Seanachai

And here's a new contestant for the Darwin Awards. </font>

Gave the wife a .40 cal for her B-Day on Saturday. Actually, her choice of .40 cals, but the Minnesota Lads all figure she'll go for the Sig-Sauer P229 instead of the Baretta 96. And dalem gave her 350 rounds of ammo. So, if Shaw would like to dump out her silverware drawer while he's here, why, he's welcome to do so. </font>

'Course you do, you sod. I'm the only person on this entire goddamn Forum that hates you lot enough to hate you every damn day. What was it Pratchett said? 'Hate is just Love with its back turned...'

And 'here' is supposed to be thrilled with you squatting down, picking your teeth with a rodent bone, and wondering whether you're too tired to stand, or whether you're going to enrich the soil with the processed remains of your last meal?

But they can barely speak English, there's too many bugs, and the selfish bastards only export beer that's piss. And they still believe in the Queen. I mean, besides Freddy Mercury, who is, at least, safely dead. Fecking Aussies.

10,000 race horses </font>

Tonight, my friend Smaller Nora introduced me to a great new game. I think we should call it 'Mountain Climber/Enforcer'. Silly little bugger climbed into my lap, and stood there, taking my hands into hers. And laughed the sort of laugh that is normally laughed before shouting 'Igor, throw the switch!' Then, she put one foot onto my rather substantial stomach, and then, the other. Then she climbed up onto the shelf of my stomach, still holding my hands, and stood there, upright, laughing like a very small loon, as if to say 'Ha! Look at how tall I am, two years old as I am, on the belly of this silly old man!' It was tres cute. But then, she firmly planted one foot against my throat, and, while I was choking slightly and saying 'Nora Nu, let's get down now, honey', she put the other foot alongside it, and, still clutching my hands, she straightened out like a surfer or snow-boarder, both feet on my damn throat, at a complete right angle to my neck, and put every bit of her not inconsiderable strength into riding the wave of my ability to swallow. Try to imagine having a 35 pound child standing at right angles to your ability to swallow, and laughing merrily. Silly little bugger. I had to swing her around (vision graying a bit around the edges), and drop her down onto the couch. She did this several times. I'm still a bit hoarse. I bought Small Emma an Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs (from Dorling Kindersly, who make great kid's non-fiction books). Her Dad informs me that at bedtime, he has to read her a chapter of 'Bone' (a strange graphic novel), and then two pages of the new dinosaur book. She's a little chatterbox these days. We now watch 'Fantasia' together, and when it gets to the 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' bit with Mickey Mouse (my hated nemesis), she insists we act out the story, with her as Mickey, and me as first 'the Wizard', and then 'all the brooms'. Every few days, I flood their sun-porch with imaginary buckets of water, and spend a lot of time marching in place.

Perhaps if you fixed your sodding answering machine, you feck, so that, if you didn't pick up, I wasn't greeted with the message 'the answering log is full', you'd know I called. Fecking pillock.

Our friendship remains my penance. Denny Crane.

When a man gets closer to death, he wants everyone to rally round. He wants to know where he stands: Who's with him, who's against him and who's waiting on a court decision or a release of funds from a numbered Swiss account, so that he knows what level of Hell he's going to be in. I really, really want to be in one of the Higher Levels of Hell. One with a view. One without so many Republicans. Or Democrats. One with a view of America where we were still the envy of the World. Where we screwed the Indians over, but made of this country the Greatest Place On Earth. One where we didn't have to lie about our motives, and postured like whores to excuse it. I'd like something like that. But with bagpipes.

Bah! I'm back. Boo! Fetch me a cooling drink! closes eyes, and visualizes that this time...this time, it will happen. A boisterous, booming voice will respond 'Yes sir! Fast up with it!' and that when he opens his eyes, a Singapore Sling will have metaphysically, or at least, metaphorically have manifested itself in has hand, in a tall, frosted Collins glass. I was away, for some days here and there. I've returned, and there are emails. Some fell off the radar, here and there. I will respond to them, hopefully as soon as Boo brings me that cooling elixir. Saturday is Smaller Nora's Second Birthday Party. I will be there, of course. She has learned to say 'Grandma Steve', if I prompt her. She says 'Grammmmaaa Geeessss'. I'm not sure how the geese feel about this. But she hugs me about the legs, when I arrive, and about the neck, if I pick her small but vicious frame up. I continue to work on building that link between her and her sister Small Emma, that will allow them to attempt to completely circumvent their parents for the next 5 years (with two 5 year options to renew...and my dead father thought I wasn't ever paying attention, eh?) And do you lot know what? I got older. I got older a fecking week ago. And no one, not one, had the fecking ballocks to tell me: I hope you die, soon, Seanachai! I became...older...last week. I'll hire some immigrants to hose off the foam that arises from your attempts to explain why you didn't abuse me about it. Pillocks.

