Seanachai

It's like God came down and gave him pixie wings. When did Dorosh start sounding like a freaking Care Bear? I USED TO HAVE TO CLEAN-UP AND LAY DOWN THE FUR AFTER THIS BASTARD POSTED! She asked about you. Says you used to tip huge, and all you ever wanted was for her to wear some German uniform with the uniform blouse un-buttoned to the waist, and read books about the SS out loud. She says you were very sweet. Says you once sewed her an entire dress. She compared you to the 'Singing Mice' in Cinderella. You hideous little Canadian swine. I piss on you from a considerable height.

Of course, your actual UNDERSTANDING of anything is so fecked up that your JUDGEMENT could have you killing a family of four with a shotgun because they arrived at your home for Trick-or-Treat wearing zombie costumes. Really, really obvious zombie costumes. In other words, Abbott, you gotta get right with and get over using this 'I'll shiv your ass in the yard, bitch!' pseudo-prison Aryan Nation 'I've watched every episode of Oz' grinning cracker stupidity. I mean, I've been reading your posts for months now...months and months....and I won't get a single goddamn moment of that time back, I might add, nor will I be able to trade them in for valuable prizes like a six month supply of pork rinds, or a cart full of merchandise at 'Big Al's House of Auto Parts' (Every part certified to come from Ohio, that's why there's no serial numbers!). So I know you're not some unzipped-fly, crab-riddled, crotch-scratching halfwit who thinks it's only bad to have sex with near relatives if you don't use a condom ('cause of that trouble where the government men took off cousin Shirl's and uncle Bill's kid because they never read about how Egyptan royalty used to interbreed to keep the blood pure...). And that's how I know that you're not so feck-witted that you didn't understand the joke that Boo was talking about, and that he and his wife, who is a goddamn angel, were sharing. That's how I know that you weren't so completely lacking in the most rudimentary ****ing intelligence as to not understand that Boo was sharing with us all a story about something amusing that his wife did that so bemused him that it took even him a while to realize how funny it was. Because I know, Abbott, that only a stupid, wife-beating asshole would fail to understand the fact that his wife had just enacted the Peng Challenge on an outsider. You see, that's the other way I know you're just playing us a game here, eh? Because only someone too goddamn stupid to look up from his grip on his penis wouldn't understand that the Rose was having a joke at the expense of the salesman. I think you need to work with some dictionaries and jump your thoughts through some hoops before your brain's got enough agility and muscle to come to grips with the word 'respect', bucky. Ah, at last! A rather limp attempt at a Peng Challenge moment. Sorry, none of us here are after fetching more liquid to a man who's already had so much that he's pissed his pants publicly and hasn't the sense to go change 'em.

Tales of Small Emma: It Does Us All Good... So, last night, I was all in my 'work clothes'. And I showed up at Emma's house. But she's learned a thing or two, and she knows what is what. So, when I showed up, she told me 'Hello, Grandma Steve! I think you should change into your play clothes! And then you should talk to Mommy, and rest a while. Because you have been working.' "And then we will play!" And we do play. She is the best little girl in all the World. Every other week, I suffer from the gout, or the diverticulosis, or some other fecking malady. I will die, soon. She's very humorous, my Small Friend. She loves me immensely. She tells me: Grandma Steve, you are my friend! When the panic of Nothingness hits me, I remember that I am her friend. And then it's not so bad. Well, except that bit where i wonder about what Boo is doing to glorify my name. Boo, it's not like I'm not right here, you fecking idiot!

*gasp* Well, that's the last time I invite him to one of my parties! </font>

Very strange. I'm listening to the new Chris Smither album, and he's right, in an odd way. You can do 'Visions of Johanna' in waltz time. And it's not too bad.

