Seanachai

You, Welsh fella. Don't be going on about the Irish in any way. Also, only a fecking halfwit descends to the idiocy of 'OMG'. Seriously.

Stuka's our 'Special Child'. You know, the one that orders 6 drinks before dinner, and orders off the 'kid's menu', peering up at the waitress with bleary eyes, saying "I like chicken strips and fries!" before ordering another 6 cocktails while trying to grab the waitress's arse.

Ah, the hours spent watching ants! The glory of watching the Twelve Spotted Skimmer dragonfly twist and hover around my kayak on Brownie Lake! I could go on. But why bother with someone who's chosen a screen name like yours?

Ahem. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE. But especially to Nidan, Stuka and some other people of lesser worth. Our own beloved Boo Radley will not be in a position to send turns for a short while. This is because his... let me see, what did I write down? Ah, yes! It is because 'His phone line is currently out, and, moreover, he will not have access to an internet capable computer until at least Tuesday'. Aha! Yes. His phone line is out, which is, of course, nothing like being arrested and held in jail without internet access. He asks that his opponents be patient, and that he will be sending turns shortly. I believe the lawyer and the bail bondsman told me that his phone line should be restored by Thursday. Until then, our hopes and prayers are with Boo and his family in this extremely trying period of - that is to say, this upsetting period of no internet access. May the gods have mercy on his soul. Carry on.

And, cue up the Rhino, romping in a field of green grass, and then we go to Boo Radley, saying... What? What the f*ck is an 'Asmodeus'? I am NOT here for you people to piss on your own hands, and then do a spasmodic thing with urine spraying in all directions, while you shout 'Look! I'm making a rainbow to attract the attention of an Old One!'. Boo, you invoked me. You used my name. Unless you can explain to me in terms both lyrical, cogent, and subservient, WHY you used my goddamn name, I'm going to rip your f*cking tongue right out of your mouth.

So, the current incarnation of the MBT is simply 'Peng Challenge'? What the f*ck?! Who started this cluster f*ck? 'Peng Challenge'? That's IT? Someone's getting the stick...

Is that Geier? Someone help me sit up, so I can cast my fading vision on his face... GEIER, YOU FECK, WHERE YOU BEEN?! Okay, let me back down. Man, I spent the last month thinking that staring at my cracked and peeling ceiling was bad. I feel as light as a feather. I rise up, I rise up...

Meant in good humour, taken in less. There are other hands I trust less, but no hands I trust at all. There are times when it has come to this, and times when this was necessary, but there is no time when it was welcome. So, Joe, I congratulate you on your elevation.

The day that I stop thinking about you, Michael, is the day that I'll have died. Let me assure you.

I'm going to take 'Fat and Stupid' for points, Noba. But I'll match it with 'Showing up and caring as an Old One of the Peng Challenge Thread' to win. It occurs to me, Noba, that I haven't told you that I love you, lately. C'mere and gie us a hug, you big Aussie bastard! Imagine my arms slapping you on the back, and my ancient, grizzled cheek rubbing against yours, not to mention my belly bumping up against yours. Now, tell me something about your life, a true thing, something you wouldn't otherwise share with these fools. And I'll tell you something, too.

I see that f*cking donkey is still making rhyme. I am happy. Although, if I ever meet him face to face, he's going to get a kicking. Maybe a hug. Dunno. Would actually like to meet him face to face, so I'll know. But he won't. Not until it happens.

It is a terrible, terrible thing to grow old, and be fat, and broken down. Of course, it is an even more terrible thing to not grow old. I am happy to be here, and tell all you stupid young people that the worst has not yet happened.

