Seanachai

Your analysis of how the thread would devolve was spot on. Your opinion on whether the tactic was gamey was so much stale poodle vomit.

Hmm, Shaw has the right of it. No personal info worth a damn, no confirmation of Aussie-ness, which would at least cause me to consider a match as part of the Holy Crusade, and, most essential of all, no email address. And I did not choose Minnesota, you poor non-entity, it chose me. The Land chooses its heroes, and they must respond.

Yes, it does. It's only saving grace is that the setting is not New Jersey. [ February 13, 2002, 11:46 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I shall carry on in a like manner until Slapdragon posts his answering Taunt.

You know, the other day, as I was standing on a high point in the 'Pool and reading a post on the Outer Boards by Leeo, I thought to myself: 'that Leeo is a pillock! But he raised a very amusing point.' For you see, here in the Peng Challenge Thread, without our sense of amusement, we'd be as lost as a Leeo posting on the Outer Boards. And how, you ask, do we maintain our amusement? I can answer you in one word: Tradition! SEANACHAI: Tradition, tradition! Tradition! Tradition, tradition! Tradition! PENG, SEANACHAI, AND BERLI: Who, day and night, must wait here in the Wasteland, suffer all the newbies, regulate the Knights? And who has the right, as Masters of the Pool, To have the final word on Cess? The Olde Ones, the Olde Ones! Tradition. The Olde Ones, the Olde Ones! Tradition. JUSTICAR, CONSIGLIORI, AND SENIOUR KNIGHTS: Who must know the way to make a proper challenge, A witty challenge, a challenge by the rules? Who must raise the Squires up from the scum, So the Olde Ones can carry on like fools? The Knights, the Knights! Tradition! The Knights, the Knights! Tradition! SQUIRES: I fight whoever I am told, and often go on Quests Who suffer's all my elder's scorn and is the butt of jests? The Squires, the Squires! Tradition! The Squires, the Squires! Tradition! SCUM SUCKING NEWBIES: And who's every word is spat on and upbraided thoroughly degraded, until as Squires we're picked? The Newbies, the newbies! Tradition! The Newbies, the newbies! Tradition! Yes, here in the Cesspool, we must give a smile and a nod to useless fools like Leeo, for without our Traditions, you see, we would be like... an Outer Boarder in the Pool! [ February 13, 2002, 02:35 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

My gods, what a horrible confession. All the other places you mention are so much more indescribably horrible than Michigan that I simply...can't describe it. And to actually post that you aren't 'from' anywhere, and a simple creature of convenience is like... well, it's not like anything. It's dreadful. It makes me feel all dirty and lost. In my pity for you, we shall take you in, Dalem. You shall become one of us. You will be Minnesotan. For we have pity on you. Someone has to.

Welcome, sir, and turn off your Caps key. We can hear you fine!

