Buzzsaw

The Battle of Dummkopfenburg Turn 2 As Oberfeldwebel Tobias Buzzsaw’s halftrack skidded to a stop behind the north building of the Dummkopfenburg Sledworks, he vaulted over the side and scrambled into the vacant factory. What had once been a thriving manufacturing plant, complete with a carpentry, metal, and paint shops, was now an abandoned wreck of rust and cobwebs. The factory might have been used in the war effort (Buzzsaw had seen the plans for the Mark I Light Attack Luge), but it had been run out of business a year before the war – the victim of a protracted legal battle. The courts had eventually ruled in favor of the Dummkopfenburg Sledworks, agreeing with the defendant that the failure of their literature to mention that hamsters should not pilot the Dummkopfenburg Toboggan did not constitute gross negligence. The cost of the lengthy legal battle, however, had bankrupt the company. Buzzsaw directed his men into position, sending two squads into the smaller stone buildings near the Sledworks perimeter, and setting up a third squad and a heavy machinegun in the main factory buildings. And then there was a brief pause, a moment of breathless calm and crackling tension. A moment, that, burdened with the weight of the countless bloody conflicts that came before and terrible savage melee that was to follow, left an indelible impression on every man that was to survive the day. To be continued… [ August 09, 2002, 02:09 PM: Message edited by: Buzzsaw ]

Look, I know you are just trying to prove that you are full of piss and vinegar, but what you are really doing is peeing all over the place without even thinking. Try showing a little more restraint. Show some artistry, or, as they like to say around here, some panache. A really good exercise for you would be to restrict each one of your posts to a single traditional haiku. You might find that the rigid structure helps you clarify the point you are trying to make. Here let me give you an example: Blows fall on thick head, Pillock, Git extraordinaire! New Zealand Mikey To be sure, it is not a very good example. I am hopeful that you can best it.

Time to look for a new home. I do hope that one of the Olde Ones is considering giving us a right proper start this time. I think this current train wreck all started when we didn't have proper rules posted at the start. I'm also hoping that Mike give up on his lame Cesspool spelling bee. You win. I'll even sign a petition to have the OED list an alternate spelling for Caesar. Just shut up already. Barring that, try to post something even vaguely amusing.

The Battle of Dummkopfenburg Turn 1 Oberfeldwebel Buzzsaw climbed aboard the lead halftrack and gave the command to move out. As he sped into town, women gasped and became weak-kneed at the sight of the strapping young man. He did not have the steely eyed beauty of the classic Third Reich pinup boys, but, possessed, rather, the dark, supernatural beauty of a Greek god – a universal appeal that affected women in places much deeper than they cared to admit. Several shouted their offers for Buzzsaw to set up quarters in their homes, and some even pointed out the excellent LOS from their bedrooms. He was showered with flowers as he roared down the street. At a particularly crowded intersection, one love-crazed beauty had nearly put his eye out with a bunch of edelweiss. Buzzsaw sped on, and headed straight for the two large stone buildings on the left side of town. He had identified the Dummkopfenburg Sledworks as the key to controlling the village. The heavy masonry factories overlooked the approaches to Fritz’s grave, and the main arteries into town; plus, they would offer excellent protection from all but the heaviest bombardment. The rest of the German forces, according to his instructions, were taking up positions surrounding the town, but Buzzsaw’s platoon, along with three halftracks, and two armored cars, would seize the Sledworks and the surrounding area. It looked like Buzzsaw’s battlefield prescience had paid off again. His eagle eyes detected enemy infantry units near his pre-plotted artillery bombardment. There would soon be enough 81mm shells raining down to make that route of advance very uncomfortable for Athkatla’s Raiders. Oberfeldwebel Buzzsaw could almost taste the brewing fight now, and, as he had skipped breakfast that morning, he was planning on gorging himself once the skirmish began. To be continued ...

