Seanachai

Well, first, something bitter-sweet, and for the requester... He is skating on a river That's been frozen since December He's a soldier on a river off to war And he just received his orders They're in his pocket with his quarters But they never cut his leave like this before And his buddies know he's crazy But They'll meet him by the bridge And he has the light of more than half the moon He skated nights when he was younger Though he always knew the danger But it seems so much is here and gone so soon And the ice talks to the river And the geese talk to themselves Will they fly all night if there's no place to land? A place to land is open water And open water he can't use When it's hard enough to find a place to stand When the ice gives in beneath you You know it changes how you dream And you will never be the same again He's going where there is no winter The only ice is in his veins He may kill someone who's face he'll never see He always knew he'd be a soldier Since his parents could remember Now he's skating down this temporary road He is skating on a river That's been frozen since December He's a soldier on a river off to war 'Temporary Road' -John Gorka And now, for a light-hearted singsong to send your wee arse off to bed, sodjer! Sit down by the fire And I’ll tell you a story To send you away to your bed Of the things you hear creeping When everyone’s sleeping And you wish you were out here instead It isn’t the mice in the wall It isn’t the wind in the well But each night they march Out of that hole in the wall Passing through on their way Out of hell They’re the things that you see When you wake up and scream The cold things that follow you Down the boreen They live in the small ring of trees on the hill Up at the top of the field And they dance on the rain And they dance on the wind They tap on the window When no-one is in And if ever you see them Pretend that you’re dead Or they’ll bite off your head They’ll rip out your liver And dance on your neck They dance on your head They dance on your chest They give you the cramp And the cholic for jest They’re the things that you see When you wake up and scream The cold things that follow you Down the boreen They live in the small ring of trees on the hill Up at the top of the field They play on the wind They sing on the rain They dance on your eyes They dance in your brain Remember this place It is damp and it’s cold The best place on earth But it’s dark and it’s old So lie near the wall And cover your head Good night and God bless, Now **** off to bed 'Sit Down By the Fire' -The Pogues

Damn it, I'm having trouble getting this torch lit...

Dalem...well, Dalem is Denny Crane. William Shatner is currently reprising the role of 'Dalem' under the pseudonym of 'Denny Crane' on the Television show 'Boston Legal'. And I? I have come to the realization that I am America's last Conservative. In fact, I am the last, true American still posting on this Thread, if not, in fact, on this Forum. The rest of that Neo-Con lot of whores should take their 'sealed, non-competitive bids', and their attempts at a 'New and Ever More Fecking Dim Monarchy', and shove off! I stand before you as the Last True Conservative American. In the late 1700s we fought a war here, in the New World, to rid ourselves of the tyranny of an hereditary aristocracy whose only concern was their own power and privilege, for whom America was just another opportunity to coin money! 'Nae Kings, Nae Queens, Nae Lords! We don't get fooled agin!" I hereby open the Peng Challenge Thread to the impress of anarchy. Apologies to the Justicariate. A little Revolution is often good for the soul of a people, although it is often hard on their institutions, as well as the privileges of their masters. LET'S HERE FROM YOU LOT OF TOSSERS!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROSE! Jesus, Boo, it's not even Midnight yet. Give us some time. Except the Australians, as it's probably already some variation on Heisenberg Time where they live. Oh, and that endless, mindless, obscenely tedious exchange between Joe and Nidan about time stamps that took up pages of the previous Thread? That sucked. It was so dull and pointless that I actually felt my internal organs beginning to fail.

What the hell have you done lately to advance the cause of 'Intelligent Design', you half-wit feck?! Will I have to send Troopers to your house to force you to agree to raise your daughters outside the Bounds of Science?! WE KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE, PENG! I COULD BRING A GODDAMN LAWSUIT AGAINST YOUR ENTIRE GENE POOL FOR FAILING TO VALIDATE MY RELIGIOUS PREJUDICES AND DEMANDS! But that's not how we're going to handle it, are we, Peng? Oh, no. We're going to settle this like gentlemen. I'm going to propose a toast, and you're going to second it. Aren't you, Peng? Ladies and Gentlemen! A Toast! I give you: Three figures sitting on fallen logs, around a fire that swirls, flickers and fades with every gust of wind from the Wasteland. The bottle is almost empty. The Thread will never be. A Testimonial, dear friends! A bit more stupid than simply daft, I'm after thinking. Peng, fella. Go out and get the DVD of 'Boondock Saints' Now there's a good, Irisher movie...

