Seanachai

As the mornin’ light breaks open The Greek comes down and he asks for a rope And a pen that will write “Pardone, Monsieur,” the desk clerk says, Cavalierly he lifts his fez “Am I hearing you right?” And as the yellow fog is lifting The Greek is clearly Headed for the second floor She passes him on the spiral staircase Thinkin’ he’s the Soviet Ambassador She stops to speak But he walks away... As the storm clouds rise and the palm branches sway on Black Diamond Bay Black Diamond Bay -Bob Dylan Someone bring me a fecking Elf Girl! Gods, how I hate Chivalry! And I hate Peng. He's like the younger brother that I never had who was always older and more responsible than me. Hey, Peng, fella! What's with your goddamn State, eh? You see where that halfwit c***-sucker Pat Robertson is gonna absolve God from any Liability if your freaking section of the State is suddenly overrun with Aids infected Al-Qaida operatives, Tornadoes, Earthquakes, Volcanoes, or a Media Infestation Bent on Turning a School Board Election Into a Cause Celebre? Hell, I can't blame him, frankly. I mean, the span between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia of your State is fecking Alabama. The knowledge that there's enough mental wattage there to understand that Intelligent Design is another way of imposing near-idiocy on long-suffering Christianity must fill that bigoted, right-wing, mentally unstable manipulator of mouth-breathing Believers with rage. Look, at some point, it's going to become necessary for America to kill Pat Robertson. We have the ability to take him out, and I think the time has come that we exercise that ability. But what I want to be assured of, Peng, is that you're not part of the problem. I want you to be part of the solution. So, I need to know, Peng fella. Would you support the concept that the Complexity, Depth and Insatiable Stupidity of the Peng Challenge Thread indicates that it could only have come about by the direct intervention of a Higher Power? Or do you think that it evolved by a gradual process of mental deterioration on the part of an almost innumerable number of lower organisms attempting to screw even stupider organisms out of a place in CM history? Think carefully, MrPeng.

I hear Vin Diesel and Russell Crowe have taken a time-share condo together on Phuket Island in Thailand, and in the ultimate display of 'manliness' they're both going to pitch and catch at the same time! It's nice to see that Dalem feels comfortable enough with us all to share his homo-erotic fixations with us.

My Liege! </font>

Now, now, Dave Aitch, Lars is no more a racist than I am... </font>

Mccormack and Richard Tauber, are singing by the bed There’s a glass of punch below your feet and an angel at your head There’s devils on each side of you with bottles in their hands You need one more drop of poison and you’ll dream of foreign lands When you pissed yourself in frankfurt and got syph down in Cologne And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone Frank Ryan brought you whiskey in a brothel in Madrid And you decked some ****ing blackshirt who was cursing all the yids At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel and say a prayer And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil’s in the chair And in the euston tavern you screamed it was your shout But they wouldn’t give you service so you kicked the windows out They took you out into the street and kicked you in the brains So you walked back in through a bolted door and did it all again At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel and say a prayer And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil’s in the chair You remember that foul evening when you heard the banshees howl There was lousy drunken bastards singing billy is in the bowl They took you up to midnight mass and left you in the lurch So you dropped a button in the plate and spewed up in the church Now you’ll sing a song of liberty for blacks and paks and jocks And they’ll take you from this dump you’re in and stick you in a box Then they’ll take you to Clough Prior and shove you in the ground But you’ll stick your head back out and shout 'we’ll have another round' At the graveside of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel around and pray And God is in his heaven, and billy’s down by the bay Sick Bed of Cuchulainn -The Pogues

w00t, congrats dude! Daughters rule!!! \m/ </font>

Radley! Fetch me a drink! Fast up with it. Man, what does a man have to do to get a drink around here? It's so good to be able to breathe, again. It makes me happy. Where's that bastard, Berli then, eh? Where's that Roaring Boy Peng?! Bring me my peers, or I'll goddamn well piss on your heads.

Frankly, someone who is so fecking half-witted and fundamentally ignorant as to trot out the phrase 'pinko' has to be so wrapped up with trying to negotiate going to the toilet despite tangled shoe-laces and unpaid breakfast tabs that anything else they might have to say simply sails over into the 'Drunken Event Horizon'. Jesus Fecking Christ, Dillweed. Reach down into your lederhosen and try to come up with some sort of take on Reality that doesn't involve jerking yourself into the resemblance of someone that the rest of us wouldn't just piss on in an alley.

I like Abbott. He's a daft mother-fecker. He's always willing to just jump out there and...BE. I'm always after acknowledging those who simply ARE. You either exist for me, or you don't. We could argue all winter about whether you should exist or not. But winter's come, and it's slaughter time. Tell me you exist. Or put up with my vicious dismissal of why you don't exist. Oh, look! Is that the time? Why isn't that C-word Dalem making me a drink?

