Seanachai

Stuka, you annoying Aussie feck. 'Personal' to you means "Have I told you about how handsome I am, and how many Sheila's I've done down?" Oh, look, everyone. That bastard Stuka is back. Well, sod all. The Justicar has this whole 'rules' thing going, and good on him, I say. His focus is on the Thread as some sort of Community, some sort of place that 'People go'. But I have another issue. Stuka, you Horrible Little Man! You've been gone for ages. And now you show up again, and want to come over all 'Seniour Knight'? Feck that. You don't just show up and start parading again, you Aussie Whore. As an Olde One of the Peng Challenge, I can exact a penance, you womanizing Aussie halfwit. So, I require, I absolutely fecking REQUIRE of Stuka, that he acknowledge the Olde Ones. I want to see you say it, Stuka. I want you to post: There is no Peng but MrPeng, and I'm just another Aussie with more beer in my gut than brains in my head, and I Challenge Peng. You ass! DO IT! DO IT NOW!

There is a certain family resemblance </font>

I am...at a loss Sometimes, I don't know what to say to you lot, nor know how to respond given my own losses, my own life... I don't know how to tell you what you need to know, nor what you mean to me... No, wait. I do... Pale was the wounded knight that bore the rowan shield Loud and cruel were the raven's cries that feasted on the field Saying "Beck water cold and clear will never clean your wound There's none but the witch of the Westmoreland can make thee hale and sound So turn, turn your stallion's head 'til his red mane flies in the wind And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind." And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by Below the hills were the brightest stars when he heard the owlet cry Saying "Why do you ride this way, and wherefore came you here?" "I seek the Witch of the Westmorland that dwells by the winding mere." And it's weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way Til through the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay He said "Lie down, my brindled hound and rest ye, my good grey hawk And thee, my steed may graze thy fill for I must dismount and walk, But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn ye will serve me best of all" And it's down to the water's brim he's born the rowan shield And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield And wet rose she from the lake, and fast and fleet went she One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet black mare's body And loud, long and shrill he blew til his steed was by his side High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly did he ride Saying "Course well, my brindled hound, and fetch me the jet black mare Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden fair" She said "Pray, sheathe thy silvery sword. Lay down thy rowan shield For I see by the briney blood that flows you've been wounded in the field." And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round with a silver chain And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice and three times round again And she's bound his wounds with the goldenrod, full fast in her arms he lay And he has risen hale and sound with the sun high in the day And she said "Ride with your brindled hound at heel, and your good grey hawk in hand There's none can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the Westmorland." Witch of the Westmoreland -Archie Fisher

No, my screename comes from the Cthulhu Mythos, you pair of empty pants-legs waving in the wind. Of course I'm of Irish decent. What was it that threw you, you poncing halfwit? My ability at poetry and song? My delight at witticisms and taunting? My almost magical ability to put up with both the fecking English and you English lackeys? Every fecking Aussie that ever went to the fight did so because they thought the fight was right, and because they thought they owed the fecking English. Every Irishmen that ever went to the fight did so because they thought it was right, and did so to the despite of the English. Of course, most of the Aussies and Irish just thought it was a damn good thing to fight for right. The English always had to sort out how it was 'good for them'... That's why I hate you lot of marsupials the most. Only those stupid enough to be strong for righteousness are truly dangerous. They had the brains, and the brawn, and the good sense to emigrate to America. The stupid ones were transported to Australia... Get stuffed, you transported bugger! But also, have a good one, you Aussie fecker!

Right. And since the normal Aussie response with a drinking mate is to either try to remember how to do CPR, or rifle the wallet to pay off the last boozer, explain to us what our response here is supposed to be...

