Seanachai

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

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

Jesus to Jesus, and eight hands around, but you are dim. I personally know that you mean 'to' Miami. But I like you, Lars. On the drunkest day of the stupidest day that I ever tripped over my own fecking feet, when I hit the ground, I was still looking down at your smile. Coming from you, that's saying something. But did you give the rest of us a shout? You did not. God killed the dinosaurs for a reason, Lars.

Jesus to Jesus, and eight hands around, but you are dim. I personally know that you mean 'to' Miami. But I like you, Lars. On the drunkest day of the stupidest day that I ever tripped over my own fecking feet, when I hit the ground, I was still looking down at your smile. Coming from you, that's saying something. But did you give the rest of us a shout? You did not. God killed the dinosaurs for a reason, Lars.

Jesus to Jesus, and eight hands around, but you are dim. I personally know that you mean 'to' Miami. But I like you, Lars. On the drunkest day of the stupidest day that I ever tripped over my own fecking feet, when I hit the ground, I was still looking down at your smile. Coming from you, that's saying something. But did you give the rest of us a shout? You did not. God killed the dinosaurs for a reason, Lars.

A good man. A just man. A great man. A man I am proud to call my friend.

A good man. A just man. A great man. A man I am proud to call my friend.

A good man. A just man. A great man. A man I am proud to call my friend.

Damn! You just can't seem to find a good assassin these days. Michael </font>

Damn! You just can't seem to find a good assassin these days. Michael </font>

Damn! You just can't seem to find a good assassin these days. Michael </font>

Anyone who'd put applesauce on pork is so lost to humanity that his immediate transportation to Hell itself would come without shock or any sense of loss. YOU'RE PUTTING FRUIT ON MEAT. FRUIT ON MEAT! MASHED FRUIT ON MEAT!! Satan and all His little wizards are dancing a merry polka in anticipation of your imminent arrival, you 'mixed fruit and meat' freak.

Anyone who'd put applesauce on pork is so lost to humanity that his immediate transportation to Hell itself would come without shock or any sense of loss. YOU'RE PUTTING FRUIT ON MEAT. FRUIT ON MEAT! MASHED FRUIT ON MEAT!! Satan and all His little wizards are dancing a merry polka in anticipation of your imminent arrival, you 'mixed fruit and meat' freak.

Anyone who'd put applesauce on pork is so lost to humanity that his immediate transportation to Hell itself would come without shock or any sense of loss. YOU'RE PUTTING FRUIT ON MEAT. FRUIT ON MEAT! MASHED FRUIT ON MEAT!! Satan and all His little wizards are dancing a merry polka in anticipation of your imminent arrival, you 'mixed fruit and meat' freak.

Ah, yes. You've finally realized that Bill O'Reilly is simply a halfwit thug and not the neo-con version of Gandalf, have you? Then you'd better learn to fly faster, better, and higher, grasshopper. You've buggered off for such a long time that you're going to have to re-establish yourself here. Right now, I think that even the SSNs should have a shot at you. Coming in here after all this time, having made no contribution for donkey's years, is the Peng Challenge equivalent of losing the soap in prison. But I have missed those quiet times when you and I get together to smoke huge, porn-star cigars and slander everyone around us. Expect a call.

Ah, yes. You've finally realized that Bill O'Reilly is simply a halfwit thug and not the neo-con version of Gandalf, have you? Then you'd better learn to fly faster, better, and higher, grasshopper. You've buggered off for such a long time that you're going to have to re-establish yourself here. Right now, I think that even the SSNs should have a shot at you. Coming in here after all this time, having made no contribution for donkey's years, is the Peng Challenge equivalent of losing the soap in prison. But I have missed those quiet times when you and I get together to smoke huge, porn-star cigars and slander everyone around us. Expect a call.

Ah, yes. You've finally realized that Bill O'Reilly is simply a halfwit thug and not the neo-con version of Gandalf, have you? Then you'd better learn to fly faster, better, and higher, grasshopper. You've buggered off for such a long time that you're going to have to re-establish yourself here. Right now, I think that even the SSNs should have a shot at you. Coming in here after all this time, having made no contribution for donkey's years, is the Peng Challenge equivalent of losing the soap in prison. But I have missed those quiet times when you and I get together to smoke huge, porn-star cigars and slander everyone around us. Expect a call.

