Seanachai

Is it too late? </font>

Joe, the Justicar, and all the members of the 'Pool. This creature, Paul AU, is mine. He will reply to me. He will answer to me. And until he does, in a way that passes inspection, he does not exist. I require it. Unless, of course, you simply can't restrain yourself. Because, you know, sometimes you just have to get in there and jump on a fecker. But I'm just after asking you to leave this one to me. Seriously, I'm up to the challenge. You're a great bunch of guys. Stupid as marsupials, for the most part, but a lovely group of idjits. When ever I'm feeling a bit down, I come here.

I have responded to you. At length. Why aren't you responding to me? In the future, you will address your remarks, such as they might be, to me. You're a piss poor Australian, bucky, if that's what you are, or pretend to be. None of them, in my experience, are cowards. When they post, they post as who they are. They may be ignorant, insane, drunk and bizarre, but they post an email addy and a place of residence. And they are ALWAYS up for a jolly singsong. You can post an email address here. No one here is so bereft of honour as to use it to screw with you. We require an email address so that we know that you're actually worth the trouble of responding to. Every one who posts here has their email address right out there. Because everyone who posts here isn't just another fecking arsehole who wants to posture from behind a screen of anonymity. Use a hotmail or yahoo address. We don't require you to not be a goddamn pussy. Only that you show the least beginnings of manhood.

Now, Now Seanachai you could have said "defoliated", been more germaine to a discussion about trees, and maybe the guy would have understood you. Plus "defoliated" can be considered one of those two dollar words, and better than saying "**** Fire, them trees got no LEAFS!!" </font>

Maybe Seanachai would be willing to give you pointers to increase your vocabulary. Just a thought </font>

Hmm...smells like AUSTRALIA! You must be speaking about Abbott, because there's almost nary a soul in this thread that drinks 'corn liquor', and most everyone here has sex without any reference to the Bible in any way, shape or form. It's not a particularly good inspiration in that field, and it's an even more piss-poor reference work. It was a simple satirical reference to the fact that a certain Faith has never managed a bloody reformation, which puts them in the unique position of being almost completely incapable of a sense of tolerant acceptance, let alone a sense of humour. On the other hand, the other two big Tribal Monotheisms are working overtime to be as cuddly as a weasel intent on inserting a suppository into its prey before killing it. In the current world climate of religious understanding, I simply wanted the Peng Challenge Thread to weigh in on the side of 'Spiritual Correctness', and shower a golden stream of disdain down upon the beliefs of everyone else. If it's really important to you, I could also try to throw fecal matter at Taoists, Buddhists, Hindus and some of the less obscure pagan sects. Of course, most of them have got the spiritual sure-footedness to dodge better. My Thread? I think not. It's a Thread for all the world. As for my 'superior air', well, you are perfectly free to impress all, and especially me, with the superiority of your thoughts. A 'liberal' insists that everyone is 'equal'. A 'conservative' maintains that some are intrinsically superior, then pretends to know exactly what basis should be used to determine it. As for me? I'm a humble member of the lunatic fringe. But I won't argue that I'm not an elitist. Dazzle me with the overwhelming brilliance of your world view. As for this place? If you want me to ruffle your hair and say 'good boy', you have to be at least as smart as those I've accepted as my 'peers'. Hell, man, there simply isn't anyone who's set the bar lower than I have. All you have to do is amuse me. And those others that have already amused me. Some of them have much higher standards. Good thing, too. This may be significant, but I have to go with 'largely incomprehensible'. Although it sounds like it should be significant. And I believe the final word there should be 'lose', rather than 'loose'. Although it would be more intriguing, if grammatically awkward, if you actually meant 'loose'. So, how might I entertain you? I don't know you from Adam. Juggling? Tongue-twisters? Interpretive dance? Slide shows of my last river trip? Perhaps you might seek out the untold thousands of other posts I've made? Many of them were made purely for their satirical or humorous value. Poems penned by my own hand? Perhaps a whimsical song? Okay, imagine I'm standing on a chair in your living room, and I'll give you a couple verses of 'The Hedgehog Can Never Be Buggered At All': You can bugger a bat, using echolocation You can bugger an heiress, using drunken persuasion But even when using hundred proof alcohol The old hedgehog will never be buggered at all Now they say that old Noah, he did them in pairs He buggered the oxen, he buggered the bears Up above on the deck, or below in their stalls But the Hedgehog he never could bugger at all Of course if you want me to belch the letters of the alphabet, or tell pollack jokes, you're going to have me at a disadvantage...

