Seanachai

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.

Well, last night I did my taxes, and, when I woke up this morning and shook off the hangover, I found that I'd been taken roughly from behind. I'd be more philosophical about it if they'd bought the wine. I never resent paying my taxes, though, because I know that every dime I paid went towards the Pentagon's decision to pay Halliburton despite fraud, over-charging, double-billing, corruption and shoddy, sub-standard work. I would resent paying for a war based on lies, stupidity and misrepresentation, so I'm glad to know that my tax dollars are being squandered on the illusion of rebuilding an infrastructure in the soon to be 'Fragmented Warlord States of the Former Colonial Creation Maintained by Vicious Dictatorship Previously Known As Iraq', while in actuality being spent to enrich the cronies and supporters of Dick Cheney, a man whose lack of future political ambition, not to mention bad heart, has given him the wonderful freedom to piss right onto the heads of the American people because he simply doesn't give a rat's ass about what they think. Mr. Cheney knows that it is easier for a rich man to suck the last bit of meat off the bones of a camel, than it is to reach up the arse of a huge corporate python and try and pull the money back out.

Well, last night I did my taxes, and, when I woke up this morning and shook off the hangover, I found that I'd been taken roughly from behind. I'd be more philosophical about it if they'd bought the wine. I never resent paying my taxes, though, because I know that every dime I paid went towards the Pentagon's decision to pay Halliburton despite fraud, over-charging, double-billing, corruption and shoddy, sub-standard work. I would resent paying for a war based on lies, stupidity and misrepresentation, so I'm glad to know that my tax dollars are being squandered on the illusion of rebuilding an infrastructure in the soon to be 'Fragmented Warlord States of the Former Colonial Creation Maintained by Vicious Dictatorship Previously Known As Iraq', while in actuality being spent to enrich the cronies and supporters of Dick Cheney, a man whose lack of future political ambition, not to mention bad heart, has given him the wonderful freedom to piss right onto the heads of the American people because he simply doesn't give a rat's ass about what they think. Mr. Cheney knows that it is easier for a rich man to suck the last bit of meat off the bones of a camel, than it is to reach up the arse of a huge corporate python and try and pull the money back out.

Well, last night I did my taxes, and, when I woke up this morning and shook off the hangover, I found that I'd been taken roughly from behind. I'd be more philosophical about it if they'd bought the wine. I never resent paying my taxes, though, because I know that every dime I paid went towards the Pentagon's decision to pay Halliburton despite fraud, over-charging, double-billing, corruption and shoddy, sub-standard work. I would resent paying for a war based on lies, stupidity and misrepresentation, so I'm glad to know that my tax dollars are being squandered on the illusion of rebuilding an infrastructure in the soon to be 'Fragmented Warlord States of the Former Colonial Creation Maintained by Vicious Dictatorship Previously Known As Iraq', while in actuality being spent to enrich the cronies and supporters of Dick Cheney, a man whose lack of future political ambition, not to mention bad heart, has given him the wonderful freedom to piss right onto the heads of the American people because he simply doesn't give a rat's ass about what they think. Mr. Cheney knows that it is easier for a rich man to suck the last bit of meat off the bones of a camel, than it is to reach up the arse of a huge corporate python and try and pull the money back out.

But I am sure, Oh Peng, that she was proud of the evil you have wrought. I sorrow for your loss, MrPeng, my freind. It is hard to lose a parent, especially a Mom. They are so often so much better than we are. I enjoyed the story about her, and agree that it is at least a delight to see a life that touched so many others. You hang in, contact me if there's anything I can do to make you feel better. Like maybe going into the GF and clubbing Dorosh to death like a baby harp seal with a cleft palate? It's no trouble, really. Now I am sad. I think I will go to bed.

But I am sure, Oh Peng, that she was proud of the evil you have wrought. I sorrow for your loss, MrPeng, my freind. It is hard to lose a parent, especially a Mom. They are so often so much better than we are. I enjoyed the story about her, and agree that it is at least a delight to see a life that touched so many others. You hang in, contact me if there's anything I can do to make you feel better. Like maybe going into the GF and clubbing Dorosh to death like a baby harp seal with a cleft palate? It's no trouble, really. Now I am sad. I think I will go to bed.