Better that than lose another halftrack, eh there?</font>

Sigh. I confess, I cannot read these sorts of posts without being overcome with a sense of morbid curiousity, and seeking them out. Which I did. And, as we all know, I cannot go out on to the Outer Boards without succumbing to a need to post. Which I did. Now, Geier, please forgive me for intruding on your discussion with tero, but, well, I find him rather a puffed-up toad. However, I did, in my remarks, try to follow the Peng Challenge Way: I tried to be insightful, without contributing to the discussion in any positive way. I used both sarcasm and satire, and indulged my own sense of fun without particular concern for whether I was furthering the topic, irritating the other participants, or winning friends and influencing people. Regarded my own, egotistical sense of what I wanted to say as being every bit as valid as the sewage being fobbed off as 'wisdom' by humourless pillocks who only show up in threads in order to 'score points' and endlessly hammer their 'Opinions Dressed Up As the Truth' down the throats of all other posters (the latter, Johan, being a reference not to yourself, but certain other humourless Northerners). Now, although it is quite late, I think I will go off and write an expose of the Finns and the Winter War. Dear me. It seems that with the posting of my final remark, BTS has locked that thread. I'm sure it's all my fault, and not because of certain nationalistic cretins endlessly expounding their personal vision of superiourity. I'm so ashamed. Rather than work on my piece regarding the Winter War, I shall go and say a prayer for Finland, in an attempt to atone. I shall work on my expose of the Finns tomorrow, instead. [ February 13, 2002, 01:16 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Now, here in my Homeland, we know very little of this debate on climate, as Minnesota is a subtropical paradise, where swimming in open water is almost always possible by June. Well, late June. However, we do have Finns. Well, rather, mostly their descendants, as the originals are mostly dead, which, of course, should be impossible, and indicates that Minnesota is not correctly modeling them. They came here from their own country seeking Freedoms they were not permitted in their native land: the right to fail, to fight poorly, to be no more capable than their neighbouring ethnic groups (this latter was often especially hard for them, and would often involve community wide meetings, soul searching, and 'lets simply be adequate' prayer sessions), and, finally, the freedom to not be 'Über'. They settled in all the most hideous portions of our State (old habits die hard, and, after all, the Norwegians and Swedes had already passed on them, which made taking and holding them easy), shouldered picks and shovels, and gave their children taconite tailings to play with. Here, in a land that opened it's arms to them (well, in fact, we simply didn't see any good reason to keep them out, given that we'd already let in all the other Scandinavians, and they looked rather pitiful standing there in the snow asking if they could come in and 'just be average'), they have finally come into their own. In this Brave New World of simply being 'Good Enough', Finns were finally able to enjoy life, often without killing a single Russian, embracing any unbelievably questionable allies, or arguing incessantly about their intrinsic and quantifiable superiourity. In fact, you can head up to the Iron Range, insult a Finn, and simply get into a good, old fashioned barfight without any of them establishing entrenched positions around the bar, capturing enemy pickup trucks for use against their original owners, or attempting to hold out valiantly against the Sheriff's department deputies until the sovereignty of the bar is acknowledged, and allowed to continue to exist as a client state because heightened tensions between Minnesota and Wisconsin don't permit despatching the National Guard to take control. Goodness, how I've wandered. Back to the Peng Challenge Thread for me, with apologies, to write up an expose on the Winter War. [ February 13, 2002, 12:38 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Er, Persephone, dear Lady. Why is Clark Gable touching Rune's musket like that? Have they been long at sea? Frankly, the whole picture explains many of Rune's scenarios, which, if I understand posts on the Outer Boards, would culturally offend Turks. [ February 12, 2002, 11:43 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Actually, I rather like that. A Classical reference. Not a shatteringly good one, but you so seldom see that sort of thing, lately. There is hope for the Donkey, indeed, I believe there is. Oh, and Slapdragon, where is my next Taunt?

Patience, er...Peng. We are trying. If Chrisl was not a rogue, he'd have done the honourable thing and killed himself by now. Not since the dark days of the Meeks apostasy has there been such a vicious departure from the Peng Challenge Way.

I laughed. Then I laughed some more. I called up friends, and, laughing, tried to explain why I was laughing. Then I pictured the two of them jumping rope together, and in the ensuing bout of laughter, lost all control of bodily functions. The chair's a bit damp, still, but it was worth it. It is an image I will treasure to my grave.

Oh, and to save any trouble for our own Justicar, who is a close, personal enemy of mine, I will augment the general rules by pointing out a few auxillary, as it were, maxims. No one owes you a game. If you challenge long time members of significant standing (by local standards, which are the only ones that truly matter), then you'd better hope you post a good, intriguing, humourous, and stimulating taunt. Otherwise, even our spittle will be judged as more than you deserve, and you'll probably be spat on by someone's Squire. Those who strut in here possessed of incomplete profiles, with no email address (pretty much essential info, if you truly want to Challenge someone, don't you think?), or personal info, are, well, regarded with quite righteous suspicion and disdain by everyone. YOU CAME HERE FOR A GAME, DIDN'T YOU?! YOU CAME HERE TO TAUNT, FLAUNT, AND CHALLENGE OUR LITTLE COMMUNITY IN THE HOPES OF BEING ACCEPTED, DID YOU NOT, YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MAN?! WHAT?! YOU JUST CAME IN HERE TO POST LIKE A SODDING PILLOCK? BUGGER OFF! Most folk here, you see, have no use for anyone who doesn't wish to be a part of the community. It may be a nasty little community, but we love it. So go and fill in your profile. Finally, the lads and lasses of the Peng Challenge Thread have, to date, heard more Challenges, Taunts, Insults, Hurled Abuse, Personal Belittlements, and general ****e than your Fairy Godmother has seen fit to grace your muddy little dreams with. If you can't come up with something amusing and well done, please reconsider our offer to Bugger Off. Or, if you're not culturally or personally offended, then, at your choice, you may Sod Off. It's quite up to you.

I invite all our half-witted membership to enter our new home (unless the Mad Bald One shows up, hurling thunderbolts and padlocks, and directs us elsewhere). This thread of the Thread should probably be closed up.

