Seanachai

Looking foward to an Emrys-Free MBT. </font>

Now what? Is Australia trying to get a bit of it's own back by 'transporting' Noba back to the stews his ancestors came from? I think that the next big wave 'Reality TV' programming will come out of the Commonwealth, as the UK and Australia go head to head as each deports specially selected teams of criminals to the other, and then films them trying to find their way through the local morass of vice and degradation. Or is this what Noba is on about, and I simply missed the Trailers?

I'd pay to have you killed, but I don't have the money right now. Also, it wouldn't actually teach you anything. You're too thick to gain any benefit, even if reincarnation turns out to be spot on... Bloody Aussies.

Stuka, you sad lump, sorry to hear about your loss. Every day, they go away, and we lose a chance to better understand the past. What we've got now is what they gave us. On a happy note, you're not dead yet. This benefits All in two ways. One, you get to put us straight about this fine man, and we can all hoist a glass or three in his memory. And Two, we get to continue to hate and abuse you, as is only right. So toast! So here's to him, and who's like him, then, eh? Damn few, and they're all dead! Unlike you, Stuka. You remain unrepentantly alive. And yet, you do not improve.

In the interest of keeping your stuff fresh, and less painful, we need to get some more versification by the even less accomplished going again. I believe it's an element of Vietnamese folk medicine to distract a sufferer from one pain by inducing another pain. Of course, that could simply be a commentary on what it was like to be under French rule for all those years.

And what about the balding, kinky-haired, be-spectacled Woody Allen impersonator who was doing Karaoke of Michael Jackson songs, including dropping into a scissor splits and springing upright again? And what about the Captain Morgan Spiced Rum costumed Jack Sparrow impersonator who went from table to table giving us all free rum, along with his bevy of 'pirate girls'. You know, thinking back, that was easily the weirdest goddamn night I've ever spent in a bar. And that's saying something.

Eh, it was Berli's glass that got broken, then. I only had two. And no, Lars, we didn't steal any glasses. That was the weird night (in every conceivable way), when you bought a 'commemorative' Gluek's glass for $1.99, or whatever the hell it was, and every refill was a buck, and you got to keep the glass. Seemed almost a waste after 'Hanns' showed up, and started just smacking free pitchers down on the table like some kind of automaton bizarro bar bouncer. Remember when we left the damn bar? It was late October, and it was like in single digits outside, with a 30 mph wind. Peng, Berli and I tried to sing all the way back to his hotel 5 blocks away, but it was too goddamn cold to even breathe.

Ah, Nidan. You add colour to our Thread. Of course, it's that new colour called 'post-traumatic weird', but it's still good stuff. Frankly, burnt sienna's time had come and gone.

What are you, the Aussie Rambo?! You come at me with a tazer, you bugger, and I'll shoot you in the groin with a 9mm Glock!

Who the hell are you, the Aussie Harry Potter?! Come at me with a broom again, you bugger, and I'll taze you.

Oh the humanity...

I am cast into despond. One of the commemorative Gluek's pint glasses that either Berli or Peng left with me after their visit to God's Country just got knocked off the kitchen counter and smashed, leaving broken glass all over the floor. Now I have to pull on shoes every time I go into the kitchen for another beer...

That's simply not possible. You're as cute as a pair of fuzzy light blue bunny slippers covered with maple syrup and sparkles and holographic pictures of some really cute Hindu god and the bunny slippers have barrettes shaped like cute bunnies attached to their ears. I'm almost certain it's time to go vomit, now.

Wow. I think Michelin's going to have to go in a whole new direction. And yes, Bugged. I do believe you're a real person. I now believe that Grog Dorosh is a clever fake. Very likely the Templars are involved.

Did I mention that my teeth are in great shape?

Checking everything over, I'm now somewhat sure... that Joe never talked about Firesign Theater. And so, my strange reminiscence about that weekend that Joe and I spent in Sioux Falls... may not be... apropos. That never happened. Clearly, there's no reason to even bring something like that up. He's a great guy. It may not even have been Joe. It may have been Kerch. That's not even a name. I don't know anyone named that. And I was never in Sioux Falls in 1980. No one was. Why would anyone ever go there? I'm pretty sure that was a story that Lars told me. Really late at night. Lars talks a whole bunch of weird ****e, late at night.