But I am sure, Oh Peng, that she was proud of the evil you have wrought. I sorrow for your loss, MrPeng, my freind. It is hard to lose a parent, especially a Mom. They are so often so much better than we are. I enjoyed the story about her, and agree that it is at least a delight to see a life that touched so many others. You hang in, contact me if there's anything I can do to make you feel better. Like maybe going into the GF and clubbing Dorosh to death like a baby harp seal with a cleft palate? It's no trouble, really. Now I am sad. I think I will go to bed.

The day I take the effort to hurl a drool bucket at Roger is the day I quit drinking. Glory days? Downhill? This is the last time I ever want to hear from an intestinal parasite that they've noticed a falling off in the quality of nutrients. How to put this nicely... LISTEN UP, MAGGOT! Listening to you complain about the Thread is like listening to Serbians complain that the Irish and Italians have ruined America for Immigrants. IF WE WANT TO ACTUALLY HEAR ABOUT YOUR VOMITING PROBLEM, WE WILL APPROACH THE TOILET AND GET ITS SIDE OF THE STORY! DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MAN?! Such presumption. Rleete is a low, bottom-feeding incarnation of all that is 'worst and stupidest' in America. I hate him, I despise him, and revile him. And when he and I decide ANYTHING on this planet, we'll be sure to deliver an envelope filled with poodle ****e to your door-step, just so that you know that the defecation of household pets rates higher than your inquiries. Not too bad. Tasted okay, but it didn't have the kick that would make me drop my fishing pole. Serves you right for being a conservative. If I had sent you to war, it would have been in a country where you could have a decent pint. Next time try bringing democracy to a country that wants it, and has some concept of what to do with it. Make your Antipodian selves useful, and fill the bugger up again.

You know, I went through several revisions of posts, varying from light-hearted, to slightly severe, and with an eye to the fact that I totally believe in telling a story with accurate detail, but, at a time when the news is filled with stories about Amnesty and Illegals, I couldn't come up with a good reason to make a point of the fact that the 'offending bullies' were Mexicanos, given that the reply was supposedly about the 'damage capabilities of pellet guns'. But we're not like other, lesser threads. So I'm sure that Abbott is going to amaze me, not to mention vindicate my trust, with a rollicking story of how some of his grand-kids are Hispanic, or how he got his start in business with a Mexican friend, or how he served honorably alongside Latinos in the military, or, at the very least, how he never beat a migrant worker for asking for back wages.

That's not going to happen. Let me explain why. Well, for one, I've actually met you. All praise to your whisky and beer, but...you are too arrogant. You would seek to rule, to decide, and it is much too important to you to always be right. Secondly...how best to describe this? With you in the mix, oh Rune, we would no longer have Three Olde Ones, we would have Four. Now, follow me on this: A chair has four legs. Very stable, your average chair. But, push it over to the right, the left, back or front, it falls the same way. It's stability is irrespective of its number of legs. Oppose two legs to the other two legs, and it will still fall over. Oppose one leg with all three other legs, and it can't fall at all. It breaks. Now, take a stool with three legs. Push it over, and there will always be two legs on their sides. One leg will be ascendant. Even if two legs combine, they cannot overturn the third leg, without leaving one of the legs lying on the floor. A Three-legged stool is strongest. Even when two combine against one, the two together cannot totally win. They can only defeat the third. Besides the entire 'mythic' quality, there's the fact that neither Berli, Peng or I are ever going to let you get a leg up. Besides, you don't 'become' an Olde One. You simply 'are' an Olde One. If you've ever noticed ****e about us, you've noticed that we don't so much 'rule', as 'exist'. That's one of the whole bloody differences between us and the Goodalers. They have no myths. With that lot, it's a bloody free-for-all, a lot of drunken anarchists claiming 'first amongst equals' status with a lot of other drunkards. I have always admired their 'Wild West' individualism, if not their intelligence. Going to the Cheery Waffle thread is like going to a saloon on the frontier. Chaos is a virtue. Order is a vice. It is the triumph of ego. But coming to the Peng Challenge Thread is like coming to The World. Order is hammered out of Chaos, and Chaos rebels. Hierarchies are imposed, and overthrown, and yet remain. The Justicar would convince everyone that The World is a progression. You arrive, you are accepted, you achieve, and then you piss about with abandon. But still within strictly defined rules, and traditions, and conventions. But the Olde Ones abide within the Wasteland. Before the folk arrive, there is nothing. Formless. Without Rules. Undefined. And when they arrive, they impose Order. And Traditions. And Rules. And even, Rebellion. And We smile. Berli, by his nature, defined Rebellion. Peng by his nature, defined Disorder. And I, by my nature, defined Order. We do no define this place. We simply created it. You lot define it. And then we, the Olde Ones, move on. And you always follow after; arguing, demanding and complaining. If Creation exists long enough, it begins to lap itself.

