Seanachai

I'd go out there and give him the 'all clear', but I think that pain is the best teacher. Oh, damn. It's 6 degrees outside. That's Fahrenheit. I don't even think you Aussie scum have a scale that properly registers a temperature like that. As far as a I can tell, you use some sort of half-arsed gauge that descends to the 'maybe put on a wind-breaker' level. I'd love to get you lot of idjits up here to The North so that I could whip your arses through the pine trees, looking for a place where you could lie down and cry, shivering, waiting for everything to go as numb as your brains. We'd use a hammer to knock your toes off, and put them into our rum&cokes in lieu of ice.

No prob. He's standing out in the front yard, in the snow, in his pajamas and robe, holding his cat. I'd offer him some rum, but I'm pretty sure the medications he's on are contra-indicated for alcohol...

... And, if occasionally the trip becomes too weird...well, just chalk it up to 'forced consciousness expansion'. Tune in, turn on, get beaten. Late, On Time, that's all Rules. Here in the Peng Challenge, we simply appreciate the effort. So, Elvis. What I want from you is something for the 'young people'. A mad screed filled with venom, bile, abuse and arrogance. Extra points for literary references, no top limit on quality, no cut-off point for ****e. Make it personal. We've known your sorry arse for years, now. How many freaking kids have you had while you were posting here? Were they all with the same mother? Weren't you and Peng in jail together? Didn't he pull down the top of your wife's dress at the wedding reception? Lie a little. The truth is too good for most of this lot. Forgot my six-string razor - and hit the sky Half way to Memphis 'fore I realised Well I rang up information - my axe was cold They said 'she rides the train to Oreoles' Now its a mighty long way down the dusty trail And the sun burns hot on the cold steel rails And I look like a bum and I crawl like a snail All the way from Memphis Well I got to Oreoles y'know - it took a month And there was my guitar, electric junk. Some spade said Rock'n'rollers, you're all the same. Man that's your instrument. I felt so ashamed. Now its a mighty long way down rock'n'roll Through the Bradford Cities and the Oreoles And you look like a star but you're still on the dole All the way from Memphis Yeah it's a mighty long way down rock'n'roll From the Liverpool docks to the Hollywood Bowl 'N you climb up the mountains 'n you fall down the holes All the way from Memphis Yeah its a mighty long way down rock'n'roll As your name gets hot so your heart grows cold And you gotta stay young man, you can never be old All the way from Memphis Yeah its a mighty long way down rock'n'roll Through the Bradford Cities and the Oreoles And you look like a star but you're really out on parole! All the way from Memphis "All the Way From Memphis" -Mott the Hoople

Well spoken, actually. Except for that bit of calumny about myself, that was ****e, Leeo you daft bugger. Now, as for this 'Fighting Seabee' creature: We play the game. We've been playing the game for fecking ages. We have been playing the game, and abusing each other, not to mention all-comers, for...well, in my case, for just short of 8 years, this Spring. Currently, of course, we've pulled the wagons into a laager. Because it seems that these days, the Game That Is really isn't worth playing. But the Game That Was, is still the best goddamn wargame ever made. We continue to play. Now, I notice, 'Fighting Seabee', that you're pretty much a new arrival on the board. Of course, you could be some Revenant returned under a new moniker. But I think not. So, just so you know, the various fools who post here weren't simply involved in the very earliest days of 'Combat Misison'. Many of them were folk who influenced the course of the game, who designed innumerable scenarios for it, who beta tested it, and who've posted on this Board for it's entire history. Back then, in the old days, it was considered to be as important to 'post well, and with humour', as it was to preen feathers because you'd 'posted about the game'. Why, I myself am a veteran of the 'Running With HMGs' thread, the 'Bren Tripod' threads, the... JESUS F'ING CHRIST! GODDAMNIT! running, chair-grabbing, lunging, ripping... Okay, apparently the newly repaired smoke detector is sensitive to cigar smoke. Curse it to hell. I've lost my train of thought. But I'm Very Awake! Damn, the guy upstairs is stomping around...

I think it would be better for everyone, but most especially for yourself, if you were to call me 'Beloved Chairman of the Peng Challenge Thread for Life'. I plan to put the entire Peng Challenge Thread on an austerity program so that I...that is, 'we' can develop a nuclear capacity. It will only take two years for us to have a deliverable (I'm thinking 'FedEx') nuclear bomb, if all of you go on a 400 calorie a day diet, and allow your wives, children and other loved ones to die of starvation. Or we could have the same capabilities in 8 months if the Aussies simply give up alcohol.

Clearly you are weak. Weak as water. Saturday wouldn't go any later than 1 AM. You are... ...a puddle, riffled by the wind. No wonder you have to keep mounting your dog. It must take all your concentration to keep him from pissing himself out of utter despondency for belonging to yourself.

