Seanachai

You are all overlooking the simplest and most profound argument as to why there should not be this sort of 'division' of the Combat Mission Forum. Two forums regarding the playing of Combat Mission, of whatever type, would require two Peng Challenge Threads, and we are not a bloody franchise operation. Like the Peng Challenge Thread itself, the answer is, of course: There can be only One...

So I take it no one told you you didn't have to continue to wear your parochial school uniform? Good Lord, I'd thought recent events here in our own State had prepared me for this sort of revelation about the Church, but any faith that would allow a school to require children to dress as you describe is beyond the pale. With enough counseling, children can overcome many traumas, and no harm done, eh? (certainly the attitude being taken at the highest levels of the American branch of the Church these days), but I doubt that even complete personality reprogramming could help a child that underwent your original sartorial abuse. Please, Boo, do not delay another minute! Put on the Parochial School Uniform you describe, have yourself photographed, and post the results here on the Thread as soon as is humanly possible. We want to help you overcome this pain. And we can only do that if we can see and fully understand it. You can trust us. Really. I don't think any of us are members of the clergy.

So I take it no one told you you didn't have to continue to wear your parochial school uniform? Good Lord, I'd thought recent events here in our own State had prepared me for this sort of revelation about the Church, but any faith that would allow a school to require children to dress as you describe is beyond the pale. With enough counseling, children can overcome many traumas, and no harm done, eh? (certainly the attitude being taken at the highest levels of the American branch of the Church these days), but I doubt that even complete personality reprogramming could help a child that underwent your original sartorial abuse. Please, Boo, do not delay another minute! Put on the Parochial School Uniform you describe, have yourself photographed, and post the results here on the Thread as soon as is humanly possible. We want to help you overcome this pain. And we can only do that if we can see and fully understand it. You can trust us. Really. I don't think any of us are members of the clergy.

Actually, there's a great deal of difference between 'fictional' battles, or even completely 'fantastical' battles, and including a piece of equipment as common as the Yeti. Between the ability to speculate about 'what if' battles, and the much more common 'attempting to create or re-create possible or known battles', and spending time speculating about a piece of equipment that even the most fanatical 'what-ifer' would have to acknowledge as 'too stupid to have any actual combat application', I'd have to say that many people would do the former, and only a handful of the most jaded would bother with the latter. Seriously, on the level of CM, why would anyone even bother to attack something like this? Drive around it and continue on to Berlin, rather. Let it break down trying to catch up as you drive away waving an upraised middle finger at it. I'd vote no. I think there are many far more interesting 'weird' or 'marginal' tanks that would be more interesting to see put through some sort of tactical pace in CM than this (barely) ambulatory pillbox.

Oh, well, the only one you'd have been insulting was Panzerman. You can't insult Panzer Leader, we've tried. Like underwear on the head of a lunatic, he seems to expect it as part of the price of posting his gibberish. And Panzerman seems to have taken it all in the proper spirit. So no harm done.

Good God, man, that's Panzerman, Panzerman! Not Panzer Leader! They're quite different. One is offering to design scenarios, and the other is my former Squire.

Actually, Smokingkipper (an almost sure sign that a food crime has been committed), this wag is sending you over to the Peng Challenge Thread. It is not like other threads. If you go there, you will most likely be confused, and if you ask a question, you will most likely be told to 'sod off', and, in some cases you will be abused and villified. This is not because we don't like you. It's because that is what happens there. After you've been around the Forum for a while, you may come to understand the Peng Challenge Thread. You may even wish to go there. But it's not necessarily for everyone...

Awww, I feel like an idiot, but muthan and sp?</font>

Gods, Lorak, that was lovely. I used to sing the following lullaby to my nieces and nephews, but my sisters made me stop. It's from the Pogues, and it's called "Sit Down By the Fire" Sit down by the fire And I'll tell you a story To send you away to your bed Of the things you hear creeping When everyone's sleeping And you wish you were out here instead It isn't the mice in the wall It isn't the wind in the well But each night they march Out of that hole in the wall Passing through on their way Out of hell They're the things that you see When you wake up and scream The cold things that follow you Down the Boreen They live in the small ring of trees on the hill Up at the top of the field And they dance on the rain And they dance on the wind They tap on the window When no-one is in And if ever you see them Pretend that you're dead Or they'll bite off your head They'll rip out your liver And dance on your neck They dance on your head They dance on your chest They give you the cramp And the cholic for jest They're the things that you see When you wake up and scream The cold things that follow you Down the Boreen They live in the small ring of trees on the hill Up at the top of the field They play on the wind They sing on the rain They dance on your eyes They dance in your brain Remember this place It is damp and it's cold The best place on earth But it's dark and it's old So lie near the wall And cover your head Good night and God bless, Now feck off to bed Oh, and besides welcome back! I'll be sending you my last turn from our game later on. Unless I have already. It all gets so muddled when you grow old, and forgetful, and are almost completely in the bag...