A latte? DON'T COME OVER ALL SMARMY WITH YOUR FILTHY, FOREIGN MUCK WITH ME, YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MAN! Latte. You red-neck, cracker, double-wide-hugging, 'lost the muffler on the truck 100,000 miles and 3 years ago and never looked back' bugger! Put us back to back, heels butted to heels, and tote up the tale of our days, and I'd be willing to be that you've drunk more 'lattes' than I have, you crawling conservative shame to America! In my Liberal America, the first thing we're taught is the proper use of a 6x scope. Ignore the mythology that Fox News shows you of 'liberals' waving signs and linking arms and smiling and using bullhorns to lead people to chant ****e so stupid that only being completely ripped right straight to the tits makes it seem reasonable. That's for the kids that are mad at the fact that their parents don't have any more interest in the world than where their next tax-break and martini are coming from. That's for the the weird outsiders with divots in their souls from having been shat on every time they suggested that we should all get along. That's for the waterheads that consider the concept of 'eating a dog or cat' to be the equivalent of genocide. What a real liberal wants, Abbott, is Justice. Justice comes with executions. This ain't your daddy's liberalism. This is your great-grandad's liberalism. This is the 'liberalism' that gathered outside the mine and factory gates to shout at the bosses' thugs. This is the 'liberalism' that demands accountability. This is the 'liberalism' that drives the head of a daisy through the concrete to seek the sun. But, yes, I am quite a bit happier these days. Damn near completely recovered my sense of humour. Life in this far Northern clime, deep in winter, and surrounded by the Scandinavian descendants from the cast of an Ibsen play can wear you down, especially as you get older and more cranky. It is good to be me.

The killer? It's from a book called Gnomologia. </font>

If this idiot has any rank at all, bust him back to serf </font>

Sigh. Time to put on my Olde One robes, hat and mystical jewelry. In the Old One biz, we call it the 'Authority Aura Strap-On'. Joseph, has there been anyone who has shown you more support than I? Has there ever been another Olde One more accepting of your almost...magical preoccupation with Duty-Place-Rules? There has not. So, Josephus, what am I to make of the fact that, while questions are being asked about 'Silverwaregate', you are DISRESPECTING A LADY OF THE 'POOL?! As far as I know, Shaw spoken with cold precision, abjuring the more familiar 'Joe', there is only one being who may show disrespect to the Ladies of the 'Pool. Usually it's Peng, because he's a swine. And Mark IV could usually get away with it, because he had an insouciant attitude in general. But, whoever or whatever it might be, it is not you, Joe. As the very most demented keeper of completely made-up and often completely buggered traditions, you must show respect for the Ladies of the 'Pool. Even when they get crazy, or violent, or way strange. That's just how it goes. If they do, of course, it's not inappropriate to offer them a cooling drink or, if necessary, use a dart rifle. But with respect, Joe.