A very brief 'Small Emma Tale'... Our Emma has become very good at 'directing' Grandma Steve about the landscape. I think she craves and appreciates the power to order an adult (at least technically) about according to her whims, fancies, and as part of the complex choreography of utterly bizarre and idiotic conditions that very young children set for their 'games'. So, the other evening, when I stopped by to visit with her Mother (who is due to deliver Small Emma's small sister in the next 3 weeks or so), Small Emma was, as usual, 'leading me into the light of a new, child-ordered paradise where all things are possible and adults shall realize their full-potential under the glorious leadership of the very smallest'. First, she would do something cute, but vaguely idiotic, like running across the room with her arms held in a funny position, then stop and look back and say: Now you do it, Grandma Steve! And I would. Let me just say that a goofy action performed by a little elf girl less than 2 feet tall with golden locks and a sweet face does not translate to the frame of a short, over-weight, lank silver-haired gnome who barely gets up to speed before crashing into the fireplace and overturning the kindling basket while holding his arms in a funny position. I suffer a lot of humiliation, even if most of it will never be witnessed by the world, to be the Friend of Small Emma. So, after running (or, in my case, lumbering) across the room holding our arms in various odd ways, she hops across the living room while uttering a high-pitched ululation that normally causes her Mom to say 'Emma, let's use our indoor voice, now!', and tells me, again: Now you do it, Grandma Steve! So I hop across the living room, smiling bravely, and stop at her side. And she looks up at me, all solemn, and tells me: "Now scream." And I sigh, because I pretty much knew that I had 'done it wrong', and that something like this was coming, and asked her 'Emma, do I have to scream?' 'Yes, Grandma Steve. That is how we do it.' So I hopped back across the room, 'screaming' like an idiot as quietly as I thought I could get away with. And she looked at me and said: "Louder." So I hopped back to her and cast all shame away and 'screamed like a white woman', as Little Richard once said. And she smiled. And her Mom came in and, in a rare show of 'language' in front of the Small One, said: "What the hell are you doing?" Putting on my best, gnomic dignity, I told her: "We are hopping across the room while screaming". "Well knock it off, one of the dogs nearly pissed the rug in the other room. You know, you don't have to do every bloody thing she tells you to, you big, big freak!" But, you know, if you want to get the really, really good smile, the one that says 'you got it exactly right, and you're the best fecking idiot that I will ever recall with great affection', you have to hop across the rug, screaming like a white woman. Peng knows. He's got actual daughters, rather than 'small friends'. Hey, Peng, I sent the bit about your Mom to a friend of mine, that has to hear endlessly about the Peng Challenge Thread. And she told me: "You know, I don't understand that whole Combat Mission thing, but I'm just amazed at what a community of thoughtful, insightful people there are that hang out there, and their ability to express themselves." And I told her, "Oh, actually, that's only me and Peng. The rest of them can't string three words together without ending up in a puddle of their own piss from the effort. That's why we started the whole thing up. It's like an outreach program. Oh, and, well, also Berli. He doesn't write that much, but he's really, really good at hating people. It's his gift."