Now then, quick note: The title of this Thread comes to us by way of Peng in Exile. It is his choice, posted here by myself while his identity is held in durance vile by the rogue, Chrisl That said, on to the reading of the Rules: Now, it has been brought to our attention that some individuals, perhaps even whole cultures, find the term 'Sod Off' offensive. We here in the Peng Challenge Thread are sensitive to the issues of others, no matter how half-witted we find them. So, let me invite all new arrivals here to Bugger Off immediately. That said, and you are still here, which you should not be, then please be aware that we don't give a rip about your needs, wants, preferences, nor, in fact, anything at all you might have to say about pretty much everything. You count for nothing with us. If your ego is easily bruised, or you're used to having people as mentally challenged as yourself hang on your every word, then this is not the place for you. Be a good lad, bugger off, and we'll forget you came in. Sigh. If you're still reading this, then you think you probably belong here. You're quite wrong. However, on the off chance that you don't turn out to be a useless little wanker, read now the Three Major Rules: You are here to taunt, challenge, and seek a game with another individual (any that will have a game with a useless little Peng Challenge wannabe like yourself). Do not challenge us all, or post 'general' challenges to the lads, as this will most clearly mark you as a fool. You are not here to ponce about like some benighted Oliver Twist, wringing your cap in your hand, and saying 'Oh, please, sir, may I have a game?' Sound off, as they say, like you have a pair. We don't care what you have a pair of, we simply want them to be present in your challenge. We are most assuredly not interested in you coming in here and dropping trou and sounding off about your pair. Save that for your buddies down at the boozer. The same expectations regarding language and personal attacks based on such things as race, etc. are in force here, as they are on the Outer Boards, though perhaps in a more whimsical fashion. Now, those three out of the way, keep in mind that everyone likes a good sing-song, we're all here to have fun at each other's expense, and that playing Combat Mission is the only thing keeping most of us out of detox. Also, do not bother the Ladies of the 'Pool, or even weasels won't piss on your grave. [ February 11, 2002, 02:10 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

What to do, what to do... Well, it's getting to a time when the Australians will be starting to flood in here, drunk (because it's Monday, the first day of drinking on each week long spree), it really does seem that we will need a new Thread, and soon. If I hear nothing from the Mad Bald One (who I have emailed), and if no one comes forward shortly to say they've been given the nod, I shall begin a new Thread. If someone was actually given permission, but simply isn't around, my apologies, and you may certainly have the next available slot.

Hmm. We are at 300. Does anyone know if arrangements have been made for our new home?

Just a quick announement of a topplement of Peng (name used appropriately, as he was Peng when the game began). Seanachai: Victory Peng: Defeat, no doubt brought on by the distraction and misery of knowing his name is in the possession of Chrisl, who is probably doing unspeakable things to it, or at least keeping it some place unsavoury like his bathroom, or dirty clothes hamper. Peng, despite some initial successes, was left bereft when a couple of tank shoot-outs went decidedly in my favour. Distraught over the loss of his AFVs, concerned for his infantry now at the mercy of a Sherman 105 with plenty o' HE goodness ready to rain down from the ridgeline above his troops (who were, in fact, holding the VLs), Peng turned to drastic measures. He launched a cavalry charge of HTs and infantry that, sadly, turned into a Calvary charge, as Peng's troops were crucified by a combination of bazookas, MG fire, and buff and brutal US squads that quickly reduced his force to so much unsalted oatmeal. While I delight in this victory, it saddens me to know that it comes to me cheapened by the stench of Chrisl's perfidy upon it.