I owed Persephone a complete Small Emma story. So I got back to it, as it were. [ May 06, 2007, 10:04 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Cain and Able, Over and Out So, my Small Friend Emma has entered that level of emotional development that will qualify her to deal with Religion. The other day, her Mom, Jen, told me that Dad was sitting out on the sun porch with Small Emma and Tiny Nora, and while working on his computer, he looked up and noticed that Emma had draped a blanket over her sister, Nora. He told her, 'Emma, don't put that blanket on your sister. It could smother her.' And my Small Friend, 3 foot high and looking like a Fairy Princess, said: 'If she couldn't breathe, Daddy, would she die?' Now mind, this was her first foray into the whole concept of 'would she die'. She doesn't understand death at this point any more than she understands the fact that Grandma Steve won't overrule her Mom. And the Dad of Small Emma said: Well, Emma, if it was over her for a long time, and interfered with her breathing, yes, she could die. And Small Emma said: 'I want Nora to die.' And her Dad, not freaking out (which is pretty incredible, frankly), said: Emma, why would you want Nora to die? And she told him: Because then you and Mommy would play with me more. Welcome to the Selfishness of Love. How can the mind encompass it? How can anyone understand the horror of watching a child, at play, tossing a blanket over the head of her sibling, hoping to eradicate her from the Universe so that Mommy and Daddy would spend more time with her? How can anyone do anything more than laugh? How goddamn silly and childish! And how many souls have been taken off because some needy soul, of whatever age, wanted everyone else to pay more attention to them? It's easy for me, of course. I've reached an age where I no longer want a woman to only acknowledge me, and no one else. If I want the world to pay attention to me, I can always act up on the Peng Challenge Thread. And when a small, imperious Princess needs her minion to acknowledge her, all I have to do is go 'Caw, Caw, My Queen!' But I think, when I think about anything, that love is only dangerous when it is childish. I think that part of growing up is telling other people not to kill each other. Especially people you love.

The fisherman, then, is a metaphor for the unrelenting necessity of laboring for our daily bread? He knows only fishing, that is all he does day in and day out but do it he must if he is to survive. The pain is the pain of drudgery and, to carry the metaphor a bit further, the occassional sharp prick of a mislaid hook. He is a fisherman, a simple fisherman as any can see at a moment. He knows not why he fishes, he only knows that he IS a fisherman and therefore, he must fish. To expect more of him is to expect that he will forego what he IS in favor of what he might BECOME and, as he clearly states, he IS a fisherman and no doubt that is what he will remain. Is that about it? Joe </font>

Well, fairly said, but insane. DO YOU LIVE INSIDE MY HEAD?! I thought not. I'm a bastard. See if I'm not.

What a shower of idiots. But there are names here I know, and acknowledge. Bloody fools. I feel like a man moving from room to room in a pigsty, shining a light over filth, and nodding sagely. 'Ah, yes. I remember this. Took me weeks to get it off my shoes.' Waves to Axe, Mike the Wino, and other iditos...

They post, and they post, Boo. They post like self-complascent ****sticks. History is one thing. Posting about 'the Germans', or about 'The Allies', that's one thing. But children are dying, and they're posting like people posting on a 'Classic Car' forum. I hate the bastards. I hate their detached, 'isn't this cool' discussions. I hate the ****ing cocksuckers who are discussing the current death of children as though God has weighed in on the side of engineering. You can ban the discussion of politics, but you cannot ignore the fact that you're still dealing with human lives. Everything about this 'Syrian Conflict' game concept is giving me the Red Ass. I think Battlefront has gone the wrong ****ing direction. I think the worst thing they could do is cast a conflict in terms of Current Affairs, rather than History. Because children die. **** that. All these assholes nattering on about Strykers and Syrian Irregulars...They are not engaging my interest. Increasingly, the Battlefront Forum is starting to sound like the Military equivalent of a Pedophile Website. They're catering to the worst about us, rather than reaching out to our understanding of Human conflict. I haven't responded, oh Boo, because I don't know how long I'll be here, or how long I'll be allowed to be here. You're a bloody great guy. I'm a fool. May I just say that, whatever happens, you've been the very worst goddamn henchman an Evil Lord could hope for? I mean, you've contradicted me at every turn, given me ****e, and never, ever agreed to do my bidding. And that's what someone who isn't a complete fecking asshole looks for in a henchman. QUESTION EVERYTHING! ADMIT NOTHING! DEMAND AN ACCOUNTING! Bah! I've done my usual Gnomish thing on the Straight Forum. I can't imagine I'll be allowed here much longer.

Well, as we know, there's No Politics Here. Feck that. Buggered, Banned, Removed, Sent Elsehwere. Gone. No, we're all about that intense moment of analysis. That moment when it all comes into focus. That moment when we can leave guilt behind, and leave behind every dead child. But, you know, they're always there. Small vacant eyes staring up at the stars, dead. So, I'd like to start up this weirdest of all threads. I'd like to start up the 'Dead Child' thread. I'd like to make it the point of everyone who posts here to post something about the children who've died. It's not so hard, eh? They're there ever day. And while we are busy about equipment, and war, and fighting, and politics, and fighting, and gaming... Every day children die. So I give you this space. A space where children die. They die every day. If you have to compete about right and wrong, you can compete here. About children dying. Oh, man. The whole political forum was banned long ago. Thank the gods. But you know... Everyone who posts here... Sometimes, children die...

