Seanachai

Sigh. Sounds a bit Shakespearean, I admit. And I suppose if Star Trek accomplishes nothing else, it might inspire us all to read more literature? The quote is from Moby Dick, actually, Ahab's dying words: "Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee. Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale! Thus, I give up the spear!"

AussieJeff, I am truly sorry to hear about the passing of your cat. Sounds like Smokey was a great friend. And I want you to know that I would not have eaten your cat. Unless, of course, you'd asked me to. It is my understanding that cats and dogs do not go to heaven. They go to some place far more fun and interesting.

You think that review was good, go to Amazon and see the one he posted on an album of William Shatner's singing. That was sodding hilarious.

My God, woman! A better one than that would probably kill me outright just by looking at it!

This waiting time being endured by all you gentlemen could be most profitably spent sending your letter, card, or postcard telling Seanachai how much you hate him. Details here: Bugger the Demo, Sod Pre-Ordering, Read In Order To Let Seanachai Know You Hate Him

Ohmigod, that's the worst one yet! All your other terrifyingly doctored photos of me were quite horrible, but that one has me cringing more than any of the others. Good news, everyone! I don't want to live anymore! But I will hang on until I've gotten all the cards and letters due me. They're starting to roll in; keep up the good work!

Where's my postcard filled with hate and venom, you bespectacled little Canadian git?

Cats. Discerning animals, cats. But you can't like them. Oh, but they cook up nice. Perhaps you'd care to send me a card from your putative 'cat'. Before I track down the little sod and have him with curry over rice, of course. Pillock.

Your heart, lad (or lassie, as the case may be) is in the right place. BUT YOUR HEAD HAS DAMN NEAR COMPLETELY DISAPPEARED UP AN ORIFICE NEVER INTENDED FOR REINSERTION, YOU NONG! Let me just say, that your support means the world to me, but YOUR FAILURE TO SEND ME A LETTER, CARD, OR POSTCARD TELLING ME WHAT AN UNBELIEVABLE SODDING PILE OF ****E I AM, LEADS ME TO BELIEVE THAT YOU'VE NO MORE DISCERNMENT THAN A ROCK-STAR ON THE EVE OF ENTERING REHAB! So, be yourself, believe in yourself, and care for yourself. BUT IF YOU DON'T SEND ME A GODDAMN CARD TELLING ME HOW MUCH YOU HATE ME, I'M GOING TO HAVE TO GET MEDIEVAL ON YOUR ARSE, LADDIE! JESUS WEPT! I ALREADY KNOW WHAT IT TAKES TO BE HATED AROUND HERE. SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT IT TAKES TO HAVE THAT HATRED ACKNOWLEDGED!!

That...was simply lovely. That was a bit of the right stuff, quite unvarnished, and without any little dangly bits to interfere with the serious hatred. flamingknives, my most esteemed and hated enemy: Please reconsider. Please reconsider your decision not to send me a hate filled missive via regular mail. I will settle down tonight, and stare at the ceiling for a long, long time, and think over every point you've made. And I will decide you were right, of course (I almost always do, in these sorts of cases). And I will wonder if how right you are, balanced against what a bastard I am, is enough to keep me from losing immense amounts of sleep, leading to excessive stress, ulcers, and, possibly, further curtailments on my already spotty employment history. I know that if I had an actual letter, or even just a postcard, stating what you've just said, that I would never go to bed without reading it over, and twisting the knife of your dislike into my flesh. It's not, you see, simply some sort of sick 'masochism' thing. Rather, it's a journey of self-discovery, community, and participation. A cup, however bitter, that I wish to drink to the dregs. I know that I have offended you. I know that you hold me at nought. Head bowed, I accept your judgement (mostly because, from what I've seen, you're not an empty-headed arsehole like so many others who hate me; of course, that's simple hubris, too). So grant an aging enemy this last wish. Send me a postcard. Move your digital, and therefore, somehow, ephemeral hatred of me to the level of writ. Your letter, card, or postcard shall, like the Magna Carta, stand as a statement that will, like the Mother Beautiful Thread, 'always be there'. Your words, on paper, will be my legacy for the amusement of my nephews and nieces. Can't you just see their faces, once I'm gone, asking their mother, my sister, 'who's this guy 'flamingknives', and why did he hate Uncle Seanachai so much?' [ September 15, 2002, 09:24 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I am beginning to receive a number of emails, the main thrust of which seems to be 'say, Seanachai, are you alright? Have you gone completely mad? Should I circulate your description in the neighbourhood with appropriate cautions if people happen to see you drinking out of a paperbag, and standing across the street from my house, laughing in a disturbing manner and muttering, as well as simply notifying the police, which I've already done?' The answers are: no, yes, and yes. Or, perhaps: yes, yes, and maybe. I dream. Every night, I dream, and Mensch is always in my dreams. He is always laughing, laughing, and trying to fit legs on the snakes. He never answers my questions. There are those that are suggesting I've gone quite mad. In fact, I just erased the lyrics to a jolly sing-song that might have proved that I'd gone mad. But I'm not as mad as all that, yet, to post the proof. Mad like a fox, you might say!\ But don't worry. I'll not do anything over the top and until I receive every last letter, card, and postcard. I am anxious for the mail.

