Seanachai

Shush. I'm remembering the sacrifices. Make nice, for a bit, and leave it be a sad moment, for just a second.

Shush. I'm remembering the sacrifices. Make nice, for a bit, and leave it be a sad moment, for just a second.

AUSSIE, AUSSIE, AUSSIE... and, er, um... KIWI, KIWI, KIWI OI! OI! OI!

AUSSIE, AUSSIE, AUSSIE... and, er, um... KIWI, KIWI, KIWI OI! OI! OI!

AUSSIE, AUSSIE, AUSSIE... and, er, um... KIWI, KIWI, KIWI OI! OI! OI!

Eh, bugger it. Even the Australians are apparently dead drunk. I'm for bed, then. I'm not as young as I never was, anymore. Maybe I should be after taking an apprentice, or somefink.

Eh, bugger it. Even the Australians are apparently dead drunk. I'm for bed, then. I'm not as young as I never was, anymore. Maybe I should be after taking an apprentice, or somefink.

Eh, bugger it. Even the Australians are apparently dead drunk. I'm for bed, then. I'm not as young as I never was, anymore. Maybe I should be after taking an apprentice, or somefink.

Spoken like a gentleman. First shout is mine.

Spoken like a gentleman. First shout is mine.

Spoken like a gentleman. First shout is mine.

Where's Dave H? Bloody lot of tossers.

Wow, Small Emma is one perceptive child! </font>

Wow, Small Emma is one perceptive child! </font>

Wow, Small Emma is one perceptive child! </font>

Shouldn't you be in jail, you miserable bastard?! I mean, are you really trying? The gods know, you try me. I'd just like to know that you're in there, doing you very best to be jailed for years to come. WHERE IS THE CURRENT 'OLDEST AUSTRALIAN'? I WANT THIS MAN EITHER JAILED, OR GIVEN A RIGHT GOOD KICKING!

Shouldn't you be in jail, you miserable bastard?! I mean, are you really trying? The gods know, you try me. I'd just like to know that you're in there, doing you very best to be jailed for years to come. WHERE IS THE CURRENT 'OLDEST AUSTRALIAN'? I WANT THIS MAN EITHER JAILED, OR GIVEN A RIGHT GOOD KICKING!

Shouldn't you be in jail, you miserable bastard?! I mean, are you really trying? The gods know, you try me. I'd just like to know that you're in there, doing you very best to be jailed for years to come. WHERE IS THE CURRENT 'OLDEST AUSTRALIAN'? I WANT THIS MAN EITHER JAILED, OR GIVEN A RIGHT GOOD KICKING!

What to do, what to do... Well, ****e. Juan Gigante and Stoat, stand before me. Don't slouch. Hands at your sides. Eyes front. Stop fidgeting, you complete and utter wankers. Now, what is being done with these two aresholes? I use the term advisedly. Look, besides being An Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread, a Figure of Mythic Proportions Whose Every Utterance Echoes With the Imprimatur of Fiat, and 'The Seanachai', who is 'just this guy' who 'started everything up because Peng was way weird', I'm also 'The Gnome'. In other words, I wear a lot of hats. Think: Helm of Dark Lightnings, Bill Cap that says 'Buena Vista Fishing Camp', and a Tall Pointy Red Hat made of, quite possibly, felt. So, what's going on with these two feck-wits? Justicar? And I don't want to hear about how you've been 'flying up the arse-end of America for your job', or how 'If I'd been in charge of Mayberry, it would have looked like Dachau except with those small, sparkly white lights on the barbed-wire', or even 'there was this one time when the most beautiful, rapturously full-breasted young woman came up to me at the Epcot Center 'Germany' area, and gave me a free 32 oz. beer because I reminded her of what Germany might have been like had there never been a Third Reich.' In other words, I want to know if you've finally chosen an Exec. Frankly, I can't expect you to run the 'Peng Challenge Thread' website while still keeping track of what goes on from day to day. Actually, what I really want to know is... Oh, feck. I just want someone to tell me what's going on. It's Spring. I'm as giddy as a mayfly, as rapturously lost in the season as a bunny, as exuberant as an old man remembering his youth. Ah, feck. WHAT ABOUT A JOLLY SINGSONG, THEN, YOU LOT OF PISSANTS?! Times are hard, the old man said Backs against the wall A young man isn't worth a damn Who wouldn't heed the call Boys are going underground Buckle down and hide Pin these colours to your heart Lay your toys aside And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? Time to choose -- if I have to choose A peoples war that must be won -- I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun They gave me a gun Some got scared & some got bought Some got blown away Some got wise & some got taught To fight another day But the price that we had really paid I didn't see it then March until your feet are sore You never dance again You never dance again And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? We spent our best years on the run I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun They gave me a gun And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? Time to choose -- do I have to choose? Old men's wars are never done -- I picked up the fiddle put down the gun I picked up the fiddle put down the gun I picked up the fiddle put down the gun put down the gun "Fiddle Or a Gun" -Oysterband