We have met the Enemy, and He is Us. -Pogo I came home tonight through the darkness across a stark, white landscape of blowing wind, bare trees, ice and snow. It was as if I was watching a video Podcast from inside the brains of most of you lot. Except I had a CD in the stereo, so the music was better than the cacophony of commercial jingles, theme songs and badly hummed Boy George songs that make up the sound-track running along the edge of your internal mental emptiness. And I realized that, yes, once again it was Winter. For most of you, of course, Winter is just a season. Most of you are weak, effeminate, and so committed to a regimen of genital self-examination as to result in dehydration, were it not for the constant influx of beer. Most of you are not Minnesotans. In fact, almost none of you are Minnesotans. Which is to say: Almost none of you will ever amount to a good goddamn. All that aside, where's our Mr. Hotmail Address Name fella that was so after telling people to 'shut the hell up'? Posting not as much fun when 'Hitler Rules' don't apply? By the gods, I remember when I was young, and if you didn't agree with someone, you weren't relegated to simply telling them 'it isn't a joke or a game', and you could have the bastards drug out onto the local Patriot Bitch Pitch and have the neighbourhood children use box knives to disembowel them. My gods, how we used to laugh, as we watched them try to get a hold on the aluminum grips, slippery with blood, so that they could draw the blades all the way from breast-bone to groin! Do you know, some of them would actually burst into tears as the blood made them lose their grips? What can I say, as I stand championing the cause of 'Inappropriate Humour'? Well, just this: Was that the whole point of dumping on people? Inappropriate humour? Christ on a crutch, sitting in a rose pink Cadillac. It's either laugh, or cry. Ho, Boo Radley, my Annoyingly Mentally Apt Henchman! Fetch me my especially strong ale! Okay, look. I know I've been cutting Boo some serious slack, lately. But you lot weren't there, at 2 a.m., when I was traumatized by my sister's death, the loss of my father, and how wrong everything's gone in my life, and I called my ex-college roommate on the phone, and shouted "JESUS BLOODY HELL, I NEVER REALIZED THAT ALL YOU GODDAMN OHIOANS WERE LIKE A PACK OF MENTALLY RETARDED CARE-BEARS." Ya' see, my ex-college roommate is an Ohioan. Also, another of my best friends is an Ohioan. They're completely goddamn useless, vile and horrible. But what can you do? At least they're not Texans.

Oh, and before I forget: Boo Radley is a great guy. It would probably be a good idea if most of you halfwits fell down at his feet and glorified him for a bit.

Well, actually, all that does is make you smell like some guy in laundered clothes who rubbed grass and pine needles all over himself. This simply makes the deer wonder why you bothered to wash your freaking clothes in the first place, if all you were going to do is rub ****e all over them.

Do you know what the sound of quarter falling into a toilet is, lad? beloit Very fitting. Kathleen...it's a lovely name, you know. She was such a pugnacious, lively child. And such a bossy, loving adult. I miss her immensely. When I dream of her, lately, she has her hair back. It makes me cry, when I wake up, but it makes me glad. We always called her 'Kathy'. When she got older, and took her life into her own hands, she always insisted on 'Kat'. We always honoured that, but amongst ourselves, her sisters and I still always called her 'Kathy'. If you name her Kathleen, I'm willing to bet she'll be a tough, loving and capable person. Eh, feck it. I think I'll go off, have a good cry, and pass out.

