Papa Khann

Joe, While the simpletons bicker back and forth about your supposed age, I note that you never actually make any sort of claim regarding what your age will be ten years from now. And that's ok, Joe. In fact, that's just fine. <big>Happy Birthday Joe!!</big> Papa PS (Listen up degenerates. Clearly Uncle Joe is incapable of remembering how old he is. The fact is, he may well have witnessed the formation of the continental landmasses. However, even an old dog like Joe must have his occasional day. So lets show a little compassion and cut him a wee bit o' slack today. As we all know, tomorrow it's back to the whipping post for him.)

Don't tell me, you splurged and bought a night at a hostel? PS Happy anniversary to you and the wonderful and bemused Rose, Boo. I don't suppose it's necessary to point out that the woman must be a saint...

If I call you what I really want to call you, I may be treated roughly by the proprietors of this establishment. Papa

I'm taller than you. Papa

Rune, You want me to submit? Are you daft, man? It's not even Friday night... Wait a sec. Sorry, sorry. I really do need to start reading these posts more carefully. My age: NoYDB (None of Your D*mn Business... which is another way of saying "Older than dirt") My guess/nomination: Gaylord Focker. Why? Well why not. But if you insist on a reason I shall provide one for you... For the way in which he followed Seanachai about the place, always trailing along after him like an enthusiastic puppy. I rather miss the little chap. Nice to have around when my mood was foul and I felt like delivering a good swift <big>Boot!</big> to an unsuspecting passer-by. It gets so old batting Boo on the back on the head with a mallet, then denying it when he spins around and focuses that lackluster stare of his on me, and having him believe me. Gaylord, where have you gone? Papa

dalem builds toy models. Nidan1 built toy models. (Apparently this was back in the days when men were men, sheep were nervous, Mace was happy, and modelers boiled down bits of bone and hide to produce their own glue). rleete builds things in his garage that most likely will result in yet another incarceration for him. I suppose you could call it another form of modeling though. I'm never, ever, ever going to look in Boo's garage or basement, but I digress... What are you guys, a bunch of gaming geeks or something? Papa PS So which one of you is responsible for cobbling Joe together? Or does a project of that magnitude require a collaboration? And most importantly, who has the remote control? And why don't you turn him off occasionally? Or better yet, permanently?

Only his conscience. Papa

BwaaaHwaaaHaaHaa! Like anyone would ever let someone like you get behind them. I tell you, Seanachai, I've seen toddlers with enough sense to put their back to a wall when your sort is about. Papa

Joe does wear "Footies" to bed, Boo. I'm guessing they're not on his feet, though. Papa

Boggs has a birthday? I thought he was here because the mothership left without him. (Don't despair, Jim, I'm sure it was an accident). Papa

rleete, why are you not under my boot? Papa

I just ate cafeteria food. It makes me feel so... dirty. Papa

Is that "carrying" or "caring for"? Papa

I'm impressed. Normally Boo doesn't wait to surrender. He just flops over and starts caterwauling about how unfair the scenario is straight off. So tell us, Boo, are you going to turn putzing around with the AI into a vocation, or are you going to send me another setup? Papa

Oh please, BooBoo, everybody knows closet warmongering is for those blokes with painted miniature soldiers and tiny little tanks lining their closet walls. ... Er, um, wait a minute... Papa

You're doubting Lar's cache of alcohol? Disappointing, Joe. For a moment there (well ok for one post, anyways) you showed some sign of intelligence. Papa

Kind of creepy? We're talking aboout dalem here, my boy. Cutlery that is usually reserved for active members of the Black Ops community is just the tip of the ol' iceberg. Normally I don't like to admit to this sort of thing, at least not in public. Come to think of it, I would normally only make this sort of admission were I to find myself facing a hot, bright light and a one-eared gentleman named Turk intent upon a proloned rubber hosing of my kidneys. But this is after all the internet, where we can all freely and without a care post things we normally wouldn't mention in polite company. Besides, this is the MBT, and you lot are a bunch of weeping sores on the backside of humanity. (Especially you, rleete.) The fact of the matter is, I've seen dalem's basement, where he stores the various entertainment paraphernalia he has "grown bored with". I've seen dalem's garage, complete with fresh styrofoam cup, patiently waiting it's turn to play it's part in the production of dalem's next batch of home brew napalm. I've seen dalem's genetically engineered ubercat (go on, dalem, just try to assert that the cat grew to those proportions on his own). I've seen the looks on the faces of his neighbors on those rare occassions when he ventures out into the sunlight. "Kind of creepy" doesn't begin to describe it. Papa

dalem, you insufferable, ungrateful twit. Not only did I manage to slice cheese with your unnatural assortment of combat kitchen accessories, but prior to slicing it, I was forced to (yes, you've all guessed it) go out and procure the d*mn stuff myself. Perhaps someday you'll decide to stock more than just salad dressing in that sandbag bunker you call home? Papa

P.S. I wouldn't let Seanachai anywhere near that thing. He'll put his eye out for sure.

Well, it doesn't have the word "Klingon" written on it anywhere that I can see. Plus, I used it to slice cheese. So there. Papa

Here's my best guess: The man of her dreams. Or, lacking a suitable candidate to share a storybook ending with, at the very least a man with a clue. Clearly, Lars, you've failed her on both fronts. And now, to add insult to injury, you expect the poor woman to not only live in a puke-green building, but to shoulder the burden without complaint? Seanachai, I know you and Berli are busy planning your assault upon Heaven, but do you think you could at least lend me dalem's Klingon Implement long enough to significantly alter Lar's alimentary canal? Papa

Lars, you evil bastiche, you made me drop my ceremonial back-stabber. ...Or was that dalem's Klingon cheese knife? Papa

Hiram, I'm very sorry to hear of the death of your sister. My condolences to you and your family. Papa

Boo can count to three? Sound of jaw hitting the floor... Papa

Thief! Plagiarizer! Hack! Have you not the ability to develop cutesy club names yourself?</font>