Persephone: I am your Seanachai, and you are one of the Ladies of the 'Pool. I know that you now go by your 'maiden name' of Patchy, but I knew you first when you were married, and that is how I think of you still. I tell you the stories of my Small Friends, although nowadays I do it more through the 'Notes' area of my Facebook page. Dalem assures me that this month (or maybe the next; Dalem is drunk a lot), he will help me set up my own blog. And there, I shall solemnly chronicle my 'Tales of Small Friends', which Joe Shaw has forbidden me, here. He has long hated my Small Friends. He's had his own children, and he despises those of us who weep a bit, and reach after some measure of happiness, knowing that we will vanish into the Great Darkness, leaving no name behind us. Shaw is a cruel man. He spits upon my 'Tales of Small Friends'. He mocks, and derides me. When I post my Tales here, he belittles me, and makes everything I write about them seem small, and useless. But I know that he only does so, because he finds no value in my stories. I can only ask him to forgive me for boring everyone with my 'Tales of Small Friends'. I'm only an Old One of the Peng Challenge Thread. I ask his pardon for being an old, sad man, who hasn't had children of his own, like Shaw has. I know that my 'stories' bore and annoy him. I've not posted here, for a long time, because Joe has taken my posts amiss, and doesn't want me to maunder on endlessly about those brief moments of happiness I've known by talking about two small girls, who've made an old drunkard look up, bleary eyed, and smile, again. Joe, I'm sorry for the stories of my Small Friends that I've posted. I know how they bore and annoy you. It's made me want to avoid posting here, for a long time. For the longest time, they were all I had. No call-backs, no interviews, no job. Couldn't play Shock Force, because my hardware couldn't handle the game. In the last year and a half of increasing despair, sometimes I descended to posting my 'Tales of Small Friends'. But you always did the right thing by telling me how stupid, boring, and inappropriate they were. It must have been good to have kids. Like you did. Grandkids now, right? Must be nice.

I told you that if you ever said that in front of me again, there would be consequences. DID YOU THINK I WAS JOKING, GODDAMNIT?! I am filled with rage. I can barely type. You have posted... I cannot type it. Things that should never have been raised again. You shall rot in hell, assuredly. Oh, and if I haven't previously brought it up, I'm going to be kayaking the Everglades again in two weeks. So, there is yet another chance to chime in on my being attacked, brutalized and/or eaten by a vast array of reptiles, mammals, fish, sharks, rays and birds. Someone should take book on it. I can't, for the obvious reason of 'conflict of interest'. I mean, if I knew which way the bets were going, I could actually get out of the kayak and feck around with an alligator, in order to influence the outcome. And why would I do that, you ask, knowing that I might die? Simple. I'd place bets in the name of my Small Friends. I'd love them to win a pot of cash, especially if it came from you lot of tossers. Two Weeks. And then I'm back in the Everglades. Hating you all. And Boo. I ask you again, to never bring up...well, you know.

SEA HUNT! And then he mercifully passed out...

Only you would boast about holding a village with the SS...

Gamera loves all the little children of the world!

If I wasn't drunk, all this would mean so much more to me. As regards the whole 'Where should we be now', thing. Bloody Awesome Solstice, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Years to you all. I'm going back to Florida at the end of January, to kayak the Everglades again. Yet another chance to be savaged by the wildlife and/or local populace. Be in later to take the bets.

Russian water spirits will sing sad songs over your drowned self. Effervescent pixies will keen to a breakfast of bran flakes and bodhrans. It's not the size of the swamp, it's the girth of the alligators... Crap. Fecking metric system. One...more...droplet... Ah. There we go. I'm back. However temporarily. As of the New Year, I hope to be rounded up and marched over to my own Blog. Perhaps by Boers. Or Jack Russell Terriers. This dosage is all for ****e. Look, I'm sorry I knocked you down. My family are very aggressive huggers. You could have braced yourself. You didn't even have a glass in your hands. Damn. I don't care if it IS your cat. It will be lead into the light. With extreme prejudice. Just like Judas!