Oh, and the final jolly singsong, because perhaps I'm getting stale, here, and must find someplace new to be a fool... When I tell you that I love you Don't test my love Accept my love, don't test my love Cause maybe I don't love you all that much Don't ask what kind of music I'm gonna play tonight Just stay awhile, hear for yourself awhile And if you must put me in a box, make sure it's a big box With lots of windows And a door to walk through And a nice high chimney So we can burn burn burn everything that we don't like And watch the ashes fly up to Heaven Maybe all the way to India I'd like that All the ancient kings came to my door They said "Do you want to be an ancient king too?" I said "Oh yes very much But I think my timing's wrong" They said "Time is relative Or did you misread Einstien" I said "Do you really mean it?" They said "What do you think we come here for Our goddamn health or something?" Everybody's waiting for the Messiah The Jews are waiting The Christians are waiting Oh so are the Muslims It's like everybody's waiting They been waiting a long time I know how I hate to wait Like even for a bus or something An important phone call So I can imagine how darned impatient Everyone must be getting So I think it's time now Time to reveal myself I am the Messiah I am the Messiah Yes I think you heard me right I am the Messiah I was gonna wait till next year Build up the suspense a little Make it a really big surprise But I could not resist It's like when you got a really big secret You're just bursting to tell someone It was kinda like that with this And now that I've told you I feel this great weight lifted Dr. Nusbaum was right He's my therapist He said get it out in the open I spent ten whole days in Jerusalem Mmmm Jerusalem sweet Jerusalem And all I ate was olives Nothing but olives Mountains of olives It was a good ten days I like olives I like you too So When I tell you that I love you Don't test my love Accept my love, don't test my love Cause maybe I don't love you all that much Jerusalem -Dan Bern

Well, it's late. The liquor stores are even closed in Wisconsin, now. They might still be open in the Dakotas. Hell, I don't know if they ever close, in the Dakotas... IT'S TIME TO GO WEST!

Boo, know that I honour you, and I shall, in any case, bugger off. Locally, for the next 1&1/2 hours, I shall forego dying, however briefly, to contemplate the fact that I ultimately will die. But you know, I woke up this morning, and I thought, 'Bah!', and, of course, everyone I knew in town called to say 'So, it's your birthday, are you happy or sad?' And all the days that were leading up to this, I was simply irritable. It meant nothing to me. It was a day that found me, a very bad man, still alive, while much better people were gone. But do you know, I got up this morning (and, strangely enough, I actually got up this morning), and I thought: Yeah. I'm glad to be here. Glad to be here with all my memories. Glad to be here, and with me is everyone I've ever known. Glad to be here, and still, however poorly, playing CM. Glad to be here, knowing Peng, and Berl, and the Fair Emma, and still shaking my head over the Justicar, and still standing beneath a tree full of rats, but basically: Still Standing. And after the Holocaust, the gods made the Peng Challenge Thread, to show the stupid people the way that they should go. And we mainly threw empty beer bottles at the stupid people until the sky darkened, and the stars came out, and the night became glorious. It's a glorious night here in Minnesota. The smell of the lilac and apple blossoms are drifting in from the yard next door. Thanks for another year, you sodding bastards. Thanks for another year, you gods, that look down upon us all, and laugh at what we do here. Goodbye Kathleen Marie Pemble-Bramhall. Goodbye to you, Jim Boggs. Both of you are with me yet. Nothing is gone that is not lost. As for the rest of you lot of scurrying vermin, BRING ME A BEER, AND A WHISKY! ONE HOUR BEFORE THE ENDING OF THE HOLIEST DAY ON EARTH, AND NOT ONE OF YOU FECKING TOADS, BESIDES BOO (WHO'S TOO DRUNK TO BE SURE) AND NOT A ONE OF YOU LOT HAS WISHED ME A HAPPY FECKING BIRTHDAY?! Berli, pass me the fecking bottle. You were right. Ah, the ingratitude of the ungrateful. It's almost better than whisky! Just not quite.... [ May 09, 2005, 09:02 PM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

Just watched the documentary 'The Camps Remembered', with narration by Trevor Howard. First aired on Frontline in 1985. Horrifying beyond description, but also incredibly powerful. As for the rest of this rather unseemly puling about anti-semitism, finger-pointing, and the stamping of tiny little feet in outrage, I'd just like to say: Beige. Or maybe burnt umber...