I think that all truly egotistical and amazing people, such as myself, should have a Small Emma to keep them in line, make them smile, and to whisper in their ear: Remember, Grandma Steve, I'm only 2 1/2 years old, and you have to do everything I say. I would be willing to bet that, had Hitler had a Small Emma, there would not have been a Holocaust. Mind you, he still would have invaded Russia, but then, that's what it's there for. Small Emmas aren't there to keep us from being stupid, they exist primarily to remind us not to make fecking beasts of ourselves. As part of my ongoing 'Tales of Small Emma', I would like to offer up this latest saga of 'Rampaging Bears'. In the course of human affairs, there comes a day when the focus shifts from 'sitting on the floor in the dining room, touching the tiger's toes', to 'come here and sit in the living room in the corner, Grandma Steve, because we are hiding from the bears'. Mind, both involve creaky, stout, crabby old men having to get down and sit on their goddamn bums on hardwood floors like the Buddha with arthritis. But now, there is more whispering, and fingers to lips, and cautions about 'shhh, we don't want the bear to hear us'. But, like the Amazons of old, there comes a moment when Small Emma casts aside sitting on the hearth rug, being quiet in the face of 'bear aggression', and commands you to 'come on, Grandma Steve! We're going to get the bear!', and the bold 2 year old leaps up like a Warriour Princess, and goes after the bear. Grandma Steve, with a certain amount of huffing and quiet cursing, follows in her wake. With cries of 'No, No, Bear! You be good! Okay, bear, I've got you! Grandma Steve, I've got the big bear, you come and get the small bear!', our tiny Xena takes charge. Now, I'm not a professional bear wrestler, but I do have my pride. I'm not all that bloody tall, but I tower over this kid, and out-mass her by a factor of 5 or 6 to 1. "Emma, why am I grabbing the small bear? Shouldn't I be grabbing the big bear, and you grab the small bear?" "No, Grandma Steve. I have got the big bear, and you get the small bear. Now come on!" "Emma, I think I should grab the big bear. You are, after all, a very small person. Look how much larger I am than you!" "No, Grandma Steve. I have got the big bear already. You get the small bear, and come with me." "Alright (vague 'grabbing a small, but definitely vicious and probably more dangerous than the big, slow, Boo-like bear' gestures ensue...). I've got the small bear. Now what?" "Now we are going to put the bears in the fire!" Perhaps it's my paganistic, 'the Goddess values all her creatures' background, but I'm somewhat non-plussed by the decision to conduct an Auto-da-fe with the bears. "Emma, why are we putting the bears in the fire?" "Because it's hot!" Well, points for logic, there. "Emma, if we put the bears in the fire, we will hurt them!" And, I am glad to say, my small warriour princess friend stops to consider this fact. She stands there, clutching her hands to her chest (as a very small person might who had a very large bear grasped firmly before her, while I, to show my expertise, stand waiting with my smaller, more vicious bear held at arms length, twisting and clawing and bawling with rage). And then she tells me: "Okay. We are going to flush the bears down the toilet. Come on!" And she runs for the bathroom. Now, I know that, as a spokes-creature for diversity and inter-species understanding, I should still protest this brutal treatment of bears. But I can't help myself. When was the last time you got a chance to flush rampaging bears down the toilet? So I hot-foot it to the downstairs bathroom and join her by the toilet. Once I'm in position, and being properly attentive to her every move, she makes the 'casting away of large, brutish, angry bears into a toilet' gesture (that only the Aussies are probably routinely familiar with), and says 'You do it too, Grandma Steve!'. I tried to reason with her. "But Emma", I told her. "Won't this just result in huge, albino bears roaming the Twin Cities sewer system, fighting with the mutant alligators?" "No," she told me. "Now put your bear in the toilet." And I, Goddess help me, cast my angry, squalling small bear into the toilet, too. And she gives me a big smile, and then she pulls the toilet handle to flush. She has to use both hands, because, despite her fierce nature, she's still pretty small. And then we stand there and watch as the two bears, big and small, swirl away down the toilet. It was wondrously freeing. All bears that formerly had caused us to hide, and whisper, have been sent away. No longer do short, drunken men and small, sweet children need to cower on hearth-rugs in fear of bears. Nor have the bears been killed. They have been sent into another place, there to make their own way, as they may. And, as we sat there on the bathroom rug, sharing the moment that all warriours share when the enemy is overcome, I could wish that all the threats to her future could be so easily overcome. I wished that we could flush away a monstrous deficit to fund a war with uncertain gains, and a possible legacy of hatred on both sides. I wished that we could flush away the anger of a world that will regard her with suspicion and distrust because of where she was born. I wished that we could flush away the potential of environmental catastrophe to fund short-sighted greed. And I wish that I could flush away the fear that she might someday be raped, and that society might tell her 'that's just the way it goes', or worse, that it was somehow 'her fault'. And I wish that I could flush away the fear that she might get cancer as the 'cost of doing business'. I would like to flush away any chance that she will grow up in a society less free, or moral, or ethical than the society that I thought I was growing up in, when I was small. I would like to flush away the chance that her future has already been flushed down the toilet by the stupidity and arrogance of people who don't even know or care that she exists when she is a small, fierce, but fair battler of bears, at 2 and 1/2 years of age. After we flushed the bears down the toilet, we also flushed some crocodiles, some snakes, and some greedy corporate executives down the toilet. The last were my idea. We were going to flush some other things, but then her Mom came in all mad and made us stop flushing the toilet and wasting water. That's what good moms do. After that, we just threw the naughty animals in the toilet and watched them swim for it. And she held my hand. It made me feel better.