I admire you when you're vile, but you only really come into your own when you become whimsical, and make it sing.

Oh, well. Tonight I don't imagine I'm going to get much of anything. Everyone's asleep, and the Aussies are probably too sodding drunk to post. For myself, this is the first night in a week that I've been well enough to post much. I even missed Thanksgiving this year, as the day before the Holiday I came down with a cold/flu/respiratory nightmare that hammered me right into the ground. The nicest thing that's happened to me was a phone call on Monday night, after I'd talked with my friend Jen (the Mom of Small Emma). About two hours after I talked with her about how I'd been dying, but was trying to get better, I got a phone call. I answered it, in my gasping, hoarse voice: Hello? And there was a moment of silence, and I was about to hang up, thinking that the pause was the usual one before the recorded voice came on telling me: 'Hello, please listen carefully. Your vehicle warranty is about to expire...' or 'Hi, this is X from cardholder services. There's nothing wrong with your current credit card accounts, but...' or 'Our records indicate that you qualify for an astounding mortgage opportunity...' Instead, I heard a very small, pleasant voice say: "Hello, Grandma Steve!' And I smiled. And said: 'Hello, Emma Sine!' And she told me: 'I have a message for you. I love you, and I like to play with you, and I like it when you tell me stories, and I like it when you come over to talk to Mommy'. And I thanked her, and told her that I loved her, and then she told me (clearly listening to some prompting from off camera), 'And I want you to feel better'. And then she told me goodbye, and she put down the phone. Her Mom came on, then, of course, and I told her 'Wow, that was cool. It was like she'd memorized what you told her to say and gave it back to me without any hesitation, except there at the end.' And my friend Jen told me: "Nope, I didn't tell her any of that. When I picked her up from Day Care, she asked if you were going to come over tonight. And I told her you weren't, because you were not feeling well. And she told me all the things she liked about you. So, when I told her I was going to call you, she said she wanted to tell you some things. And what she told you were her thoughts. The only thing I had to remind her was to tell you to get better." So I got that going for me.

Why would I put that stuff in? The nuts and bolts are your job, Justicar. I want... I want wonder. I WANT DUELS ON BATTLEMENTS! I WANT KNIGHTS TILTING AT WINDMILLS! I WANT SHOWERS OF SHOOTING STARS, COMETS FORETELLING DOOM, AND SIGNS IN THE HEAVENS! I want rat-assed bastards like Meeks off their meds, quipping bad impersonations of Shakespeare. I want Bauhaus to sit down. I want Peng to piss on fools from a considerable height. I want to see the northern lights, in print, every night. Showers of Glory, Josephus. Wonder. Step right up, step right up!

Hey, Abbott, you know what? They have the same hummingbird feeder in that photo that my Mom has up north at our cabin on Lake of the Woods. Go figure.

And now, a bit of a singsong for Dalem... You are a fluke of the universe You have no right to be here Deteriorata, Deteriorata Go placidly amidst the noise and waste, and remember what comfort there may be in owning a piece thereof Avoid quiet and passive persons, unless you are in need of sleep Rotate your tires Speak glowingly of those greater than yourself; and heed well their advice, even though they be turkeys Know what to kiss - and when Consider that two wrongs never make a right, but that three - do Wherever possible, put people on hold Be comforted, that in the face of all irridity and disillusionment, and despite the changing fortunes of time, there is always a big future in computer maintenance You are a fluke of the universe You have no right to be here Whether you can hear it or not, The universe is laughing behind your back Remember the Pueblo Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle, and mutilate Know yourself If you need help, call the FBI Exercise caution in your daily affairs, especially with those persons closest to you... That lemon on your left, for instance Be assured that a walk through the seas of most souls would scarcely get your feet wet Fall not in love, therefore, it will stick to your face Gracefully surrender the things of youth: the birds, clean air, tuna, Taiwan - and let not the sands of time get in your lunch Hire people with hooks For a good time, call 606-4311. Ask for Ken Take heart in the deepening gloom that your dog is finally getting enough cheese And reflect that whatever misfortune may be your lot, it could only be worse in Milwaukee You are a fluke of the universe You have no right to be here Whether you can hear it or not, The universe is laughing behind your back Therefore, make peace with your god, whatever you perceive him to be: hairy thunderer or cosmic muffin With all its hopes, dreams, promises, and urban renewal, the world continues to deteriorate GIVE UP! You are a fluke of the universe You have no right to be here Whether you can hear it or not, The universe is laughing behind your back

