Seanachai

Ask not who was strong ask not who was weak it was a battle won by good Scot's speak Lorak, oh my Lorak when you return to us mark in the Cesspool tome as our Herald you must A 'great and famous victory' for the false Aussie Scot over Seanachai whose battle was lost. It was a brae bluidy battle, laddie. That very epitome of spittle spraying Wonder Scot, OGSF, through a brutal and manifestly 'ungentlemanly' application of his resources, defeated the far more civilized and erudite forces of myself, Seanachai. While I acknowledge the thoroughness with which he drove home his assault, I question the moral integrity of anyone who could sit on a ridgeline opposite a lowland village hammering sheep and goat droppings into the eyes of the defense by means of large caliber tracked vehicles. In the vernacular: OGSF: Major Allied Victory Seanachai: Axis Moral Defeat Mind, anyone who'd seen the map afterwards would have snickered at the low level of victory OGSF managed, given that my forces were reduced to dangling dachshund kidneys on a stick before his advancing troops as a form of localized juju defense initiative.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Seanachai: Shaw, discipline your henchman! <HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Which leads me to another, wanderingly and ever more loosely gripped reality. Which is better, henchmen or minions? Often, while sitting in meetings at work where the importance of employee productivity and the need for people to not spend time on websites that IT has identified as 'not consistent with our fair use policy' (which policy is defined to the last detail, if that detail can be described as 'and anything else that suddenly enters our heads to decide isn't appropriate'; the gods know I can't get to Battlefront on my lunch break, but none of the country's innumerable golf (the Sport of Evil) websites has been disabled), I find myself contemplating at length what is the best way of describing those in one's employ, and dedicated solely to the goals and agendas as determined by one's self. Now, 'henchmen' of course, has a certain looming aura of threat associated with it, but to me implies a certain level of thuggery. Minions, well, 'minions' just cries out for the appellation 'evil'. 'Evil Mininons' not only says it all, it has the right Berli-esque quality to it. On the whole, I'd have to say I prefer 'minions' to 'henchmen', but I like to think that my grasp is complex enough to know when either is the mot juste. And now, now perhaps, it's time The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? 'tis but Seanachai, going off to bed.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by MrSpkr: Well, first Maximus, now Losername. Now if we can just get Lawyer to follow suit . . .<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> The one, lad, is merely a pillock who seems to be quite simply congenitally incapable of withholding his opinion no matter how stupid it might be, while the other seems to be working through some curious form of self-loathing in which he makes every effort to alienate and belittle a community that he then insists on belonging to (and I agree with other posters in that thread that he might have gone right over the top into an even more disturbed world). They are, of course, Outer Boarders. Lawyer, whatever else you might say of him (personally, I've only filled up two notebooks, and one of those is barely legible after symbolically flinging it into the toilet with a curse), is one of ours. Shaw, discipline your henchman! I will not see a Knight of the Cesspool's name linked with those others, even in jest.

Bugger all. I take it from the name of our new home that this thread will be brought up short of the 300th post by a punishing margin and thousands of Englishman will go into captivity as a result. I find the concept intriguing, and shall be watching the latter half of this incarnation of the Thread of threads with great interest. Sadly, the opening half, other than some generally interesting stuff, introduced only two new SSNs, one of whom was as uninteresting as his fecal humour, and the other, though showing a faint glimmer of ability, was so easily scared away by Peng that he has doubtless since taken a job as a dog-walker, but only of very small dogs. I think that last lad was thrown by the whole concept of 'the Peng Challenge'. I think the poor tyke actually thought he had to come in here and challenge Peng. If the Europeans among us wish to deride the deterioration of public education in America, then how much greater the failure of education on the Outer Boards. SSNs arrive here these days with only the vaguest bloody notion of what's going on, read perhaps a page or two, and then have a go at it. The results are predictable. After making the attempt, and being treated exactly and as even-handedly as the very nature of the group they are attempting to join requires, they assume that they have been horribly and unfairly rebuffed, and flee the Thread either sneering or weeping, depending on their natures. Oh, and in a quick aside, I must add that those of our foreign chums who do dismiss public education in America are grossly misinformed and short-sighted. I doubt many of you lot could turn in the same level of academic excellence under combat