Hmm... Not good enough. It's the end of the Year, Elvis. We require more. You been here since the beginning. You are the Childhood Friend of MrPeng. You got a whole lot of living down to do. Before the End of the Year, I want a Serious Pronouncement from you. Or it will be Jihad. We could pronounce Jihad on you, Elvis. They scan for all that ****e nowadays, Elvis. Both Sides. You wanna be on either of those lists? I think not. So, a major post by the 1st of the year, or... We'll do what we can to get your wife and kid out before the Full Range of Arseholes burst in through every window...

What's your point? </font>

Foolish, you are. Inane, you are. Are you afraid? You will be... As you know, I am the Jedi Master of Alcohol. I will not be there on Friday. I must do things on Saturday. However, you must come over to Small Emma's on Saturday night. This is required. I'm trying to teach her how to recognize a Neo-Con Whore, and you're my fecking 'visual aid'. Also, could you bring some guns? I think it's never too early to teach children about gun safety. And putting a cap into the arse of Neo-Cons. All I've ever asked of you, Dalem, is to 'boot-strap' me. I want you to help me to help myself. You know what they say: Ban a gun, and I'll live for a day. But teach me to use a gun, and I will by all the gods kill enough Neo-Cons to give my children a better life. It takes a village. Well armed.

Well, she's only four. And remember: As far as she's concerned, she owns me more completely than the most despotic Southern plantation owner ever owned a slave. Except that I back her Mom up on important points. Mostly. Of course, I haven't had more than a quarter of any chocolate malt ever purchased for me from the shop down the street in the last year. We 'share' one. But she sucks that stuff down like a freaking hummingbird. Her Mom has begun to suspect that, after the initial division of 1/8 of my malt, mixed with milk and put into a glass for Small Emma, is being surreptitiously turned into a chocolate grenade by an over-indulgent Grandma Steve. Oh, but I did have to rat her out the other night. I felt bad about it, but... well, here are the circumstances: She and her sister, Smaller Nora, went into the downstairs bathroom together, and shut the door. Nora likes the bathroom, for some reason. They were in there for a while, and when I stuck my head in to find out what was going on, she told me 'I am helping Nora to practice going to the bathroom on the small potty'. As a man who has, in all truthfulness, done the 'Underpants Dance of Victory' in front of the likes of Lars, Dalem and Papa Khann, I wasn't in a position to inquire too deeply. But eventually her Dad went in there, and made them come out and join the company. Not me, of course. They had other friends over, as well. And I asked Small Emma, 'Emma, what were you teaching Nora in there?' And she looked around, carefully, to see if anyone was listening, and told me: I was teaching her how to touch the angel's dress. Okay. After a long life of fairly extreme weirdness, you'd think I'd simply bob my head, suck down some more red wine, and say: 'Wow! Really?' After all, she's only four. If it was someone else, I'd either have to call the cops, or go get a video camera. But she told me this like she was revealing A Great Secret. So I said: What? Emma, what did you just say? And she told me, with a conspiratorial look 'I was teaching her how to touch the angel's dress'. I was, suddenly, filled with a nameless sense of...disquiet. And, frankly, I was intrigued. So I said to her 'Emma, can you show me how to touch the angel's dress?' And she said 'Sure, Grandma Steve! C'mon!' So we went into the downstairs bathroom, which is simply a radiator, a sink, and a toilet. It's pretty much useless except as a place for company to void their bladders and wash their hands. But her Mom likes to make everything... pretty. There's nick-knacks in there. Decorative towels. Things hanging on the wall. All the things that women do to turn an otherwise functional place into something less like its function. And she says to me: 'First, you put down the toilet cover. Then, you climb up on top of the toilet...' I'm watching this, less than sanguine... 'Then, you put your foot here...' and she stretches her little leg across the gap between the front of the toilet and the opposite wall, and plants her foot on the freaking toilet paper holder, which I goddamn well know is only held to the wall by a couple of screws, 'And then you reach up like this, and touch the angel's dress', and she flips this small wall-hanging with her fingers that's made up of a spray of wheat stalks. And then she pushes off, settles back onto the top of the toilet cover, and gives me a winning smile. Many years ago, as I was entering a party, I passed two women, one of whom said to the other: 'And that's how the armadillos got syphilis...' I never knew what that story was all about, but I relived that same moment of staggering confusion. 'Emma, you were teaching Nora how to do that?' 'Yes.' 'Emma, I don't think...you shouldn't...Emma, you can't...Emma, I will be right back.' And I went and found her Mom, who was trying to make dinner. And I told her 'Jen, I need to tell you something.' 'Uh-huh.' 'Has Emma ever showed you how to 'touch the angel's dress'? I got a startled look, with that one. 'You mean the little spray of wheat stalks in the bathroom? She thinks that's an angel's dress.' 'Yeah. Well, has she ever shown you how to touch it?' 'No, why?' 'Well, she just showed me how to do it, and told me she was teaching it to Nora', and I described the process. We are talking about eyes so round that they looked like luminescent golf balls. We are speaking of a look of disbelief and horror more eloquent than the loudest 'You are s******g me!' I nodded. And then, to my horror, she shouted 'EMMA! EMMA, COME HERE RIGHT NOW!' 'Jesus, Jen! I mean — Jesus! You can't... She'll know I told you!' "Emma! Come Here! She won't know you told me, she's four!' 'Look, we're friends. She's going to know I told on her!' There is something distinctly bizarre about a 51 year old man panicking about informing on a four year old child. Life is a bit strange, when you're a minion. 'She's not going to know anything. Go hide in the living room, if you want.' And, although I'm chagrined to say it, I went and hid in the living room. But I could still hear what transpired. 'Emma, show me how you touch the angel's dress. Uh-huh. Okay. Emma, we do NOT climb up on top of the toilet like that! We NEVER put our foot on the toilet paper holder, because it might break and you would fall down and HURT yourself! And we do not EVER, EVER teach Nora how to do things like that! Do you understand me, young lady?!' I couldn't hear the reply. It was a small girl reply. I felt like Judas. After a little bit, Emma came into the living room. She was... subdued. I gave her a smile. 'Emma, what do you want to play?' I held my breath. She looked at me, and smiled. 'I want to play that I am the princess fairy, and you are the prince...no, wait, you are the king, and I am the mom, and Nora is the little sister, and we need to take her to the doctor, and you are the brother, and I need to go to work'. It was a freaking huge relief. Things were still normal between us. If completely, as usual, almost incomprehensible. Later, I told her Mom, 'I had to tell you, you know.' And her Mom told me 'Hell yes, you had to tell me!' 'Because her climbing around on stuff like that was just nuts.' 'No kidding! That damn toilet paper holder won't support her weight if she steps on it too hard! Not to mention teaching her little sister to do things like that!' 'I still feel kinda bad. I just didn't want her to get hurt.' And Jen looked at me like I was an idiot. 'Why do you feel bad? I swear to God, sometimes I think you've hit your head too many times!' The thing about mothers, is... they forget about ever having been children themselves. And that's why most children actually manage to make it to adulthood.

