Papa Khann
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Posts posted by Papa Khann
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Slag: the dross or scoria of a metalOriginally posted by dalem:"slag heap"????????????
Dross: the scum that forms on the surface of molten metal
Scoria: the refuse from melting of metals or reduction of ores
Heap: a collection of things thrown one on another
Hence we have dalem, a collection of scum and refuse thrown willy nilly about the place, but mostly upon itself, or, slag heap.
Next question?
Papa
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Mike-You-Idiot, exercise caution while mixing and consuming "Vast Uantities". I'm not sure any "Vast Uantities" would wish to be so used by you. In fact, isn't there a restraining order in place against you which requires you to stay at least 400 feet away from "Vast Uantities"?Originally posted by Mike:...and what better way to get to mix and consume vast uantities...
Papa
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Time for some gamey updates, brought to you courtesy of Panzer Armee Khann:
Boo-Boo: Is there no end to the number of artillery shells this wretch has available? Honestly, if Boo had splurged and bought himself a clue as to how to handle Armor or Infantry, he just might have me worried.
Nobutt: Is still whinning about how the AI had it in for him when it purchased our forces. Nobutt, your misery will be over soon. It would go quicker if you'd stop squirming.
Joe: Appears to have forgotten that he owes me a turn. Again. Either that or he's in a snit over this Squire's refusal to brush and curry his pink jammy booties and shine up his bald spot. I shouldn't complain. If The Fiend Shaw defeats me in this one, that will make it three straight. What's wrong with this picture?
dalem: We've only just began the latest debacle. After the can 'o whupass I opened up on him last time, it was slag heap's turn to choose both the scenario and the side he wanted to play. Naturally, the overripe banana has deprived me of my beloved Panzer Armee Khann, saddling me instead with pie-eating Amis. He also appears to have about 30 Veteran Stug III's, to my few Stuart light tanks. Did you whip this one up in the editor, slag heap?
SomeNachos: Things have evened out a bit after SomeNachos initial flurry of body blows to my AFVs. Oh by the way, SomeNachos, that's MY hill. Kindly vacate the premises please, and in return I'll gladly stop converting your infantry into paste.
Pantless Leader: Well, you asked for Belgian CM, Pantless. Now you got it. Try to find someplace with larger scenarios next time, o.k.? Something that starts on D-Day and represents the entire Allied landing force versus the entire German O.B. for the Western Front would be good. For the map, we could use a scale job of oh say, France. My gawd man, what were you thinking?.
So are you going to send a turn, Pantless, or has your video card spontaneously burst into flames?
Mike-You-Idiot: A dinkier scenario you couldn't find. Rather a relief after the behemoth Pantless and I have undertaken. We are playing "Peter's Pinch", in honor of Mike-You-Idiot's miniscule intellectual capacity.
Papa
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Boo-Boo, you forgot to add the "medieval" part.
Papa
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Probably a symptom of sitting on your brains so much, old man. Shall we send you over a few Fonda videos?Originally posted by dalem:My back hurts.
I blame you all.
Papa
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Those are all white women, though - how positively RACIST of you!Originally posted by Michael Dorosh:</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Roxy:
Mike,
You underestimate the power of a woman. Consider Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, Brittney Spears, Michael Jackson, and Roxy to name but a very few.
Grog Dorosh,
I'm going to push hard for you to get the death sentence in a 13th "Peng Thread".
I still owe you a turn, don't I.</font>
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Doilies.Originally posted by Boo_Radley:Mai Tai's, tea, shopping, GOWNS fr cryin' out loud!
What's the Pool coming to?
At the first mention of doilies, I'm going to get positively medieval on someone.
Doiles.
<big>Doiles. Doiles. Doiles.</big>
Papa
P.S.
Now where did I leave that popcorn?
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Note: This morning I was sitting in my office, feet propped up upon my desk, fending off phone calls from old friends running for elected office who had heard I got a raise and therefore might be in a position to donate money to them, flirting with the secretaries, etc., when my reverie was rudely interrupted by Roxy and She Who Must be Obeyed.Originally posted by MrSpkr:</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Papa Khann:
No one informed me that I was entitled to a recount!
It appears the two of them were at Neiman-Marcus purchasing a rather long list of clothing, accessories and other merchandise when Papa's, err Roxy's newfound credit card was declined. Both ladies were irate and demanded to know what I was going to do about it.