Our hero. Roxy, send me that setup, dammit. </font>

The Battle of Dummkopfenburg Setup As Oberfeldwebel Buzzsaw gazed down at the peaceful village, his thoughts turned to his American cousin, Tommy Buzzsaw. Tommy had come to Berlin 1936 as an alternate decathlete for the American team (Tobias was on the German pistol team). They had gotten along extremely well. Along with the unusual surname, Tommy had inherited the family’s smoldering good looks, and the “Buzzsaw Boys”, as they were known, became immensely popular with the female competitors in the athletes village. Tommy and Tobias had felt personably responsible for the exhausted Swedish gymnastics team’s poor performance in the games, but the Buzzsaw Boys gave those girls top marks on their scorecards. The intervening years, with the rising tide of Hitler’s mania, and the dramatic ebb and flow of the war, had all but washed away the memories of those exuberant days. The German branch of the family had heard the news of Tommy’s decorations for bravery during the allied invasion of France, and Tobias had received numerous decorations himself. He placed little value on those medals: baubles distributed by men whose definitions of bravery and duty were inexorably tied with loyalty to the party. Tobias had never been a supporter of the Nazis, but he fought on out of a sense of duty to his fellow soldiers. The respect of his men was Tobias’ greatest reward. He had that rare combination of calm under fire, and the ability to take decisive action that earned a soldier’s unwavering loyalty. They would follow him into death. Eying the village, Tobias hoped that he would not be leading his men into death today, but he had just received his orders, and he wasn’t happy. They were supposed to occupy the village, and protect two key objectives from a suspected enemy attack. It was another exercise in idiocy. The village itself was of no strategic importance, and the objectives were of no military value. But, Tobias knew the truth behind the orders. The village was Dummkopfenburg, and it was the birthplace of the battalion commander, Commandant Rune. The two objectives were places of special importance to the Commandant: the small grove of trees on the left was the burial place for Rune’s pet hamster Fritz (killed in a tragic sledding accident two years before the war), and the two story structure in the center of town, “The Sisters of Mercy Orphanage for the Blind and Olfactory Impaired”, was the location of Rune’s first and only sexual encounter (the orphanage was closed after the “incident”, and a city ordinance was passed requiring that all pets be kept indoors after dark) . Buzzsaw silently cursed the fates for burdening him with such an incompetent battalion commander. The company officers, having long ago recognized Oberfeldwebel Buzzsaw’s preternatural grasp of combined arms tactics, had asked that he devise a plan for taking and holding Dummkopfenburg. As Tobias surveyed the forces at his disposal, what worried him most was the enemy. There was precious little intelligence available, but it was known that the Athkatla Raiders were in the area. The Raiders had a reputation for leaving behind piles of corpses. Granted, they were piles of Raider corpses, but such blatant disregard for his men would make Athkatla an unpredictable enemy. Signals had also recently intercepted messages from Athkatla’s camp requesting a resupply of extra large fishnet stockings, several vacuum cow milkers (with extra small teat cups), and phonographs of Ethel Merman. Was this part of some devilish psych-ops plan, or merely for Athkatla’s personal entertainment? Oberfeldwebel Buzzsaw had an eerie feeling that he would have the answer to that question within the next thirty-five minutes. To be continued...

It’s not called subtlety -- it is called illiteracy. Actually, the problem is not just that you can’t write clearly; it is that you can’t even think clearly. What a sad struggle it must be for you every day. You had better start memorizing the McDonald’s menu right now. With your handicaps, you are going to need every advantage you can get in the job market

Here is a little advice, kiddie: before you press the Add Reply button, take a deep breath, count to ten (that’s the number of fingers most humans outside of your immediate family have), and read what you have just typed. You may find that, although your spelling and grammar are correct, you are making absolutely no sense. As near as I can tell, you are suggesting that my parents should have become doctor/lumberjacks before I was conceived. That is quite the put down. Maybe we don’t need a sledgehammer. Maybe one of the seniors around here could just use that old brick.

At least Elvis' posts provide an additional search term when trying to locate past incarnations of the MBT. Your posts don't seem to have much purpose other than making a very strong case for forced sterilization. It really should have started with your parents, but at least we have a chance to keep the damage from spreading. I realize the chances of your reproducing are remote, but I don’t think we should take any unnecessary risks. Anyone know if there is a standard Cesspool procedure for this operation? Sledgehammer? Flamethrower?

Now our thread is complete! I feel so much better.

Games Updates Lars has returned from his air show, and we have resumed our combat. Other than the infantry gun I knocked out a few turns back with a single shot from a 60mm mortar, nothing much interesting has happened. I have pinpointed a few rabbit holes, and have called an exterminator to come check them out. Athkatla and I have an interesting Meeting Engagement underway. He may just get his first victory. A couple of my open-topped AFVs have decided to take it upon themselves to drive into the middle of a VT artillery barage, with predictable results. One of Athkatla's has decided to drive into the same barrage, so it isn't all bad for me. I was happy to see that Elvis posted a message that didn't include has favorite word. I guess it takes the kinder, gentler approach of Seanachai to bring him out of his shell, but I still think that boy should be medicated. They rest of you are first order pillocks. I only hope that more our your ISPs go defunct. Leeo, maybe if you hadn't used so much bandwidth downloading MPEGs of "Circus Freaks with Barnyard Animals" and Britney Spears videos, your ISP would still be in business. Maybe you can find something on cable that will satisfy you until you find another Internet Smut Provider.