Where is my thuggish henchman, Boo Radley? I almost called him, tonight. But then, I thought about the fact that it was 3 AM in Ohio... So I had another drink. And I just listened to music. She rises from a double bed And puts her blue dress on And goes out to the kitchen Where the table's set for one She imagines there's a gentleman Where there's just a winter sun And life had just begun. She wanders to the window And gazes at the cold And looks back at the letter That is lying on the floor That was brought by a man in uniform From the Secretary of War Regrets come to her door. Old men talk of the Beast That held the Germans in its sway And we gave them bloody hell Until we drove the Beast away But the Beast got up, and he looked around And he crossed the northern seas And settled in with you, and me. Broad is the road that leads to death That's what the poets say Thousands walk together there Go blindly on their way And wisdom shows a narrow path Available to man But it doesn't play as well on CNN You talk about your patriots And your fancy flying bombs But modern war is a bloody hell When all is said and done. The rich will eat their caviar And the poor will feast on sand. That's how it's always been. Back in the kitchen She's sitting there alone And she'll sit right there For another 40 years Till God will bring her home It's one more day in the land of the Beast Beneath a winter sun When all is said, and done. When All Is Said and Done -Farm Accident

You want to take up channeling then? </font>

Hush, now! Like anyone jumped to your fecking defense, you silly bastard! Mind, I'm after being glad to know that you're alright. When are you coming home, you bugger? When you arrive, I'd be honoured to drive over to that hell-hole of a border town you call home, and buy you breakfast, and such.

When we quit with the casual jokes, lad, it will be because we're all dead. Here in the Peng Challenge Thread, we're after being a very mixed bag. The Justicar will tell you that there's no politics here, and, truth be told, you'll see that honoured more by the Conservatives than the Liberals, if we were to give them labels. I should know, as I'm far more likely to rant on the 'Liberal' line, than the Conservative. But, in my more sober moments, I'd like to think that what I'm after doing is trying to understand. So I like to hear from everyone. That includes such as our MrSpkr, and our Dalem. Because what I want, is the Truth. Personally, you're never, ever going to find anyone as hates 'The Current Administration' or the Neo-Con position as much as I do. But you're never going to see me tell someone who holds a different position to: 'Shut the Hell Up'. Well, you might, but when I do, I'd be wrong. I always want to hear from the Other Side. There's only one side. It's the side of Truth and Justice. And it takes a powerful lot of work to even begin to approximate that. So, I'm always willing to hear what a group has to say about current affairs. But I'm not after willing to hear that any group should 'shut the hell up'. Believe me, I hate my ideological enemies. But when I tell someone just like me to 'shut the hell up', I end all dialogue. And I don't want to do that with anyone unless I know they're simply no longer reachable. And even then, I don't want to do it unless I'm addressing a person whose bigotry and viciousness takes them outside the pale. Witness the Dalem. His political views are vicious, his social views are laughable. But we are friends. I never go up to his house without a sigh, and I never listen to his views without shouting: YOU ASS! FOOL! KISS MY ARSE! And then we smoke cigars, and he shows me how to properly parry using his rapiers. We sword fight a lot. And often have breakfast. But what am I to do? He's a stupid git. I never met so many fecking stupid gits in my life, before I posted on this Forum. But I have chosen to take them in stride, and, by my example, my acceptance, and my intellect, I have chosen to make them see reason. it's a damn hard row to hoe. But the alternative is to strap 40 lbs. of C-4 to my chest and go over to his house. And that's just not American, Goddamnit! You seem well-spoken in terms of your ability to Taunt. Do you actually have the Game? If so, I might give you a game. Oh, and as for my abilities as word-smith? I could run up one side of you and down the other, laughing like a two-year old. You're lucky I regard you as a small and silly poodle. It's been a long time since I pounded the nails into the hands and feet of a new poster. So, tell me about how I should give you a game. sigh.

And the Holidays continue to roll along. It is now my great good pleasure to wish a Happy Birthday to that incomparable Horseman of the Apocalypso and Combat Mission Grog: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MICHAEL EMRYS! Or Famine, as he's affectionately called. Michael, I know how tough it is to have a Birthday right near Thanksgiving Day, what with you being Famine, and all, but try and enjoy yourself anyways. Perhaps head down to the local homeless shelter and set the turkey on fire...