Gods, Lorak, that was lovely. I used to sing the following lullaby to my nieces and nephews, but my sisters made me stop. It's from the Pogues, and it's called "Sit Down By the Fire" Sit down by the fire And I'll tell you a story To send you away to your bed Of the things you hear creeping When everyone's sleeping And you wish you were out here instead It isn't the mice in the wall It isn't the wind in the well But each night they march Out of that hole in the wall Passing through on their way Out of hell They're the things that you see When you wake up and scream The cold things that follow you Down the Boreen They live in the small ring of trees on the hill Up at the top of the field And they dance on the rain And they dance on the wind They tap on the window When no-one is in And if ever you see them Pretend that you're dead Or they'll bite off your head They'll rip out your liver And dance on your neck They dance on your head They dance on your chest They give you the cramp And the cholic for jest They're the things that you see When you wake up and scream The cold things that follow you Down the Boreen They live in the small ring of trees on the hill Up at the top of the field They play on the wind They sing on the rain They dance on your eyes They dance in your brain Remember this place It is damp and it's cold The best place on earth But it's dark and it's old So lie near the wall And cover your head Good night and God bless, Now feck off to bed Oh, and besides welcome back! I'll be sending you my last turn from our game later on. Unless I have already. It all gets so muddled when you grow old, and forgetful, and are almost completely in the bag...

SuperTed, can I volunteer members of the Peng Challenge Thread without their knowledge or permission? I mean, if you just start sending them emails about what they need to do and when, they'll probably just assume they agreed to the whole project while they were drunk and go with it...

