Seanachai

A terrible thing? You were lucky you escaped with your life, you Limey bastard. Hush. Our man Hiram is beyond your mockery. He's never been good at the Rules, but he's been the very definition of the Unique Approach. Fecking Hiram Sedai opened the door for the whole lot of you who couldn't string one singing insult atop another, but could attempt to distinguish yourself, like a goddamn puppy pissing the rug in a particularly interesting and endearing way. There's a whole fecking raft of you sods that owe your participation here to the ground-breaking idiocy of Hiram Sedai. Send him some beer, or something.

It's a bloody pity, too, because it makes me damn glad to see Hiram back. Normally I would never take the start of the Thread away from him, as he is an Entity of the Highest Standing. But I didn't see his startup, and I was moved by circumstances to stand up and sing. sweeps hat at knees, while sweeping cloak back with shifting his rapier Welcome back, Hiram. Forgive me, my Squire, for pre-empting your Thread start-up!

Damn. I feel bad about the fact that I've attempted to super-cede this incarnation. I didn't set out to do so. But I'm a shameless whore. Hiram! Surrender your hockey hair, and post in my Thread!

Rules, rules, always some sort of rules. Jack-in, tune-in, turn-on. There are Monsters in the Machine. I am one. Berli is another. Peng abides. The Justicar will tell you he knows every shameful thing you've ever done since you were still cruising for porn on the web by typing 'mermaid' into various Search Engines. He's not lying to you. You post here by Our Will. Embrace the delusion of Freedom of Speech, Free Will, A Free Hot Lunch. Feel free to scorn, mock and belittle us. It's the sine qua non of this Thread. But the fact that you do so buys you nothing. Only ability buys you anything. So scorn, mock and belittle as though you're not a fecking halfwit. We appreciate literary references, the proper mot juste, and the inclusion of the jolly sing-song. Just like every woman you've ever approached, no one here gives a rat's arse about the tentative descent of your manhood, it's putative size, or the fact that on a good day grass stems waving in the wind would be more impressive. You shall post in your fecking profile a relative place of existence. Points for how precise you narrow it down. We like to hate with precision. You will post an email address. Joe will tell you this is because it's necessary for someone to Challenge you. That's crap. If you haven't got enough hair to risk putting them out there for a good kicking, we don't give a ****e about you. We're the longest running group of nutjobs on the entire Forum, bar none. Our email addresses are all hung out there like sodding Christmas ornaments. If you won't post yours, get fecking stuffed. I won't talk to some anonymous bugger, and I won't permit anyone else here to do so. If you're a woman, then you are automatically a Lady of the 'Pool. Contact me or the Justicar about a desire to post and concern over the posting of an email address. All men are pigs. But as a Lady of the 'Pool, you have perks, privileges and a reasonable expectation of protection from the fact that men are pigs. Now, get your sorry, useless, pale and benighted arses out there, and make me actually pay attention. You ****es.

And the result was the same. A huge amount of champagne was wasted on an unworthy vessel, and your manly bits were quietly and emptily swirled about by a stream of hot, chlorinated water. And you lay there grinning like a huge, pumpkin-headed figure from a Scandinavian fairy tale. We could call it: The Tale of the Snow Maidens and the Drunken Troll in the Hot Spring. Except that that all implies a certain Disney-esque tone to the evening, and ignores the fact that you're the Squarehead equivalent of a Folk character that humps your leg just before projectile vomiting down the cleavage of the Fairy Princess.

It was MrSpkr, you drunken feck!

Was it under the bridge by your pile of empty bottles of Boone's Farm Strawberry? Steve </font>

That's true. And, when necessary, I ban myself. That shows that I have character, even if I'm a vulgar swine. Tough to call. Sometimes he's stupid, sometimes he's just clueless, and sometimes he's rabble-rousing for the sheer hell of it. That's true. As far as I can tell, Bugged is probably smarter than I am. And I make most of you lot look like Bobo the Simple-minded... About that, Michael...some of the lads would appreciate it if you were, uh, a little less 'supportive'? Or at least, loosen your grip a little. Oh, and by the by, I'm sitting in a bar in Northern Minnesota right now drinking a Labatt's with my nephews. They both have very nice laptop's with a wireless connection.