Yes, you have left me alone too long. Idle serfs are the devil's workshop, or some such thing. Id did post a unentertaining post decription of Sergeant Buzzsaw's exploits against Harv. Current games include one against Lars. I'll post an update as some as something interesting happens. I have also started a meeting engagement against athkatla, but I haven't had the time to return the file. Will do tonight.

Of course we haven't! We wouldn't want to infringe. We're extremely rude individually, but we're quite polite as a people when it comes to standing off and letting our betters lord it over all creation while we nod sympathetically and wonder about which member of the Royal Family you've slept with, and what undeclared, off-shore income you're hording that allows you to afford Internet access. Ta! Off to try and determine which portion of the British Experience of Empire produced the Teletubbies.</font>

My mother told me not to send personal information to strangers on the internet. I am pretty sure that goes double for known associates of Satan. Still, I'll see what I can get you.

Listen, athkatla, you will know when I have really “had a go at you.” I’ll have you hopping on one foot, singing Yankee Doodle Dandy, and gargling the contents of your piss-bucket by the time I’m done with you. You are a dog-chuffing, donkey-fondling, English willy wart. The soggy English weather has clearly rotted that small bundle of ganglia that passes for your brain. Do you find that you have to concentrate every time you take a breath? I am considering challenging you, but I need some assurances that it will be somewhat more entertaining than reading your posts. Pulverizing your troops while they sit around the bivouac picking lice from their armpits and day-dreaming about the Queen Mum in a leather body suit and 6-inch heels is just not my idea of fun.

In the case of athkatla, this the only way that anything interesting gets into his posts, so lets cut him a little slack.

Elvis A little more variety in your posts would be welcome, but I suspect that drool has short-circuited all keys except W,A,N,K,E, and R. Unfortunately, since the mouse is not located directly under your gaping, toothless pie-hole, you are still able to navigate to the MBT and complete your posts. I believe that I can help cure your obsessive compulsive disorder. 105mm shock therapy is clearly called for, and I stand ready to administer it. Perhaps there is a legal custodian I could speak to in order to acquire the necessary permission (or are you now a ward of the state)?

What suggestions does anyone have for interesting and accurate reading on Task Force Baum? I have one book at home, I think it is titled "Hammelburg", that is really pretty terrible. It sounds like "Raid!" is not much better. My grandfather was a POW at Hammelburg during the raid, and I am always curious to learn more about what actually happened.

My good sir Elvis, You have either failed to seek psychological help, or you need to increase your dosage. Worse, your fascination with wankers seems to have inspired others: Six wankers (or forms thereof), in a single post! My god! The genius! This imbecile has, in a single post, made a contribution to the thread that it would normally take you at least two months to achieve. I hope you are proud. Now go back to picking the lint from your belly button, or whatever it is that you do between making your ingenious posts.