Joe, Joe, you know me. I come here because the bars aren't entertaining enough, and I won't meet the same quality of idjits. I'm all about the quality of the idjits. Now, I have a question. Is that really MrSpkr in the photo that is, probably, immediately above my post? He looks so...so...like he should be in jail. For election-rigging, voter fraud, influence peddling, and short-paying $1,000 a night hookers. Also, I can't help but notice that you two look like..brothers.

So...Rune is now top poster? And people wonder why I attempted to redeem Dorosh. Rune, I witnessed your dudgeon in the dead thread. Having played a number of your CM scenarios (before ShockForce, of course), I can only say that if someone insulted your Scenario Designing Abilities, even if that someone was Grog Dorosh, you should send that person flowers, buy them a drink, and quite possibly fall on your knees before them in token of the thanks you owe them for leading you back into the light. Your scenarios, in my experience, involve moving across the map as though it was a hamster habitrail, reinforcements appeared like clockwork as all previous units exploded, and, everything exploded. If there was an objective, it wasn't immediately apparent to anyone who hadn't re-configured a piece of home exercise equipment as a beer dispenser. You should regard anyone who trashes the horrors that you call 'Scenarios' as being bathed in a Holy Light. You should sit at their feet, and take the NDA off vibrate long enough to let your mind focus again, or at least long enough for your eyes to refocus. Once you regain enough brain function, not to mention the ability to piss again without smiling, you should address whoever finally reached you with their insults as 'Master'. I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one who might, if I exert all my abilities to lead minds back into the light, be that person. So, get busy and sweep this place up. It looks like hell. Don't miss that ****e around the windmills.

So, it has then come to naught. My attempt to redeem Grog Dorosh must be set at naught. While I had hoped for it to go more pages, after the last 7 years in this country I wasn't surprised to see it shut down at 2. Two was pretty fair. Pity the turnout involved so many lame-arsed suck-ups I've never even fecking heard of, chiming in to say that 'most certainly those in power know what is best for us all, and everyone should tuck their cap under their arm and sing some sort of buggered anthem.' YK2, the Once and Future Queen: If I only ever speak up for people I like, or who I think like me, or support me, then what have I become? I did not think Grog Dorosh was being treated fairly. I felt that he was being held to a standard that many, many others have been held to, and they, too, were found wanting. But he was banned, and they were not. Or, if they were, they were allowed to return, after doing penance. Unlike many here, I, myself, have been banned. Totally deserved it, no questions, and I wouldn't not have done it. I was, frankly, amazed at the people who emailed me to tell me that they were sorry I'd been banned. Some of them I didn't really like, and I was bemused to find they thought my postings were worth the trouble, given that all I do is rant, rail, satirize and occasionally do a jolly singsong. When you join a community, you can take one of two paths. You can either insist that it conform to the parameters that you find acceptable, tenaciously pursuing and routing out every variation from what you regard as 'truth, beauty and The Holy Church of Yourself', and, if you can't bring it into line with your sense of self, you leave. Or you can put up with the warts, acknowledging your own, making what peace you can with those aspects you will never change, have a silent moment to contemplate how right you are, and, when you find someone you think is a complete fecking twat, either ignore them, or adapt your satire to take their stupidity into account. These Forums were, for me, an incredible learning experience. I would like to think that, despite backsliding, personal prejudices, self-satisfaction and certainty, that learned a lot. One of the things I learned was that, although I am probably the smartest son of a bitch in North America today, wise, caring and informed, I don't know everything. And that, although I very often come close to knowing everything, I didn't know everything that everyone else knows. And that, unless I was willing to take up the self-righteous, posturing stance of a ****head, I simply couldn't speak for everyone in the world. I would prefer, I think, not to do that. But it is, as they say, in my nature. If I was to be suddenly made all-powerful, I can't vouch for flowers and waffles for everyone. Some, quite possibly, would suffer a ****-rain of justice and judgement. But generally speaking, I'm one of those people you see in the movies in a train yard, lost, disheveled, trying to find the ones they love before they're all deported to somewhere where the Powers That Be will subject them to incessant brutality, oppression and indifference. So, while I might like to stand on a mountain-top and smite everyone who's ever done me wrong or angered me with vengeance, I find it easier and, perhaps, better, to stand by a river and throw in a flower. In the case of Grog Dorosh it might be a rather tatty flower. But I will throw a flower. After all, it was up to me to make him a better Grog Dorosh. And if he was never going to be other than a fecking idiot? Then why should I ever worry about what he thought, or said? He was mine to redeem. If he was lost, it was not for lack of the hand I held out to him. We have this whole, new, marvelous medium of interaction in our hands. It's called the Internet. It sucks. I've watched my nation, day by day, year by year, sink further and further into divisiveness and stupidity. What am I to make of it all? I will tell you what I chose to make of the banning of Grog Dorosh: Every voice should be heard. When that voice is ugly, and pursues a personal vendetta, it must be censured. But before any voice is ever made to go still, forever, it should be allowed the opportunity of apology, and redemption. I did not see that option being offered here. What is that old saw? Als die Nazis die Kommunisten holten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Kommunist. Als sie die Sozialdemokraten einsperrten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Sozialdemokrat. Als sie die Gewerkschafter holten, habe ich nicht protestiert; ich war ja kein Gewerkschafter. Als sie die Juden holten, habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Jude. I accuse no one of anything. I may, in fact, be a man speaking in a bad cause. But I will not choose not to speak, for all that. Als sie mich holten, gab es keinen mehr, der protestieren konnte [ May 11, 2008, 01:48 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