Thank you, Sensei. NOW SHUT THE FECK UP AND GET ME A DRINK, YOU DAGO BASTARD! None sing hymns to breathe — But oh, to be without it... Dalem, you lackluster pissant whore, get me a drink!

I've seen your last girl child, and she was a darling. Soibhan is a nice name. Also Anwyn. Very Celtic. My sister who just died is Kathleen. Kathleen is a damn nice name, you know? But you know, when it's a girl's name, it's something that should be left up to the wife and female relatives. They understand this stuff. Oh, and congratulations you half-wit bastard. I really liked meeting you, that time I drove through Southern Wisconsin. When you get home, laddie, you've always got a place to crash when you get way-weird drunk with buddies, and then get thrown out by the wife, and then decide to drive the 300 miles to the Twin Cities, and then show up on my door-step, and me saying "Jesus Christ, NG Cavscout, you fecking stupid bastard, what are you doing here?!", and you reply 'Wow, Seanachai, I got way fecking drunk last night and now I'm back from the War and my wife thinks that I'm a complete bloody goddamn idjit (which I am), and she wants me to take a time out by going off to stay with some complete freaking lunatic from Minneapolis who believes that Dan Bern is the most honest of the musical artists... Christ Almighty, I lost all context there. But you know, Bucky, if you ever show up here, drunk, disorderly, and trying to come to grips with being thrown out by your wife... Well, man. I'll have your arse arrested. Later, I'll come out and bail you out. Then I'll round up the Minnesota Miscreants, and we'll whip your arse up one side of the town and down the other. You're on the couch, man. Go up and throw up on the floor. That's why it's hardwood. Or somefink.

I AM ALIVE! AH-HAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAN BREATHE AGAIN! No doubt that all sounds very mundane to you. But it's a bit different for someone who's spent the last 3...4 days barely able to draw a full breathe, or lie down to sleep. Especially if your father died of lung cancer, and your sister died of respiratory failure. All the fun just simply fecking runs out through the arse when you're sitting in your desk chair, contemplating how you can catch a few hours sleep if you put a pillow on the desk so that you can lean forward in your chair and rest your head on the desk so that you can breathe...and then remember how your father, immediately before his death, strategized about how he could get through another night if he could use the hospital tray table to support his forehead while he slept, and not interfere with the tubes in his chest... I'll tell you this, Ladies, Halfwits, and Boo Radley (who's checked in, lately, and shown a proper regard, so I'm quite pleased with him, thank you very much): Nothing terrifies my worthless little arse worse than not being able to breathe. Years ago, I read a novel by Roger Zelazny titled "Lord of Light". And one of the lines from that novel has always stayed with me, to this day. It's: "None sing praises to breath. But 'Oh, to be without it!'" I've been sick. Contemplating death. And I've been contemplating all of you. Death fills me with fear. I don't fear pain, but I fear not being able to breathe. You lot make me grin. Make me smile. Now.

You're still alive? Wonders never cease, if you freaking well live long enough. Aces, wouldn't you agree that not enough is being done to restrict computer and internet access for criminals like yourself?

What I want to know is what are the old ones going to do about spotty SSNs spouting political statements *crosses self repeatedly, with crayon* in and around the MBT. Is this the fault of the Seanachai? </font>

It was Halloween. I seem to have lost...well, at least several days. Goddamn Alien Abductions. Why isn't my President keeping me safe from this sort of thing? Christ knows the last time I flew I had to wait in line at the airport security check for 30 minutes, shuffling forward a few feet at a time with my goddamn bloody shoes in my hand. Is that what untold billions of dollars and the Hyper Impressively Ridiculous Department of Homeland Security has gotten us? American citizens shuffling forward towards the metal detectors at airports with their fecking shoes in their hands?! What a load of dogs' bollocks. Frankly, I'm waiting for the newspaper expose that reveals that the whole thing is an act of mass humiliation that the Republican Party has enacted in order to show the world their power. Either that, or the Terrorists have, in fact, won, and the symbol of their victory is American citizens being forced by armed men (sent by their own government) to remove their shoes in order to board a plane. What's next? Do we all have to drop trou and shove a popsicle stick up our arse while reciting the Pledge of Allegiance in order to be allowed into a voting booth? Is there anyone out there so mentally crippled by drinking anti-freeze run-off from the neighbour's last radiator dump in the public street that believes that making all airline passengers remove their shoes is helping to Combat Terrorism and making America More Safe? Probably the most sickening aspect of the Administration's endless spin-doctoring and 'playing on crisis' is the degrading nature of most of their manipulation. After a while the average American simply has to believe that what he's been told or subjected to has to be the truth, and has to be for the good of the country. Otherwise, he's been made a complete goddamn fool of, and humiliated into the bargain. But that's not what I came to talk to you about tonight. I was just after being here to reassure you that by the end of this weekend, 35 pages of insanity of will have been written. Also to inquire if MrPeng is aware of whatever the hell is going on with the other Olde One.

I... I demand that you appear before us all, cross-gartered, and wearing yellow.