Will someone please drive a stake through its heart. The insecticide doesn't seem to be working. Michael </font>

Bloody ISP...

Okay, Josephus. I believe that I have lured him into one of those other areas, where he can lash me with his disdain and stand above me, sneering. I will now cease to acknowledge him in this Thread of threads, as is only good and proper, and ask everyone else to do so as well. You see, I have no problem with a call for Coventry when it's an individual prat-falling around the Thread and annoying everyone. But it seems...I don't know... cowardly? when the focus is simply myself. I am, as all will acknowledge, a horrible little man. Should I then hide behind a general invocation of 'Coventry' in order to avoid someone who wants to say so, at some length? Thus, you must understand, my initial decision to ignore the otherwise inviolate and generally righteous call for Coventry. But the individual in question has now been provided with a thread wherein he can castigate and berate me to his heart's ease. I will scurry over there now, and do some cringing and bleating. I think it's important that people who take the time to hate me feel like they're doing well. After all, he quoted Eliot. I've always rather enjoyed Eliot. Mind you, I think he got the quote from the bottom of the 'Word a Day' newsletter by Anu Garg. But that's a very good newsletter, and the quotes are one of the best parts. As for his participation here, such as it has been, Coventry is appropriate. [ December 25, 2007, 02:35 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Merry Christmas, you scrofulous curs. Merry Christmas, Ladies of the 'Pool Merry Christmas, Ye Olde Ones And may I just say this: Oh...my...God. It's started. Thanks Persephone. Now, since I never actually open the drapes of my apartment, I'll have to buy a grow light. I must say, it's a very — regal looking animal...