conditions. To my certain knowledge, most European children are not even sent to school armed (my understanding is that Australian children are issued weapons, but without any instruction, and never sort them out on their own until somewhere around college age, at which point they are eligible for National Service, and, delighted with their new found understanding of armaments, have always guaranteed Australia an extraordinarily enthusiastic and all volunteer armed forces. Mind, the whole point of basic training in Australia is convincing them who they are actually allowed to shoot). Now, it's all very easy to curl the lip and parade an 'education' gained under conditions of relative safety, where students are actually encouraged to achieve without the distractions of learning escape routes, impediments to unfriendly fire, and a wary, heads-up approach to education. This does no more than prove that the education of the average 'foreigner' is nothing more than dilettantism. A showy 'say, look at me, I've posted high levels, I'm almost guaranteed a job and compensation commensurate with my level of learning and achievement combined with and dependent upon my societal and economic class standing prior to enrollment, and I won't have to know f-all about tactics until I take AF training.' Your average American student, on the other hand, has already worked their way through an arena of threat and response, alliance and betrayal, that most souls do not encounter unless they go into the foreign service. How, then, you ask yourself, is it that America is not currently the wealthiest and most powerful nation on earth? The answer, quite simply, is our Entertainment Industry. Through the proper counter application of mind-numbingly insignificant, puerile, and half-witted 'entertainment' offerings, even the keenest wits, honed to a razor-sharp edge of self-preservation and analysis, can be reduced to so much over-sugared and overcooked oatmeal. Now, that aside, my apologies to my many opponents, sadly and disgracefully abandoned these last few days. I was (very) unexpectedly called out of town for a day or so, and returned with the most hellish fever and lung-rot. I was sweating, palsied, coughing, cursing God and Berli and trying to cut deals with all the spirits in between to return me to health. I wanted to get some turns out this evening, but after attempting to play out my game with Shaw, and spending several minutes cursing and growing increasingly frantic about my inability to target one of my own infantry squads with one of my own tanks, I decided that I would allow another day of healing before taking on the complex mental task of dismissing you all as the unworthy tactical by-products that you are, and concentrate instead on getting caught up with the sublime Peng Challenge Thread. Mind, had I been present earlier, I would, like a soldier who throws himself on a grenade to save others (demonstrably less worthy and valuable than the man who made that noble choice; but there, I love you not for what you could be, but for what you are), done everything in my power to spare this Band of Brothers (none of who's fathers actually married their mothers, or, in many cases, even proceeded to inquiring into surnames before the act of procreation), the images slashed upon the minds (such as they are) of all here, of Peng, Elvis, and Lawyer unclothed, wet, covered with lather, and doing some sort of neo-Scots sword dance involving facial hair (Lawyer's further impositions on the imagination will remain uncommented upon, except to murmur 'god stuff a cat'). Oh, and if the righteous Hiram lad and that likely swine Croda swing by, know that I will be going off to that other place for more discussion, I just haven't been up to it. Finally, the knowledge that Peng might arrive in the Twin Cities (heir to Rome and Athens, upon which they were modeled) of Minneapolis and St. Paul, fills me with both dread and elation. Dread in terms of the savage hit my wallet will take filling the empty keg that he is with alcohol, and elation that I will then be able to put him in a cab, and have him deposited in the Philips neighbourhood wearing an incredibly cheesy war-bonnet and carrying a huge Atlanta Braves foam tomahawk wearing a sign that says 'I'm from Pennsylvania, Give Us a Kiss'. [ 09-20-2001: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Ah, well, see how well you do with a 101º fever... [ 09-20-2001: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Joe Shaw: I know that many of you have been agonizing over the question of the week ... what WILL I get Joe for his birthday on Sunday? <HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Here, I'm willing to give the useless sot a birthday sing-song, straight from the deepest and most disturbing recesses of my childhood: Happy, happy birthday to all you girls and boys hope this very special day brings you lots of joy hope the birthday presents you get from Mom and Dad will make this very special day the best you've ever had Happy birthday, to you Happy birthday, to you Happy birthday, Dear Shaw Happy birthday, to you I feel a bit queasy after that. I've had to delve deep into my 'repressed memory therapy' training, but I believe that song's from the 'Lunch with Casey Jones and Roundhouse Rodney' show. It also brought back disturbing