What to do, what to do... Well, ****e. Juan Gigante and Stoat, stand before me. Don't slouch. Hands at your sides. Eyes front. Stop fidgeting, you complete and utter wankers. Now, what is being done with these two aresholes? I use the term advisedly. Look, besides being An Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread, a Figure of Mythic Proportions Whose Every Utterance Echoes With the Imprimatur of Fiat, and 'The Seanachai', who is 'just this guy' who 'started everything up because Peng was way weird', I'm also 'The Gnome'. In other words, I wear a lot of hats. Think: Helm of Dark Lightnings, Bill Cap that says 'Buena Vista Fishing Camp', and a Tall Pointy Red Hat made of, quite possibly, felt. So, what's going on with these two feck-wits? Justicar? And I don't want to hear about how you've been 'flying up the arse-end of America for your job', or how 'If I'd been in charge of Mayberry, it would have looked like Dachau except with those small, sparkly white lights on the barbed-wire', or even 'there was this one time when the most beautiful, rapturously full-breasted young woman came up to me at the Epcot Center 'Germany' area, and gave me a free 32 oz. beer because I reminded her of what Germany might have been like had there never been a Third Reich.' In other words, I want to know if you've finally chosen an Exec. Frankly, I can't expect you to run the 'Peng Challenge Thread' website while still keeping track of what goes on from day to day. Actually, what I really want to know is... Oh, feck. I just want someone to tell me what's going on. It's Spring. I'm as giddy as a mayfly, as rapturously lost in the season as a bunny, as exuberant as an old man remembering his youth. Ah, feck. WHAT ABOUT A JOLLY SINGSONG, THEN, YOU LOT OF PISSANTS?! Times are hard, the old man said Backs against the wall A young man isn't worth a damn Who wouldn't heed the call Boys are going underground Buckle down and hide Pin these colours to your heart Lay your toys aside And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? Time to choose -- if I have to choose A peoples war that must be won -- I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun They gave me a gun Some got scared & some got bought Some got blown away Some got wise & some got taught To fight another day But the price that we had really paid I didn't see it then March until your feet are sore You never dance again You never dance again And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? We spent our best years on the run I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun They gave me a gun And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? Time to choose -- do I have to choose? Old men's wars are never done -- I picked up the fiddle put down the gun I picked up the fiddle put down the gun I picked up the fiddle put down the gun put down the gun "Fiddle Or a Gun" -Oysterband

What to do, what to do... Well, ****e. Juan Gigante and Stoat, stand before me. Don't slouch. Hands at your sides. Eyes front. Stop fidgeting, you complete and utter wankers. Now, what is being done with these two aresholes? I use the term advisedly. Look, besides being An Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread, a Figure of Mythic Proportions Whose Every Utterance Echoes With the Imprimatur of Fiat, and 'The Seanachai', who is 'just this guy' who 'started everything up because Peng was way weird', I'm also 'The Gnome'. In other words, I wear a lot of hats. Think: Helm of Dark Lightnings, Bill Cap that says 'Buena Vista Fishing Camp', and a Tall Pointy Red Hat made of, quite possibly, felt. So, what's going on with these two feck-wits? Justicar? And I don't want to hear about how you've been 'flying up the arse-end of America for your job', or how 'If I'd been in charge of Mayberry, it would have looked like Dachau except with those small, sparkly white lights on the barbed-wire', or even 'there was this one time when the most beautiful, rapturously full-breasted young woman came up to me at the Epcot Center 'Germany' area, and gave me a free 32 oz. beer because I reminded her of what Germany might have been like had there never been a Third Reich.' In other words, I want to know if you've finally chosen an Exec. Frankly, I can't expect you to run the 'Peng Challenge Thread' website while still keeping track of what goes on from day to day. Actually, what I really want to know is... Oh, feck. I just want someone to tell me what's going on. It's Spring. I'm as giddy as a mayfly, as rapturously lost in the season as a bunny, as exuberant as an old man remembering his youth. Ah, feck. WHAT ABOUT A JOLLY SINGSONG, THEN, YOU LOT OF PISSANTS?! Times are hard, the old man said Backs against the wall A young man isn't worth a damn Who wouldn't heed the call Boys are going underground Buckle down and hide Pin these colours to your heart Lay your toys aside And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? Time to choose -- if I have to choose A peoples war that must be won -- I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun They gave me a gun Some got scared & some got bought Some got blown away Some got wise & some got taught To fight another day But the price that we had really paid I didn't see it then March until your feet are sore You never dance again You never dance again And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? We spent our best years on the run I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun I put down the fiddle They gave me a gun They gave me a gun And it's time to choose -- do I have to choose? Time to choose -- do I have to choose? Old men's wars are never done -- I picked up the fiddle put down the gun I picked up the fiddle put down the gun I picked up the fiddle put down the gun put down the gun "Fiddle Or a Gun" -Oysterband

