Seanachai

Ah, communications! "Git the hell outta here, Bonzer, we got the game on!" -Maj. General Colt Kelly's Heroes

Every few months I like to saunter in here and remind Soddball that he owes me a turn in a game that has now gone on since Prinz Eugen was first weeping over his mother's refusal to buy him toe-shoes so that he could prove himself 'athletic' to the other Euro-trash children that used to beat him up every Friday. Soddie, if I need to resend the last turn, just let me know...

You want CMers to do some version of 'the Macarena'? Oy, vey, Vaco! You need to get a grip, eh?

I think, dear Justicar, that it would be better if you take 'my colon' off your lips. Do not let concern for, with, or about 'my colon' again leap forward into the BFC community. Lock all such behind your shiny white teeth. Shaw, my little man, there are times when I feel the need to take my light out into the world, much the way your average pyromaniac does, and for much the same reasons, and with very similar results.

Congratulations, and good on ya'! I'm proud of you, lad! ... ... ... You know, I don't think I've ever said that here before.

"RPG System"? A tactically deep game with an 'RPG System'? Sounds a bit strange.

Bah, I'd much rather have a nice, fresh adrenalin gland to chew on...

In the future, please address all 'BFC, afraid of future' posts to me. While not an Official 'Spokes Creature' for BFC, I am fully conversant with all forms of 'future fear', and I have far too much time on my hands because I'm not currently running a successful game company. As such, I am more than competent to opine: 'No, I don't think a significantly different game system (RTS), which most of their customer base are only passingly interested in, if at all, will suddenly suck the life-force out of their children's mouths.' Just as I feel confident with my saying that 'A game market already flooded with First Person Shooters isn't suddenly going to destroy Combat Mission, which is not a First Person Shooter, just because yet another First Person Shooter has been released.' I will then, on an even more personal level, go on to say that 'I would rather have a live weasel introduced into my colon than play yet another graphic intensive but reality challenged First Person Shooter', or 'Real Time Strategy games make me tired, but compensate by making me feel good about having grown old enough to enjoy the mental challenge of a tactically stimulating game that provides a true challenge in a turn-based form', or, finally, 'Close Combat made me feel like I was watching an ant farm gone hideously awry, with my most fervent wish being that all the wriggling vermin would snuff it before I had to watch any more of their bizarre antics.' I would then go on to point out, once again, that I was only the 'Completely Unofficial Advocate for the Combat Mission line of games', and remind people that 'Games with multi-million dollar backing invariably spend 40% of it on Hideous Advertising Campaigns, 20% of it on Middle-Managers, Marketing Whores, and the people that, in every industry, are called 'Ten Percenters', and a final 20% is spent on packaging, product placement, and 'family members of upper executives who draw a salary for play-testing'. Only about 20% is actually spent on 'Making a Good Game'. And that's at best. I would then remind people that 'This is only one, simple man's opinion', and finish by saying: 'Hasbro...Hasbro...Exterminate the brutes!' I would then invite you into the 'Peng Challenge Thread', or the 'Cheery Waffle thread' to 'meet the guys!' Remember: Only you can prevent huge, parasitic game companies from sacrificing small children on evil altars, and using their blood to make the 'mark of the beast' on the foreheads of executives who dance naked around a pentagram drawn by marketing pillocks while attempting to summon 'The Great God, Mammon'. In all fairness, I should point out that I'm almost completely insane. On the other hand, it was reality that to drove me to the rather 'special' attitude that I currently manifest. Selah. [ July 12, 2005, 11:51 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

I guess your recent loss of composure is still a subject that brings you too close to tears for you to be able to reflect on your inadequacies as a poster. I think it's important, though, for you to avoid blaming an unhappy childhood, Society, or the State of the World for your own failures as an individual. Really, Prinz Eugen. Clearly there are Terrorists in the world. But it would be wrong to use them as an excuse for the fact that your friends have to roll you on your stomach each night in order to keep you from aspirating your own vomit while you sleep...