I assume that was after his failed attempt to drown you at birth? </font>

Me Da' always told me to play to my strengths...

If there's anything like an inheritance involved, I stand ready to declare it is not a rumour...

I propose Marstov for serf... Hey, he made Dalem dig holes all day after I made sure that Dalem stayed up until 8 AM. You gotta love that sort of cruelty...

Man, Janice Ian. There was something wrong with that woman...

Like the bar stool, so he can look you in the eye? Mace </font>

Sweet-talking isn't enough. Since you've completely overlooked the 'Opponent Finder's' forum, you have to grovel and talk dirty to get a game. I notice the usual trollops have shown up to be nice to the 'New Guy'. Anyone else ever notice how nice Berli is to newcomers showing up to ask for a game, as opposed to the people he'd stomp the ****e out of and kill if he met them in a department store and they asked him how to find the men's room?

Where are the bones? They're in your eyes, Ianc....

Bah! If I was to begin dressing as a Catholic School Girl, you lot would trample each other to become homosexual. I have the sort of short, stout, intriguing form that appeals to both persuasions... You need to stop watching 'Welcome to Oz' and fantasizing about how things would be different for you if you were in prison...

Sod that, I was pointing out the fact that you had those 'little decorative soaps that look like seashells' in your fecking bathroom. Christ, I thought only my Mom's generation and homosexuals had those in their bathroom. Dear God, I hope your 'wife' is more manly...

Where the hell was I, you whore? The next time you lot get together without me, I shall pronounce a curse upon. Of course, that curse will be that you shall endure my company forever...

Joe, I will never knife you in the back. I will knee you in the crotch, give you a 'Glasgow Kiss' that will splatter your nose across your face, and, once I've got you down, I will put in the boot, breaking ribs and aiming particularly for joints like the knees and elbows, but I will never, ever knife your worthless and much respected self in the back. Do you remember how you came to be Justicar? I believe I was there, at the time... Good. Now, lie down and pretend to be a rug. I've got some new boots, and I feel like getting all springy...

Generally speaking, it's considered polite to first ask Grog Dorosh to go to a Turkish bath with you, and then announce your availability for a PBEM in the afterglow.

I blame Rune...

Sherry ya twit... if it'd been Scotch, I wouldn't have poured it into a sherry glass </font>

I must needs comment. When I visited NorthWestern Chicagoland (as disgusting as Hell, but not as clean, and with twice the number of stripmalls), I stayed with Berli. My first morning there, after a night of savage whisky drinking with that great bloody toad, Rune, I awoke on my Thermarest pad in my sleeping bag in Berli's living room with the distinct impression that a mouse had built a nest in my mouth, and then repeatedly fouled himself in it. Since I couldn't actually make my fingers work in anything like a dexterous way, I grabbed a pen and probed around in my mouth long enough to pull out a huge ball of acrylic fibers that I'd apparently managed to breath in while sleeping on the hideous shag carpeting that some whore of a salesman sold to the owner of Berli's apartment building in 1974 when 'tawny earth-tone' was considered to be a colour, or at least a term to describe something purported to be a colour. While I was examining this inadvertent hairball, a figure that looked exactly like Rasputin in a bathrobe shuffled into the room, and lit up the first cigarette of the day. It was 7:30 AM. This same nightmarish figure then proceeded to pour itself a sherry glass full of scotch, looked at me with the blood-shot eyes of demon who has found Hell all too disappointing for jest, and mumbled 'helps with the coughing'. It then proceeded to cough for 13 1/2 minutes straight. When he was done, he looked at me, lying there on the floor, and asked 'Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?' I replied: 'Um...I'm Seanachai, and you invited me here.' He finished the scotch and said 'If you're still here when I get out of the shower I'm going to piss all over you and then beat you to death with this empty scotch bottle.' By the time he got out of the shower, I was fully dressed, and standing outside his apartment door shouting 'Berli! Berli, are you in there? It's me, Seanachai! I've just arrived!' Then we went to breakfast. I don't think rooming with Berli would be a good career choice...