So, I'm sitting with me friend Small Emma the other night (before the fecking gout kicked up again), and she takes me to the window on the sun porch, and says, "Look, Grandma Steve. There's the park". The 'park' is what she calls the next-door neighbour's fecking immense 'back-yard playground' thing, which looks like something that was either 'defended by Cavalry soldiers against the Indians' (ala 'Branded'), or a facility that is rented out by local Navy Seal units for training exercises (although how the swing fits in is anyone's guess). You know what I'm talking about. One of those things made up of 4 by 4 beams erected into an approximation of Disneyland with flags, slides, swings, climbing areas, ladders, bridges and 'tower reconnaissance platforms'; all for the enjoyment of the children of people with huge backyards and more money than God. She calls it 'the park'. She has been looking at it all winter, through the window. And now that it is, in fact, actually something like 'Spring' here in Minnesota (made glorious by this Small Child of York), she looks at it with spectacular longing. And she tells me, at great length and in superb detail, how we're going to "go over the fence, and we will play on the park. And you and I will go down the slide, Grandma Steve. And we will climb up the ladders, and everything!" And I, looking at this Towering Monument to Property and Privilege (Jen & Chris's neighbours are a lawyer and his money-spending wife with luxury autos, designer sweaters and $750,000 home in a rich neighbourhood), and I tell her: Emma Sine, Small Friend, that 'park' belongs to the neighbours. We can't just hop the fence and play there. And she tells me, 'Yes we can, Grandma Steve, because we are going to share.' Here's a kid who has taken in the lesson of 'sharing', and she is, in her innocence, going to apply it across the boards. And I like it. Pre-emptive sharing! So I start making plans for 'The Sharing'. The neighbours have a Chow, so we need pepper-spray. The father is a lawyer, so I'm going to need something that can go to full-auto if he comes out and tries to tell us we can't play there. Man, I've been waiting for years to hose down a lawyer. And then Small Emma's Mom comes to me, and tells me: "No, Grandma Steve. We are not going to to 'Mount an Operation' against the neighbours. That is not a good lesson. I don't care what you've learned from that gang of psychotics on the Peng Challenge Thread." And she tells me, they're going to pare some expenses, and cough up some money to build a smaller, but still nice 'playground' area in their backyard. That's nice, too. Emma and I like going outside, and playing. For reasons that I never want to explore, she's named the non-functioning solar-powered accent light in the backyard 'Tito'. We put sticks on top of it, and tell it 'Tito, don't move!' I'm hoping it's not some weird reference to Tito Jackson. I mean, how would a 2 1/2 year old know anything about him? I'm still going to try and get a tear gas grenade off of Dalem to throw into the neighbour's yard.