Firstly, and in a sprightly manner may I just say: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GOTZ VON BERLICHTIGEN! Always happy to acknowledge this day when you were cast down into Hell. Nextly, may I just say 'Happy Thanksgiving' to all the Americans on the Thread and on the Forum. Finally, let me say 'Happy 328th Beer Appreciation Day' (for the calendar year 2005) to the Australians. Also, I would never ride a donkey. I am, in fact, allergic to donkeys.

That sort of come-on line only works with emotionally disturbed young people, lad.

I owe everyone turns. For weeks and weeks. Of course, many of my opponents are Foreigners. Outer Boarders. I'm not sure how that happened. Kiwis, Latvians, Anesthesiologists... weird idjits of all persuasions. I simply haven't been able to play. I am in despair. Oh, and Joe? It's a Temporary Job. But it pays the bills. I had a dream the other night. I was young again, and making all my Choices for the First Time. It was an interesting review. They were: Pagan, Northfield, Jewish, Bob Dylan, International Relations, Australia, LSD, Ferlinghetti, Lenny Bruce, America, Red Wine, A Confederate General From Big Sur, Doggie Style, Finnegan's Wake, Marijuana, Bagpipes, Ohio, Chevy Monza, Ireland, 19, Rum, the Drug Bund, Hunter S. Thompson, Samhain, Special Export, Cyrano de Bergerac and Amanita Muscaria mushrooms. In no particular order. I'll send a bottle of Finest Whatever to anyone who can properly attribute them all. Radley! Change your goddamn sig line!

Is that Joy I'm experiencing? Or simply my intestine beginning to function again...

Wonderful. First crabs, now this.

ROIGHT! GODS DAMNED SOUTH AFRICAN FROGS!

Until Boo acknowledges my righteous wrath regarding his bloody sig line, I shall not post here again. But I am not an unreasonable man. I shall offer him a reasonable alternative. I am a very reasonable man. "When I arrive in Hell, Boo Radley will get a freaking T-shirt." -Seanachai

If you want to post here again, change your bloody sig line.

The Rules aren't bad, but the Thread title sucketh mightily, so that ever wider regions of intelligence were drawn into a void of Boo's making. I have completely kacked any chance of producing 50,000 words by November 30th by foremostly, being sick most of this month so far, and just a bit behind, actually being gainfully employed. This fills me with despair. On the positive side, I can pay my bills (including medical bills), and I enjoyed the last few pages of the previous Thread, which primarily involved a discussion of genetics, pasta and religion. It helped me to focus on my ultimate purpose in life, which is to use satire to probe the depths of Peng's intelligence and commitment to raising a family in a land under Christian interdict. I rejoice in the continued existence of NG Cavscout, not because he himself survives, although that is a glad thing, but because of what he represents: 12,000 years of human development that's still within the 'pull my finger' zone of its earliest stages. I am filled with joy by the knowledge that even the worst errors of Evolution, such as Stuka and Leeo, are always with us, like Herpes. I am filled with a quiet serenity because Small Emma Sine Chatterbox wonders where Grandma Steve has gone, and asks after him when she hasn't seen him for many days because he's been as sick as a pre-resurrection Lazarus. It was 7 degrees Fahrenheit this morning when I left for work. But I found a pair of gloves in my coat pocket when I was cleaning the windshield of Jack Frost's frozen piss. It made me smile I am torn between spending the rest of my declining years mesmerizing women by the sheer impact of my intellectual, sensual and spiritual presence, or becoming a Bodhisattva. This decision would be easier if the Dalai Lama would quit calling me 'you vicious Western whore' in his replies to my emails. The Spiritual realm would be more appealing if it wasn't filled with examples of envy such as this. You'll all excuse me now, I'm sure, as it's time for my medication.

I've been teaching my friend, Small Emma, a new thing. Whenever she encounters something annoying, stupid, and worthless, I've taught her to exclaim "Bloody Australians!" Given that she's only 2 years and 4 months old, she's already made amazing progress as to when it's appropriate to say this. And she says it with great enthusiasm. Just the way I taught her.

Apparently you missed the Memo about the fact that Lars shall, throughout the month of November, be addressed as 'Deirdre'? You idjit. And I suspect your intentions. Because, as everyone knows, it's Myself that suffers from Gout on this Thread. Oh, and Leeo, but he's easily overlooked.