their tribal ritual!

I knew my efforts would lift your spirits. Wait until I unveil my Next Big Thing. </font>

Actually, had I been so daft as to embrace any sort of 'inner Aussie', I would have said: Throw another prawn on the barby (Australians, as we know, are all prawn and no brain). Also, your suggestions regarding my musical taste are an affront to right thinking folk everywhere. The album you could hear was by 'Weddings, Parties, Anything', a band out of Melbourne. They have a lovely song about cannibalism in Tasmania. It is...good to post again, my children. I have done battle with the Powers of MSN, who had taken up the gauntlet of endlessly screwing me over from Qwest (who are rather like MSN in that they are horribly incompetent, and wanted to be Evil, but found that their incompetence was getting in the way of being Evil, and so gave the whole thing up and slunk off to make their entire ISP division an offering to Microsoft, thereby doubtless hoping to curry favour and possibly a little more status in Hell, where Berli vies daily with Bill Gates over who shall hold dominion over mankind...) AND I TRIUMPHED! Bad news for you lot, of course, as it means I can get online again. Turns shall go out to all and sundry (those being the halfwits who show in my long inacscesible Inbox as having just sent me a turn yesterday) as soon as may be, which primarily means tomorrow night and Wednesday day. As some of you know, I went into a bit of a decline. Poor health and despondency overcame me for almost two weeks. In short, I found my hatred becoming distant, and foreign, and confused. I found myself thinking things like: 'I wonder what that rascal Boo is up to?', and 'Perhaps some words from the Justicar will help me focus', or 'My goodness, what a very fine versification Dalem has done'. In my more rational moments, of course, such thoughts made me want to commit 'Polish Suicide', in which you repeatedly throw yourself out of a first floor window until you die of exhaustion. So, for a number of days, I took a break from the both the Peng Challenge Thread, CMBB, and, to a large extent, bathing, doing dishes, and getting out of bed. At least, until the beer ran out and the last clean pint glass was filled with musty looking water and floating bits of macaroni and cheese. But finding myself locked off from any ability to tell you lot what a weeping chancre you all are on the blistered bum of humanity filled me with righteous fury, martial ardor, and the need to hit small animals with sticks. The rest, of course, is what this very wandering post is about. I am victorious, most of you are malodorous, and I will soon resume being boisterous. Oh, and it's bloody sodding cold here, and I'd burn every single newcomer on a pyre if it would warm up the ambient temperature of my neighbourhood by even a degree. More tomorrow. Exhausted, I retire to sleep the sleep of the just and victorious.

Oh, and on a final note, before I go off and seek the sweet unconsciousness that allows me to ignore what a sad, sorry lot of mouth-breathers and bottom-feeders so many of you are, let me just remind you all: I'm the Nice One. Selah.