Well, not for bloody long they won't be waiting. Putting aside that he left them near the coral reef (yes, I know OUT PAST the coral reef, but JUST out past and we all know about tides) where they'd be shredded in a moment, what of sharks and barracuda attracted by the bulging nets of helpless prey? Not to mention the Cornelius Marie ... you can't trust them not to grab another's catch, I've seen it happen too many times. Joe </font>

Please, have a seat I'm sorry I'm late I know how long, You've had to wait I did not forget Your documents No time to waste Why not begin? Here's how it works, I've got these faces You give them name, and I won't deport you

"And how full the nets came in, we hauled them up by hand But when we fled, I left them just out past the coral reef They're waiting there for me, running deep...

Shaw you feck. I will not relent until you acknowledge my pain...

Senor, as you know, I was a fisherman...

I still cannot send email. Only MSN knows what that is about. All attempts to negotiate have failed.

Been reading your posts on the GF, Lars. You've been posting all about Immigrants. You've been posting like a right ****-stick. You know, my ancestors met your ancestors. They told me your lot were a bunch of tossers.

What, are you still kneeling in adoration, and loving it? Are you still a little boy with his hands in his pants, wondering about why your touch fills you with pleasure and guilt? GUILT IS WHAT HAPPENS TO THE FOOLISH, AND JUSTICE IS WHAT HAPPENS TO THE JUST. ARE YOU GOING TO RAISE YOUR DAUGHTERS TO BE OUR SUCCESSORS, OR ARE YOU GOING RAISE THEM TO BE THE MEAT OF RAPISTS? I'm the one that says to you, "So, Who in this line-up of ****-sticks wouldn't sign a Document promising that their Sons would not be stupid, would not be moved by anger, would not rape?' Because I've become all over this level of responsibility.

She is growing older, now, you know, and she is becoming clever, devious, and weirder without innocence. As anyone who truly understands me knows, I am all about Weirdness with Innocence. But as the entire course of my life has shown, I have been Weird With Malice Afore-thought, And Weirdness Unrepentant, and Weirdness Without Benefit of Clergy, and So Fecking Weird As to Constitute a Disturbance of the Peace. Often, my Weirdness comes from longing for "Weirdness" to be a Holiday destination that anyone could achieve if they thought about it a bit, and were willing to ignore the fact that their own life humiliated them. I think that what I truly appreciate about Weirdness With Innocence is that it is done with Natural Courage. I have been weird all my life, and yet all too seldom as an act of Natural Courage. I've indulged in Weirdness as though it were a Right of Passage. I've engaged in Weirdness at the going rate per gram/milligram/microgram, and liter. I was brought up to be very, very normal. I was destined to be the 'Heir to the Fortune'. I had the best Mom and Dad ever, in MInnesota. Pity Dad was a drunkard, and a pain in the arse. Jesus! Could even a fecking drunkard think that the endless badgering, abuse and assholery about 'what are you going to do with your life?' amount to a legacy? I've come to prefer 'Weirdness'. So, no children for me, eh? But do you know, I have this Small Friend, Emma? And her Small Sister, Tiny Nora? I could tell you stories... And I will. That's what I do. I tell 'stories'. I tell you the Story I've lived. I'll tell you the stories I've learned. I tell you the stories I've come to know.

You know... What about a jolly singsong? There’s a two-lane county road in northern Jersey Winding up a hill beside a lake Just before the road winds to an end Is Hazel’s house Long white picket fence around the front yard A wagon wheel someone made into a gate Flagstone steps will lead you to the front door Of Hazel’s house And Hazel will will have seen you from the window She’s waiting for you as you climb the steps She says, “Thank God, we were starting to get worried. Come on in.” It’s New Year’s and the place is overflowing Cousins, aunts and uncles gather round “How long has it been? It’s good to see you. How you’ve grown.” And the uncles all have one eye on the Rose Bowl One by one they slink back to the den Everybody else heads for the kitchen You go with them She always has the crumbcake at the ready Today is no exception - there it is The order of the universe intact At Hazel’s house And no one seems to know that this is heaven They say we only know it by and by That someday all will be revealed Well, here it is: There’s a two-lane county road in northern Jersey Winding up a hill beside a lake Just before the road winds to an end Is Hazel’s house... -Richard Shindell

You couldn't find your way left if your crimes demanded it. And they do. Send Boo some whisky, you feck. I'll pay. </font>

Joe Shaw! Boo! Am I an Old One of the Peng Challenge Thread, or not? I am moved to wonder. I am a fool, a drunkard, and a mean-spirited bastard. On the basis of the evidence, I should be standing on shifting sand, hammering fecking idjits to death with a big hammer... Or something like that... What I want to know is... Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Peng Challenge Party?

You couldn't find your way left if your crimes demanded it. And they do. Send Boo some whisky, you feck. I'll pay.