memories of the 'Hercules' cartoon, and the associated theme song for that. The bright moment of redemption comes from the fact that the "Rocky and Bullwinkle Show" was on immediately following, and those memories have come rushing back as well. Anyone else see Shaw and Lars as 'Mr. Peabody, and his boy Sherman'? Let's get into the Way Back Machine, Shaw, and tell us some deeply personal and queasy making incident/aspect of your childhood. Anything, that is, except your loss of virginity. As Sherlock Holmes said, 'that is a tale for which the world is not yet ready'. Happy Birthday, Joe, you useless sod, Justicar, and Drain Commissioner of the Peng Challenge Thread. As my birthday present to you, I'll consider your existence, then visualize ripe, young, pouting blonde girls with confused moral imperatives. Then, of course, I'll probably throw up. To be fair, that might have occured without your Birthday imagery, but the latter pretty much made vomiting a lock. Best wishes, you horrible man.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by chrisl: You owe me a setup from before the mosquitos tried to kill me.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> WE OWE YOU NOTHING, NOTHING, YOU BASTARD, OTHER THAN TO INDULGE IN MORE THAN OUR SHARE OF ALCOHOL AT YOUR WAKE! So, I can't speak for Peng in any sort of conclusive way, except to say that I, for one, would like there to be stout, or at least porter, and I think both Peng and I would be happy with some Jameson's, or perhaps Maker's Mark. Oh, and that in these dark days of loss and tragedy, we'd actually like your worthless arse to stay alive, and are more than prepared to provide our mailing addresses so that you can send us the alcohol we're owed, you bastard, so that we can knock back a draught to honour your continued existence and utter uselessness to any concept of Reality besides the Peng Challenge Thread. We'll keep our tributary demands within the means that a useless, bollocksed, annoying Californian like yourself can afford. Roughly. And remember to use proper packing material. You pillock.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by chrisl: LOL. I tried to get into miniatures when I was 15 or so, and bought a set of rules "Brew Up!" and some small scale guys (smaller than he ones in your picture-- I had some of those, too though). Somehow the miniatures were never as fun as Squad Leader-- too much detail, I think. But it was fun to set them all up and set up little match rocket launchers (a single paper match launched from a bent paper clip) to try to knock them down. I also once ordered the "100 plastic soldiers for $1" from the back of a comic book when I was about 5, but they really sucked. They were flat, and made from really brittle plastic, and the scale was all goofy-- it included battleships that were smaller than the troops. Sea Monkeys are way better, and I didn't get those til I was 26 or so, but you really have to spring for the deluxe set with the history of Sea Monkeys book.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Ah, this post affords me the very opportunity that I have, for some time, desired. A number of weeks, and several incarnations of the One, True, and Apostolic Thread (soon to be condemned under emminent domain and razed, and a Finnish Coffee Shop and Debating Society erected on the location - watch for coupons appearing in the General Forum for a free Latte with your first restrained and non-BS post) ago, the insufferable Peng and I began a new combat. It was our first in some time, and, despite the fact that as Old Ones we were often forced to work together for the good of the aforesaid Thread of Destiny, we meant it to be the vehicle whereby our complete and utter loathing for each other, and our insulting and belittlement of each other, could reach new heights. It was to be a return to what made the Peng Challenge Thread great: that is, many, many posts from Peng and myself, filled with taunting and general sniping from the wings by Berli, as well as general idiocy by the rest of you. To this end, Peng chose a scenario by Chrisl, noted comic book PO box afficiando quoted above. At first, the scenario seemed relatively straight forward: an allied assault across two defended bridges. However the developer's notes, which were somewhat rambling and incoherent, and read like a story idea rejected by Harlan Ellison as 'too limp', hinted that all might not quite be right with young Chrisl. From the very opening of the game, there were signs that Chrisl had, in fact, crossed over some line into a distant country called Madness. Within a few turns, Peng had emailed me asking why, as he was playing the Germans, and I was playing the Brits, the VLs under my control were American flags? Said it 'gave him the willies', and I had to agree. But we soldiered on, and punishment was handed out on both sides. And then the reinforcements began to arrive. Their locations were, to say the least, confusing to both sides. And it deteriorated from there. In what soon became known between us as the 'The Chrisl Double Helix Deployment of Idiocy', nearly every other turn or so has seen the arrival of units in a spiraling pattern of stupidity that, if plotted and statistically analyzed, probably gives a good picture of what parts of Chrisl's brain are still functioning. Peng