It took place in the Peng Challenge Thread itself, where most things go, if not unregarded, at least unremarked. It's been something like 3 weeks. I have been in the Wasteland, coming to grips with how I should regard it all. The Olde Ones of the Peng Challenge Thread...we have certain obligations. Duties. Each according to Our Nature. Berli judges. Peng mocks. I... Have decided to speak up for Grog Dorosh. Because everyone should have someone to speak up for them. So that there wasn't a silence when they came for them. Wrong or Right, no one should go into that good night without someone to speak for them.

Limey bugger. Get yourself over to my 'Grog Dorosh: To Ban or Not to Ban' thread.

Sorry, you lot of stupid buggers, but I've had to take on the role of Advocate. You need to go out onto the Shock Force Forum and post on my 'Grog Dorosh' thread. I think you should. We are a Community of Equals, after all. If you don't choose to have a say, who cares what you have to say, eh?

THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU! splashing of holy water

I come before this Community, and BFC tonight, not to praise Grog Dorosh but to Exhume him. This may not be the proper stage for this passion play. But the Peng Challenge Thread is on a different level of reality. And does anyone actually read the General Forum these days, other than to see if someone responded to their fantasies about their weird news story, or alien sighting? I do not come before all of you to plead the case of Grog Dorosh. Frankly, he's annoying as hell, and I can't imagine that I could muster a Corporal's Guard to see his ashes consigned to an outhouse. But I do come before Battlefront to ask for...a sort of clemency. This is a Board long predicated on the Free Speech of it's Members. But, like Freedom of Speech within America, it has been bound about with caveats and conditions, and the realities of life in a Free Society. I am an Advocate, here, and I do not deny (nor, I think, would Michael Dorosh), that he was given a set of lines he should not step over. And he stepped over them. Sometimes, passions run high. I have, myself, stepped well over the lines. Of course, I was mainly shouting obscenities at... But that is another time. I was granted the mercy of a 30 day suspension. I was foolish, I was head-strong. I was wrong. Ever since I came to this Board, I've been reading the endlessly pontificating, arrogant, occasionally helpful posts of Michael Dorosh. I've been coming here for a long, long time. I, as an Advocate, cannot ask BFC to simply reinstate Grog Dorosh as though nothing had ever happened. Actions have consequences. Stupidity must be payed for. I've never shirked that fact myself. I'm on record as actually having banned myself for 30 days, because I was stupid. To my knowledge, I'm the only person to actually ban himself from this Forum. So, I do not ask BFC to simply reinstate Grog Dorosh. After Tumpty-tum fecking thousands of posts he's become a sort of 'spokes-creature' for the Forums. Doesn't matter how much everyone hates him. Letting him back in would send the wrong message. He's been banned. And he should be banned. He got stupid. No, I'm here to ask BFC to show clemency. I'm asking them to at least let him post again. Not in the Forums that matter. Not in the Shock Force forum. He's abrogated the right to play at being the 'Big Fella' on the game forums. But, after more than half a decade of reading his posts, and mentally calling him a c*cks*cker, I miss him. I miss that arrogance. That certain surety of purpose. That...'Doroshness'. So, I come before BFC tonight as a Supplicant. I come before you tonight, as I said, not to praise Grog Dorosh, but to... Ask for... a certain level of clemency. I would ask you to let him post in the Combat Mission Forums:BO-AK. He has things to offer. I would ask you to at least let him post in the General Forum (hell, is anyone in there still sober enough to wonder about where their car is?!). At the very least, and I ask this as an Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread, I would ask you to let him post in that most useless of places, the Peng Challenge Thread. There were once Four Horsemen of the Apocalypso. It was a damn good joke. I don't see why we should stop telling it. Steve: I know that you had to go in and bring the hammer down on Grog Dorosh. I know why you did it. And I know that it cost you, and you didn't want to do it. But I know what this weird arsed community means to me. And I think I know what it means to Grog Dorosh. And I can't actually tell you that the dumb bastard will never be stupid again. But I will offer you this: Let Grog Dorosh post to the Forums (and which Forums, I leave up to BFC), and I will stand surety for him. If he does wrong, or steps outside the line, I will not only curse him with my last breath, but I will leave the Forums. And I like the Forums. I like the Peng Challenge Thread. I feel...comfortable, there. [ May 08, 2008, 10:29 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

