Seanachai

Yeah, yeah. I've actually had breakfast with the bugger, Lars. It was a very good breakfast. And, Lars, just so you know...you'd have been kicking back the Tom & Jerry's ever since that worthless bastard Dalem left you waiting on his front steps. How many marsupials am I holding up, Lars? NG Cavscout, a good New Year to you. Remember, if you want to get out of doing National Service, you could simply admit that you know us.

Maybe it's the Shiraz, maybe it's the Glenfiddich (it was a gift, Berli), but...I'm suddenly filled with an appreciation of all of you lot. What I'm mainly appreciating is that I know you, and 98% of you are far, far away. I hope that all of you have gotten everything you wanted, and not what you deserved.

How truly wonderful. Dalem invited all the Minnesota Miscreants over to his house this evening...which is now, in fact, last evening, for a final get-together before Christmas. Of course, because he's only slightly more coherent than a lemming, the only person he told a specific time to come over was Lars. I, wisely, called ahead, left a message, then waited by my phone for word from Dalem. Eventually Papa Khann, who is something approaching Dalem's Keeper, called to tell me that Dalem had driven to the far southern suburb of Eagan, and, for reasons only clear to Dalem, was taking a route home that could only be explained by some dramatic form of brain damage. The upshot is that Lars was left sitting for 30-40 minutes on Dalem's front steps, morosely drinking Leinenkugels and watching people with real friends drive by. Fortunately for him, it was at least 30 degrees Fahrenheit. So, for a real Minnesotan (not some Michigan import who's so fecking drunk from lunching with some chick that he thinks that 35E is a reasonable way of getting from Eagan to Columbia Heights...), it's not actually too cold to be sitting on the steps drinking beer. Eventually Papa Khann and I spent the evening pointing out to Dalem that it's nasty to invite people to your home, and then not show up to actually let them in the door. Oh, and we amused ourselves for an hour and a half or so calling Lars on the phone and asking when he was going to show up for the party. After that, we amused ourselves by watching 'Once Upon the Time in the West', and then I beat the snot out of Dalem and Papa Khann in a game. And we talked about poor Lars sitting there in the cold, drinking his beer, and waiting for someone to let him in, before he began the 20 mile drive back to his far western white trash pseudo-suburb. How we laughed. Of course, all righteous anger, not to mention eventual and extremely vicious retribution on Lars's part should be reserved for that complete and utter fatuous tosser, Dalem.

You have my blessing to have a very large glass of something extremely alcoholic. For medicinal purposes.

Ahem. How many feminists does it take to screw Dalem? Only one, if the strap-on is well secured...

I've never given you permission to mention my name in your villainous twaddle, you Brit puddle of sidewalk piss, so kindly refrain from dragging my own exalted moniker into your various attempts to provoke your betters. I would mock your ancestry, were I not sure that they would just as soon disown you, and I won't add further to their pain by associating you with them. But I will comment on your person, which is of such a nature that no one would normally encounter unless they overturned a rock. 37mm, you're a dog's breakfast of unappetizing bits of remaindered, undifferentiated offal. Less enlightened societies than our own would simply have driven you into the wilderness to die, which speaks volumes for the wisdom of tradition. Your collected posts could serve as a case study of what happens when a society bemired on an island off the coast of Europe not only fails to heed the dangers of in-breeding, but actively embraces them as a means of 'keeping out the wogs'. You, sir, are a suppurating sore on the arse of the English speaking world, and your pretensions to being the 'Messiah of the Peng Challenge Thread' are not only laughable, they are pitiable. Or they would be, if righteous pity wasn't more properly reserved for cannibalistic pedophiles, who at least might make the argument that they're 'just as God made them', unlike yourself, a self-made blight on the evolution of Humanity. I would spit on you, but for fear that I might need my saliva to anoint a more worthy object of disgust, such as a Child Pornographer, or a CEO of an Oil Company, or a member of the House of Lords. By the gods, but it does a man good to occasionally taunt. With elán, unlike most of the spatter of vomit you see here, lately.

There are no 'Innocents'. There are only corpses of varying degrees of guilt.

So, Stuka, Mace and Kitty walk into a bar... No one walks out.

If the Tooth Fairy showed up at Dalem's, she'd probably get a 9mm slug in the arse... That, or a glass of rum and a marriage proposal.

So what's the good news, you ass? Don't make me call you...

Michael, you know that you never have to ask. You are, without question, the most arrogant, snappish, opinionated, vile, aggressive, abusive, dismissive, know-it-all bastard on the Combat Mission Forum. Everyone hates you. But, to be Seasonal, you're like Marley's Ghost. The chains that you bear, you forged link by link during all your time on this Forum, and you rattle them as a reminder of what could become of us all. Lest we forget. Should we take as our Judas Goat a lesser figure? Someone who contributes nothing more than their bile? Their prejudices? Their arrogance? We've had dozens of them. And Michael? You're fine with me. Actually, I rather like you. Do you know why? Because you keep me on my toes. I don't want 'Hate' to turn into a simple popularity contest. Because, if it came down to it, people would Hate me without a second thought. I wouldn't even have to break a sweat. But you keep me honest, Michael. With you out there, I know that I have to earn their hatred...