I find the casting down of Yeknod and Boo Radley to the status of Knight both right and proper. Yeknod, you see fills me with a sense of peaceful reassurance. When I was younger, we had one dog that was run over by the G&K Cleaner truck, and another that was brutally attacked and killed by another larger dog. With Yeknod, all those nightmares of pet-death fade away. At last, a pet whose sudden and brutal demise won't result in tears and anxiety. Also, if I was to be truthful, I rather like his patois. It delights me. Unlike OGSF, whom I always completely understand, I'm sometimes left puzzled by Yeknod. As a bard and storyteller, it is good that the challenge of language continue, as it keeps you mentally sharp and wondering. As for Boo Radley, well, what can I say. Perhaps I said it best in one of my emails to Boo about being a Squire: Now, I love you as though you were the child I never had, and so did not have the chance to to get drunk in front of you, and curse you, and work hard to damage your sense of self esteem and ruin your self image, leaving emotional scars and traumas that would haunt you throughout the rest of your life. The Peng Challenge Thread has given me a chance that I thought forever lost to me, without all the bother of actually having children or the guilt of ruining their lives. So for my money, the more of you I get a chance to emotionally damage by means of the Peng Challenge Thread, the better, filling up that empty place in side with warm images of myself chasing you about with my belt, knocking over the Christmas tree in my drunkenness, while shouting that you will never amount to anything and you're a horrible disappointment to me, while wishing I'd thrown you to the pit-bulls with my own hands. So now, Boo, you're a Knight. I'm so proud of you. And I was right, you never will amount to anything. And the pit-bulls would have yacked you up again, in any case. Now, I haven't been around much lately, but part of that's been the Real World™, and the last few days a particularly unpleasant aspect of the Real World™, which is growing old. I've spent several of the last few days being wished well, wined, dined, and tormented by friends who rush to point out that I'm older than two of the American States. There will probably be a bit more of it tonight. I will come home, later, and, after receiving congratulatory and smarmy phone calls from the States of Alaska and Hawaii, reminding me that 'I'm older than either of them', I will probably get on again and get turns and taunts out to many of you. What the hell did I just step in? Who started this Thread? [ May 10, 2002, 04:48 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I find the casting down of Yeknod and Boo Radley to the status of Knight both right and proper. Yeknod, you see fills me with a sense of peaceful reassurance. When I was younger, we had one dog that was run over by the G&K Cleaner truck, and another that was brutally attacked and killed by another larger dog. With Yeknod, all those nightmares of pet-death fade away. At last, a pet whose sudden and brutal demise won't result in tears and anxiety. Also, if I was to be truthful, I rather like his patois. It delights me. Unlike OGSF, whom I always completely understand, I'm sometimes left puzzled by Yeknod. As a bard and storyteller, it is good that the challenge of language continue, as it keeps you mentally sharp and wondering. As for Boo Radley, well, what can I say. Perhaps I said it best in one of my emails to Boo about being a Squire: Now, I love you as though you were the child I never had, and so did not have the chance to to get drunk in front of you, and curse you, and work hard to damage your sense of self esteem and ruin your self image, leaving emotional scars and traumas that would haunt you throughout the rest of your life. The Peng Challenge Thread has given me a chance that I thought forever lost to me, without all the bother of actually having children or the guilt of ruining their lives. So for my money, the more of you I get a chance to emotionally damage by means of the Peng Challenge Thread, the better, filling up that empty place in side with warm images of myself chasing you about with my belt, knocking over the Christmas tree in my drunkenness, while shouting that you will never amount to anything and you're a horrible disappointment to me, while wishing I'd thrown you to the pit-bulls with my own hands. So now, Boo, you're a Knight. I'm so proud of you. And I was right, you never will amount to anything. And the pit-bulls would have yacked you up again, in any case. Now, I haven't been around much lately, but part of that's been the Real World™, and the last few days a particularly unpleasant aspect of the Real World™, which is growing old. I've spent several of the last few days being wished well, wined, dined, and tormented by friends who rush to point out that I'm older than two of the American States. There will probably be a bit more of it tonight. I will come home, later, and, after receiving congratulatory and smarmy phone calls from the States of Alaska and Hawaii, reminding me that 'I'm older than either of them', I will probably get on again and get turns and taunts out to many of you. What the hell did I just step in? Who started this Thread? [ May 10, 2002, 04:48 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Actually, Boo, this one's not difficult. You simply stand there in the aisle and sample each type. The one that tastes most like sand is your winner. Oh, I know what you're thinking to yourself; that you'll get in trouble for standing there ripping off the little tamper proof caps and shredding the aluminum foil sealer so that you can stick a carefully wetted finger into each container and pop it into your mouth. Well, lad, I'm here to tell you it's not so. Now I am not a looming or freakishly large person like yourself, but my experience is that even short, odd looking people indulging in this sort of behaviour, while muttering about 'love struck donkeys', 'Ohio Firesign Theatre freaks', 'the Wasteland and the Olde Ones' and 'the Peng Challenge', go pretty much unmolested by even the largest and most brutal looking security guard, let alone fussy, underpayed, overstressed retail employees. They just back off and call for cleanup on that aisle. It's simply not worth the risk. Oh, occasionally some toad who was judged 'too mentally disturbed' even to be an American Law Enforcement officer (quick thanks to Brian for all the pertinent info in that quarter), but was deemed sufficiently mentally ill to actually want to work as a security guard dealing with retail customers, will come up, covered in leather and fake badge, with taser, pepper-spray, flashlights and clubs, and ask you "just what the hell you think you are doing?" Just thrust out a sticky finger covered with granulated soil extract and say loudly "Lick this! Does that taste like 'oranges' to you?" They may ready some sort of weapon, but they'll back off quick while trying to figure out what to do next. You then loudly proclaim (to the people standing safely at either end of the aisle, watching intently) "Oh, C'mon! Let me guess? You're afraid to have another guys finger in your mouth in public, right?" Even if he has a gun, he will probably back up even further. Do not advance upon him, as this might panic him. Instead, roll your eyes and mug shamelessly for the audience that's collected, and is by now far more amused at the expense of the 'Officer' than they are concerned about the crazy man on aisle 8, and say "Guns, stun-rods, and tear gas grenades, and he's afraid of a finger with Metamucil on it!" Then turn and hold your finger out again, and exclaim "You do know you're supposed to take it orally, don't you? Is that why you're so afraid? Did your Mother make a mistake with the directions when you were little?" At this point you are running about a 20% risk that he will shoot you, but usually at the mention of his Mother he will turn and run. The likelihood of running is greatly increased if he used to be an altar boy. [ May 10, 2002, 04:26 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Actually, Boo, this one's not difficult. You simply stand there in the aisle and sample each type. The one that tastes most like sand is your winner. Oh, I know what you're thinking to yourself; that you'll get in trouble for standing there ripping off the little tamper proof caps and shredding the aluminum foil sealer so that you can stick a carefully wetted finger into each container and pop it into your mouth. Well, lad, I'm here to tell you it's not so. Now I am not a looming or freakishly large person like yourself, but my experience is that even short, odd looking people indulging in this sort of behaviour, while muttering about 'love struck donkeys', 'Ohio Firesign Theatre freaks', 'the Wasteland and the Olde Ones' and 'the Peng Challenge', go pretty much unmolested by even the largest and most brutal looking security guard, let alone fussy, underpayed, overstressed retail employees. They just back off and call for cleanup on that aisle. It's simply not worth the risk. Oh, occasionally some toad who was judged 'too mentally disturbed' even to be an American Law Enforcement officer (quick thanks to Brian for all the pertinent info in that quarter), but was deemed sufficiently mentally ill to actually want to work as a security guard dealing with retail customers, will come up, covered in leather and fake badge, with taser, pepper-spray, flashlights and clubs, and ask you "just what the hell you think you are doing?" Just thrust out a sticky finger covered with granulated soil extract and say loudly "Lick this! Does that taste like 'oranges' to you?" They may ready some sort of weapon, but they'll back off quick while trying to figure out what to do next. You then loudly proclaim (to the people standing safely at either end of the aisle, watching intently) "Oh, C'mon! Let me guess? You're afraid to have another guys finger in your mouth in public, right?" Even if he has a gun, he will probably back up even further. Do not advance upon him, as this might panic him. Instead, roll your eyes and mug shamelessly for the audience that's collected, and is by now far more amused at the expense of the 'Officer' than they are concerned about the crazy man on aisle 8, and say "Guns, stun-rods, and tear gas grenades, and he's afraid of a finger with Metamucil on it!" Then turn and hold your finger out again, and exclaim "You do know you're supposed to take it orally, don't you? Is that why you're so afraid? Did your Mother make a mistake with the directions when you were little?" At this point you are running about a 20% risk that he will shoot you, but usually at the mention of his Mother he will turn and run. The likelihood of running is greatly increased if he used to be an altar boy. [ May 10, 2002, 04:26 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