has already stated that Chrisl deserves a hard rogering with a road kill porcupine for this scenario, and I have risen from my chair and applauded the idea with enthusiasm. In short, then, the bile and imaginative insults that Peng and I had hoped to post here, in the Thread, against each other, have been siphoned off into our emails, and concern themselves completely with the personal, professional, and genetic failings of Chrisl. The scenario continues, although we're both in agreement that, since the hope of conducting any sort of coherent deployment and executing rational battle plans is pointless in this 'joy-buzzer/bucket of whitewash over the door' scenario, we are mostly just trying to move around and kill things, with no thought for unit preservation or victory conditions. Besides the spastic placement of arriving reinforcements, we are now beginning to see the arrival of odd units, as well. In my last 'honking novelty horn' arrival, I got a phalanx of Kangaroos. Duck Billed Platypuses cannot be far behind. This scenario and the whoopy cushion mentality that gave birth to it are the single greatest argument in favour of BTS's decision to not allow individuals to actually Mod the characteristics and nature of units. Had they left Chrisl that opening, I'm sure that Peng and I would both be ripping and gouging at each other with a unit lineup right out of "The Yellow Submarine". So, Chrisl, on behalf of myself and the equally degraded Peng, who I'm sure will show up here shortly to let you know his own feelings on the matter, let me just say that you, sir, are a toad. You are an argument in favour of the enforced medication of the criminally annoying, and that you've earned a good soaking with a bucket of warm poodle urine. Tonight I am writing the Governor of California (that State does have some form of government, doesn't it, all evidence of planning and foresightedness to the contrary?) to recommend that a good first step in dealing with their economic and utility woes would be moving you into a trailer in Battle Mountain, Nevada. Because of the past esteem I've held you in as an opponent, until the current abomination wiped out most of the that esteem, I will insist that the trailer be a Double Wide. This relocation will not only give you time to contemplate what might actually make for a 'good' scenario, but will put you into touch with the lifestyles of Joe Shaw, Leeo, and those others of our membership who live in the less civilized portions of our country. I would include Mr. Spkr, but, although he is from Texas (or Baja Oklahoma, as it is called here in the North Country), he is also some sort of 'lawyer wannabe', which means that through his efforts he has probably taken trailer homes away from enough of the hoipolloi through permitted professional scavenging to earn himself a tract home in some dusty 'gated community' where he and his long-suffering wife endure exposure to golf, tupperware, and the 'Texas accent' (a punishment so egregious that it is said that even Berli has turned away with a shudder), all without knowing that what they consider 'normal life' would be considered a fore-taste of hell by anyone of more intellectual discernment. Well, a little of the just dismissal of Chrisl spilled over onto some of you others, but that, I say, is all too the good, and no more than what you deserve. [ 09-15-2001: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Well, of all the bloody gall! From another much lesser thread: <BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR> I agree with BTS's general gag order. BUT.... The Peng tread is due for a renewal soon. Who ever said it has to be the not-so-serious BS venting tread every time ? The names of the tread have always been a joke but if it was named something like "A Peng challenge that changed the world" and there was a silent agreement that this time we dispence with the bull and stick to more serious matters while keeping it unlocked by being polite for a change perhaps BTS will let it live.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> So one of the bloody Finn's wishes to move in here with his friends, push everyone else aside, and conduct some sort of Round Table discussion. And without bothering to even consult the denizens. Doubtless he'll expect members of the Thread to fetch him drinks and sharpen his bleeding pencils for him, too! I can't understand how Tero's diplomatic service allowed him to escape serving as an ambassador. He has such finesse. Well I say when the buggers shove in here with lofty minded topics and high-handedly begin having security officers round up the locals for relocation to some holding facility, we have a slash right on his pantsleg.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by von shrad: Flattery will get you nowhere. Unless it is with my sister and then it will also take the larger bottle of BoonesFarm and a Pig Platter from the 'Hoggert Eatery'. Then you are in. She's quite the catch and nothing is too good for her, Miss Cleo . von shrad [ 09-14-2001: Message edited by: von shrad ]<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Well, that bugger Shrad must be on the mend, as he's posting almost non-stop. However, it is my belief that there is no 'von Shrad sister', that the accusations of easy virtue in the wake of cheap pseudo-wine and butcher's offal are an invention, and that the said tendering of an opportunity to spend time with Shrad's putative 'sister' are so much marsh gas. I thought this needed to be said before any of you, such as Leeo, became too hopeful. Also, it is to be noted that no creature over the age of 19 can actually drink Boone's Farm (except in the deep south, where the cut-off is 26), that it is fit only for cleaning toilets, and that even that use is at second hand, when it is applied orally.