After linking the old Thread to the new Thread, you've gotta bump it, somehow, or the halfwits will continue to piss in the same place...

Time to move on, as it is always time to move on. Here's where we post now? The Peng Challenge Story

It's always a bitch, coming up with the New Thread. For example, my first choice tonight was: The Peng Challenge Thread Named a Teddy Bear After Your Prophet, and Then Pissed on Him Mind, I named Jesus, Moses, Mohammed, Joseph Smith and L. Ron Hubbard in the opening rules. But I thought, given the Season, it might not be quite 'on'. So, I'm going with the current title. Because, when you get right down to it, we've hated everyone. And everyone we've ever hated, is still right there with us. As alive, stupid, annoying, pointless and not worth a ****e as they ever were. You've come in, and you shouldn't have. You're ****e. I've pissed a better, stronger and more pleasant stream than anything you're likely to come up with in your posts here. I don't like you. I've made better balloon animals. And I can't make balloon animals for ****e. You're only as welcome here as you can make yourself. Post things big, broad, memorable and worthy. Otherwise, Bugger Off. There are Three Olde Ones: Myself, Berli, and MrPeng. What we want from you is memorable posts, interesting thoughts, creativity and wonder. Amuse us. There is the Justicar. He wants you to post a challenge, observe certain regulations, notice the signs on the walls, and puzzle through the Peng Challenge Manual of Badges and Ranks. It's like the Boy Scouts, but without any application to surviving in the wilderness, except that you can really piss off a variety of smaller predators. And there's the main gang, the old hands, who are, without question, the dimmest gang of bipeds who've ever knelt in their own vomit while attempting a jolly singsong. And there's the Ladies of the 'Pool, of course. Treat them with respect. We're the only thread that consistently has women posting. Gives the place some class. For the rest of it, you're almost, without question, too goddamn stupid to actually understand the whole point of this place. Do your best. Christ, I need a drink...

Well, duh. Everyone knows that a fecking pistol (short of a Desert Eagle) is pretty much useless against Ombzies, you fool. Wow. They sued the ****e out of the tobacco industry for 'Joe Camel', but this apparently has gone completely unremarked. Good to know that the NRA has employed the same marketing gurus that have kept Anheuser Busch solvent by reaching out to the next generation of consumers. The younger child learns early on that they are relatively powerless, and only the resort to 'terroristic acts' will empower them. Fortunately, they assume their normal position in the family once they can start playing with the others as an equal, and are no longer forced to resort to extreme measures. Be aware, though, that you will still have to go through the 'biting' stage. This is the small child equivalent of 'dirty bombs'. I still remember the horror of baby-sitting nieces and nephews and staring aghast at the perfectly delineated upper and lower teeth imprints of one sibling on another. I mean, what do you do, except run around and shout? It's not like you're allowed to flog them and put them into a labor battalion.

This 'teh hawt' stuff puzzles me. Are you lot speaking Cheyenne, or something? I'm all for Trickster tales, but I prefer them in translation. I'm too old to learn the language of people we've destroyed. That's why I have to smile and wave so much, when I contemplate Abbott's posts.