As is both right and just. And notice they were advised to avoid us. I find this sort of thing truly gratifying.

Flim-Flam Men Marlow makes his way down arched corridors, searching. Everything is bewildering, each new arch seeming to offer a new arrival, but revealing only more empty hallway. As he proceeds, he's suddenly startled by a sudden sound. pssst! Marlow looks aside, and sees two figures standing in the shadows. Both wear bill caps. The leading figure stands before a small stand, and constantly shuffles and deals cards from a worn deck. He throws out three cards, gathers them up, and casts them again. Croda Here, buddy, care for a quick game of 'Find the Olde One'? Marlow You can lead me to the Olde Ones? Croda Oh, yes, you put up your money, and you make your choice, this one, that one, which one's the Olde One? Very educational game, lad, very good for developing decision making skills. Marlow I have come here to find the Olde Ones. How can you help me? Croda Easy peasy, simple as pie, lad! Here's what you do! He shuffles the cards, cuts the deck, and deals out three cards on the tabletop. Beside and somewhat behind him sits the other figure, glum and silent Croda One. Two. Three cards down. flips one over Here's the Olde One, ya' see there's a brief glimpse of a capering, white-haired figure. He flips the card back over, and begins, with quick movements, to pass the cards over and under each other, rearranging them from one side to the other. And now, buddy, which one's the Olde One? After a moment of contemplation, Marlow taps the right most card. Croda Ah, sorry, buddy, 'no cigar'! You've chosen the 'Justicard' heh, heh, that's just our little joke, don't you know. Whadya say, double or nothing? Marlow I...but what are we playing for? I seek the Olde Ones? What stake am I playing?! The figure standing beside Croda suddenly speaks Hiram He cheats, you know. Croda Pay no attention to that New Jersey halfwit behind the curtain! What about our double or nothing, buddy? Hiram He's an unprincipaled toad. Do you really want to find the Olde Ones? Marlow Yes! I seek the Olde Ones! Hiram Then you must move upwards. You enter on the lowest, filthiest level of the Cesspool, and you move upwards. Marlow But...I climbed a plateau to get here! I came in at the top! Croda Indeed you did, buddy, indeed you did! Now, one more turn of the cards will show us all the way home, and no mistake! Double or nothing, eh! Marlow But what am I betting?! Hiram Your immortal soul. But don't bet it with Croda. He cheats, and he offers a lousy rate. Marlow But, who are you?! What should I do next? Hiram Me? I'm Hiram. No one important. And you should use fewer exclamation points. Oh, and you should move up. Marlow But Hiram, what of the Olde Ones? What can you tell me of them? Hiram Well, One's Evil, and hard to get a take on, and One's Judgemental, and usually drunk, and One's a capering old idiot. That one's my patron. Marlow What should I do?! Hiram Rise, and consider what a sodding wanker Croda is. Both figures fade away, and Marlow sees before him a spiral stairway, leading up...