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by MrPeng: PShaw! just take the damn title for chrissakes<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Ah, that sums it up then. Joe Shaw, Ole Foul Joe, is the Justicar of the Peng Challenge Thread. Lorak, use a nice font to note it down. There's a good chap. Now, Shaw, get one of your justiciary lackeys on the hop and organize a round of homecoming beers for everyone. One of the SSNs has been around while we were gone and cleaned out all the empties, doubtless in hopes of making some pocket change by recycling. Place looks naked without empties rolling around under foot, tripping up Serfs and such. Ghastly. We should tip a few for being back, and, well, for 'Absent friends.' We'll let it go at that.

My Gods, it's good to be back home. Here, this place is a dump! Shaw! What have you been doing?! Hmm, I guess you just sort of forget when you're away for a while. [ 09-14-2001: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Berlichtingen: Oh yeah, that's me, the soul of fairness. This village has too many idiots<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> I believe, Berli, that Shaw is actually making a valid point, in that the claim of being 'unfairly persecuted' by the Prince of Darkness, is like claiming that 'Peng validated their existence', or some such. I mean, how can a Being dedicated to the temptation, corruption, destruction and ultimate punishment of mortals be found to be 'unfairly persecuting' them? The lad (not Ole Foul Joe, the other lad, Panzer Leader) simply didn't think things through. Mind, he's shown a singular lack of ability in that direction. I may treasure him as a former Squire, but I'm still seeing a doctor about the tendon damage I endured from the repeated beatings I was forced to administer. Now the pillock says he's going off to become a Born Again Virgin. Makes me shudder, and I've read dozens and dozens of posts from Rommel22, Colonel Dead_Marsh, and Fieldmarshall, so I know what the true face of idiocy looks like. Panzer Leader, lad, don't stop at merely not playing CMBO any more. To truly prepare yourself for the pleasures to come, fast, spend hours on your knees on stone floors, and scourge yourself. When you stop doing these things, the pleasure you will feel playing CMBB will probably immediately rip you free of this existence, and send you into the afterlife. Mind, when you get there, try explaining to Berli's henchmen that you're being 'unfairly persecuted' when they jab a boar spear up your arse and march you to the hottest part of the pit. Even the damned need a good laugh now and then.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Joe Shaw: Oh I don't know, Seanachai, can you think of any sentient creature that WOULDN'T jump at the chance to whip Mace? I would imagine that sheep IN PARTICULAR would be lining up for the opportunity. Joe<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Agreed, but they've no hands, Joe! I mean, what, are they holding it in their mouths? The whip, that is.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Stuka: A certain Sir Mace I beleive. (Being one of the landed gentry, I've never associated with those middle class types, but I beleive that to be his name) As a blue-blood of the Cesspool, it is beneath my station to even attempt to describe the goings on in this chap's backyard if indeed words were available to describe the 'practices' being performed there. ...in order to drown out the bleatings and whipping noises but in vain. <HR></BLOCKQUOTE> While I have always shied away from the concept of Mace's, er...'orientation', I have to admit a point of curiousity here: How does he get the sheep to whip him? The whole thing's very distasteful, to be sure, but I just can't imagine the complexity of the training program to achieve that.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by panzerwerfer42: Nice to see others realize that I'm winning.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> You are not qualified to misquote me. Not only do you live in the suburbs, you live in a St. Paul suburb. And you work retail. Even jackals would avoid the corpse you'd make. Now, go see if someone needs assistance in aisle five.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by chrisl: So has dalem showed up on your doorstep yet?<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> No, but I expect a call from either the Minneapolis police department or a bail-bondsman at any moment. Also, I've informed the local SPCA branch that his dog's earless condition is not completely Dalem's fault. I imagine I'll know the moment of his arrival when shortages begin to manifest in area liquor stores and the local Homeless begin to abandon their underpasses, babbling and weeping, and seek sanctuary in the churches.

