Hamstersss

You moron, that's just the auto-reply I have set to keep unwanted idjits like you and Seanachai from bothering me. I got your little setup, and I'll return it when the mood suits me. Christ, if you people read your E-mail with any kind of intelligence, you'd see there are three dead giveaways that the message is a fake. Moron. Dunderhead. Fool. Pengsnot.

Well, yes, except for my sister, who is neither Mormon nor wife. But the two lads, the oiled up Greek boys, they were Mormon Wives, you could tell by their bonnets, and the fact that their names were Josephrania and Melvaleen. On a slighty more wistful note, while finding the old Mormon Wives, I had a chance to read through some of the original 'Pool, and it really is as witty and original as I remember.

Well, Mr. Shaw, your ploy worked only too well, I read through that thread, wherein it was Law and Order night at the 'Pool, and promptly fell asleep. Only now have I arisen, royal drool still fresh on my keyboard. Pretty amazing, that part where MrSpkr claims you're in cahoots with me, everything comes full circle, I suppose. Why don't you come clean, Mr. Shaw, it's been a while since we've had a look at those 'Stenographers'. Oh, you've always had reasons for keeping them in that padlocked iron box, kegel exercises, studying, but why don't you tell us the truth, hunh, Joe Shaw. Thought you could forget about your past, didn't you, but the plastic surgery didn't hold, especially for poor Odioma and Hesupetta. No, these 'stenographers', before the pectoral implants, the chest implants, the calf implants, the thousands of dollars of reconstructive surgery, were none other than . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Mormon Wives!!!!!!!!! [ January 17, 2003, 09:07 PM: Message edited by: Elijah Meeks ]

I said if!

Pomp, wit, looks, brilliance, effervessence, cool titles for my supporters, unlimited bile for my opponents, auburn locks, bedroom eyes, top-quality crochet skills, three dozen empty artillery shells suitable for carrying chemical payloads, a cat named 'dog', a dog named 'gasendhuit', a 39" verticle leap, an enormous member, writing talent, creative talent, talents (Useful for religious lessons), acknowledged superiority, inventiveness, consideration, chumchucks, polysyllabic intercourse, photosynthesis, a crack shot, Mandarin, hoop skirts, higher education, drugs, pugs, mugs, thugs and the occasional tree full of small, insane, yet cute mammals.

Oooo, that Paine, he always had it out for me, ever since I critiqued his position on the French Constitution as being deist unto itself. When I get my time machine working again, I'll show 'im what for.

This is not some mud, you idgit, there are no *actions*, or #actions# or @actions@ or whatever signals actions in interactive text adventures (My knowledge of such goes only so far as Zork, as Mace's position as Grue should demonstrate). You can't pick up Mace, he's a slavering Grue of the 'Pool. He exists only in the most ethereal manner, much like Mr. Shaw's position as Justicar. You have an enormous amount of support, Mr. Shaw, but methinks its mostly orthodoxy that's latched onto you as a symbol of the old, and need I mention corrupt, old 'Pool. Think about it, whose side do you want to be on, mine or some nincompoop named Gaylord Focker who writes short posts about picking up on Mace? Look at him, he's pathetic, over there licking himself and gibbering. I doubt he'd know a Grue of the 'Pool if it bit his bum off.

Oh, you'll see what comes next. As a compromise, I propose that the Inquisitor skew the forces and victory flags to favor Mr. Shaw, so that only if Mr. Shaw is iniquitous could he lose. Hell, make the map one big slope and put Shaw on the top end. I was happy with a justice office with Mr. Shaw at the head but he's been stumping for my execution, and that's a tad wrongheaded of him. Who knows, maybe Malakovski will need a Deputy Assistant to the Assistant Deputy Justicar, in which case Mr. Shaw has a fine list of credentials, which are obvious by that resume he keeps passing around. Otherwise, if Mr. Shaw feels too scared by the prospect of trial by combat, he may plead and grovel before me and maybe I'll commute it. Until then, Caesar has spoken.