Fortunately, my loyal secretary, seeing the jam I was in, pulled the fire alarm. I was able to lose myself in the crowd and have been hiding out in a storage closet four floors up, behind a locked outer door to a disused lavatory with a sign on the door reading 'Beware of the Leopard'.
Fortunately, this has given me ample time and motivation to focus upon this interesting question of law Papa has brought forth.
Papa, it appears you may be, no, indeed you ARE correct -- you were entitled to notice that you could demand a recount of the Olde Ones' decision. The undisputed evidence before me seems to indicate that indeed you were not informed of this right.
However, the failure to inform you of this right was, at best, a technical error unlikely to have influenced the outcome of your particular situation. The Olde Ones' decision would not have changed one iota had you been informed of and demanded a recount.
It is a well settled principle of law in this jurisdiction that if an animal be killed or injured by a person in the necessary protection of his property, after he has ineffectually used ordinary care to otherwise protect such property, such killing or injury will not be deemed either 'wilful or wanton' within the meaning of the law. But that's not important right now.
It is also a well settled principle of law that a decision will not be reversed for harmless error. Harmless error is that error which, though wrongful, does not give rise to such a level as to affect the outcome fo the decision.
In this matter, failure to inform you of your right to demand a recount was, Papa, harmless.
You are still on the hook. Next.
Steve</font>
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{serious}
Hiram,
What you and your family must be going through I can not imagine. I wish you, your sister, and the rest of your family and friends all the best.
Papa
{/serious}
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Memoirs of Papa Khann
Book 1: The Day the Sky Fell
Forward:
sigh
My legal wrangling has failed to bear fruit. It's all too plain now that a conspiracy of Draconian proportion has been set in motion, and I am its target.
For the time being, anyway, I must resign myself to Squiredom at the hands of The Fiend Shaw and his simpering band of House Shave-My-Head picaroons. Blast and d*mn them all.
In the end, of course, I'll have my revenge. Oh yes, they'll rue the day they dragged me kicking and screaming through that otherworldly portal into this infernal lair they call home. And I'm not about to forget the wanton acts of hatred perpetrated upon me by those who voted me into this insane asylum.
But I shall have to bide my time. Self-preservation dictates that, for now at least, I shall have to play along and endure these indignities. My dagger will find its way into their backs soon enough.
Chapter 1:
Last night The Fiend Shaw ordered one of his underlings, Lard I think it was called, to "Take Khann down below and clean him up a bit. In the Shavian way, mind you".
sidenote: Why does Shaw always have to end everything he says with "mind you"?
This henchman, Lard, is a great hulking beast of a creature, mind you (edit: good lord now I find myself doing it). One of its eyes is so full of rheum that it no longer appears to function, and this leaves the wretch continually tilting its head to one side to bring its good eye to bear. It never smiles, for fear of showing its few rotting, yellow teeth. And it wheezes habitually while drawing breath.
And so this Lard proceeded to guide me into the darkest depths of the lair. Once there, Lard seemed able to move about in the blackness with surety and ease, almost as if the creature were more nimble and confident in the absence of light. He secured me to a post which was moist with I don't want to know what, then proceeded to shave the top and sides of my head bald. Bald!!! My beautiful man-locks have been stripped from me!
As if this torture was not sufficient, the butcher then showed the audacity to shave a giant "E" into the remaining tufts at the back of my head. Why on earth Lard should place an "E" on me, like a brand of some sort, befuddled me of course. At first it appeared that an "E" would have no connection to this thrice accursed House, or to Shaw, or even to Lard. That is, until I deduced that this Lard, poor humpbacked monstrosity that he is, must harbor secret affection for Fair Emma. Emma, whom I was so unjustly accused of wronging in those glorious days when I was allowed to cavort gaily in the open light and fresh air of the outer Pool. Lord knows I meant her no offense. But in the end even a lout like me could see that she had been offended, and so this one indignity of my servitude to The Fiend Shaw and his horror House I shall bear without complaint. I shall bear the "E".
Chapter 2:
Night falls on House Shave-My-Head. I find myself locked in a tiny, damp chamber that makes even The Box at House Persiflage seem roomy and elegant. O fair House Persiflage, how I long for thee now.