Shaw! Stop talking to it! Hit it with a rolled up newspaper, or something, and be done with it. Oh, I see. It's already soiled most of the paper. Well, give it a kick, and get on with it.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Michael Dorosh: Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl... [ 09-09-2001: Message edited by: Michael Dorosh ]<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Mockery I expect, as mockery is the Peng Challenge Threaders daily bread. Abuse, I hold at naught, for abuse is the very air a Cesspooler breathes. Even childishness and idiocy I would accept with equanimity, for I expect nothing better from most of you. But this, sir, this I will hold no truck with. To post Manilow lyrics, unmodified, and in their entirety, is disgusting in a way that is hard to bear. There is a special place in hell prepared for you this evening. You were designated, at birth, I'm sure, to die either on the gallows, or of some loathsome disease. And, to paraphrase Disraeli, I will not be sharing your fate, sir, for I decline to embrace either your prinicipals, or your mistress.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by MrSpkr: Umm, Seanachai, you really need to go on a date with a REAL girl sometime . . .<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Shaw always gets the grovellers, and I always get the ones with attitude. Lad, there's very little a 'girl' could do for me that is anywhere near as satisfying as the enjoyment I get out of annoying you lot. Admittedly, a 'woman' might indeed distract and satisfy, but I've found that, other than basking in the occassional smile of the Fair Emma, I'd rather put the boot in on you lot of little piddlers than jump through the hoops that you younger dogs get such tongue-lolling enjoyment from. Besides, when I re-work a poem by The Bard of Empire, I get to read his original over and over, which rather rinses away the memory of some of the more recent posts I've seen here. Including yours. Come, lad, you were a Squire to the Bard of the Peng Challenge Thread. Have you no more feel for the joys of language than that?

I almost never make the Mad Bald One lock up a thread. But, in keeping with the Peng Challenge Thread, the Thread of the New Millenium, Rudyard Kipling, and the 'need to make clear what we are all about': The Young Cesspool Squire WHEN the Scum Sucking Newbie goes out to the 'Pool 'E acts like a pillock an' 'e posts like a fool, An' 'e weeps because others are frequently cruel And 'e's not fit to serve as a squire. Serve, serve, serve as a squire, Serve, serve, serve as a squire, Serve, serve, serve as a squire, Squire of the Cesspool! Now all you serfs what's drafted to-day, You shut up your cake-hole an' 'ark to my lay, An' I'll sing you a squire as far as I may: A squire what's fit for a 'Pooler. Fit, fit, fit for a squire Fit, fit, fit for a squire Fit, fit, fit for a squire Squire of the Cesspool! First mind you steer clear o' the 'general' taunt, that labels you stupid, useless, and naught -- that shows to the world that you cannot be taught -- An' it's bad for the young Cesspool Squire. Bad, bad, bad for the squire Bad, bad, bad for the squire Bad, bad, bad for the squire Squire of the Cesspool When comes the laughter -- as it will past a doubt -- don't pose and don't preen, and don't go on the shout, For the 'Pool will just sneer, and spit yer arse out, An' it crumples the young Cesspool Squire. Crum-, crum-, crumples the squire Crum-, crum-, crumples the squire Crum-, crum-, crumples the squire Squire of the Cesspool But the worst o' your foes is the other young fools: who'll be set on yer arse, by the powers that rule: they'll send you out battles that make you look like a tool, An' you'll die like a fool of a squire. Fool, fool, fool of a squire Fool, fool, fool of a squire Fool, fool, fool of a squire Squire of the Cesspool If you're belittled and spat on, completely ignored, Don't piss and don't moan, and return to the Board; Be witty and tough, and amusement afford Then it's beer for the young Cesspool Squire. Beer, beer, beer for the squire Beer, beer, beer for the squire Beer, beer, beer for the squire Squire of the Cesspool Now, if you should find a Knight notices your worth and offers to sponsor your place on this earth and offers your pain up to give others mirth, Know that mirth is enough for a squire. 