You are such a whore. What's next? Volunteering to work with the 'emotionally disturbed' as an 'activities therapist'? Or hanging around Middle Schools with a 1/4 ounce of marijuana and a scenario CD, trying to entice school children into playing your chaotic abuses of the designer's art? Does you wife know that you've taken to flaunting yourself in the Cheery Waffle thread, trying to pick up players?! It's your kids I feel for the most...

And now, because Berli was just talking to me last night — at 2 AM, I might add. Berli works on the principle 'I see he posted something after 10 PM, therefore, he's probably still awake, guess I'll call his worthless arse and tell him about how I'm standing in line at the grocery store with a bunch of automatons and zombies who apparently forgot to load up on twinkies and cheap beer before deciding to watch porn all night'... As I was saying I was talking to Berli last night, and we had a lengthy discussion about the 'Importance of Good Music Usage In Any Work of Drama', and so, in my response to Tagwyn, I have properly scripted my response with an appropriate musical score... Late morning breaks over the house of Seanachai, where the insistent ringing of a phone cuts through the hot, humid swamp-like stillness, causing an unkempt, unclothed figure to roll out of bed and shout: Seanachai: Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, what the hell! Hello? What? Ohmigod, not another fecking trip to Disney World! That makes the 7th goddamn trip to Disney World that 'I, or a family member' has signed me up to win this freaking month! Shouldn't you people look at your system of 'drawing lucky winners'?! I mean, how do you people make any sodding money when I win every four goddamn days?! Hello? Hello?! She didn't even give me my 'confirmation number!' Amidst vigorous scratching and hair smoothing, the underwear clad Gnome makes his way into the kitchen Seanachai: Jayzus! Cast your eyes on the Abomination of the Desolation! He begins the process of trying to find a clean glass for the strengthening morning glass of juice, and finally settles for one standing in the sink with 'the clearest water', dumps it out, and fills it halfway with a piquant mixture of half rum, half crystal lite lemonade. Sipping speculatively, he begins to hum... Yeah, you got satin shoes Yeah, you got plastic boots Y’all got cocaine eyes Yeah, you got speed-freak jive Can’t you hear me knockin’ on your window Can’t you hear me knockin’ on your door Can’t you hear me knockin’ down your dirty street, yeah Seanachai: What in the name of God is that smell? Pokes around in the filthy dishes in the sink, empties a few filled with turgid water, eventually lifts the lid on a pot on the stove Seanachai: Rice? When did I make rice? Pokes at the sludge in the pot with the end of a long handled wooden spoon, causing noxious bubbles to froth up and burst, and gives the mixture a quick sniff Seanachai: Actually, when did I put rice on to soak, and never get around to making it?! Puts cover back on pan, and moves it to the freezer Seanachai: Best place for it for now. Sipping his drink in a contemplative way, he moves into the main room, and turns on the computer... Help me baby, ain’t no stranger Help me baby, ain’t no stranger Help me baby, ain’t no stranger Can’t you hear me knockin’, ahh, are you safe asleep? Can’t you hear me knockin’, yeah, down the gas light street, now Can’t you hear me knockin’, yeah, throw me down the keys Alright now Seanachai: Ah, yes. The morning emails. scans the screen, occasionally slurping noisily Ah! The usual suspects...Grog Dorosh...'Why does everyone hate me, I'm like a big ol' cuddly puddle of poodle urine!'...Kanonier Reichmann...'Send the next turn or I'll kill you, and then begin crying!'...Berli...'Toad'...Boo...'One time I dreamt I was living in America, but I woke up and it was still Ohio, and then my arse fell off'...What the hell is this? 'Tagwyn'? 'TAGWYN'? What the bloody hell?!! Dear Seanachai: I am not Gaylord. I suggest you let 'Sturmy' do...to your...I was praising Grog Dorosh...why don't you...and then...with a mule. Let's just agree to...and if that doesn't work, you can...the unexamined life is not worth living, you know... Stands up, drains the glass to the dregs, and moves with a masterful stride to the refrigerator Seanachai: I can't be having with that! A mule?! A donkey, maybe...and even that doesn't bear thinking on! Who the hell does he...she...it! think they are! Flings open refrigerator door, pulls out two cheap beers with either hand, and, in the classic 'Clint Eastwood', pops both tops. Seanachai: TAGWYN! YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE...CREATURE! YOU SPOTTED PESTILENCE! YOU HERPETIC SORE ON THE LIP OF HUMANITY! AS FAR AS I KNOW, YOU'RE FREAKING 'GAYLORD/TIM/HIGH FUNCTIONAL AUTISTIC HALFWIT OF YOUR CHOICE'! ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?!! Hear me ringing big bell tolls Hear me singing soft and low I’ve been begging on my knees I’ve been kickin’, help me please Hear me prowlin’ I’m gonna take you down Hear me growlin’ Yeah, I’ve got flatted feet now, now, now, now Hear me howlin’ And all, all around your street now Hear me knockin’ And all, all around your town Seanachai: NO ONE, NO ONE FECKING TALKS TO ME LIKE THAT! Well, actually, there's an ever lengthening list of people who talk like that to me, but YOU'RE NOT ON IT! Provide me with anything like proof that you're not Gaylord, and I may relent from my righteous wrath. The fact that you had an actual email address that wasn't 'hotmail' or 'yahoo' almost makes me believe you, but... I am an Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread. Nothing is what it seems. Don't make me break out the serious chemicals and go Raoul Duke on your paltry arse.

