Seanachai

As all the gods are my witness, that's the longest sodding thing I've seen Berli post in...years. Maybe ever. Made me feel good to read it. Makes a man think. He's not really that different from you and I. He flays the skin off a man one leg at a time, just as you and I would. If we did that sort of thing.

THAT'S IT! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! EVERYONE STEP BACK FROM ME AN ABBOTT, AND LET THE CAGE MATCH PRO-CEED! You boys just leave him to me, and stop chimin' in, 'cause I don't want him claiming later that the front of his pants were wet from everyone spittin' on him, rather than because he'd pissed himself in shame and fear of facin' me! ABBOTT! Instead of postin' your eternal pictures of your automotive strap-ons, why don't you go put on your nicest, frilliest 'You Can Kiss the Redneck' grilling apron and make me a big breakfast of bacon, ham, scrambled eggs, american fries and toast? And while you're at it, why don't you stop hiding behind your greasy bill-cap, clutched in your hands in front of you like a copy of your lines from 'The Magnificent Seven', bobbing and bowing like some poor peasant farmer asking for help against 'the Peng Challenge Thread banditos' that are oppressing you, making you take their postings to your wife to show her how hard your life is, and shuffling your leather sandals in the dust before the Justicar saying 'Senor, they come to the place where we wash our trucks, and they steal from us our manhood!' DAMN! IT TAKES IT RIGHT OUT OF A MAN TO WRITE SENTENCES THAT COMPLICATED! Abbott, you pouty little big girl's blouse! Stop slapping your own face to raise a hand-print and bruise to display to everyone else to prove 'what a monster that Seanachai fella is'. I offer to lead you into the light and buy you a drink, and the next thing I know you're standing in front of the whole Thread with a torn shirt and tears on your face, hugging yourself and weeping about how 'the Liberals' had your pants around your ankles, attempting to hug you. You know less about my politics than you do about fornicating with sheep. Which is good, because it means that folk in the Western States can still eat lamb without fear of you having provided the gravy. Mostly, anyways.

And on that note, may I just say: you Canadian sods still aren't letting us bring potatoes in. Do you know how fecking ridiculous it is that I have to dump my 5 lb. bag of Idahos at the border, and then drive into Rainy River and go to the 'Beaver Market', and buy a 5 lb. bag of Idaho potatoes? What the hell kind of racket is Canada running under the guise of 'preventing the possible spread of potato fungi from America'? This is all about the Mad Cow quarantine of your nasty, infected beef, isn't it? And your freaking potatoes are 2-3 times as expensive as ours! And the Canadian dollar is strong! Scam artists. You're probably turning around and selling the potatoes we have to dump at the border back to us. I'm marking a bag and turning it over this year, then heading over to the 'Beaver Market' to look for the evidence...

This the one? </font>

Apparently you have completely forgotten Berli's home movies set to the tune of "Sympathy for the Devil".

Abbott, I am your father...

In a Thread dedicated to mockery, abuse and weirdness, I don't know whether to be gratified or concerned over your almost continual, unblinking clueless-ness. I suppose I could take pride in the fact that, almost without fail, I can tap in the code on the data pad that will make you squeal like a deeply offended piglet. But when the satire gapes as wide as this and you STILL get huffy, the only way I can take any satisfaction in it is by assuming that your post is a deeply thought out, measured, viciously ironical reply, and not the jock-scratching whinging of someone who seriously thought 'stand in the light' and 'I am your conscience' would be found within the perimeter of the Peng Challenge Thread as anything other than a Vader-esque 'Abbott, I am Your Father' type remark. So, I want to compliment you on your well-executed counter-attack. Because otherwise, I'm going to have to start posting with 'finger air quotes'. Or smilies. Different coloured type? A special font? Whatever. It's academic. Because you are a lean, mean satire machine. How 'bout that Christ, eh? Did you know even the moslems love him?! I figure him to take it all this millenium, and he's going to do it without doping. Not like some of those saviors. {hands extended out at eye-level, first two fingers doing the 'vicious attack squirrel' gesture, }

Spoiling for a fight? No, Abbott. It saddens me that you don't even know why we exchange posts. I'm your conscience, man. Normally I'm that voice inside your head that you want to ignore, that upsets you, that pisses you off. Your most aggressive posting on this Thread are replies to me. I simply manifest outside yourself. And in such a way as to maximize my impact in your own attempt to overcome your inherent unwillingness to be a good person. I do everything I can to make you a better person, because you want to be a better person. You post all this redneck, cracker idiocy on the Thread in a plaintive attempt to stand in the light. Your most arrogant, strident efforts to be some neo-fascist pain in the ass are merely a child's way of acting out, in hopes that someone will sternly and lovingly take you by the hand and show you the way back to being an unselfish and considerate human being, with beliefs and behavior that will erase your stupidity and bigotry, and make you happy with yourself. You're never going to admit that, of course. You're afraid that your desire for being a righteous person is a sign of weakness, and failure. You will struggle with it all your life. That's why the gods sent me to you. Because for idjits like you, redemption can only come after a solid ass-kicking. That's why I never get angry with you. Abbott. That's why when people want to banish your arse, I never concur. You really need me. And that's why I am there. One day, if you really listen to what I say, and take it to heart, all the barriers you've erected to being truly human will melt away. And you will arrive. You'll still be a useless feck, but at least a better class of people will accept the fact that you're an idiot.