Alright, then. I know that there are some of you (maybe two or three), who enjoy the 'Tales of Small Emma'. And I know that I have not spoken of the small, imperious one lately, so you probably think that I haven't seen her. Not true. Since I am not currently working, I have actually been trying to be helpful to her Mom and Dad by being around to play with her, take orders, and generally keep her occupied while Mom and Dad achieve things like actually talking to each other, or checking their email. I have decided that dealing with small children is a bit like watching the evolution of human civilization. For one thing, things like 'slavery' become a lot clearer when you've become the minion of a small child. The other night, her Mom came in to Emma's room, and said 'What are you guys doing?'. And Emma told her: We are playing Princesses! And her Mom told her, 'You're pretty lucky, Emma! There's not a lot of boys that will play 'Princesses' with you! And Emma just looked at her. So her Mom told her, 'Emma, are there any of the boys at Daycare who will play 'Princesses' with you?' And Emma told her: No. And her Mom told her: So you're pretty lucky then, 'cause you have Grandma Steve. He'll play 'Princesses' with you. Don't you think it's pretty lucky to have Grandma Steve? And Emma just stared at her like she was speaking in tongues. I could see the small child thoughts. What's to wonder about? Where's the luck? He's Grandma Steve. He's my minion. I own him. Anyone seen the HBO series "Rome"? I should probably be calling her 'Domina'. The one good thing is that, as she's gotten older, she's come to grips with certain realities. When we play 'dress-up', I'm forgiven from putting on bizarre outfits. She tells me: Grandma Steve, you cannot wear dress-up clothes. You are too large. Gods be thanked for small favours from small favourites. In one thing, though, I am allowed to recapture my own, and am granted a special status. With four small words, right now, I suddenly move from lowly slave of the lamp, to a figure of power and glory. Those words are "Once Upon a Time". When I say that magic phrase, small eyes go round, there's a little intake of breath, and suddenly I'm no longer just the animator and ventriloquist of dolls, stuffed animals and puppets. I'm not just a large, forelock pulling henchman, or fluttering, cawing bird enacting the will of the wicked queen. I then become The Storyteller. Not the reader of books, because Mom and Dad do that, too. I become her own personal wizard, who uses words like spells, to spin a new world before her eyes. Thank Christ I've read 3/4s of the fairytales ever written, 1/2 the legends, folktales and stories of the world, and am more conversant with mythology than anyone outside a University. I'm totally prepped. Of course, right now, it's very simple stuff. And the appeal is, unlike books, she has input into the story. The other night, her Mom told her: Okay, I told you you could play with Grandma Steve for another 15 minutes (for play, read: Be an Empress), and I've actually let you play for 30 minutes. That's twice as long. Don't I know it. I kept thinking 'goddamn it, when's the timer going to go off?! I'm dying in here, sneezing my arse off from the dog hair and getting up and down from the floor. I'm bloody old! Surely we've been playing for more than 15 minutes?! And Small Emma's Mom tells her, 'So, it's time to go to bed. Who do you want to read you your books, Momma, or Grandma Steve.' I am a trusted figure, these days. Like Mommy and Daddy themselves, I'm allowed to read the bedtime stories. It was a proud moment for me when I was allowed that status. We weave our own chains out of love. And Emma tells her Mom, 'I want Grandma Steve to tell me a story for bedtime.' The Storyteller. Magician. Wizard. So I got to tell her a story, the books set aside, for now. We had to pick out pajamas, of course. And then there's the brushing of the teeth. And then all the lights in the room go off, except the little light by the bed, which has small, cutout figures that spin about the bulb from the heat convection, and makes the walls dance with shadows and light. As I say, one of the things that makes it wonderful, is the ability to determine things. So I sit down beside her bed, and she grabs her covers and pulls them up, and tells me: I want a story with a witch, and a princess, and a fairy! And me and Nora are in it! Nora, of course, is her little sister. She's starting to realize that it's wonderful to have a little sister. I think she's starting to realize the potential of having an even younger, smaller princess who will have to do what she says. Love begins with ownership. We grow out of it, but what we first love is what is ours. Maturity grows from the knowledge that what we love also owns us. So I begin my story: Once Upon a Time... Yeah, it's hackneyed as hell. But she's four, and she recognizes the implicit promise of magic, handed down from years longer than she can even comprehend. Magic words. Later, when she gets older, it will become more complex. It will take the form of: 'Once in a time that isn't now, but was a good time'; or 'Once when there was still magic, and magic was still in the world', or whatever you come up with for 5 or 6 year olds. But for now, the words that are easy to grasp, and signal that wonders are about to begin... Once upon a time... Small Emma, and her little sister Nora, who were living in their cottage in the forest, decided to go and visit their friend... There must be a witch, and a princess, and a fairy. The simple parameters of wonder. And the little heroine says what they are. There's gotta be a witch, a princess and a fairy. And the fairy starts out as 'Fairy Lemon Blossom', but, after a quick, breathless interjection, we find should be named 'Fairy Lemony'. And the princess is 'Princess Twinny'. And the huge wolf 'whitefang', that