Oh, the mouth! No wonder that young woman never called me back...

l drank 16oz. of single malt once in the late 90s, and I remembered where I left my car in 1983. When I got back to it, there was ticket on it.

Ah, the Holidays. When things explode in a short, sharp shower of ****e, eh? I go away for a day or two, and there's that magical moment when someone decides to go 'Tower Killer' and piss out a river anger. What should one do? Should everyone try to ignore the personal melt-down, grinning through the 'Holy ****! Did you see that?!' phase, while shuffling, grinning and bobbing through the Damage Control phase? I say: NO! We're talking First Responder here. You stupid bastards know who you are. If no Olde One appears (and that's likely, on a Holiday like Christmas. where Berli is at the local Mall, dressed as Santa, handing out presents), then it devolves unto the Justicar, and then goddamn Boo Radley/b], and then I want the fecking Chinese Fire Drill to end, and by the Rules of the Peng Challenge Thread, we shouldn't have to have BFC show up to call us a bunch of goddamn pussies and rein in a rogue poster. Not that it isn't a delight, But here, my sons, is the thing. Every time that BFC scores on us, they get a point. And every time BFC wonders about the fact that they've checked their Highly Competent Records and have come up empty in terms of their participation in the Neo-Con Conspiracy,

Stop that. In one of the few occurrences in this geological age, you were correct. The use of the 'serious/not serious UBB' pseudo-encodings is an affront to gods and men. I fault no one for ever having done so, or for descending to it in the future. My personal preference is for simply, if necessary, saying that I truly mean what I'm saying. I attempt to do this by saying it in a sincere manner. If it can still be read as being ironical, satirical, or taking the piss out...well, there you are. You've got to wonder, eh? Dorosh, the next time I see you playing ironical games with UBB encoding, I will piss upon your head. Depend on it, laddy.

That I am something is a fact. That I am reprehensible, is a fact. That I piss people off...is a fact. If we get right down to it, I've pissed you off for several years. This makes me glad. I cannot stand useless people. Earlier today I did a small mental inventory of the tidbits of information that have come to me over the years about people I went to school with. Every single one of them would qualify for a page in Forbes, or Wired, or some other magazine that deals with people who 'Have Achieved'. I remain, stupid, lost, and alone.

Goddamn it, Joe, isn't there some place you can post a list of Coventry? Am I supposed to know and/or remember which fecking halfwit we've decided has **** his pants enough times to be ignored? I'm not a patient man. You're the freaking Justicar. Make it work. Oh, and did you get my Holiday Greeting?

I can't even remember how long I've been here. I could look at the tiny print at the bottom of my post, but I simply can't be bothered. Merry Christmas, Jolly Solstice with the Goddess's Blessing, and Happy Hanukkah to all the BFC gang. Especially Steve, Moon, Kwazy...well, actually, all the BFC gang that have had to caution and stomp on me in a private email. Everyone, in fact, except Charles. Here's to a New Year in which Charles sends me an angry email! Happy Holidays, all you Tossers!

Merry Christmas, you redneck bugger. And the power of the Solstice be yours. And have a feckin' merry New Year. In the New Year, may we all be as rich as kings, and as happy as beggars with 'enough'. And may we do good with whatever excess of wealth and happiness we find ourselves with.

Oh, Boo, I hope this Christmas Season finds you as well as I am becoming. You know, last night my friend Small Emma and I were sitting on the couch together, watching Bugs Bunny cartoons, that her Dad had put on. And at one point she looked over at me, and said 'Grandma Steve, you still have a big belly.' And gives it a pat. And I told her: 'Yes, Emma. that is because I do not eat good things. I eat very poorly, and so I still have a very big belly. It makes me sad.' And the little moppet looks at me all serious and attentive, and tells me: 'I like your belly, Grandma Steve'. I am become Santa.