Just a moment ago The Fiend Shaw poked his bony face into the portal in the door (it only unlocks from the outside, and isn't large enough for me to squirm through) and bade me "Sleep well, it's not your turn tonight, mind you."
I find his remark odd. Not that everything about Shaw isn't odd. But this particular remark strikes me as more odd than usual. What sort of noctural goings-on are practiced in this bughouse?
I shall ponder this further tomorrow. For now I must sleep. The new day will no doubt bring yet another game of "Kick the Khann".
Chapter 3:
Dawn breaks, but I am not rested.
The mewling began just after midnight. Upon awakening, my mood immediately brightened. I thought "Surely this must be Lard discovering the reptiles I placed in his bedsheets. How wonderful."
But the noise endured for far too long, and after a while came to be accompanied by snorting and panting, and...
... I am forced to compose myself. The memory of those sounds. And the crys for it to stop. Oh no, no... I can't write any more about this now. Strength. I must preserve my strength...
Later that day:
I think I've managed to give them the slip for awhile. You'd think they'd have better security in place, but then again they're by far the most inbred and abjectly stupid lot of would-be jailers I've ever seen.
No. Wait. Blast!! I can hear them! It sounds like Shaw, Lard, and Harv. Their clawed feet scrape upon the cold stone floors of the corridors. They are coming my way...
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Ummmm, I'd have to see the citation on that one lad, I think you're wrong but that WAS during my Testors huffing phase (as opposed to my current, more high class, Drano huffing phase) so I suppose it's possible.Originally posted by Joe Shaw:</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Pond Scum:
Back in days of yore, when I was moaning to an Olde One about the injustice of having been plucked from the pool by dalem, I was told that refusal was always an option.
Of course if it turns out you WERE given that option, by someone reputable mind, I'd be in favor of immediate revocation of that policy since, frankly, it sucks.</font>
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I don't understand. That would be a fair matchup...Originally posted by Buzzsaw:It has been taking some time because the game was about as interesting as watching the Denver Broncos play against a local Pee-Wee team
Papa
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Roxy... may I call you Roxy, Roxy? Good. I thought so. Roxy, I've only a moment before Joe and the other miscreants of House Shave-My-Head realize that I've slipped out again, and come running and bleating at me, ready to resume their infernal game of "Kick the Khann", so I'll be brief.Originally posted by Roxy:It was my good fortune, as I watched my Heroes drag Papa Khan through the streets of the village, to see a nice, shiny, MasterCard, slip from his pocket. Not one to pass up an opportunity I quickly snatched it up.
Now, considering the fact that Sherriff Joe has the rebellious git under lock and key, I'm sure the card will not be reported lost anytime soon.
Please feel free to use that card in my absence. I note that you appear to have failed to read the name on the card. No matter. You see, that card came into my possession while I was still a member of House Persiflage... Oh how I long for those aimless days spent rummaging through dalem's drawers.
Papa
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Try to look at it this way, Joe. No, not that way. Standing on your head isn't going to help. Here, this way...Originally posted by Joe Shaw:Hmmm, well that's an improvement of course but still ... no I think we'd best have you bold the name of The Shavian House to show the proper respect and, speaking of that ... ***BOOT ... you might want to rethink the bald spot and knotty wit line ... donchathink?
Sure, I mention your bald spot, but I do refer to it as Herculean. And if you get drunk enough, that almost makes it sound like a good thing.
And sure, I mention your overall lack of anything resembling wit, even going so far as to call it knotty. But again, if you get drunk enough, knotty sounds kind of like naughty, which makes it sound almost like a good thing.
Papa
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SighOriginally posted by Joe Shaw:***BOOT*** Papa Khann ***BOOT*** We of The Shavian House ***BOOT*** are proud members of said House ***BOOT*** and do NOT ***BOOT*** MAKE ***BOOT*** FUN ***BOOT*** OF ***BOOT*** THE ***BOOT*** NAME! ***BOOT***
I do so hope that our little discussion of this matter has ameliorated any questions you may have harbored regarding your sig line.
Your Lord, Liege and Master,
Joe
I suppose. Though I'm going on record right this minute that I never desired, don't want, and fully expect to be stripped of this "honor". But it hurts like h*ll when Joe kicks me like that, and I just want him to stop. How does the old geezer do it at his age? (Roughly 2047, near as I can tell... or was that in dog years?)
Here, how's this?