The very next person who pisses me off is going to have to get up on top of a coffee table and do a little 'Charleston and Cutesy Mugging' routine. A little song and dance. In a humiliating sort of way. I don't think most of you unrepentant half-wits understand just what sort of volcanic fury and judgmental viciousness lies at the heart of my love for you. I have killed and eaten animals that displayed more intelligence than 80% of you lot. I have stood swaying in a darkened alley, and pissed a more intellectually intriguing stream of consciousness than all but a very few of you are capable of. I have woven words and concepts together, even while dead drunk, to create a tapestry of weirdness that passes so far above the heads of most of you that even when you stand on each other's shoulders, the best you can do is wave at it as it trails across your consciousness. I have completely blown off and screwed up a better life than most of you will ever achieve, even should you live as long as I have. That's why I love you guys. You really need me. I have committed to writing 50,000 words during the month of November. That works out to some 1,670 words per day, or about 7 pages. I have made this promise to my nephew Danny, the Goddess, the memory of Hunter S. Thompson, and, well, in a way I cannot explain, MrPeng. Because He always believed in me. A goddamn avalanche of gibberish on that level has to go somewhere. And, if it's any good, it has to bury someone. I'll keep you posted.

Sure is. And he's a Liberal, too.

Ah, you must not have heard me the first time I said this, so allow me to repeat myself. No. You want it changed? Challenge me to a Blood Hamster. Do we have a deal? </font>

Boo, my large and amusingly thuggish henchman, as it was long since been proved that you were, in fact, wrong, I must insist that you CHANGE YOUR GODDAMN SIG LINE, YOU DYSFUNCTIONAL MUTANT!

And, in time, All Things Are Made Clear. Abbott, in your honour I have just finished horribly mangling a Coleridge poem on the General Forum. Look for it in the 'Mongolia Gives Rumsfeld a Gift' thread.

Re-position it so that your gentlemen friends aren't becoming entangled and frustrated. If only all of Life's crises were so easily resolved. Sometimes I understand Peng's despair. Sometimes I want to return to a simpler, more productive time. When I had a life, and a job, and friends. When I wrote stories, and poetry. When, even though age was upon me, life was still full of promise. Sigh. All that is lost to me. And all that is left to me is this place. It's like an addiction, albeit without any sense of narcotic induced peace and well-being. The Peng Challenge Thread: Historically too late to merit a Nationally sponsored Awareness and Education Rehabilitation Program. Bugger. Twenty freaking years ago I could have gotten funding to help me avoid this place. I'm back. Goddamnit, at least heroin gives an illusory euphoria. You lot fill me with the vague sense that I'm drinking too much coffee, have let an entire lifetime of potential slip away, and that I'm not moving my bowels often enough. Oh, well. Is Red Neck Dollar really Dorosh? If so, I need to speak with him. And I don't think it could be Abbott, because Abbott has a much drier and more sensitive sense of humour. And all this talk about my liver is idiocy. My liver hasn't been seen since the early '80s. I got a postcard from a friend years ago who said they'd run into my liver, and that it had learned to play the pan-pipes and joined a South American musical group, and was living with a woman who owned a natural foods store in San Francisco. I wish it all the best. Nature may have meant us to spend Eternity together, but Life doesn't always play out that way.

I don't know, Joe. I just don't know, anymore. This whole 'Syrian' thing; It just bums me out. The news just gets more grim, and the Administration looks for a reason to extend the War, and BFC smiles and rubs their hands, and postures and positions the New Game. It's not fun, you know, when a Game anticipates financial success because they've correctly catered to aggression. Best I just feck off, now. Take care of the Place for me, eh, and keep the folk laughing..

I was mistaken. This is the most hideously ****ing awful pretense of English Usage ever If you wanted my attention, you've got it. The Justicar is right. Don't ever goddamn say something this fecking stupid again. Every culture has their own take on idiocy. Pull your head out. You're not good enough to be the Poster Child for Stupidity of the Peng Challenge Thread.

Okay, here's the 'quick and dirty' version. I wrote this absolutely goddamn beautiful godddamn reply to you, Joe, but I'm currently on a friend's computer (more on that, anon), and their computer is a GODDAMN FECKING WINDOWS BOX PIECE O' ****E, and after typing a reply for about 10 minutes, the entire GODDAMN FEKCING PIECE O' ****E WINDOWS BOX PIECE O' ****E simply shut down, lost everything I'd typed, for no apparent or discernable reason at all. It did give me a wonderful 'dialog error message' window that said, basically, 'This Operating System Is As Fragile and Precious As a 12 Year Old Virgin That Bill Gates Has Just Sodomized In An Abandoned Well House Behind the Family Homestead of People Who Never Wanted To Own a Computer'. Man, every time I deal with Windows, even XP, for more than 45 minutes, I'm left gasping over the fact that Mac OS X doesn't require that I kill and digest the yet to be born fetuses of women enslaved to the Republican National Convention organizers.