Others await our judgement. You, Boo Radley are free. Card arrived today. Still haven't enough to cover the hole in the wall. You might want to consider sending something more venomous. Although that motel on the card looks to be where God would stick the cosmic enema. Or would, if it weren't in Illinois. Even God won't touch the arse-end of Illinois, for whatever reason.

That's a lovely thought, and I honour you for it. Now send me a letter, card, or postcard you annoying little Kiwi git, or I'll start a whole thread on what I know about you... (we wondered where you'd got to) In fact, state clearly and for all the other particpants that you're about to send me a venom filled missive, or I'll have Persephone do an absolutely hideous Photoshop rendition of you, and no one will believe it's made up, no matter how despicable and impossible it might be.

QUIET! SOD ALL THIS CESSPOOLER CHATTINESS, YOU LOT! I'M TRYING TO GARNER SOME REAL WORLD, SIGNIFICANT HATE HERE! I want the hatred of Grogs. Pseudo-Grogs. Ladder Players. General Forum mouth-breathers. I want the hatred of every single half-wit who had to post, at length, and with depressing predictability, that they didn't like the Demo. I want the hate of every one of the whining little cretins that didn't like the Two Free Scenarios! (didn't like the freebies? Buy the game, you toads. Christ, I haven't even bothered playing all the goddamn scenarios that came with CMBO! I've been too busy playing QBs, Third Party PBEM setups, User Created Scenarios, and all that incredible tonnage of possible, potential, and, in fact, actualized gameplay possibility provided by the engine.) I want the hate of all the merry little whingers whose most particular 'ooh, that's my favourite' pet special feature that was never-promised-but-whose-inclusion-had-to-be-assumed-because-I-wanted-it-by-God didn't make it into the game, and are now sulking, drinking really cheap beer and alcohol, and feeling all betrayed. And I don't want to hear from any of you lot that 'you don't have the time', or 'can't be bothered', or 'you simply don't care enough to hate Seanachai'. Make it your business, you lot! Every single one of you swine have the time, and certainly can be bothered. We're talking about a community that has routinely argued, to the point of frothing at the mouth, such ludicrous issues as the Bren Tripod, running Heavy Machine Guns, and 'I Want the Right to Mod Dead Guys Laid Out in Decorative Patterns With Intestines Cunningly Displayed'. I've watched people discuss, with gritted teeth, the concept of 88mm penetration, mantlet armour, and whether mathematical formulae can adequately recreate the actions of weapons used in combat before most of them were even born; and all while telling each other, as courteously as possible, that they're not fit to tote guts to a bear at the zoo. So, take a moment away from your busy schedule of noting errors of omission or commmission on one of your many Excel spreadsheets, or making another note in your Journal as how 'X of the Combat Mission Forum was insufferable to me today, arguing against my model of Commonwealth equipment distribution', or having that last, long look in the mirror after your latest 'ladder' victory, and telling yourself 'you're a star. A bright shining star'. Give over that last, before sleep cry about how your 'roster' didn't make it into the game, or that last, choked round of cursing over how "those scenarios don't hold a patch on 'Valley of Trouble'". Forget, for a moment, if you will, that Seanachai is too insignificant a blip on your forum participation to be worth the application of your hatred. Set all these things aside, and prepare a letter, or a card, or a postcard, and mail it away today, telling Seanachai how much you hate him. It can be as long, and full, and as detailed as your deepest, innermost feelings about your favourite weapons system, or a mere, perfunctory 'Seanachai. How I hate you. Do the world a favour and expire.' I will, as suggested here, be posting THE VERY BEST, MOST EGREGIOUS, HATE FILLED MISSIVES. Also, the most humorous cards, graphics, etc. And, for those of you who still feel yourself unmoved to take the few minutes necessary to hate me properly, remember, I've been on this Forum for a long, long time now. I know who you all are. I have lists. And, like an Evil, Ugly, Anti-Santa, I will be checking them twice. A letter, card, or postcard could save you from drawing my particular attention. Or, worse yet, the unspeakable degradation of becoming my 'new, best Forum pal'. Do you really want to explain me to all your Grog friends? So write today. Quickly. The clock is ticking, and I'm ticking names off the list.

That was horrible, simply horrible. I lost everything I previously wrote, and all I got was an extremely pointless double post. Sod Microsoft Internet Explorere, MSN, and UBB. The bastards. [ September 11, 2002, 09:08 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I would resent you, but, having seen the pictures of yourself and your sister, I now realize that you are as cute as a button, and as charmingly chatty as a feisty little tree squirrel. This, in and of itself, should make you want to close the door of the family garage, start up the engine, and nestle down into the front seat to wait for enlightenment. I wouldn't recommend it, however. You undoubtedly are capable of contributions to the world beyond what we see posted here on the Forum. At least, we can pray to whatever gods there are that such is the case.