Well, you've got a point, yes, yes, quite a point. No, we can't have everyone required to respond to your general challenge, too cheeky and cumbersome after all, and for being such a sot and pointing out that I would be wrong in the mortal sense (But not in the regal sense, for my word is always right, how could it be wrong?), you should be cut into thirds. However, you've got a mind for politicking, and justice, and since there's a vacancy, you may take over Shaw's post as Justicar. That is, of course, if you can defeat him or his chosen champion in some suitably slanderous match. And Mace, well, I'm afraid my bag is empty, we have no lands and titles are getting out of hand, but since I have no suitable Wizard of Oz joke, and since you're from Oz or thereabouts, you can be the Grue of the 'Pool. You must practice your slavering, lad, and gnaw on the members. As my first, truly official act, the preceding being merely a comfortable papal purge, I propose a solution to our problem of interlopers. This seems to be the most pressing issue, ignoring the calls for my abdication and quartering. I say that the Grue of the 'Pool be our gatekeeper. Mace, being our first Grue of the 'Pool, is to fight anyone who wishes to enter these environs. If they cannot defeat the Grue, then they are ignored. If they manage to overcome the Grue, then they may be selected by the grimy hands of some Knight to be a Squire of the 'Pool. The scenarios do not need to be even, and should all take place at night, in fog, as that is the Grue's environs. I may be a loon, but I know my precarious position of power, so I ask my noble subjects, does this Grue of the 'Pool sound good or is it no solution to our pains? And, dammit, can't someone come up with an expression beyond Submersible Somefink Nukular for these mooks?

Well, now, I have to say, this is troubling. Not Ol' Stalin's Penis up there, showing the benefits of a public education, or how you say, Cliff's Notes and Cosby Show learning, but this unusually worked-up Joe Shaw. I'm afraid that I must now publicly strip you of all titles, Shaw. You're no longer Justicar, now you're just a Shaw. I place the lot of shame upon you, you've besoiled your knighthood, and I take from you the mantle of Sir. Your commission be torn up and your house condemned. I have no place for raving traitors in my realm, only raving patriots (Like Mannheim Tanker). This adherence to the past, this memory of yours is an ugly habit, much like those of Rumanian nuns, and I'd be wary of continuing it, for your future could be filled with trials not only of fortitude but of viccissitude. It took time, dear Shaw, and it took the reduction of the Pool to a pathetic state, but the heresy is gone. There can be no heresy because there is no heretic, there is no splitting and no split, there is only the one, the true, Mother Beautiful Thread, and it's mine. Now scrape that feces off your shoe and get me some grapes and virgins before I force your former squires to perform monologues on Star Search. [ January 17, 2003, 03:59 PM: Message edited by: Elijah Meeks ]

No, no, Shaw's a self-starter, says so on that resume he's always passing around. Save the pokers for that Malakovski idiot who thinks there are no rules. Read the post you, you, argh! we still have no term for your kind, there are rules, and the rules are based on my whimsy. Here's one of them: There will be no posting in the manner or form of stuttering boobs like Malakovski. Any such occurence shall be punished with +150% forces for anyone who wishes to engage in PBEMs with said offender. Granted, it's like butchering a side of bacon, but it'll do.

See, that's pluck, I always liked you Shaw, so tell ya what, you come up with a good set of rules, something a little more fun and hip, something that doesn't read like a damned chart at a community pool, something suitable and I'll implement it. If you need any help in your task, oh my overly conservative, counterreformative, Smokin' Joe Shaw, feel free to gut this CMPlayer chap and use his entrails for inspiration.

I'm not responding to this, merely reposting it for all to see, that's prophecy baby, look at the prophetic prose, the way he uses quotes in that modern style, set off by a phrase like "woe from the heavens". Oooo, makes me tingle just thinking about it. And about that picture, um, yeah, that's not gonna happen, but didn't someone once do a cartoon? I think the Cesspool is a thing done best in cartoon. Oh, and Lars, you little blighter, as soon as I'm done reemboweling Nidan, you're next, you treasonous twiterpated twonk.

I hereby declare you Earl, not baron or duke or even prince. As Earl, your posts are to be prophetic, pathetic and peripatetic, primarily predisposed toward punishing the producers of pap who haunt this board even now. We must abolish this SSN term, as it reminds me of nukular submarines every time I read it, so invent something menacing and nasty but easily spelled and remembered so that we can refer to these morons properly. I prefer John. If we call them Johns, it makes them sound like a bunch of paunchy, pasty prancers in search of prostitution. That's merely a suggestion from your king, invested as he is with the wisdom of divinity, whose grace doth flow like the Nile at sunset.

You know, that's the only scenario I've ever made, except for that one where me and my airborne laddies liberate the German Reform School For Naughty, Buxom, Underwear Models. Oh, right, I'm not supposed to talk about that now that I'm Caeser and all. Well, pshah. My first edict is to rescind the rules, they are now replaced with my fickle whimsy. Now wait until I've slogged through the rest of this filth.