Sean Hannity? Wasn't he the one at the Wannsee Conference who was worried about how the execution of the Final Solution would put too much strain on the rail system and the availability of transport for the military?

Pile five more like it one atop the other, and you've got the Dorosh Royale. Normally you can only read and enjoy it in Amsterdam when you're ripped right straight to the tits. Add a lot more personal invective and remove at least 50% of the informative content, and you've got me. Make the same post but add in two or three sentences about the relation of the whole matter to International Conspiracies, and you've got Kettler. Feck. I miss Emrys.

There is no denying the lack of logical syntax in my previous post. When it comes to Boo, such things are to be expected, as I never seem to rise above my material when he comprises said material. However, if you look again at my post, or any other I have ever made within the confines of this fine board, you will find that I in fact have no signature. Oh, Seanachai, the infallible, the ever-so-wise Bard. Before one waxes poetic ... </font>

stoat, your current signature makes you look like you failed your first two exams in English As a Second Language. Are we supposed to parse some sort of sense out of that verbal dump, or are you holding the original spokes-creature up to ridicule? If it's the latter, then properly attribute the remark, or we'll have to assume you type out your signature lines in between vomiting on your own pants.

Yeah, great. The Aussies are apparently compensating for their paranoiac concern that their genitals are too small by sucking up to our rednecks and demanding auto-erotic photographs of pickups that scream 'erectile dysfunction' to even the least suggestible of viewers. C'mon, Speedy. Enough is enough. There are plenty of websites out there for people who want to re-film 'Brokeback Mountain' in the back of a pickup truck. Whatsa matter, can't you just quit Abbott?

I just ate about a pound of asparagus. It's just like tubs o' slaw. Sorry, one tub per family. 'Oh, Lucy, our pee is gonna smell weird tonight! You no gonna be in the show!' Goodnight to you, Boo Radley, wherever you are. It's a strange thing, but Boo is from Ohio. What's that old line? But where would I be without my Radley, eh?

You haven't made sense since, well, ever. I got your pally-o Boo to send me a setup - what do I do now? Is he more afraid of me than I am of him? And before we go to the thing on Saturday night, want to come to the range with me and discharge firearms? </font>

Jesus to Jesus, and No One Reading Holy Texts Out of a Hat, Joe,but what are we to do? Goddamnit, man. I mean...how to put this? The Goddess has told me that if a Mormon is elected President, then the Pope, a former Wehrmacht Officer, will insist that Zionism be acknowledged by Christians worldwide as the clarion blast that trumpets in the resurrection of the Christ, and that a whole gang of Crackers will find some flavour of Islam to be the Sign of the Beast Arisen, and that Muslims worldwide will piss themselves trying to figure out how to balance their Spiritual Beliefs with the fact that their religion is easily as stupid as Christianity and Judaism combined, and that the majority of the planet's population would rather watch re-runs of 'Bay Watch' than make an intelligent political decision, but that it's all okay, because even though Jesus died of dysentery at a clinic that wouldn't treat the poor, Karl Rove and Dick Cheney have finally guaranteed that the Rich will never have to pay for their sins. James Joyce has nothin' on me, man. And I make more sense.

THAT'S IT, GODDAMN IT! SOMEONE BRING AN AUSTRALIAN HERE, AND BEAT THEM INTO PROPER ABJECTNESS! I want to stand on their head. It's always been a dream of mine. I want to sing 'Waltzing Matilda' while standing on the head of an Australian. Or maybe 'Tie Me Kangaroo Down'. Whatever. Hell, I'd be happy to sing 'Dancing Queen', if I could be standing on the head of an Australian while I did it. We're talking serious rending and crushing of the skull, here. It's not like I'm getting any lighter...