Good gods, that's brilliant. I only wish I'd said it. "The defeated breed more defeated..." Now that's good Cess!

Joe, secondarilyish is not a word. You really let me down...you, the Justiciar...making up words...I never knew it would come to this. Persephone</font>

Time to finish that battle, with me as the Krauts and you as some type of namby-pamby Allied troops. Last I recall, it was in the hills, and there were trees around, and some smoke and big 'explody things. </font>

Your turn had been sent, before this post had e'er been. And it was, oddly, a good Taunt. I think better of you than you've ever deserved before. I shall think on your latest Taunt, and my response shall attempt to be worthy. Mind, you plagiarized a better author. But so do we all. As Woody Guthrie said: 'Plagiarism is the basis of all culture...'

I lived in Pompano Beach for a year, and worked in Deerfield Beach at a Crown Lounge/Liquors during that period. What a horrible place. Mind, the Barmaids (who were, oddly enough, all gorgeous and fairly intelligent) always gave me and me roommate our drinks for free, any brand we wanted, and the git who maintained the jukebox would put any song I wanted on it, provided we defended the machine by throwing disposable fools on it during barfights (twelve months of no jukebox damage, despite the deaths of two patrons), and the Manager of the lounge/liquor store would give us the key to open the jukebox and load it up every night with umpteen free songs, that would play in the order they were punched in, so we never had to listen to anyone's choices but our own until we staggered out to our cars to go home (while chortling about the drunk rednecks who kept questioning the fact that 'I've put twenty-five quarters inta' this machine, and I haven't heard one of my choices...'), and the fact that after a few weeks we had the moves on the pinball machine down, and could play it night after drunken night for free because we could rack up tens of free games. Other than that, Florida was a horrible place. Oh, c'mon! Every horrible place has something to recommend it. Did I mention the free drinks, gorgeous barmaids, and pinball? Of course, Florida was one of the most wretched places on the planet. The American South, in general, is no fit place for humanity, so you seldom find actual human beings there...

Gods almighty, I hate the Finns. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them! And I have no idea why. They seem like rather a nice lot, actually. Except, sometimes, they remind me just a bit of Slapdragon. Without his endearing quality of being a silly bugger. Jesus, they're hateful! Hmm, maybe it's just 'tero'. Perhaps he's the Slapdragon of the North. I'm conflicted. I'm going to go have a bit of a lie down, and then try to come to grips with my emotional state. Mind, it won't change my almost overwhelming hatred for Chrisl. That's a good, unmixed hatred that anyone can get behind. I have this vision of inviting Chrisl up to our Lake Place in Canada. Of feeding him a really great meal of pan-fried Walleye fresh from the lake, with rosemary new potatoes, salad, fresh bread, and green beans. Of opening a really good bottle of chardonnay to go with the meal, and plying him with aged whiskeys afterwards while we watch the sunset over the treeline to the west. And then I have this vision of using the empty whiskey bottle to beat in his sodding head. My only regret, when I come to myself again, is the waste of good Walleye.

Hiram, I, for one, appreciate these updates. Not only do I want to hear about you and your family, but I think they keep we of the Peng Challenge Thread in touch with ourselves as a Community. It may be a nasty, unpleasant, inbred (for members like Slapdragon, Hakko Ichiu, MrSpkr, and others of our Southern brethren), and vile community, but it is our Community, Our Own, and significant to us. Also, it keeps each and every one of us aware that, beyond Combat Mission, beyond the Forum, beyond the Peng Challenge Thread, there is a Real, and often impersonal and unfair World, that we all answer to. Beyond the Abuse, beyond the Taunting, beyond the completely true and applicable disgust that many of us feel for each other, there is a certain...well, Brotherhood. So let me just say to you and your sister: Hiram, Hiram, Hiram, Oi, Oi, Oi! I would have said "Hiram's Sister", but these Aussie cheers don't permit more than two syllables. Which is only appropriate, as most Aussies simply aren't capable of words beyond two syllables. Please forgive my attemtps at blending Peng Challenge levity with a very real support and concern for you and your family. You're a good lad, and all the best to you and yours. I've got my fingers crossed and a firm hope for good come Wednesday.