Another in the ongoing series: How to amuse Our Abbott...

'That can always be fixed', as Dick Cheney said to the Haliburton Exec worried about Pentagon audits of non-competitive bids. Boo could, of course, be elevated. Not that he isn't already oafishly large and somewhat bumbling, but he could be raised up to the status of 'Seniour Knight'. But then, I worry. Will being made a 'Seniour Knight' make him proud? Forget his place? Will he attempt to take my foot off his neck and climb onto his hind-legs, and bleat out some nonsense about being a 'free being worthy of respect'? I can't do without my Caliban, after all.

It's spelled 'crappie', but pronounced 'croppie', you bottom-feeding pillock. Where are you from, again? Illinois? What part of Illinois? Anything outside Chicagoland is just unreclaimed portions of Indiana, you know. In any case, crappie aren't worth eating after June, or so. Which begs the question of why you're fishing for them, in any case.

Yes, but the genetic pool is so narrow that you have to walk heel to toe to navigate it, and a four year old could reach the end with one stride.

Editing? EDITING?! I can't be having with that, Joe. I am an Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread. Editing my remarks would be like correcting the colours in a Van Gogh to make them seem 'more realistic', or putting a diaper on Michelangelo's 'David' so as to not shock old women in Sioux Falls. If you 'edit' my remarks, Justicar, you deprive me of my ability to harmonize between my god-like intellect, and my animal nature. I ask you to reconsider. Or at least, to consider carefully. My soul is as large as Buddha's smile, as fiery as Mohammed's crusades, as meek as Jesus' sermons, and as dirty as a joke told by Lao-tzu. Would you deny the world an unvarnished look at the stew I've made of my soul?

Da_Corruptor. What a tiresome ass. Most of them then went back to self-grooming in the ever-brightening light of pseudo-Spring. But the thought remained. With every crushed and eaten louse or flea, Da_Corruptor remained in the public consciousness.

For all those of you who've actually listened to the 'First Peng Challenge Thread Podcast': Am I the only one who thinks that Joe sounds like a genetic manipulation cross between Molly Ivens and Garrison Keillor?

I look forward to my upcoming participation in the 'Peng Challenge Thread Podcast' project. I have recently emailed my acceptance and schedule of availability to Joe, and shortly we will be conducting...well, not so much an 'interview', as a crazed, roller-coaster ride of ego run amok, stream-of-consciousness insights into the nature of God, Man, the Olde Ones, and all things Way Weird. This will be the 'Kiss and Tell' interview that even the Tabloids could not bring you. It won't involve simple 'slander', it will, because it is recorded, involve actual, actionable 'libel'! A Feast for Lawyers! Anyone who wants to be subjected to 'The Worst Aspects of Human Nature, Made Possible Through the Degradation of Technology' will want to download the ongoing: Peng Challenge Thread Podcast! I am, even as I type this, listening to the 'Justicar/Boo Radley Interview', and let me just say this: It sounds like a coy, jolly NPR piece on 'What Does It Mean to You to Be on the Web?' Note this: The Interview with your man Seanachai will not be like that. If interviewed, I promise you that I will run with it! If questioned, only main force will keep me focused on whatever it is Joe is on about. I am willing to state that NO ONE on the Peng Challenge Thread has met as many members face to face, has talked to as many on the phone, or exchanged as many emails as myself. And, if that is not ENOUGH to garner your interest, I will state, unequivocally, that I WILL WEAR A RED POINTY HAT throughout the entire interview. Also, if it seems right for the moment, my underwear on my head. I know all the secrets. The entire list of crimes and indictments of Lars's innumerable cousins. The court case that forced both Lawyer and JD Morse to recuse themselves from further participation in the Peng Challenge Thread. Just exactly how sexy Queen Emma sounds when you've been woken out of a sound sleep at 3 AM. What Treeburst155 wore when he was posting as 'Roxy'. All this, and more. Of course, Joe will probably try and limit me to some reasonable length of time. Ain't going to happen. Once I begin, attack dogs couldn't make me toe the line.

Yes, how very...droll. Well, tonight I was out with friends. Tomorrow night, I may or may not be busy. Perhaps Wednesday? Thursday, at the latest. Unless I decide on Friday. It has to be before Saturday, in any case, as Dalem is doing a massive 'MST3K' evening. And now, I must away...

Relative to what? Michael </font>