Rune, you may recall my initial post concerning this battle. In that post I highlighted how Harv, by cleverly choosing a very short scenario where he would play the defender, limited the chances for his total lack of tactics to hurt him. This was really the only interesting part of the game, as the actual turns featured the lack of imagination that the Harv’s opponents have come to dread. For my part, I displayed just enough tactical genius to achieve a draw. But, for the sake of completeness, I offer this AAR. Setup The remnants of Ranger Company Charlie have breached Omaha beach, but now must take two houses that command a view of the open scrub above the bluff. Captain Rune, the company commander, complaining of sore feet (perhaps he should take better care of his boots), has been evacuated, and the men look to their most experienced NCO, Sergeant Buzzsaw, to lead them in their hour of crisis. A natural leader, Sergeant Buzzsaw is respected and loved by his men. At home, in California, the women know him for his astonishingly handsome looks. In the barracks, he is renowned for his witty banter. But, it is here, in the crucible of combat, that he has proven his natural leadership, and his ruthless efficiency as a killing machine. Sergeant Buzzsaw directs the Company to conceal themselves in the brush in a small ravine, so that he may survey the area without exposing them to much fire. Turns 1-3 Sergeant Buzzsaw leads a half squad through some scattered trees and towards the objective. He draws fire from a wooden MG bunker to the right, and a light machine gun in the stone house directly ahead. Noting that the suppressive effects of this MG fire are less than anticipated, Buzzsaw orders the half squad to take cover in the trees, and runs the gauntlet of machine gun fire alone as he returns to report the situation to the two platoon Lieutenants. The Lieutenants are rattled -- they were not expecting reinforced positions, and there are no bazookas in range of the bunker. Sergeant Buzzsaw, takes control of the situation, and immediately orders the majority of platoon B to flank the bunker. Turns 4-6 Sergeant Buzzsaw leads the flanking maneuver himself. Several men are cut down as they dash across the bunker’s field of fire, but their dying thoughts are untroubled: they have seen their beloved Sergeant reach some cover in a position that flanks the bunker. Surprisingly, the German commander of the forces in this area has left the flank of the bunker completely unprotected. As he strolls up to the back door of the bunker, Sergeant Buzzsaw wonders what kind of imbecile would leave his most valuable defensive structure so exposed. His gammon bomb knocks out the bunker, and the survivors of the initial blast are gunned down as they try to flee to the rear. Their dying words are curses to their commander for sacrificing them so needlessly. Turns 7-9 Charlie Company’s 60mm mortars begin unloading on the wooden house and fox holes around the objective. The German defenders, dispirited by their commander’s total incompetence, and terrified by the massacre at the bunker, begin abandoning their positions. They may be shot for cowardice latter, but they have seen that following their commander’s orders guarantees a certain death now. It appears that one of the German defenders has left a still burning cigarette as he fled. No wait! It is the smoke barrage from the 60mm mortars. Attack! The men of platoon A come charging out of the brush, urged on by the throaty war cries of Sergeant Buzzsaw. Buzzsaw arrives at the stone house first, and single handedly overpowers the machine gun crew before they can get off a single shot. Under interrogation, one of the wounded MG crew reveals that there should be a 3rd German platoon returning shortly. It seems that their commander sent them foraging for hemorrhoid cream in a nearby village (something about a recurring condition brought on by long hours on a tractor before the war and the stress of combat). Turns 10-12 It looks as if the missing German platoon has returned. They do a lot of ineffectual milling around as the Rangers, outnumbered, but protected inside the stone house, pick off a few German’s cowering in the cover of some trees. Out of ammo, Sergeant Buzzsaw takes advantage of this time to answer fan mail from home, and to polish his boots with the viscera of the Germans he slaughtering today. Summary Owing to the large number of Germans milling around the objective, the powers that be deem the engagement a draw, but word quickly spreads amongst the German army of the fearsome warrior who has waded ashore in France, of the man with the face of an angel, but who does the devil’s work, of Die Menschliche Kettensaege.

Hakko Ichiu, I see that you speak from your heart, and out of concern for the MBT, but you must understand that nothing can "rend the 'Pool asunder." You speak of the "Thread that Was and Will Be", when, in fact, it is the Thread that Always Has Been, and Always Will Be. The Cesspool was here long before Seanachai first penned those words: "Peng, I take our challenge public", and it will be here long after Joe’s hot air has run out. No one can destroy the MBT: not Joe, not The Olde Ones, not the Big Baldy himself. Too be sure, we owe a debt of gratitude to those who first illuminated the MBT. Those luminaries who first perceived the Cesspool, and encouraged the rest of us seek its truth. But, each person’s interpretation of the MBT may be different. To one, the Cesspool is a place for jolly sing-songs, to another a place to discuss sheep fetishes, and to another a place of knights, squires, and houses. We all perceive the shadows cast by the ideal in a different way. But Joe’s interpretation can nor more change the MBT, than a cloud can change the sun. I welcome your attempts to persuade Joe about the true meaning of the MBT, but just realize that his ability to comprehend may be far less than your own, and fear not for the fabric of the MBT, for it is spun of a fiber far stronger than any of us can imagine.

Lars, send me a turn, you git. This game is going slow enough without having to wait weeks between turns. And don't worry about your hangover -- your artillery fire could not be any less accurate than it already is.

I am willing to accept the fact that you are more experienced with mogrels and especially with "Saturday night back alley jobs" than me. It really says a lot that you go to your dog for advice. He's probably the smartest member of your family. Maybe you can get him to post for you -- I'm sure he'd be more entertaining.

Here's a hint: that pitter-patter on your head is not rain. You are right, you are not anyone's pissboy, you are everyone's pissboy. Whether or not you choose to hold up your bucket is a different matter.

Elvis, don’t think I have forgotten you (as hard as I might try). I see that your monomania about turn numbering has morphed into an obsession with ”wankers”. How clever of you to post the same thing in every thread. I suggest you visit this web page for tips on controlling this kind of compulsive behavior. As a side benefit, you may find that you no longer care to cheer for those compulsive losers, the Eagles. You may be senior in member number and Cesspool lineage, but, to me, you will never be anything more than Croda’s whining little lapdog. As long as we are talking about drug treatments, why don't you look into something for incontinence -- I think Croda is tired of mopping up your little puddles.