I've been rather out of touch, the last few days, and I know how that upsets you lot, so I've decided to do one of my infrequent 'game updates'. Noba: How glad I was to hear that this spectacular Aussie pillock's daughter had just married, and married outside the country. Besides the positive happiness of the nuptial couple, this means that perhaps the generation to come will redeem Noba's genetic heritage, and produce an individual that will prove to be a capable CM player. Mind, our game is pretty much completely dull. He shells me, I shout 'Ow, my arm!', he continues to maneuver to come up with some devastating ploy to sweep aside all opposition. In the meantime, hopefully his daughter is filled with bliss, and thinking of Alexander the Great. Thinking very heavily about Alexander the Great. Chrisl: I hate him. I've always hated him, and it's games like this that help me to come to grips with my hatred, and see it for the positive, life-affirming force it actually is. Hatred of Chrisl is like planting a garden. You sow the seed, and, after much labour, attention, and experience, you reap a rich harvest of hatred that is as beautiful as it is multi-hued. You could call in botanists to catalogue the ways in which I hate Chrisl. It's not that he's doing that well in our game, I just seriously hate him And don't get me started on Goanna, that toad, who designed this map. Slapdragon: Of course, I hate Slapdragon. Everyone bloody hates him. You have to take a bloody number to hate him, and if you should forget yourself and inadvertently hate him out of turn, someone will punch you right in the kidneys for usurping their place in the queue for righteously and pre-eminently hating him. This is a man so hated that people will actually become angry and hateful towards each other in their aggessive and competitive need to hate him first, and foremost. That said, I'm only doing so-so in our game, and that at the expense of him very kindly and helpfully pointing out to me at length how gamey and ahistorical I've been. I'd try and eke out another few dribbles of hatred for him, except that he's right. I'm forced to admit, I've done horrible things. At first, I thought of surrendering as an act of contrition. But, after mature consideration, I've decided to wait until the end of the game and then get really, really drunk, and then call him at 3 AM and tell him my life story until he caves in and forgives me. I can't imagine it will take beyond Middle School before he's begging for the chance to exonerate me. Michael Dorosh: Picture it if you can! Grog versus Bard, Bard versus Grog! Each one teeth-gritting, steely eyed, intent on survival! Each one determined to not merely defeat the other, but to humiliate him! Each one filled with hatred and violent purpose! Dorosh is attempting to seize the hilltop that comprises my left flank. He has poured out the blood of his troops like water to gain this height. Rampaging Croc's spewing flame stride across the hilltop. German AGs and ACs maneuver to destroy them. Troops shift, die, and new units come forward. Dorosh is a very nice chap, but he's yet to call me anything truly foul in one of our email exchanges. I worry about him, truly I do. Moriarity I will defeat him. As is right, and just. He makes good maps, though, and came up with a very interesting concept for this game. It was like one of those training exercises. He emailed me: There are no VLs. We'll base victory on the number of units crushed and annihilated. Imagine every enemy unit is Bauhaus. Silly sod might have had a chance if he hadn't added that last. I'm crushing him. I've never forgotten my hatred of Bauhaus and the several completely unfair and unrealistic defeats he's subjected me to. R Leete is currently shivering in a cold garage with a skilsaw in his hands shouting "They think me mad! Mad! I'll show them madness!" His wife is indoors weeping, and trying to work through the Michigan State bureaucracy seeking help for a loved one via various counseling services. The problem lies in ascertaining which Automative Company is responsible for which Program. My understanding is, it's dependent on which type of tank the poor madman is attempting to build, and it's currently unclear whether Chevy or Ford administers the program for lunatics attempting to build working Tiger I models. Agua Perdido is missing in action. Presumed drunk. ciks is doing well. No, you don't know him. I was rude to him on the Outer Boards, and without just cause, and we're playing a game. Piss off. Finally both Stuka and AussieJeff are waiting for new scenarios from me. I feel for them, I truly do. Well, not so much for Stuka, who's beaten the ****e out of me in 3 of our 4 games, but I do feel for him. Mostly with a Rapala in my hand.