Isn't it about time we reenacted your crucifiction? </font>

Reports of my death were largely correct, but missed a bevy of extremely vulgar details that would have made them both more prurient and sensational. Personally, I feel that any report of my death that doesn't piss off both PETA and the NRA is a fecking slander, and Mitt Romney had better start tap-dancing for the Press now so that when reports of my death hit the tabloids he'll have a shot at a guest spot on 'Dancing With the Stars'. Because, and I hope you'll excuse the pun, I'm taking him down with me. Does anyone else think that the Campaign is beginning to tell on him, and he's beginning to look a little tedhaggard? SHAW, you whore! The Peng Challenge positioned you as we did so that you could exert some control over the gibbering get of the LDSs. In any case, I'm down, I'm landed, trailing clouds of glory, I come! My health has been...poor. My employment has been amply remunerative, but annoying. The weather and my health have not allowed for the Proper Amount of Paddling For the Season. Berli is being Transported. Soon I will sing a sad, ironical song about it. Australia will probably be mentioned, but he's not going there, which is too bad. It makes me feel good to see The Moriarity posting. I miss him. Of course, I miss myself. I now understand why people actually put the barrel in their mouths. But I'm not going there, no, no, no, not without Mitt! Stay tuned! While the rest of the Nation is puking on their shoes in shock, you'll have been reading about the late night orgies, the Meth, Rum and 'Cheese' sessions, and when they finally find my DNA on the Clown Suit in Mitt's Closet, you'll already have gone to church to beg God to hurry the Apocalypso. RAPTURE! THE RAPTURE IS COMING! THIS THREAD WILL BE UN-MANNED WHEN THE RAPTURE COMES!!

I, too, am Spartacus!

Oh, good. I'm almost sure that is what Goering claimed at the trials. But I am deeply reassured. Now, thereby hangs a tale. Or a 'tail', as it were. For there was this time, many years ago, when my friend Bob (Big Orange Sheep!), and I, amongst a cast of many, attended a friend's wedding in Columbus, Ohio. The wedding went off just beautifully. It was all very low budget, but quite nice. Bob, who made the mistake of bringing his guitar, had to play the 'processional', and the 'recessional'. He was told this the night before the wedding. You should have seen that bastard picking, practicing and drinking beer the night before, trying to get it right. He played 'She's in the Jailhouse, Now' as the recessional. And then, there was the reception. Also low-key. Drinks and a light meal at another hotel, where all the guests were staying. And then there was the 'Party in the Rooms After the Reception'. It was in mine and Bob's room. It was...immense. Drunkenness, debauchery, dancing, music. Twice I had to move a drunk, pretty, ex-gymnast woman from one bed to another. She ended up in my bed, of course. Her face was beautiful. I remember watching her sleep while my friend Bob and I talked all night. We'd taken acid at...I don't know. Midnight, perhaps. The Witching Hour? It was brutal. He wasn't a talker, I was. He was a good listener, and a Holy Goof. At 4 am the pretty, unconscious princess woke up, and wondered where she was. I was sitting perched on the edge of the bed like some kind of wired vulture. She reared up, befuddled, looked at the bed, and me, and said 'what did I do?' Bob (Big Orange Sheep!), laughed, and told her: You passed out. We called her roommate, and she came and picked her up. We saw her to the door. She was pretty, and bemused. We talked for another hour, then tried to sleep. When we woke up in the morning, he had to drive from Columbus to Columbia, Missouri, and I had to be driven to Chicago. We were, to quote the tome, 'wielding death dealing hang-overs'. With a difference. We were both still kind of...sort of...tripping. I got out of my bed first, and looked at the room. There were emtpy beers, wine bottles, glasses, garbage...EVERYWHERE. It was a nightmare of debauchery. I remember getting up, and grabbing an empty bottle, and wandering around for several minutes, feeling like seven kinds of ****e, trying to figure out what to do with it. I finally dropped it into an empty box on the floor. Then I picked up another empty bottle. Bob (Big Orange Sheep!) asked me what I was doing. I told him: "I'm trying to clean up. We have to clean up." He looked at me with eyes like pissholes into hell, and said "Don't be insane. We can never get this cleaned-up". We pulled all our cash, about $35, and left it on the wardrobe with a note of apology. We ended up, hung-over, and still tripping, in the lobby of the hotel, waiting for our friends to deal with paying for the rooms. We looked horrible. All our friends said so. And as we sat there, slouched low in strange, comfy chairs, we had to cope with the fact that the hotel was, that morning, hosting a 'little girl beauty pageant'. So, while we sat there, looking like winos ****ted out by Cerberus, there were phalanxes of little girls, ages 6 to 12, practicing their walk and preparing in formal dresses, under the eye of their parents, in the lobby of the hotel. And as we sat there, hoping for death, Bob (Big Orange Sheep!) said to me: "I hate this. In a moment, singing mice are going to show up to work on their dresses..." And I freaking hated the fact that he said that. Because, after he did, I could see them. And I could hear the damn song. You pay for everything. Now, or later. Goddamn singing mice...

Nor even the initial post that spawned the advice ... can I say spawned here? Joe </font>

What's that old line from 'A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum'? Ah, yes: "But you'll never learn! You'll be a eunuch all your life!"

I'm not worried Mace you wouldn't have the balls to swing it...unless of course Bugged told you too! </font>

Good God, man! Your pants are wet right down both inseams to the ankles! Go empty out your shoes, take a shower, throw everything you had on when you posted into the trash, and learn to drink like a man before you post here again. Oh, and take a hose to your shoes. Fecking children.