It's time we had an intervention, folks. This is all fun and game until somebody loses their panties. Seanachai, we know you enjoy being "funny" and "smart" and "literate" but it's time for you to dismount the big "rocket horse". You have to understand that people have "feelings" and even if they're "****ed up" it's ok. You see these people, or "morons" as sociologists refer to them, need "space" and "not to be reminded about their idiocy" and you're not helping. What I want you to do, are you listening, is to drive (Not walk, walking is "bad") to your nearest chain bookstore and purchase two books that are prominently displayed, at least one of which must have "Healing" or "Coping" on the cover. When you are at the purchase counter, make sure to buy a bookmark with a cat on it and anything small and tacky with words of wisdom pasted onto it, you'll find these conveniently in front of your face as you wait for the "idiot behind the counter". Take these books to your nearest Burger King or Wendy's, buy a meal that is featured with the picture of that meal, refer to it by number, and "supersize it". Read as much of these books as you can while eating your burger, leave the bookmark and tacky trinket at the table, go home, put these books on your IKEA bookshelf (Don't have one? Buy one.) and never open them again. After a couple dozen of these sessions, you'll be a "nice" person, and not a "raging asshole" or "self-important rotter" or "pompous brigadier". Come on guys, if you consider yourself one of Seanachai's "friends" then for God's sake, help him out.

To live in thy heart, to die in thy lap, and be buried in thine eyes.

What's that, who didst call Caeser? You, old earless man, come forth, what didst thou say, Beware the Ides of March? No, no, beware a high fiber diet. Oh, that's not nearly so menacing. Well, since you show all the signs of the soothe, I invest you with office and holdings, as chief chancellor of of cheekie chumps, churled champion charged with defense of the the holy with the only currency that these dogs respect, foul-minded insanity effused from the rot and babble that is your festering gullet. But don't get too prophetic or I'll crucify ya. And Mike, magnificent moron that you are, haven't you heard, I've been invited.

Am I ambitious, nay, sirs, for I refused the crown thrice, though the unwashed masses that are Nidan and panzerninny didst cause me to swoon with the foul air that erupted with their cheers of my majesticosity. Nidan, fool and twit that you are, eighthwit harmless nabob of nickel-plated nubbins, I did not ask you to send me a set up, I ordered you to do so. I no more want to play you than I did defile your mother with a garden hose, but, like that diversion, I will engage with you. Likely you will not be so easy as she, but I am sure of my eventual victory.

That's pathetic, I mean truly pathos-inducing dryrot. Who are you and how, pray-tell do you manage to get your prehensile thumbs to operate the high technology devices designed for the opposable thumbs of your betters? I noticed, also, that Mike is here. Mike of, "I used to respect you man, then you called my post 'feces' and that was it." Christ, you circulated a pamphlet that proclaimed 'plate' and 'debris' words too difficult to spell, how did you expect me to react, you ninny. Who else, looks like Seanahoochie and Berli are going through the motions, I wonder whether sing-song or brimstone will be next. So here goes, send me a setup oh Nidan of no-nads-land, and I will make an example of you, after that maybe I'll disassemble Mike, just to show him that verbage and linguistic talent are outside indicators of tactical know-how and all around brilliance. And for Christ's sake, show some inventiveness in your posts, we live in the most corrupt and decadent period in history, filled with such filth and cormbage that the Marquis de Sade would shriek with disgust, and you people are still mouthing off insults no more offensive than ripe apples. Stupid bloody who-ores. At least OGSF is here, that makes me happy.

You're a who-ore, and nothing rhymes with that. In other news, I may actually get CMBB, so watch out, all you little sots.

Oh my God, there were mine dogs on the East Front?!?! And motorcycles?? And night-vision Panthers?!?!? Well, Crikey, BTS musta missed that episode of the History Channel. What a bunch a' amateurs. Now excuse me while I deploy my dog mines. They don't work too well on people or tanks, but they sure teach them poochies a lesson.

I don't agree with the political reasoning, after all, didn't Hitler say, "We shall not capitulate... no never. We may be destroyed, but if we are, we shall drag a world with us... a world in flames." If, like the destruction of Paris, the use of gas was ordered and the order was not carried out, I'd buy it, but there's no evidence of this.

I can just imagine the happy humanitarian Hitler sitting back and saying, "Oh, those slavic lads don't deserve the kind of inhuman horror that is poison gas, hold back, my well-funded scientists". They had superior chemical weapons, and it seemed militarily irrational not to use them. Great site, Axe. As to this thread being off-topic, well, I think it has more to do with the fact that BTS included the SturmTiger, so I no longer have a cause celebre to champion...

Yeah, what the title says. What did Hitler have to lose in the later war by not deploying poison gas?