It's a butterfly, Kettler. A beautiful butterfly. Now, having answered your weird question in a a weird way, we should all probably agree that you need to drop to the ground and do me 50 push-ups. They don't have to be Marine, but you will need to count each and every one out loud.

Crawled out from under your rock on the wrong side of the moss this morning? Papa PS They only count as battle wounds if you received them in battle. I don't believe falling out of your chair drunk qualifies... unless of course you were locked in mortal combat with the seat cushion. PPS Even when you're testy, you're still my favorite short-gnome-guy-friend-thing. PPPS Now where is the 5 bucks you owe me? </font>

Cool. Remind me, what's your boat? What water? Were you on the Fox River, or a local lake? Paddling is important. The rest of this lot, they think about dumb stuff all the time. This has been a damn bad Spring in Minnesota. Hoping for a good Summer. Many trips. Hey, Peng! So you weren't just jerking my damn chain, but actually bought a kayak? You been paddling yet? You got kids, you need more kayaks than one, idjit. People go on about tandems, but me, I always stand up for singles. To me, one of the glories about paddling is that you're in your own boat. You choose your own path, and work it yourself. Probably anyone who wants to get married should try 6 months of paddling a boat together. If you still want to marry the other party after that, you'll probably do.

It's good for you to get out of the house. I'm sure your wife agrees. Michael </font>

Hmmm...feck off. No one here has amused me all that much, lately, if we come right down to it. [ May 07, 2008, 12:00 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Someone get me a gorram drink.* Ice didn't go out of the Metro lakes this year until about 4/23. Monday night was the first time I've paddled since last year. Had a couple of chances to do so before that, but one of them was the Sunday after playing Sword of Rome with the Minnesota Miscreants, which didn't work out so well for me. The war wound started acting up. Previous week, my good friend and kayaking buddy had injured her shoulder gardening, of all the stinking things, so we gave it a miss. She doesn't even raise vegetables. Her fecking yard is a glory of flowers and plants chosen for their 'aesthetic value'. It's a beautiful place to hang out, mind you. But no crop value. And it requires too much time during the Spring paddling season. Not like Dalem's back yard. Hard as he's worked at it, for all the time he's put in on it, it looks like some place that Rutger Hauer would have invaded as a robotic soldier in 'Blade Runner'. I can just see him, staring into a distance we can only imagine, and talking about it: "I remember the bones. The bones and driftwood. Gnawed by dogs. The ground was beaten. Into a fine, hard-packed black earth merry-go-round trail. And the hostas... like exploding flowers of greenery against the nebulae of weird green 'no passage' wire fencing... Time... to die..." So, we're paddling now, here in the North Country. May I just state, again, for the record, that pretty much all of you bastards are a puddle of piss that no amount of mopping will make into a happy ending? **This is a great example in a Sci-Fi program made by people who actually read stuff. 'Gorram' is an example of 'linguistic drift', where consonants soften over time. Look it up. [ May 06, 2008, 11:58 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]