Papa Khann

Ok, so you got me covered. What about the rest of them? Papa

What? Doesn't everybody? </font>

Well ... KNOW in the sense of being acquainted with ... I mean YOU lot wouldn't be in a position to KNOW women ... in the biblical sense that is ... except Lars perhaps though I'm quite sure that Lady Shary makes him pay through the nose (one way or another). Joe </font>

It's hard to argue with the notion that everything in life is relative, Boo. It's even harder to argue with a malignant mouth-breather such as yourself. While I'll admit that the competition may not be too stiff at dalem's gatherings, I like to think that I'm merely slumming during these little forays. I just show up, plant a "For Sale Cheap" sign in dalem's front yard, then proceed to entertain myself at their expense while I wait for some unsuspecting cretin to show up with an offer. By the way, Boo, why don't you drop by? Preferably with your checkbook. Papa

You put your signature in twice. </font>

Yes. And which one were you? </font>

Let me just make sure I have this straight... You just said that you buy your seafood from a guy parked in the lot at a gas station, right? I'm sure that for a hillbilly like you buying foodstuffs at the local Gas'n'Go parking lot is the equivalent of having it catered in by Wolfgang Puck himself. I'm a bit skeptical though, Lars. The goods you bring from the Meat Palace better arrive at dalem's wrapped and sealed and adorned with some sort of papers proving that they're actually from the Meat Palace, Lars. We don't want anything you killed with the right front tire of your truck or got from one of your innumerable cousins. Clear? Papa

Boo, I've left you to your own devices (admittedly dubious logic on my part I'll gladly admit, but at least it kept you out of my hair for a while), and this is what you've come to? Clearly, you've lost even the meager dollop of sense you received at hatching from whatever twisted deity you prostrate yourself before. That video has women in it. There would never be women at dalem's house. (Not counting his collection of pictures and life-like dolls, mind you.) Those of us who actually know women would never allow it. Papa

Lars, you insufferable pillock. We send you on an errand to procure meat, and you come back with crustaceans? I demand that you return to the Meat Palace immediately and procure for me real, actual MEAT. Some beef jerky and a nice juicy pork-chop. Now off with you. Half-wit. Papa

I'd always suspected you were raised by a family of three-toed sloths. Or perhaps a pack of hyenas. During those rare times when your medication has been at full effect and you've stopped bouncing about like a baboon on steriods, I've even found myself wondering if perhaps you weren't raised at all. Maybe you were the product of some bizarre experiment involving cheese curds and yogurt cultures. Now we find out you were raised by nothing more exotic than hunters... Again, you disappoint me. I suppose they're not only hunters, but conservative right-wing gun nuts in the extreme? (No wait that's dalem... were you by any chance raised by dalem?) Papa

...again. </font>

My time owning his sig ends and immediately he lapses into denial... Enjoy your sig while you can, little man. Provided Lars can retrieve his cojones for eight to ten hours, we are slated to gather again this Friday. I predict your sig will once again be in my keeping before you return home. (Which will no doubt be in the twilight hours of Saturday morn, duly christened "Perkins Late" by those familiar with the color of the sky at that hour). Papa

Where the hell was I, you whore?</font>

What's an expectorate of reward? Papa

Plus he earns smokes and stuff for me. Papa

Gosh, there's a shocker. Hey, Moretoes, I know you're new here and all. Plus you're clearly an idjit. However, I feel compelled to mentioned that if you want to relate a story which occurred at a specific point in time, you'll need to time stamp it using something other than Seanachai's propensity to lap up all the available alchohol at dalem's. (Be it Rum, Whiskey, rubbing, or some variety dalem produced accidentally while attempting to mix up a new batch of napalm.) Because that could mean pretty much any night. And speaking of the Garden Gnone, where is he indeed? A bet is, after all, a bet. Surely the diminutive one is not planning to weasel out of his obligation... After all, it's not like I'm going to serve my 25 days in the detention center alone. Nor do I intend to go without the comforts of home. No indeed. I need my prag! He has to earn me some currency. Seanachai! Front and center, lad. You've a pack of smokes to "collect" from a certain one-eared "gentleman" named "Turk". And don't forget the sig line. Papa PS Boo is a wanker.

{serious} Boggs was a fine sort, and I am saddened by the news. {/serious} Papa

{serious} Boggs was a fine sort, and I am saddened by the news. {/serious} Papa

Evidently, a Senior Kanigget I am. And yes, an overabundance of alcohol was involved. As for whoring myself out in the process, Boo, lets just say that a Prag was involved. Though his identity may surprise you. Seanachai! Front and center! You have another half pack of smokes to earn for me. Papa

And I take it you never "got writing" to the point where you could construct intelligible posts? Papa

Not just one, mind you, but two, count em, two turns out to Boo and Lars in just one week. I amaze myself. Papa

Please. Papa

How about I bludgeon you with a ball-peen hammer? Papa

Brunch. Sunday. Check. Santorini's has a great brunch and bottomless drinks. They also carry the football game. Or dalem could get us all tickets, of course. </font>

Well, then there's clearly no use discussing the matter any further. If you looked it up on the internet, then whatever else it may be, clearly it's true, correct, and without a doubt comprehensive. Clearly. Papa PS Not that I'd ever doubt our Lady Moraine anyway.