Actually, not for us. Have you ever received his 'A Modest Proposal For Organizing the Cesspool'? 150 pages of the most disturbing, detailed, long-winded (and this from me) lunacy ever to bubble to the surface of the 'Pool. After receiving his 'offer' to monitor and 'take control of' every function, be it emotional, physical, or intellectual, of every single Cesspooler, even Berli, for whom the triumph of Hell over Heaven is paramount, and to whom control is second nature, had to send me an email saying: Is that bastard high? Believe me, the Olde Ones of the Peng Challenge Thread went to church and lit a candle (even Berli, who knows that it is bettter to rule in Hell, and to do so without 24 email pages of 'addendums' to 'what we can do to make the Thread better' from Treeburst), when Treeburst was reinstated on the Outer Boards. God save us all, from high-minded fools, and organizational lunatics.

You awful little Australian pillock. Did I ask you for yet another 'ooh, look, I'm almost completely drunk and more than half daft, but I can, just before pissing my own pants, locate a website that will allow me, even while covered with urine (miscalculated again), to send an 'email postard' to Seanachai'?!! Well, did I?!! No!, you poor, buggered up excuse for a marsupial tree shrew. What I asked for, stated several times, and ACTUALLY SODDING REQUIRE, YOU LACKWITTED CLOT OF UNPROCESSED, FIBROUS INTESTINAL BLOCKAGE, IS A GODDAMN POSTCARD (VIA 'REGULAR MAIL') OR LETTER (ALSO VIA 'REGULAR MAIL', YOU F'ING IDJIT), THAT DETAILS, IN A FULL AND POETICAL MANNER, YOUR HATERED OF ME!! Jesus Christ On a Crutch, and Attempting to Perform 'Riverdance', but you're a dim bastard. Be a good lad, and post a link to my original request, and attempt to post there in a manner befitting a Knight of the Cesspool, and encourage the rest of the Heathens to send me their messages of hate. My gods, but you're dim sometimes, for an Australian.

I can only attempt to understand 'your pain'. Not that I can, or will ever be able to, of course, because anything associated with the horrible nation of 'Texas' is quite beyond the pale. May God have mercy on your heathen soul, you Lone Star slut.

This was, for you... I don't know what this was. A sign of better times? A new level of weirdness (and, frankly, no one loves weirdness more than myself)? We'll take it as a very strange sign of 'growth'. Or perhaps, just nothing. But I, the eternal optimist, see the scene as 'mostly weird', rather than 'mostly normal'.

Well, no, but I've read about it in books. Things like The Complete Stalky & Co. by Kipling, and such. Sorry, all, but I will need to keep this thread on the main page until I've garnered enough postcards from enough of the world's nations telling me how much they hate me. Come now, aren't I as worthy a recipient of your hatred as the egregious Slapdragon? I imagine they've added another carrier on his route to handle the hate mail. Unless, of course, he's never published his home address here... But that cannot be. No man, pure of heart and steady of purpose, will fear to cast down the gauntlet before his opponents. So send me your postcards, and your letters, dear enemies, and let me know exactly what you think of me. It's not like email, you know. It shows you care enough to truly dislike me; not the casual, weak, whorish hatred of email. A card, or a letter, filled with your abuse is all I ask. I will treasure each and every one. And, at the end of my days (a few months from now, the way things are going), I will sit in my chair at the Home and read them out loud to the various other inmates, and cackle out loud.

Lard, you scare me sometimes. Come to think of it, so does dalem. Come to think of it, you all scare me. Papa</font>

Do you know, that after a day of clicking on the links you lot come up with, both here and in the General Forum, I generally have to erase all cookies, wipe the history file, empty the browser cache, destroy anything that remotely looks like it might be a 'subscribe' file, and, periodically, reformat the whole hard drive and start from scratch. And this is on my home computer. Oh, except for the things posted by Iskander, of course. Nothing but good, solid family fare there, of course. Oh Knight of the Squishy Fruit, remember that even Freud used to say 'sometimes a banana is just a banana'. [ September 09, 2002, 03:07 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Sigh. It would be a lovely thought, MrSpkr, if all the people that you mention, as well as those suggested by Gyrene, didn't already have me on their list. It's a rather special list, however, as it is the list maintained by these many fine 'outreach' organizations of 'people who are not to be contacted under any circumstances'. They have all, at one time or another, been by. And they won't come back anymore. The Jehovahs were the most tenacious, but, in the end, even they broke and fled. After a mere 45 minute interview, the Mormons' eyes began to glaze over, and one mumbled something about 'gnawing off his own leg' in order to get out of the apartment. I am, and Berli, Shaw, and the Minnesota Miscreants can confirm, a rather talkative fellow. Some have even opined that I'm wordy, and occasionally abstruse. I like to think I'm merely convivial. But thank you for your help and attention. Perhaps I could start sending you email? [ September 09, 2002, 03:09 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

We feel your pain. Well, actually, no we don't. But several of us have been laughing about your pain. That has to count for something, doesn't it?