Papa
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One. I have a problem. If indeed I'm to be Squired to old Joe, boy oh boy do I have a PROBLEM.Originally posted by Joe Shaw:Right then, just fine, you lot have completely put me off my massage with Marguerite and now I can't enjoy myself ... well I could ... and probably will but still and all ...
Look Papa Khann, step one is to admit that you have a problem ... and as MY Squire now you may rest assured that YOU HAVE A PROBLEM!
I'll need a new sig line, something nice and complimentary about being a grateful member of The Shavian House should do.
Then let's start off with a nice paper shall we? How about 36 pages double spaced (12 point font please, the eyes aren't what they used to be) with sources cited in footnotes on the topic of "SSNs ... A Plague From GAWD or Something Much Worse." No need for powerpoint slides ... you'll have to take The Shavian House online course in putting them together in the approved fashion first.
Joe
There, satisfied?
Papa
[ August 15, 2002, 04:12 PM: Message edited by: Papa Khann ]
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You don't get it, do you, BurrBrain? Being Squired to Joe IS the end of my life.Originally posted by Berlichtingen:No... when his sad and pointless life comes to an end I will get him then. He can look on his time with Joe as a sneak preview
Papa
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A curse and a pox upon you all!!!!Originally posted by Seanachai:Oh, no, I'm all for it! Mostly becaus of that egregious remark about Emma, but there are sound reasons for this one, I think. Joe's squire it is, then!
This should be delightful. I understand he's sometimes made his Squires put on frocks, stand on three-legged stools, and sing 'Praise Joe From Whom All Blessings Flow'. I can hardly wait for the videos at the annual Olde Ones barbecue and scotch chugging banquet.
This is just too, too much. To be subjected to servitude at the hands of the ol' Wal-Mart Greeter himself. And with all of you "Olde Fart" lackwits chiming in merrily behind him. I'll bet you don't have a fully functioning kidney between the lot of you. Obviously not many brain cells, either. You're a bunch of worn-out, miserable, degenerate "olde" has-beens (nay, I suspect you always "wanted to be" but "never were"). And now you're rubbing your fat, greasy palms together in antipation of watching as the pain you've accumulated over the course of your pathetic little lives is inflicted upon a poor unfortunate like me.
I've a mind to let the burgeoning gases out of each and every one of you, just so I could watch as you settle to the bottom of the Pool, flapping your carp-like lips in vain. I hope you all rot. Sodding pillocks.
Papa
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dalem, you weren't under the impression that we showed you all the variations, were you?Originally posted by dalem:Some snippage of yet more of dalem's insane ramblings. It really is pathetic to see what he's become. Knowing that I had something to do with it makes me feel a joy I haven't felt in aeons, but it's still pathetic, none-the-less.
... and hope that someone comes along who likes playing bocce with heads but no one really likes that ...
Papa
a.k.a. The Anti-Squire
P.S.
The rest of you please shut up. Inside joke.
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SighOriginally posted by Berlichtingen:Kick him in the yarbles for me... er, I mean that sounds good
Can't say I didn't see that vote coming.
Scaly "olde" creatures like BurntBottom live with such daily pain that every twitch of their reptilian hide produces unbearable agony. After existing for so long in such a pitiable state, it's not surprising that the wretched, incontinent, dried-up "olde" windbag would want to inflict a measure of that pain on as many unfortunates as happen to be near him. Today it's my turn.
My only hope now is that the other Olde Ones will exhibit better judgement and shout this nonsense down. SomeNachos, I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but I'm counting on you, lad. I'm counting on you.
Papa
a.k.a. The Anti-Squire
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The only quest I'm about to undertake for you, oh Pantless one, is to give you another shot at besting me upon the grassy fields of CM. I suppose now you'll start bleating about how our last game was a draw, even when we both know I was on the verge of glorious victory (your higher point total not withstanding).Originally posted by Panzer Leader:Where's the burlap sack, cur? And while you're at it, where's that huge Ardennes scenario from that Belgian site you were instructed to produce??
I may be cursed, but I am still your better, pappy. And I think you're right that you drove Dalem mad (although he's always been a hippie) - anyone forced to try and knock sense into your thick skull would have an easier time knocking ten-penny nails into a block of uncured oak with a woman's high-heeled shoe.
I believe you have a quest to undertake...