The other night, I called my friend Jen, the Mom of Small Emma, on the phone, and asked her how she was doing. She told me: 'Tired!', and she laughed. 'Well', I told her, 'You sound in good spirits', and she told me 'Well, tonight when I picked up the girls from Daycare, Emma told me "Mommy, I was very good at school today. Can we call Grandma Steve up and ask him to come over and play with me?" So you see, I've become a Reward. Just like here in the Peng Challenge Thread. My Small Friend is bright-eyed and the best girl ever. Her Mom had her French TA over for dinner the other night, and I was invited over to add some local color. She'd bought a whole platter of desserts for the adults, and she'd bought a 'special dessert' for Emma, so she wouldn't feel left out. It was a sugar cookie, as big as a spread-fingered hand, frosted with a blue/white/sprinkle icing, shaped like a snowflake. Emma had been waiting for it all night. When the adults were all drinking wine, talking and cleaning up the kitchen, she said to me: C'mon, Grandma Steve! We sat at the breakfast nook table, side by side. She ate some of her cookie, and after a few minutes, she broke off about a third of her cookie and gave it to me. 'That's for you, Grandma Steve'. I took it, and figured my portion would become a lot more important when the rest of the cookie ran out. So I broke it into a two thirds/one third portion. I nibbled a bit of the smaller portion. She drank her milk, ate her cookie, and when it began to run out, I told her: 'Emma, I have too much cookie here. You should take this back.' And she took part of it, and ate it. But when that part ran out, I tried to give her more of the cookie, and she told me, bright-eyed little moppet that she is, 'No, Grandma Steve! That's your part! Eat it up!' So I ate the final bit while she watched me with a big smile. She doesn't get 'special desserts' all that often. She loves them as much for the wonder of them as for how good they taste. She shared her special cookie with me. What a very good little person. Not like you lot of canker sores. If I could make my way to your homes and beat you with an axe handle, I would.

Berli, you wretched, evil sod... Which one's Pink?

Probably because it's a 'questionable' term. Dakota, Lakota, or Yankton are more appropriate, depending on which portion of the nation you're talking about. Of course, in Ohio, you people have already sucked the bones clean, and don't even remember the Indians that lived there...

Oh fer Chrissake. Let's see...the Holidays coming up (for the Usual Suspects), we've been exchanging insults, I've accused you of being a Revenant, you've denied it, you've been snotty to me, I to you, etc. etc. etc. YOU BORE THE **** OUT OF ME! Christ, you're dull. You're looking for a fight, but you don't bring anything to the dueling ground. It's probably the venue. Right now, reading an insulting post from you is like being pounced on by a deformed kitten. You just keep pissing about. Let's retire to a 'neutral' ground. You regard this as 'my' ground, and I won't deny the concept. Obviously we need to go somewhere to at least establish the basis of our hatred. I'm going over to the GF to post our 'Challenge'. We can piss on each other until they decide to shut it down, or ban us. Here's some tips: Avoid bad language, and make every 'personal' attack somewhat 'indirect'. You'll probably get away with being fairly 'direct' in your attacks against me, because I'm a swine, and fairly well known as such. But we need to get you out of here, because your 'attacks' are increasingly taking on the aspect of 'I know you are, but what am I?', which is just fecking annoying. So, I'm going over to the GF and posting a thread inviting you to despise me. You get any heavy repercussions from BFC, tell them to come over and piss on me. They know I'm a fool, and they will. You won't be blamed for whatever you do. I'll answer for you.

My ears are tickled...

Oh very well, if you insist, but those shoes are coming out of the Olde One's budget. Joe </font>

And this is precisely why regulations are so important and why it was a travesty, a TRAVESTY I say, when they were suspended. Bottom line ... you can't trust Seanachai to keep the best interests of the CessPool in mind at all times ... actually you can't trust Seanachai to keep much of anything in mind for any extended period of time. Without RULES we are RULELESS ... and we'll RUE the day, mark my words. Joe </font>

Eventually. It's the Holidays (at least, for the Christians, gods bless 'em). Grasp this about the World, Grog Dorosh: Berli doesn't 'stumble' into any place. He 'manifests'. You and I, we need pomposity and panoply. We're like churchmen. Or dogs. Doesn't matter if it's 'good attention' or 'bad attention'. You desire reverence. I like the frisbee. We're the same creature, but I can wag my tail... What the hell are you on about? Do you mean Small Emma? I'm not even remotely related to Small Emma. She's my bestest small friend. And I'm her Minion. Like Boo is to myself, but I can sing. Ah! Thank you! I couldn't remember the bugger's name. When, like myself, you're hated plentifully, it's an effort to keep them all straight. It must be so much easier for yourself. Just pull up the little spreadsheet you've made, and do a sort on the criteria of disapproval.

Wow. That's... Wow. Dalem, feel free to versify. LEEO, YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MAN! I'M TALKING TO YOU, LADDY!

By the gods, I like that... What was it I heard the other day? One goes to Heaven for the climate. One goes to Hell for the company... In Hell, we'll all be friends again. Except for the Aussies. They'll have to bring beer. Really, really great beer... Good thing for them they aren't French...

One more glass of red wine for the road, One more voice bespeaks Coventry 'fore I go To the Chia garden of the old...