I'm a hideous despot, aren't I? Sigh. I felt it was time to 'bring the hammer down'. So I just used 'intemperate' language in a thread to 'Paul AU'. I'd just as soon be hung for a goat, as a sheep. I'm not sure that's the correct expression. When I was 15, I visited the island of Nevis with my Dad and his friend, Marv Anderson, who owned a plantation down there. There were endless flocks of these annoying, bleating ruminants that seemingly used every road as their path. And my Dad told me: Do you know how to tell the sheep from the goats? (because, truthfully, they all looked the same). The sheep are the ones whose tails hang down. Better, I think, to wave that tail jauntily up, and be put on a spit, than have it hang low, and simply be milked.

Eeeeewwwwwww! All that toe jam, athletes foot and assorted other god knows what exotic tropical life forms??? Not in my drink you won't! Michael </font>

Firefly!! My little mrs figured it out. She's the brains and the beauty of this thing we call love. </font>

So that tortured little speck of a brain cell floating in the great vacuum between your ears equates everyplace warmer that Minnissippisota with Hell? Even Small Emma probably knows that Dante's Ninth (and lowest) Circle of Hell held traitors encased in ICE! Sounds exactly like the Twin Cities to me. </font>

Of course he does. Don't be a fool. Despite being a Neo-Con Whore, he's a fantastic host. Just watch out for Joe the cat. That vicious little sucker is a vampire. If you wake up with him on your chest, politely remove him to someplace away from you face. Otherwise, he'll bit your nose, and lap up your blood while you're wondering why Dalem's cat just bit you. As you puzzle over it, you'll find you're growing weaker...and weaker...until, almost gracefully, you lapse into unconsciousness.

I just checked the calendar, and it's the New Year. I have been coming here for something like 7 years. That's a long time, even for a lunatic. Since I started posting here, the State that I live in has been dragged into war. I've weathered several tough times of unemployment, and dealt with the death of my middle sister. I wrote the 'Hymn to Great Fred', and began the 'Tales of Small Emma'. I've made a lot of friends, but, despite my best efforts, I haven't managed to secure a true 'Mortal Enemy'. At least, not one who could stay the course, and go the distance. I have, of course, been hated by any number of people who rely on velcro to keep their shoes on their feet. They are always with me. I am never alone. I went to the dentist today, after a 5 year hiatus, and they told me my teeth were in great shape. My liver tries to escape, occasionally, but I'm not having with that. I've got two kayaks, now. A Minnesotan who dies without owning a boat is a soul that dies in shame and degradation. From April through October, my life is rich. The rest of the year is ****ty paddling weather. This summer, I will enact my subtle and devious master plan, and my very best small friend Emma will begin to learn to paddle. No child that lives in the State of Minnesota should grow up without learning to paddle. Boats are in our blood. Hell is the absence of boats. Or Indiana. That's pretty much Hell, too. Happy New Year, you lot. [ January 03, 2008, 01:41 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

By the 3rd week, the subscription price for the photos had gone through the roof. The only thing you had to offer was no endless cascade of pop-up banner ads that couldn't be dismissed as quickly as they opened. And there was no picture in which she was wearing a jaunty hat, you bastard! I don't have a spare room. You come here to visit, I put you up at my family's place south of the Minnesota river (which is very nice), if they are out of town, or Dalem's, which is filled with drink.

I always pegged you for someone who would lie down on the floor and let Shannen Doherty walk on you with high heels and a whip made out of live mink. Did I ever tell you about how this last summer I was attacked by a baby mink? Little bastard damn near over-turned my kayak, and definitely put a good gouge into the hypalon hull when I was driven against a submerged tree in my efforts to avoid his attack. Sodding mustelidae. When I go out to paddle on a river, I'm not after thinking I'm going to have to avoid the attacks of Ninja Mink.

You've never once offered me one of your wives, and you're calling me selfish?!