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a squire 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a squire 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a squire Squire of the Cesspool Your Knight's foes will curse you, and laugh at your pain your Knight will laugh too, and you'll feel there's no gain and you'll curse all the 'Pool, and call it insane, An' you'll then know the curse of a squire. Curse, curse, curse of a squire Curse, curse, curse of a squire Curse, curse, curse of a squire Squire of the Cesspool When you first go to taunt, you'll probably suck, And the Knights will run over your arse like a truck, Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck And march to new taunts like a squire. Taunt, taunt, taunt like a squire Taunt, taunt, taunt like a squire Taunt, taunt, taunt like a squire Squire of the Cesspool! When 'arf of your taunts fly wide and go wrong, Don't revert to expletives or ****e jokes, you nong; Just buckle down lad, and get set for sing-song, the song of a young Cesspool squire. song, song, song for a squire song, song, song for a squire song, song, song for a squire Squire of the Cesspool And if you should finally arrive as a Knight having taunted and held on and fought the good fight then remember to make the new squires wade through ****e Cause ****e is what makes a good squire, ****e, ****e, ****e for a squire ****e, ****e, ****e for a squire ****e, ****e, ****e for a squire Squire of the Cesspool You're no longer a squire, and now you're a Knight, you've learned how to taunt, and mock, and make light of all of the bastards who once gave you ****e and hate like a young Cesspool squire. hate, hate, hate like a squire hate, hate, hate like a squire hate, hate, hate like a squire Squire of the Cesspool When you're wounded and left in the Cesspool of Peng, And the bastards come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to the taunt and blow out their brains An' go to your Gawd like a Knight. Go, go, go like a knight, Go, go, go like a knight, Go, go, go like a knight, Knight of the Cesspool! Dedicated to Hiram Sedai. A Squire and Knight of the Cesspool. [ 09-09-2001: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Well, until JD's post, it was a damn slow night here on the Once and Eternal Thread. So, with time on my mind, and my mind always active on that which concerns the Peng Challenge Thread, and there having been yet another recent discussion on the wording of Kipling's "the Young British Soldier", I spent a few minutes this evening to make it a poem of the Thread, and vice versa. Hell, I'm feeling expansive and annoying, and might even post it on the Outer Boards, just to make the Mad Bald One lock it up. After the last few days, I think even an annoying affirmation of life is a good thing, eh? The Young Cesspool Squire WHEN the Scum Sucking Newbie goes out to the 'Pool 'E acts like a pillock an' 'e posts like a fool, An' 'e weeps because others are frequently cruel And 'e's not fit to serve as a squire. Serve, serve, serve as a squire, Serve, serve, serve as a squire, Serve, serve, serve as a squire, Squire of the Cesspool! Now all you serfs what's drafted to-day, You shut up your cake-hole an' 'ark to my lay, An' I'll sing you a squire as far as I may: A squire what's fit for a 'Pooler. Fit, fit, fit for a squire Fit, fit, fit for a squire Fit, fit, fit for a squire Squire of the Cesspool! First mind you steer clear o' the 'general' taunt, that labels you stupid, useless, and naught -- that shows to the world that you cannot be taught -- An' it's bad for the young Cesspool Squire. Bad, bad, bad for the squire Bad, bad, bad for the squire Bad, bad, bad for the squire Squire of the Cesspool When comes the laughter -- as it will past a doubt -- don't pose and don't preen, and don't go on the shout, For the 'Pool will just sneer, and spit yer arse out, An' it crumples the young Cesspool Squire. Crum-, crum-, crumples the squire Crum-, crum-, crumples the squire Crum-, crum-, crumples the squire Squire of the Cesspool But the worst o' your foes is the other young fools: who'll be set on yer arse, by the powers that rule: they'll send you out battles that make you look like a tool, An' you'll die like a fool of a squire. Fool, fool, fool of a squire Fool, fool, fool of a squire Fool, fool, fool of a squire Squire of the Cesspool If you're belittled and spat on, completely ignored, Don't piss and don't moan, and return to the Board; Be witty and tough, and amusement afford Then it's beer for the young Cesspool Squire. Beer, beer, beer for the squire Beer, beer, beer for the squire Beer, beer, beer for the squire Squire of the Cesspool Now, if you should find a Knight notices your worth and offers to sponsor your place on this earth and offers your pain up to give others mirth, Know that mirth is enough for a squire. 