So, I'm sitting with me friend Small Emma the other night (before the fecking gout kicked up again), and she takes me to the window on the sun porch, and says, "Look, Grandma Steve. There's the park". The 'park' is what she calls the next-door neighbour's fecking immense 'back-yard playground' thing, which looks like something that was either 'defended by Cavalry soldiers against the Indians' (ala 'Branded'), or a facility that is rented out by local Navy Seal units for training exercises (although how the swing fits in is anyone's guess). You know what I'm talking about. One of those things made up of 4 by 4 beams erected into an approximation of Disneyland with flags, slides, swings, climbing areas, ladders, bridges and 'tower reconnaissance platforms'; all for the enjoyment of the children of people with huge backyards and more money than God. She calls it 'the park'. She has been looking at it all winter, through the window. And now that it is, in fact, actually something like 'Spring' here in Minnesota (made glorious by this Small Child of York), she looks at it with spectacular longing. And she tells me, at great length and in superb detail, how we're going to "go over the fence, and we will play on the park. And you and I will go down the slide, Grandma Steve. And we will climb up the ladders, and everything!" And I, looking at this Towering Monument to Property and Privilege (Jen & Chris's neighbours are a lawyer and his money-spending wife with luxury autos, designer sweaters and $750,000 home in a rich neighbourhood), and I tell her: Emma Sine, Small Friend, that 'park' belongs to the neighbours. We can't just hop the fence and play there. And she tells me, 'Yes we can, Grandma Steve, because we are going to share.' Here's a kid who has taken in the lesson of 'sharing', and she is, in her innocence, going to apply it across the boards. And I like it. Pre-emptive sharing! So I start making plans for 'The Sharing'. The neighbours have a Chow, so we need pepper-spray. The father is a lawyer, so I'm going to need something that can go to full-auto if he comes out and tries to tell us we can't play there. Man, I've been waiting for years to hose down a lawyer. And then Small Emma's Mom comes to me, and tells me: "No, Grandma Steve. We are not going to to 'Mount an Operation' against the neighbours. That is not a good lesson. I don't care what you've learned from that gang of psychotics on the Peng Challenge Thread." And she tells me, they're going to pare some expenses, and cough up some money to build a smaller, but still nice 'playground' area in their backyard. That's nice, too. Emma and I like going outside, and playing. For reasons that I never want to explore, she's named the non-functioning solar-powered accent light in the backyard 'Tito'. We put sticks on top of it, and tell it 'Tito, don't move!' I'm hoping it's not some weird reference to Tito Jackson. I mean, how would a 2 1/2 year old know anything about him? I'm still going to try and get a tear gas grenade off of Dalem to throw into the neighbour's yard.

So, I'm sitting with me friend Small Emma the other night (before the fecking gout kicked up again), and she takes me to the window on the sun porch, and says, "Look, Grandma Steve. There's the park". The 'park' is what she calls the next-door neighbour's fecking immense 'back-yard playground' thing, which looks like something that was either 'defended by Cavalry soldiers against the Indians' (ala 'Branded'), or a facility that is rented out by local Navy Seal units for training exercises (although how the swing fits in is anyone's guess). You know what I'm talking about. One of those things made up of 4 by 4 beams erected into an approximation of Disneyland with flags, slides, swings, climbing areas, ladders, bridges and 'tower reconnaissance platforms'; all for the enjoyment of the children of people with huge backyards and more money than God. She calls it 'the park'. She has been looking at it all winter, through the window. And now that it is, in fact, actually something like 'Spring' here in Minnesota (made glorious by this Small Child of York), she looks at it with spectacular longing. And she tells me, at great length and in superb detail, how we're going to "go over the fence, and we will play on the park. And you and I will go down the slide, Grandma Steve. And we will climb up the ladders, and everything!" And I, looking at this Towering Monument to Property and Privilege (Jen & Chris's neighbours are a lawyer and his money-spending wife with luxury autos, designer sweaters and $750,000 home in a rich neighbourhood), and I tell her: Emma Sine, Small Friend, that 'park' belongs to the neighbours. We can't just hop the fence and play there. And she tells me, 'Yes we can, Grandma Steve, because we are going to share.' Here's a kid who has taken in the lesson of 'sharing', and she is, in her innocence, going to apply it across the boards. And I like it. Pre-emptive sharing! So I start making plans for 'The Sharing'. The neighbours have a Chow, so we need pepper-spray. The father is a lawyer, so I'm going to need something that can go to full-auto if he comes out and tries to tell us we can't play there. Man, I've been waiting for years to hose down a lawyer. And then Small Emma's Mom comes to me, and tells me: "No, Grandma Steve. We are not going to to 'Mount an Operation' against the neighbours. That is not a good lesson. I don't care what you've learned from that gang of psychotics on the Peng Challenge Thread." And she tells me, they're going to pare some expenses, and cough up some money to build a smaller, but still nice 'playground' area in their backyard. That's nice, too. Emma and I like going outside, and playing. For reasons that I never want to explore, she's named the non-functioning solar-powered accent light in the backyard 'Tito'. We put sticks on top of it, and tell it 'Tito, don't move!' I'm hoping it's not some weird reference to Tito Jackson. I mean, how would a 2 1/2 year old know anything about him? I'm still going to try and get a tear gas grenade off of Dalem to throw into the neighbour's yard.

But Joe, we shouldn't neglect to point out that anything Dalem writes is kinda creepy...