jumps out upon the path in front of Emma and her sister Nora, is first met with wide-eyes, but is accepted with regal calm when it turns out that he is the friend of Princess Emma. And the second wonderful thing about being told a story, as opposed to being read a story, is that the story is interactive. When Emma frees Fairy Lemony and Princess Twinny from the dungeons of the wicked witch (and dungeons, I'l have you know, are all cold and 'greasy'. Which means that there's stuff all over the walls, dripping. And now, in the wake of the story, a certain small girl tells other people that dungeons are 'slimy', which means that there is stuff dripping from the walls...), it turns out that the heroines do not get away, but the witch traps them again. Which means new stratagems must be used, and even more allies called upon, and even baby sister Nora suddenly vaults to prominence as she climbs all the way up to the very top of the witch's tower, which is called 'the attic', to steal the magic key Because the wonder must not have an end. And the adventures must go on, and be ever more wonderful. And, oddly enough, it is also means it is not...quite...yet...bedtime. But every story has to have some sort of end, and when I wrapped up the story of how Emma and Nora rescued the Fairy and the Princess from the Wicked Witch, I got a big eyes, and a smile, and the acclaim: That was a really long story, Grandma Steve! Anyone from the Peng Challenge Thread could have told her that that was never in doubt. The appreciation, of course, was a little greater. And so, we come near the end of my story. But there's a humorous reprise. Today, the day after I told her the really good story, I went with her and her Mom and sister to run errands. It helps if you're trying to get a lot done to have another adult along. And when we got back to their house, her Mom wanted her and her sister to go down for a nap. No problem with Smaller Nora, who was brought in from the car, with great quiet, as limp as a sack of potatoes, and taken right off to her crib. But Emma had her favourite minion there. She wanted to play, but, if the truth be told, she was dead tired herself. So she was told that Grandma Steve could not play with her. And she hugged her Mom, and cried. Quietly, as befits a Princess. So, she was told: If you go up and get in bed to take a nap, Grandma Steve will tell you short story. And she said 'No, I want a long story!' And her Mom, who is quite loving, but knows that no one in this world gets her way simply by crying and demanding, told her 'Well, then no story, and Grandma Steve will go home'. And Emma told her 'I don't want that!' And her Mom told her 'How about a medium story?' And Small Emma, who is nothing if not shrewd, said immediately 'Yes!' And her Mom told her 'So you will go up, get in your bed for a nap, and Grandma Steve will tell a medium story?' And Emma told her 'Yes, that is good'. So she got set down (one can only cry quietly and with great disappointment when you are in Mom's arms; otherwise, it just looks like pouting), and she took my hand and we went upstairs to her room. And she jumped into her bed, and I arranged the chair beside it, and she said: Tell the same story, Grandma Steve. Tell the story of Emma and Nora and the witch, and the fairy and the princess. And I thought, Jesus Christ! Am I going to have to start paying attention to the stuff I make up?! But it was easier than I thought. I told her the story over again, and when Emma had to walk down the steps into the dungeon (the walls of which, this time, were covered with 'slime', and not 'greasy'), I walked my fingers down the blanket to show how they had to go down very far. And when I hit a certain part of the story, she suddenly stopped me and said: No, Grandma Steve, wait! Before that, Emma tells Nora that she has to hide behind the bush, and Nora says that she doesn't want to, that she is brave and will come with her sister to face the witch, but Emma reminds her that she was only allowed to come with if she promised that she would do what she was told, and she remembers her promise and agrees to hide behind the bush. I'll be goddamned. She had it exactly right, in the right place, and in almost the same words I used. I'd told her this story exactly once. There was no repetition to drive it home. I guess when you're pre-literate, you pay more attention to 'the words'. I guess when you're the heroine, you pay attention to the story. I guess when you're the captive of wonder, you capture it yourself. I now completely believe, as I always thought I'd believed before, that preliterate societies would hand down vast legacies of legend and storytelling through oral tradition. I've seen it. So I went back a line or two, and put in the right scene. And then Emma told me: Grandma Steve, this is a long story, so I want you to remember where you stop, so you can tell me the rest of it from where you stop next time. Because this is a kind of 'chapter story'. I think you should stop at the part where Nora climbs all the way up to the tower to steal the magic key, okay? And I told her, amazed at the fact that she remembered that she'd told her Mom that 'we would only do a medium story', that I would remember. And she told me: So, when you go home, and go to sleep, you remember where we stopped, and you tell me the rest of the story next time, please. And told her, I will, Emma Small Friend. And she hugged me, and she pulled up her covers, and she went to take a nap. I wouldn't mind winning a Pulitzer Prize for literature. But I can't imagine I'd feel any more sense of accomplishment. Of course, I'd have a lot better chance of debauching college women majoring in literature and creative writing. And the monetary sum would be much appreciated. But I'd just disappoint the former, and drink up the latter in a mean frenzy. Once Upon a Time isn't so bad...