You're a freaking swine, and we all know it. WHERE'S MY TURN, YOU BUGGER?!

Aha! So there you are! I am almost half convinced already that you may not, in fact, be Gaylord. You use punctuation and capitalization correctly,and you seemingly can spell. But Gaylord is, if nothing else, as devious as a coached halfwit can be. Therefore, you might simply have had help (Confer: Gaylord's incarnation as 'Tim the Enchanter', in which one of his emotionally disturbed friends, probably from the Strategic Command Forum, helped him write his posts). Therefore: The thing is not yet proved! I shall go off and do chemicals, and ponder my response to you, Tagwyn-Who-Claims-To-Me-In-Emails-Not-To-Be-Gaylord!

I remain my normal, typical, Minnesota fishy-belly white colour. I think Peng's frog yacked up on me. That would explain the besmirched and degraded look that my Gnomish stand-in is sporting.

Look, you silly little Frog, no one has more regard for the hissing sibilants and bursts of splashing followed by sudden stops and raised eyebrows that is French than I do, but everyone who types a Western Language knows how to use the freaking space bar! Simply put some God benighted spaces in your huge blocks of gibberish! You're giving me the red arse! After a period — you put a fecking space! After a comma — you put a bloody space! Every time I read one of your sodding posts, I feel like I'm exploring some new investigation of a cuneiform based script. THIS ISN'T BLOODY ROCKET SCIENCE, YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MAN!

At times like this, I have to ask myself: Would it truly be wrong to kill Elvis with a used ice-axe purchased at a Saturday afternoon garage sale?

Where to begin, where to begin... SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP! Okay, I feel a bit better. Now, I take it from your current crop of remarks that you're a foreigner. Nothing wrong with that, of course, as all Americans began as foreigners. Except the ones that already lived here, but we did for those poor buggers. Here in the Great North we've given them spear fishing rights and casinos, which means that their future is being abused by rednecks and learning all about Organized Crime. Elsewhere they've been introduced to the joys of strip-mining and nuclear waste. But, as regards this creature posting as 'Tiredboots', we demand to know where you started life, not where you're going to end it when some excited American Minuteman puts a couple of 9mm slugs into you for showing up confused at the wrong address for a Halloween party. You see, it's simply 'wrong' of us to mock you for your use of English if it's not your first language. However, once we know what your first language is, we can analyze your current English usage against the typical structure and usages of your native tongue, and mock you properly for how poorly or well you're using English given your starting point. It's a form of 'handicapping'.