A very brief 'Small Emma Tale'... Our Emma has become very good at 'directing' Grandma Steve about the landscape. I think she craves and appreciates the power to order an adult (at least technically) about according to her whims, fancies, and as part of the complex choreography of utterly bizarre and idiotic conditions that very young children set for their 'games'. So, the other evening, when I stopped by to visit with her Mother (who is due to deliver Small Emma's small sister in the next 3 weeks or so), Small Emma was, as usual, 'leading me into the light of a new, child-ordered paradise where all things are possible and adults shall realize their full-potential under the glorious leadership of the very smallest'. First, she would do something cute, but vaguely idiotic, like running across the room with her arms held in a funny position, then stop and look back and say: Now you do it, Grandma Steve! And I would. Let me just say that a goofy action performed by a little elf girl less than 2 feet tall with golden locks and a sweet face does not translate to the frame of a short, over-weight, lank silver-haired gnome who barely gets up to speed before crashing into the fireplace and overturning the kindling basket while holding his arms in a funny position. I suffer a lot of humiliation, even if most of it will never be witnessed by the world, to be the Friend of Small Emma. So, after running (or, in my case, lumbering) across the room holding our arms in various odd ways, she hops across the living room while uttering a high-pitched ululation that normally causes her Mom to say 'Emma, let's use our indoor voice, now!', and tells me, again: Now you do it, Grandma Steve! So I hop across the living room, smiling bravely, and stop at her side. And she looks up at me, all solemn, and tells me: "Now scream." And I sigh, because I pretty much knew that I had 'done it wrong', and that something like this was coming, and asked her 'Emma, do I have to scream?' 'Yes, Grandma Steve. That is how we do it.' So I hopped back across the room, 'screaming' like an idiot as quietly as I thought I could get away with. And she looked at me and said: "Louder." So I hopped back to her and cast all shame away and 'screamed like a white woman', as Little Richard once said. And she smiled. And her Mom came in and, in a rare show of 'language' in front of the Small One, said: "What the hell are you doing?" Putting on my best, gnomic dignity, I told her: "We are hopping across the room while screaming". "Well knock it off, one of the dogs nearly pissed the rug in the other room. You know, you don't have to do every bloody thing she tells you to, you big, big freak!" But, you know, if you want to get the really, really good smile, the one that says 'you got it exactly right, and you're the best fecking idiot that I will ever recall with great affection', you have to hop across the rug, screaming like a white woman. Peng knows. He's got actual daughters, rather than 'small friends'. Hey, Peng, I sent the bit about your Mom to a friend of mine, that has to hear endlessly about the Peng Challenge Thread. And she told me: "You know, I don't understand that whole Combat Mission thing, but I'm just amazed at what a community of thoughtful, insightful people there are that hang out there, and their ability to express themselves." And I told her, "Oh, actually, that's only me and Peng. The rest of them can't string three words together without ending up in a puddle of their own piss from the effort. That's why we started the whole thing up. It's like an outreach program. Oh, and, well, also Berli. He doesn't write that much, but he's really, really good at hating people. It's his gift."

A very brief 'Small Emma Tale'... Our Emma has become very good at 'directing' Grandma Steve about the landscape. I think she craves and appreciates the power to order an adult (at least technically) about according to her whims, fancies, and as part of the complex choreography of utterly bizarre and idiotic conditions that very young children set for their 'games'. So, the other evening, when I stopped by to visit with her Mother (who is due to deliver Small Emma's small sister in the next 3 weeks or so), Small Emma was, as usual, 'leading me into the light of a new, child-ordered paradise where all things are possible and adults shall realize their full-potential under the glorious leadership of the very smallest'. First, she would do something cute, but vaguely idiotic, like running across the room with her arms held in a funny position, then stop and look back and say: Now you do it, Grandma Steve! And I would. Let me just say that a goofy action performed by a little elf girl less than 2 feet tall with golden locks and a sweet face does not translate to the frame of a short, over-weight, lank silver-haired gnome who barely gets up to speed before crashing into the fireplace and overturning the kindling basket while holding his arms in a funny position. I suffer a lot of humiliation, even if most of it will never be witnessed by the world, to be the Friend of Small Emma. So, after running (or, in my case, lumbering) across the room holding our arms in various odd ways, she hops across the living room while uttering a high-pitched ululation that normally causes her Mom to say 'Emma, let's use our indoor voice, now!', and tells me, again: Now you do it, Grandma Steve! So I hop across the living room, smiling bravely, and stop at her side. And she looks up at me, all solemn, and tells me: "Now scream." And I sigh, because I pretty much knew that I had 'done it wrong', and that something like this was coming, and asked her 'Emma, do I have to scream?' 'Yes, Grandma Steve. That is how we do it.' So I hopped back across the room, 'screaming' like an idiot as quietly as I thought I could get away with. And she looked at me and said: "Louder." So I hopped back to her and cast all shame away and 'screamed like a white woman', as Little Richard once said. And she smiled. And her Mom came in and, in a rare show of 'language' in front of the Small One, said: "What the hell are you doing?" Putting on my best, gnomic dignity, I told her: "We are hopping across the room while screaming". "Well knock it off, one of the dogs nearly pissed the rug in the other room. You know, you don't have to do every bloody thing she tells you to, you big, big freak!" But, you know, if you want to get the really, really good smile, the one that says 'you got it exactly right, and you're the best fecking idiot that I will ever recall with great affection', you have to hop across the rug, screaming like a white woman. Peng knows. He's got actual daughters, rather than 'small friends'. Hey, Peng, I sent the bit about your Mom to a friend of mine, that has to hear endlessly about the Peng Challenge Thread. And she told me: "You know, I don't understand that whole Combat Mission thing, but I'm just amazed at what a community of thoughtful, insightful people there are that hang out there, and their ability to express themselves." And I told her, "Oh, actually, that's only me and Peng. The rest of them can't string three words together without ending up in a puddle of their own piss from the effort. That's why we started the whole thing up. It's like an outreach program. Oh, and, well, also Berli. He doesn't write that much, but he's really, really good at hating people. It's his gift."