I had a minion and his name was Boo I had a minion and his name was Boo I had a minion and his name was Boo I betcha five dollars he’s a good one, too Singin’ here, ol’ Boo, you good henchman, you! Ol’ Boo come when I blow my horn Ol’ Boo come when I blow my horn Boo come a’ runnin’ through the yella’ corn Boo come a’ runnin’ when I blow my horn Singin’ here, ol’ Boo, you good henchman, you! Hup two three four five six hey! Well I got a minion and ’is name is Boo, I betcha five dollars he’s a good henchman, too, Oh, oh, oooo, yow! Bow wow bow wow bow wow, ooooo, Here, Boo!!! Yeah, I can see the appeal of that music. It works on so many levels...

IQ, age, or the finger you pick your nose with? Lady Redneck </font>

Dirtbikes? There isn't a god in charge of dirtbikes. There isn't even a demi-god in charge of dirtbikes. There's not so much as a minor spirit in charge of dirtbikes. There may be a clown in charge of dirtbikes, somewhere.

See? He's in there pitching. Which must be a relief from his usual position. A lot more flexing at the knees, I imagine. The use of the word 'douchebag', however, was vulgar and stupid. We've got a lot of leeway, laddie, with the Powers That Are. But you need to keep two things in mind: 1) You don't. 2) With the right to indulge in irresponsibility comes great responsibility. Yes, the second is a paradox. Paradox is the basis of all human existence. You must never forget that your right of abuse, mockery and trash-talking can only be used for humour, and never in the service of evil. Also, the use of the word 'douchebag' is the domain of not especially intelligent teenagers and people who think calling someone's wife/girlfriend/mother a 'ho' is funny. It's dull. It's common. It says: I don't bother to wipe, that's what my underwear is for.

Oh, except Alcohol. We'll put old man Mace/Kangaroo in charge of alcohol.

Well, in response to all that, let me just say... Hmm...can't really manage a debate. I agree too thoroughly. Start over with the lot of the Peng Challenge Thread? Well, maybe the Ladies, but I can't see it with most of the rest. For one thing, most of them are aging, drunken, annoying swine. Not that there's anything wrong with that... I say, we start over with Small Emma, Smaller Nora, and your daughters. We put the stupid sods in the Peng Challenge Thread to work finding some boy children that, with proper counseling (and a fair amount of intimidation and terrorizing), will be found fit to serve them in the New World. That takes care of the real world. What to do with our little internet world? Not sure yet. More, anon. No problems with Odin, the Goddess thinks he's witty. As far as I can tell, the Mormons intend to breed and buy their way into world domination. I think, in the world that is to come, you should be put in charge of Truth and Beauty, and I of Hope and Justice. We'll let Berli be in charge of everything else.

Are you going to have a good cry now? </font>

BOO, BOO, WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME?! AH, THE PAIN, THE PAIN! BOO! I can see your house from here...