From Facebook, with time-stamps: You know, when you think it's very late at night, but it's actually very early in the morning, and you're goofing around, trying to write a story, and you look up at the TV, which has been on mute for several hours, and say: Hey! That's 'Sea Hunt'! I used to watch that when I was a kid! Well, lads and lassies, it's probably time to go to bed... (54 minutes ago) Lloyd Bridges! Ohmigod! Now it's 'The Patty Duke Show'! Errr... what's in these cigars? (51 minutes ago) Meet Cathy, who's lived most everywhere, From Zanzibar to Barclay Square. But Patty's only seen the sights A girl can see from Brooklyn Heights — What a crazy pair! But they're cousins, Identical cousins all the way. One pair of matching bookends, Different as night and day. Where Cathy adores a minuet, The Ballet Russes, and crepe suzette, Our Patty loves to rock and roll, A hot dog makes her lose control — What a wild duet! Still, they're cousins, Identical cousins and you'll find, They laugh alike, they walk alike, At times they even talk alike — You can lose your mind, When cousins are two of a kind. (44 minutes ago) Oh, man... that Cathy... that cute little limey accent... she was SO hot! Patty was a bit vulgar, but was still oddly attractive. (41 minutes ago) Okay, I'm pretty sure I'm having some kind of flashback... (26 minutes ago) Now it's 'Mr. Ed'. I have to find out which lot of cigars I last bought from Cigars International... AH! THE COLORS! AND IT'S ALL IN BLACK AND WHITE! (25 minutes ago) THE FREAKING TALKING HORSE WON'T MARCH IN A 'CUSTER DAY' PARADE, BECAUSE HE THINKS HE'S AN 'INDIAN HORSE'! Man, I am SO going to buy these cigars again... (20 minutes ago) Okay, now it's just gone all weird and stuff. You know how something cute and funny can turn on you if you're not concentrating, and haven't done enough Vitamin C lately? Turns out the talking horse has to carry a parrot in the upcoming 'Custer Day' parade, because the parrot's ancestor belonged to Custer. And the parrot keeps saying things like 'Kill the Indians', and 'Circle the Wagons'. I'm pretty sure I never did enough of ANYTHING for this to make sense. The only thing keeping me from running out screaming into the darkness right now is the fact that it's 0 degrees outside... I would call someone, right now, and make them talk to me, but I'm not a cruel man. Sod the 'Call of Cthulu'. The most horrifying thing I've dealt with in ages is the current episode of 'Mr. Ed'... (8 minutes ago) THE HORSE HAS COVERED HIMSELF WITH GREEN SPOTS! THE HORSE HAS COVERED HIMSELF WITH GREEN SPOTS?! HOW DOES A HOOVED ANIMAL COVER HIMSELF WITH GREEN POLKA DOTS?!! AND IT'S STILL ALL IN BLACK AND WHITE!! AAIIIEEEE! (4 minutes ago) Alright, then. I'm going to finish my cigar, and then I'm going to go to my bed, and rock myself to sleep, while whimpering: the talking horse, the talking horse! Man. Childhood isn't a place you want to revisit unless you're COMPLETELY straight and have always been COMPLETELY straight. But a lot has been explained. Feck. No WONDER my 20s were like they were. It was just something waiting to leap out on me, and consume me...

As of now, I will be returning to the Everglades for kayaking day-trips in late January. Another glorious week spent on the gulf coast of the State where Jeb Bush used to eat live puppies, after unhinging his lower jaw and slowly flowing around them.

Sod you and the giant meteors. I hope you're still alive and with us when the damn giant meteors hit, just so we can all turn around and say 'This is all Michael's fault' And I did go on, however briefly, about the waffles. Waffles are almost endlessly amusing. When we get right down to it, Michael, I have spent freaking years of my life trying to entertain you lot, and the most I have to show for it is an occasional nod and a 'That'll do, idjit. That'll do.' Hell, my freaking Father thought I was more amusing, and I irritated the sh*te out of him, and getting a smile out of him was like doing Yiddish stand-up for Hitler. Feck. 'I'm here to be amused...' ancient old bastard.

What is the Number One Threat to America? Americans. On the Left, and on the Right. In the Middle. The Extremists, and the Moderates. America can only be destroyed by Americans. Because the Fate of America is only, ever, in the hands of Americans. It is not in the hands of God, Yaweh, Allah. It is not in the hands of Political Parties. It is simply, and very complexly, in the hands of its citizens. It is too important to be left to the actions of ideologues, and bigots. Too important to leave to the smug complacency and angry demands of either Party. If we don't make things work, we're just going to be Europe. But without all the history and castles and stuff. We're going to be like...Australia. Without the beer. Well, yeah, beer and stuff. We're still going to have beer. Thank Christ the whole 'Micro-brewery' thing took off. We've still got beer. Not in Texas, of course. There is no beer in Texas. Do you know what I want right now? WAFFLES! WHERE ARE MY GODDAMN WAFFLES?!

Ah, and now it's later. Which means it is now time to shout: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EMRYS! Horseman of the Apocalypso! Hail! What, aren't you like over a 1,000 years old, now? Tell me again that story you told to Gilgamesh about that week you spent with Shamat!

Seanachai begins to lay the twigs of the ceremonial fire in the proper pattern. He adds the precise amounts of sulfur, tobacco, goat hair and, for some reason, dried beets, and then applies a match to a twist of paper made from an old page torn from an ASL Manual*, and sets the fire alight. As the flames lick up, he stands, arms raised up, and atones: PRINCE OF EVIL! HEAR ME! Happy Birthday, Berli, you sodden feck. Another year, and you're startin' to look all hideous and creepifyin'. And so, the seasons turn, the rituals are performed, demons are propitiated, yadda-yadda-yadda. Someone cue the Justicar. Let's have a little of that 'Old Time Derision', on which we have built this House of Fools. Of course now, it is more like a Cathedral. *'Yeah, sorry, Dalem, I tore it out of one of the manuals in your basement bathroom...'