Yes, but now I know he's a toad... along with Peng </font>

He was simply 'banned'. No conditionals were set.

There's nothing wrong with Grog Dorosh that couldn't be cured by a good flogging. Just as there's nothing wrong with Madman Mensch that couldn't be cured by a good flogging. Actually, most people need a good flogging. But do you know, I think what everyone really needs is to...SING! The day that Elvis died was like a mercy killing America breathed a sigh of relief We knew all about the drugs and the Vegas shows And there wasn't much of anything that looked like grief And I guess he shoulda done like James Dean did 'Stead of putting on weight and sinking down, down, down Easier to take if he had just skidded straight To souvenir city and T-shirt town And sometimes I wish I was smarter that I am But I'm on my 3rd city And I'm on my 4th car And I'm on my 5th apartment And so many of my days have sprung And now it's too late to crash Too late to burn Too late to die young If Pete Rose had exploded like Roberto Clemente He'd be hanging in the Hall of Fame without fail Can you name the last good film Marlon Brando made While trying to keep his kid from going to jail And the old people in the street are telling you "Don't become like me" but Every day you creep a little bit closer And I guess we shoulda done like James Dean did 'Stead of putting on weight and sinking down, down, down Easier to take if we'd have had just skidded straight To souvenir city and T-shirt town And sometimes I wish I was smarter that I am But I'm on my 3rd city And I'm on my 4th car And I'm on my 5th apartment And so many of my days have sprung And now it's too late to crash Too late to burn Too late to die Now its too late to crash Too late to burn Too late to die young Too Late To Die Young -Dan Bern I'm a major proponent of beating people with rods, and singing.

Who'd bother to knock down a Unitarian church? Ask them nicely, and they might knock it down for you!

Yeah, but they were light on the 'knocking down churches' content. Often what's needed on this forum is a sort of 'Frederick the Great/Renaissance Man' approach to a question, in which Grog Enlightenment and Logic can be brought to bear on the questions proposed by Hobbesian Brutes, such as: How many HE shells of what caliber does it take to knock down a heavy church? The 'charm' factor comes from remarks like David I's, when someone comments 'the works of John Knox carries on!' And now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and deny Calvin three times before the cock crows...

Well, I know one thing, and that's that there's no point in trying to knock a CM church down with anything less than 105mm unless the thing is already damaged. Even then, it's a hard row to hoe. 75mm? You might as well throw snowballs at it while chanting demonic curses...

Here, why don't you lot get busy and try stapling a sense of humour on to the creature called 'Prinz Eugen'? He was gritting his teeth so hard in the 'Bazooka' thread I was afraid he might burst into tears. Can't have that. It reflects badly on you lot, and you already don't show up all that well.

Eh, feck it. TAGWYN! TAAAGGGGGWWWWYYYYNNNNN! DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE JOLLY SINGSONG, YOU IGNORANT FECK?! Does your fecking God SING?! My God does. Let me dive into a river of songs Let them rest easy While we right the wrongs of the world Let me hear all the notes played on the scale That were sung long ago In the rain while we waited to dance Let them sing when you play those strings Like the little one dancing And all that romancing Won't you let them sing Hear the words scanning the length of the line Why don't we sing them With hope in our hearts one more time Carry me down to that river of tunes Carry on dancing With all the grace that you can Let them sing when you play those strings Like the little one dancing And all that romancing Won't you let them sing No one quite knows where the music comes from No one can answer the questions From those far away Everyone knows what their soul holds within Everyone dances a little To tunes that are played Let them sing when you play those strings Like the little one dancing And all that romancing Won't you let them sing