Michael! There you are. Where've you been? While you were undergoing the hormone treatments in preparation for the operation that would bring your physical state into agreement with your Inner Grog, I was busy defending you to all your innumerable enemies. It exhausted me. I've spent months recuperating.

Oh, and Lars, please properly attribute you sig-line, you swine.

Don't cry for me Useless Bastards! I never really liked you All through my drunken days My vile existence I kept my promise Now keep your distance... Goddamn it! Where's my glass! I'm sure that you incredible shower of bastards has missed me more than you can express. But try, anyways. Don't be afraid to pour on the rejoicing. Make it thick, and sweet, like tripleberry syrup (which is made of no berries known in nature). Hey, guys! I've missed you. Well, not 'missed' as such. More like 'Wow, the absence of the Peng Challenge lot has left me with far too much on my time on my hands to hate the current government'. In an effort to lower my stress level, I've returned to hate you. I figure a good round of hating every single one of you annoying halfwits will cause a huge lowering of blood pressure, a reduction in alcohol intake, and, if I do some energetic full-body obscene gestures, I may well drop 5-10 pounds.

Here in the great North Land, we put an emphasis on intelligence and fore-thought, and the climate encourages people to plan ahead. Which has made for a hard transition for Dalem...

Basil Rathbone. He was a fencer. </font>

Well, I could point out that I could hit a bloody liquor store with a snowball from your front steps (which I have to figure was a big selling point when you bought the place), so I wouldn't think you'd have roust me out at 10 to 10 in order to get your lazy arse more booze. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going off to watch the very best Christmas Movie ever made, 'We're No Angels', starring Humphrey Bogart, Peter Ustinov and Aldo Ray, which I have just acquired on DVD. I figure it's actually the story of the Minnesota Miscreants. I see myself as Jules, the role played by Ustinov, Lars as the Aldo Ray character, Albert, and Papa Khann as the Humphrey Bogart character. You're either Adolph, the viper, or Cousin Andre as played by Basil Rathbone...

That's because you failed to bring unto me booze on Friday. </font>

I don't hate people as a concept, mind you. But their actuality is giving me the red-arse...

I'm for bed, me. Last night I dreamt that Boo Radley was trying to teach the alphabet to a monkey with flash-cards. What the hell is that about, I ask you?! Tonight, it's 2 degrees above zero, Fahrenheit. Finns, Ohioans...why do I get up in the morning?

Viljuri, why don't you have your damn email in your freaking profile, eh? Eh?! Bloody Finns drive me right up the wall. The wall, do you hear? Right up the wall!

Am I not just that, then? Ordinary is the very best description you could use for me. I'm just a guy. Registered voter, almost tax-payer, never convicted drug-user (mostly), pre-eminent all-round likable guy. Who slept with your mum. How many times do I have to tell you, Viljuris? I'm your father. The northern stars were bright; it was a night of passion. WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO TURN TO THE DARK-SIDE, YOU FINNISH BASTARD, AND START KISSING UP TO THE BUSH ADMINISTRATION, AND ACKNOWLEDGE ME, YOUR OWN DAD?! Look, lad. There's a certain amount of shame in acknowledging that a DNA test would force you to call me 'Vater', or whatever you Arctic Circle cell-phone creating elves use as a language. But it's your shame. Embrace it, and move on. Now, come give me a hug, and tell me how many Russians your maternal ancestors (you can skip over the achievements of your supposed 'paternal' ancestors), killed in the Great War to Make Finland European.

You know, when you get right down to it, most of you lot couldn't insult your way into an arrest with a drink in either hand and a pile of pedestrians on the hood of your car. Giving ****e to you bunch of tossers is like grooming and arranging bows on toy poodles for a dog fight. I Challenge each and every one of you useless pillocks to an Exchange of Insults! Roight! Who'll be first, then?

I'd make mock with the fact that I've run over things that were more erudite than you, but that would belittle the memory of the various gophers, porcupines and skunks that were so mentally and physically incompetent that even my best efforts to dodge them weren't enough. Face it, Dalem, you simply long for my approval. You have it, lad. I approve of you, Dalem. Why? Because I believe that, however slowly the wheels of Evolution might grind, they grind exceedingly fine. And you have no children. So the System is working. Now fetch me a rum&other, you whore, and put on a movie for my amusement.

I could be bound inside a nut-shell, and it would be an entire Universe compared to the hamster wheel of non-entity that you're currently furiously spinning...