So I shall visit your Belgian grog-porn site and select one of the monstrosities that lurk there. I shall even allow you the reins to those Axis stallions you are so enamored of (you're beginning to remind me of Mace). Tis better anyway not to subject you to the wrath of Panzer Armee Khann, should you attempt to make a game of this one.
A setup will wend it's way to you later today.
Papa
a.k.a. The Anti-Squire
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But, but, what did I do? Why would I be subjected to this, this, to put it politely, "living H*ll on Earth"?Originally posted by Joe Shaw:Blast, damn and hell, if the President can take a freaking FOUR WEEK VACATION why can't I be absent from the MBT for more than two incarnations without ALL HELL BREAKING LOOSE!
I'll make this as short as I can and still try to hit the high points.
Papa Khann, you are now, pending approval of the Olde Ones, MY Squire. Can't have masterless Squires wandering hither and yon or someone, sometime, will come up with the Ronin Squire tag, which would remind me of Slapdragon, which is more than I can take.
No, there has simply GOT to be another way. A better way. A kinder, gentler way. ANY other way.
Olde Ones, surly (you know, I actually misspelled "surely" there... Freudian slip or no?) you don't hate me well enough to impose such a harsh sentence. Well, ok, I'm pretty sure BeerGut does, but what's unique about that? I beseech you all, think of this proposed union as an illicit drug (in BeerGut's case, probably a suppository) and JUST SAY NO.
In closing, I will point out that every sty needs an errant maggot slithering about on it's own, oblivious to the needs of others and caring for them even less. And what better candidate than yours truly?
Papa
a.k.a. The Anti-Squire
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Oh great. Of all the would-be "tutors" in this forsaken sty, freaking Pantless Leader fancies himself capable of stepping up. Well I've got news for you, Mary Jane, if that slag heap dalem couldn't handle me, the likes of you Shirley aren't up to it either.Originally posted by Pantless Leader:Papa Khann! Front and center. I have a quest for you, little pillock. Oh, I know, your kaynigget left you at the alter holding the ring, but I will step in for a moment (just a moment, ok Götz von?) and point you to a lesson in humility.
In fact, as far as I know, I'm the only Squire on record to have driven his lord and master stark raving mad. And so completely that rather than do the sensible thing and cast me back into the Pool like so much rancid fat, dalem renounced his own Knighthood. The poor daft bugger currently wanders the wilderness, half-naked and starving, a beggar by all manner of reckoning.
Of course this is all another way of saying that I really have no idea what position this leaves me in. But whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it SHOULD (whether or not it does) mean that I get to ignore the likes of you, Pantless, and that suits me just fine.
Perhaps I'll declare myself the Anti-Squire.
Papa
[ August 15, 2002, 01:18 PM: Message edited by: Papa Khann ]
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A point or two needs making.
SomeNachos and Pantless Leader, your attempts to assist Gayboy (not that there's anything wrong with that) FoolFokk are noble. I'll grant you that much. But just look at what's come of it!
As I read through his feeble attempt at a post, I kept telling myself, "You know, the lad could be feigning this huge gob of stupidity in an attempt to be humorous!" But alas, I can not bring myself to believe this lie. Apparently, this Fokker, as he calls himself, can barely think, much less compose an entertaining post. I've read obituaries that held my interest longer than this Fokker can. I'd be amazed to learn that he's capable of dressing or feeding himself, much less be able to learn how best to navigate the flows of the CessPool.
Fokker, we all know you're trying, but for your own sake, put some backbone into it, lad. The CessPool is not for the faint of heart, and weak swimmers are likely to go under and stay there (especially if some o' the Poolers manage to get a foot atop your head). If you must post, at least try to include a single morsel worthy of distracting the natives.
And another thing, SomeNachos, I've heard even you admit that your posts are, to put it politely, "a little bit longwinded". Which is of course like saying that Joe is "a little bit old", or Boo is "a little bit stupid". In other words, SomeNachos, cut us some slack, bro! Exercise your right to get to the freaking point, if you have one. Good gawd, man, I've passed kidney stones in less time than it takes to labor through your endless droning on, and with considerable less discomfort too.
Papa
I Have Been to the Mountaintop, and Found the Peng Challenge, And Some Old Beer Cans
in Combat Mission Archive #4 (2002)
Posted
Oops, did I say that out loud?
Papa
[ August 19, 2002, 11:36 PM: Message edited by: Papa Khann ]