I want to play Adolph. </font>

He: It was Christmas Eve babe In the drunk tank An old man said to me, won't see another one And then he sang a song The rare old mountain DEW I turned my face away And dreamed about you Got on a lucky one Came in eighteen to one I've got a feeling This year's for me and you So happy Christmas I love you baby I can see a better time When all our dreams come true She: They've got cars big as bars They've got rivers of gold But the wind goes right through you It's no place for the old When you first took my hand On a cold Christmas Eve You promised me Broadway was waiting for me She: You were handsome He: You were pretty Queen of New York City Both: When the band finished playing They howled out for more Sinatra was swinging, All the drunks they were singing We kissed on a corner Then danced through the night The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing "Galway Bay" And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day She: You're a bum He: You're a punk You're an old slut on junk Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed She: You scumbag, you maggot You cheap lousy faggot Happy Christmas your arse I pray God it's our last The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing "Galway Bay" And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day He: I could have been someone She: Well so could anyone You took my dreams from me When I first found you He: I kept them with me babe I put them with my own Can't make it all alone I've built my dreams around you The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing "Galway Bay" And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day Fairy Tale of New York -the Pogues

Alone? I suppose. But I am never alone, really. All of you lot are always with me. And I have my small friend, Emma. I'm currently after watching the best Christmas Movie ever made. 'We're No Angels', with Humphrey Bogart, Peter Ustinov and Aldo Ray. I imagine I've said this before, but I figure Berli for Bogart's character, Peng for Aldo Ray, and me for Peter Ustinov. It's a simple principle of the Universe that Mythical Combinations come in threes. For anyone familiar with the movie, I figure Stuka for Paul. Joe Shaw would be the Father. I figure Bugged for Isabelle. But who for Cousin Andre? Dorosh?

One time I ran a wire coat-hanger up 15 bluebills while standing in snow and pulled their guts out through their arse before going in for a meal of spaghetti. I remember me Ol' Da' passing me the coat hanger before he went off to the cabin to smoke cigars and drink whisky, and I asked him: Is there any trick to this? And he told me: 'Yeah. Don't get any on your boots.'

You know, I wish that I could be Henry II and simply mutter something like 'Will no one rid me of this troublesome Finn?' and have a gang of rightwing nutters ride off and slaughter someone. I wouldn't even come over all coy later and make out like they misunderstood what I said. When asked if it was my intention, I'd be very upfront and honest, and say: "When I muttered 'will no one rid me of this troublesome Finn', what I meant was 'If anyone nearby is paying attention and wants my Royal Favour, they will immediately take themselves off to Finland and kill the stupid sod with a great deal of violence, bloodletting and pain. Extra points for torture and gratuitous hacking off of bits.' But this is a degenerate age we live in. There's only about a 2% chance that someone will actually hare off to Finland and kill the bastard for me. Still, keep a good thought. There's a barony in it for anyone mentally unbalanced enough to do the right thing.

'Ever' six weeeks or so,' Boo 'them does would throw a litter, so we'd have plenty of rabbits to eat an' to sell. An' we'd keep a few pigeons to go flyin' around the win'mill like they done when I was a kid. An' it'd be our own, an' nobody could can us. If we don't like a guy, we can say: "Get the hell out," an' by God he's got to do it. An' if a fren' come a long, why we'd have an extra bunk, an' we'd say: "Why don't you spen' the night," an' by God he would. We'd have a setter dog and a couple stripe cats, but you gotta watch out them cats don't get the little rabbits.' Do you understand, Boo? It's important that you keep the farm cats away from the baby rabbits.

No. Shut the hell up. Scurry off into a corner and do something repulsive to yourself. It's not as though you need encouragement. But try and do it where we don't have to witness it. Just for a change of pace.

Jesus fecking Christ. Did the continual 'probing' during your 'endlessly reported to the Provincial Police lost time incidents' make you throw this in? There isn't a goddamn tosser on the planet other than Dalem that's even watched a Star Trek episode in the last 10 years. I guess it's true that that stubborn, Canadian commitment to being at least 20 years behind any other Developed Nation on Earth (except for Australia, which is 30 years behind) is everything one could expect.