Well, that's enough to make anyone give up sleeping without the light on. However, the rogue Peng Challenge member, Chrisl, informs me in an email that that is not, in fact, a picture of himself that Persephone has been pointed to. Which, while reassuring, means that there is all the more reason for him to pull his thumb out and send her an official picture. Chrisl, the desires of the Olde Ones you may flout, the cries for justice of the Seniour Knights you may belittle, but you need to respond to the requirements of our own Persephone. Some things, lad, you simply don't screw around with. [ February 11, 2002, 12:40 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Taunt the Third Now, Slapdragon, as you've chosen the ground for our initial taunts, I meet you on that same field. I will grant you a modicum of respect for having chosen the field of verse for your opening attack. I did not reply to your opening round of 'satire', instead choosing to invest my time in my reply to 'original composition'. By way of a nod to the style of Yeats and Kipling, my third taunt to you. Within the Wasteland, sits the Bard, and waits upon the folk whose taunting, wit and irreverence, does often the Board provoke worn with care, but light of heart, he sits upon his stool and waits upon the Challenge to Peng, that created the Cesspool His hair grows white, he's short of height, but his eyes most often dance for he has taunted many lands, from Australia on to France from Swedish gits, to Limey twits, he's seen them come and go and known the joy of belittling fools, that only the Olde Ones know But word has come unto the 'Pool that the Bard has been challenged at last by a fool of the South, with grits in his mouth, and an unseemly grogish past "I curse the Gnome", Slapdragon says, "I call him a fake and a fool" "I shall posture and pose, and versify vile, and drive him forth from the 'Pool" Rising in pride, in wisdom clothed, the Bard has left his chair (after nervously checking behind himself, to make sure that no donkeys are there) "I take up this challenge" the UberGnome spoke, "I accept it as my own from a half-witted sod, abandoned by God, and despite it's boorish tone." Shame only shall be Slapdragon's lot, for here in the Challenge to Peng when the battle is done, whether he's lost or won, his head he will finally hang For tactics and knowledge, victory and fire, shall for you lad, prove but a canker for in a battle of wits, you are shown, at the last, to be nothing more than a wanker. Now it's 'sod that for a lark', and 'devil take all' and 'who's for a jolly sing-song?' For I'd rather be dead with a ball in me head than ignore all of Slapdragon's wrongs For it's 'I know this', and 'I've said that' and 'No One can prove me wrong' But I'd rather my wit than a head full of sh*t And another of Slapdragon's songs Yes the Bard shall face boldly the Grog of the South, and glory shall go to the winner for the one is a wise man given to wit, and the other's a pillocky sinner And one shall uphold the rule of Taunt, and hold out a light to the folk and the other shall piss away all his words, and be proved as no more than a joke. It's 'play up, play up, and taunt like a man' and lean not on badge nor on gun For here in the Thread we'd rather be dead than post stats and give up our fun For here in the Cesspool, the Challenge is King and Slapdragon never shall win for what Grogs can't abide is when Pengers turn snide and show them their pride as a sin

Taunt the Second and One Half Oh, God of the Israelites, that was vile bad, and didn't scan for ****e. I notice, Slapdragon, that you've taken to toadying Berli now, who's rewarding you by actually commending your rather queasy making taunts. I suppose this marks the beginning of your latest approach, as you find a way to stroke various significant Cesspool Knights and Judges in your various posts in an attempt to curry favour on your taunts. Why not just pull on a short skirt, rouge up those lips (from which poetry, at least as written by yourself, should never, ever again issue), and go for a short stroll down the Cesspool? God knows the sight of that can't be any more loathsome than this Master and Boy routine you're currently working on with the Dark One. I swear, another "how witty, my dear Maurice"/"Oh, how perceptive, my dear Alphonse" exchange by you two would make 'Reality TV' seem a less painful way of spending an evening. Now, if you and your Liege are done smirking at each other and tallying up imaginary victories in a battle of wits that you couldn't win with a scout axe in either hand, I will retire to prepare my actual Third Taunt. Which, while due last night, went unsent as my ISP decided, shortly after I posted turns, to see how annoyed I'd become if they denied me access for an hour and a half, or so. I actually attempted to sign on and post the Taunt from work, but found that our company has once again (as of last night, it seems, after a quick check with my IT moles) turned on the Corporate Webpolice screen, and Battlefront is once again locked out by some gang of fascist, paranoia pandering swine called 'Websense'. Anyone know how to defeat this infringement of our gods given right to slack occassionaly at work and reach the Mother Beautiful Thread?

Now, Terence, while I realize you hate and despise Marlow, as do all right thinking folk, I think you've gone over the top in your desire to express it. Personally, I would rather have rats gnaw out my intestines while I was still alive and using them, then be called an "Outer Boarder". Be a good lad, and tell everyone you were just over-wrought, and we'll say no more about it. Reminds me so much of when I was young and upset, and I'd lash out at my Mum and Da' with "I wish I were dead!" It'd always upset my Mother, who'd shush me and tell me, "You mustn't say such things, Seanachai!" And me Dad would lean over and quietly say "keep it up, you little bastard, and you'll get your wish..." then smile at me Mum, and we'd all have a jolly sing-song, although I was always a little quavery, given the nervousness and all.

Also 'solitary', 'onanistic', and 'unrequited'. The very thought of the disturbed existence you currently lead saddens me. sigh It is truly a shame, Donkey. I had high hopes for you. I felt that, wound through the stream of gibberish and idiocy you rambled on with, there was yet a thread of wry humour, a brighter note of whimsy and ability. But now I see that descending into this freakish and unwanted fixation on my person. And really, it simply makes no sense. Berli's the aggressively butch and sneering one. I'd have thought he'd be the natural focus of your rather oddly masochistic fascination. Whereas I, the Bard of the Peng Challenge Thread, would more normally inspire a quiet, reserved, contemplative, thistle chewing sort of admiration, shorn of baser nature and seasoned by the keen delight in whimsy which I had already noted in you. So why don't you reconsider, amble across the Cesspool, and budge up with Berli, lad? You know you want to. Or, at the very least, piss off and stop trying to get behind me. It's making me tense.