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a squire 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a squire 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a squire Squire of the Cesspool Your Knight's foes will curse you, and laugh at your pain your Knight will laugh too, and you'll feel there's no gain and you'll curse all the 'Pool, and call it insane, An' you'll then know the curse of a squire. Curse, curse, curse of a squire Curse, curse, curse of a squire Curse, curse, curse of a squire Squire of the Cesspool When you first go to taunt, you'll probably suck, And the Knights will run over your arse like a truck, Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck And march to new taunts like a squire. Taunt, taunt, taunt like a squire Taunt, taunt, taunt like a squire Taunt, taunt, taunt like a squire Squire of the Cesspool! When 'arf of your taunts fly wide and go wrong, Don't revert to expletives or ****e jokes, you nong; Just buckle down lad, and get set for sing-song, the song of a young Cesspool squire. song, song, song for a squire song, song, song for a squire song, song, song for a squire Squire of the Cesspool And if you should finally arrive as a Knight having taunted and held on and fought the good fight then remember to make the new squires wade through ****e Cause ****e is what makes a good squire, ****e, ****e, ****e for a squire ****e, ****e, ****e for a squire ****e, ****e, ****e for a squire Squire of the Cesspool You're no longer a squire, and now you're a Knight, you've learned how to taunt, and mock, and make light of all of the bastards who once gave you ****e and hate like a young Cesspool squire. hate, hate, hate like a squire hate, hate, hate like a squire hate, hate, hate like a squire Squire of the Cesspool When you're wounded and left in the Cesspool of Peng, And the bastards come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to the taunt and blow out their brains An' go to your Gawd like a Knight. Go, go, go like a knight, Go, go, go like a knight, Go, go, go like a knight, Knight of the Cesspool!

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Slapdragon: Any tank can be killed by any other tank if the right combination of events occur.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE> And the mystification and outrage will be just as great if you're sufficiently clueless about what a dreadfully random Universe we live in.

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Leeo: How is it that y’all, whom I try and despise with a perfect loathing, have come to be amongst my most treasured contacts? <HR></BLOCKQUOTE> I think, lad, it's because at the end of life, and all the great, gasping joys, horrible sorrows, and blushing shames to which everyone is subject, there is death. In between , we create memories. And no one wants to lie there in those last moments with bad memories. So the wise choose their fields of glory and sorrow, their moments of happiness and stupidity, the annoying and vile pillocks they've shared mortality with, with an eye towards eternity. That, and the fact that anyone who can make me laugh is guaranteed paradise, in my book.

Lady of the Peng Challenge Thread, Esteemed and Despised Brethren, Other Ladies, Squires, Serfs, and the fecal annoyances that some call SSNs. I come before you not to praise Shaw, but to judge him. Shaw: worthless, vile, bereft of purpose, self-absorbed, yet strong in the faith of the Peng Challenge, proud in the ways of judgement, aggressive in purpose, vulgar in his certainty, certain of his justice, and lost utterly to the Outer Boards stands before us once again. Judging, he is judged. Speaking, he creates silence. Silent, he is an abuse. I offer him up as 'Justicar of the Peng Challenge Thread'. I name him Seniour Knight, Clown, Shaman, Fool, Ole Foul Joe, Idjit, Pissant, and That Stupid Texan Swine of the Peng Challenge Thread. In token of which, I empty this beaker of the...er...of 'the Water of Peng' over the stupid basta...that is, over the initiates head (barely suppressed laughter). What say you, Berli, Peng, and you, you Seniour Knights who are his peers? Shall we compound our strange Order of Orthodoxy with the Cabala of the Templars, and confer upon Ole Foul Joe the title of Justicar of the Peng Challenge Thread? Let us Hear Your Voices! Unless you're a useless little puddle of piss, of course. Then face yourself into a corner and shut it while your Betters discuss these weighty matters. You know who you are, and I imagine the first yapping of jackals that I hear will be from you.