Never really looked at that game before, so I went over and looked at the preview shots for SC 2. It looks like 'Risk' with a WWII overlay. What do you guys do, just find a choke point like 'Siam' and fill it with 'Infantry X', 'Infantry X', 'Infantry I, I, I' and then dare people to come after you?

Never really looked at that game before, so I went over and looked at the preview shots for SC 2. It looks like 'Risk' with a WWII overlay. What do you guys do, just find a choke point like 'Siam' and fill it with 'Infantry X', 'Infantry X', 'Infantry I, I, I' and then dare people to come after you?

Never really looked at that game before, so I went over and looked at the preview shots for SC 2. It looks like 'Risk' with a WWII overlay. What do you guys do, just find a choke point like 'Siam' and fill it with 'Infantry X', 'Infantry X', 'Infantry I, I, I' and then dare people to come after you?

Oh, and MrPeng, me old chum! I was reminded today about sitting this one time with me Grandma, who was then about 90 years old, and we were after watching the evening news. And there was a story about how a certain political party was claiming that their policy of tax cuts to the rich would stimulate the economy, and result in increased jobs for the working class. And me Very Favourite Olde Woman, my Irish-Catholic Grandmother who used to actually take me to Mass, of all the goddamn things, and who used to club me with whatever was handy, shaking with upset, when I used to fight with my sisters, and who I 'Almost Never Heard Say a Bad Thing About Anyone' when I was growing up, turned to me, sitting there as she was in her wheelchair, having worked the line, and then as an office worker for 'Taystee Bread' her entire life, and said to me: "How much longer are we going to be expected to buy our jobs back from those sons of bitches?" I just blinked. I'd never even heard her swear before, in all the 35 years of life I'd known her. Here's a toast to Olde Women They brought us this far And we'll sing to their memory As our glass hits the bar They worked all their lives To teach us to live well They'll spend eons in Heaven For each day we're in Hell They were better than we And they always will be In their hearts, we've a place And that might win us grace But if prayers from the damned Can God's grace command Then I pray that Olde Women Are laughing somewhere And drinking white wine With flowers in their hair.

Oh, and MrPeng, me old chum! I was reminded today about sitting this one time with me Grandma, who was then about 90 years old, and we were after watching the evening news. And there was a story about how a certain political party was claiming that their policy of tax cuts to the rich would stimulate the economy, and result in increased jobs for the working class. And me Very Favourite Olde Woman, my Irish-Catholic Grandmother who used to actually take me to Mass, of all the goddamn things, and who used to club me with whatever was handy, shaking with upset, when I used to fight with my sisters, and who I 'Almost Never Heard Say a Bad Thing About Anyone' when I was growing up, turned to me, sitting there as she was in her wheelchair, having worked the line, and then as an office worker for 'Taystee Bread' her entire life, and said to me: "How much longer are we going to be expected to buy our jobs back from those sons of bitches?" I just blinked. I'd never even heard her swear before, in all the 35 years of life I'd known her. Here's a toast to Olde Women They brought us this far And we'll sing to their memory As our glass hits the bar They worked all their lives To teach us to live well They'll spend eons in Heaven For each day we're in Hell They were better than we And they always will be In their hearts, we've a place And that might win us grace But if prayers from the damned Can God's grace command Then I pray that Olde Women Are laughing somewhere And drinking white wine With flowers in their hair.