Seanachai

???? And here I thought I was the only one with a pet midget. </font>

It's like a sign that Spring will be here soon...

You vicious old bastard. I'll teach him to survive. Anything.

Nah look at the without Alcohol bit, he's lying through his teeth. </font>

Are you being ironic with me, Mace? And where's the be-damned Justicar?! I'm not a man to be kept waiting!

That's the difference between Mace and the rest of us. When we break up with someone we're having sex with, they just don't get a Valentine's Day card...

Ahem. And, by that, I mean: SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU LOT OF DOGS'S ARSES! Lemme see...quickly peruses some 400 saved posts of Justicariate gibberish regarding the proper way to do everything from changing a tire, to wiping one's bum, to... Ah, yes, here it is: Taking a Squire. I, Seanachai, Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread, not to mention all-round great guy and appropriate Role Model for those just starting on the long, long road to achieving True Excellence (amongst other things), declare that I am taking one 'stoat' as my Squire. From this point on I shall refer to him as 'Stoat', and I shall lead him in morning prayers to the gods, and instruct him in 'The Mysteries'. Now, possibly some other tosser here may have allegedly taken Stoat as a Squire, which I doubt, but, in any case, it doesn't matter a damn because: 1) Anyone who makes such a claim is a vicious, lying sodomite. 2) I am not above pointing out that whatever I want is more important than what some vicious, lying sodomite might want. 3) Boo claims that Stoat seems to be a young person, and I am the only person here fit to deal with the young, given that almost all the rest of you are vicious, lying sodomites. So, Joe, twitch your nose like 'Jeanie', or wiggle a joystick like Will Reiker, or whatever the hell you do nowadays necessary to 'make it so', and sign the useless little lump of suet up as my Squire. In return for his allegiance to me, I will, as his sponsor, perform the necessary duties of: a) Instructing him in the way that he is to go. Teach him proper respect for old people, especially old people that may, at any given moment, succumb to flashback induced drug dementia and hunt him down like a cuddly little bunny and kill him with a hand axe. c) Plague him, worry him, treat him like shoe-scrapings, abuse him, and make him cry 'capivi' (free ride for any freaking abuse to anyone who can identify where that comes from, courtesy of the Olde Ones) d) Play a game against him, make him play some other games, make him do some pointlessly hideous things in the name of whatever the hell the whole Rule thing is about, and make him say something nice about the Justicar. His body may rot in the earth, his intellect may decay in the Thread, his soul may be tormented unto the End of Days by the Evil One... But his arse is now mine. Ol' Foul Joe? So it is written, so it shall be done.

It's good that you understand that the 'Cheery Waffle' thread is where all the extremists hang out. Salkin, my downy bird, I have my eye on you...

I've been to his home, I've met him face to face, I've met his children, and I'm pretty damn sure that that fact alone would be enough to have Child Protection Services all over his arse with orders to take his kids to a more healthy environment. I notice he had Berli and I over there on a night when his wife was at work. Rune, dear man, do we really want the State of Illinois involved? Do I have to send them emails about how you get your children to fetch brimming glasses of whisky and beer for your wastrel, psychotic friends? Do I have to tell them stories about how they wept and said: 'Daddy, your friends are evil!' If that didn't work, I could always send them one of your scenarios. So, do you need my home address again? But I'm a fair man. It doesn't need to be Laphroaig 16 year old, or anything. Any decent, $35 a fifth single malt will be acceptable.

SHUT THE HELL UP AND SEND ME MORE WHISKY, YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MAN!

Occasionally you should drop the remote, read the front page, and consider moving North. Sports? You attempt to mock me with sports, oh Boo? I thought better of you. Terrible is my wrath. For one month I will no longer bold your name, not even here in these hollow halls. And for one month (or until I forgive him) I enjoin all other Olde Ones, Seniour Knights, Knights, Squires, Serfs, SSNs, and just any fecking bugger that wanders in here, to address Boo Radley as: Punkin'. This is a certified North Ohio endearment, the origin of which I simply haven't a clue about, nor do I want to know anything further in regards to it, given what I know about Ohio. So, Punkin', do you wish to endure my wrath, or do you want to cave right now, and apologize? I'd apologize, Boo. I'm unhappy, angry, and looking for a target. You're not going to like me when I'm shorn of all my cuddly 'Olde One' endearing qualities...

Just out of curiousity... Who in the hell is Bill Cowher? Did you drop the 'd', or something?

Hmm...Dalem was war-gaming with a lot of tossers when I called last night. I wonder if he's deeply asleep yet? Could be time for a phone call...

Stop that unseemly...braying.

Told me I was a monk. Or nun, depending. Makes sense. I look good in a form-encompassing hooded robe!

Man. I used to pay $6 a tab for what you seem to regard as reality. It just goes to show: One man's paid-for drug induced hallucination is another man's desperately clutched belief that he's actually experiencing something. Or something like that. I never said I was Buddha.

...Inquisitive, inventive, you liked to get to the very bottom of things and to rummage in books. Talent for drama, natural born actor. The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation: The world is full of ill and lonely people. You should help those, who are less fortunate than you are. It's like they looked into my very soul. Not to mention that it explains why I'm still after hanging around with you lot of lepers...

I could be bounded within the entirety of Grog Dorosh's 30,000 posts, and yet count myself the lord of infinite space, because he leaves so much of reality - unexplored.

Bah! I now wave my hand at you. Dorosh's posts are as light as death. Mine are as heavy as duty.

JAYZUS! I NEED BREAKFAST! Think I'm off to the 'Pigs Must Die' Cafe. Lovely place. Mention my name to the maitre d'. He'll get you a table where you can smell the beautiful, inchoate smell of pork being brought to perfection...

We didn't particularly like you when we were paying attention to you, so this is a spurious threat. The real question is: Are you still in Minnesota? As in: We could drive out to your place one night and set your arse on fire? Because, you know, we could do that. Papa Khann would drive. He's mostly always sober, and he drives all over hell anyways.

Are you serious? My cholesterol level is being written up in journals in terms of: 'How is This Man Still Alive: A Scientific Investigation Into the Roots of Individuals Poised On the Brink of Forever'.

Either or both would be a welcome addition. Nope. Disgustingly sweet. I'm after having breakfast, woman! Not dessert! I've hated and despised pancakes ever since I was a wee lad. And maple syrup is disgusting. That's fine, lassie. Ah, corned beef hash... Hollandaise sauce is just a sort of gravy we ladle on to make Easterners feel manly, of course. If it was up to me, I'd have the corned beef hash, covered with two poached eggs, and the whole thing drowned in baked beans and Canadian bacon... Possibly I've been up North too long. Christ, I'm fecking HUNGRY!

SOME ONE GET ME SOME SODDING BREAKFAST!

The shock therapy was working until you reminded me. Now it's back to the nightmares. </font>