Marlow

Stuka, you stupid git. Wildworm is already spoken for. I already have him hard (down Bauhaus) at work banging coconut shells together. Also, let me take this opportunity to once again denounce Speedy as the lowest of low-down gamey bastages to have ever commanded digital soldiers. My defeat at your hands is obviously the result of some nefarious pact with the forces of darkness. I will have vengeance. I now declare Blood Hamster on the Gamey Freak Boy, and command my worthless worm of a squire to do the same. A new File-O-Death should be sitting in your in-box.

Bahhhh!!!! You stupid squire! (beats Wildchild over the head with Croda's leg) It was Speedy you were supposed to fight, not Her Ovaries!!!!

(Marlow pats his sniveling dog squire on the head) Yeoman work my good squire. For your next task, I demand vengeance against that Gamey Bastage Speedy. See to it that he is sliced and diced into small pieces suitable for fishbait. That’s a good lad.

Damp gloom settles over the Cesspool. A lonely bell tolls in the tower as the Knights of the Pool round up the assorted dippers, pissboy serfs, and squires for Vespers. Liberal use of club and whip are applied to encourage the slow of foot and wit. The Poolers gather in a ancient torch-lit courtyard, the smell of incense filling the air as the Chief High Priest of the Cesspool Lorak enters. Behind him, Senility slinks in, carrying a heavy leather-bound book. After Lorak observes the proper rights, The Bard moves to a stone lectern, opens the book ,clears his throat. After depositing a large wad of phlegm on armornumbnuts, he begins to read from the Book of Peng: And they came over unto the other side of the Cesspool, into the country of the Hamsters. And when he was come out of the dingy, immediately there met him out of the septic tank a vile squire with an unclean inner Croda (and nasty underwear), who had his dwelling in the septic tank, and no man could bind him, no, not with chains: because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, he enjoyed it far too much: neither could any kanigget tame him. And always, night and day, he was in the sewer, and in the septic tank, crying, and cutting himself with stones, for he was pitiful and inept. But when he saw Marlow afar off, he ran and threw himself at his feet, and cried with a loud voice, and said, What have I to do with thee, Sir Marlow thou master tactician and greatest of all Knights? I adjure thee, that thou torment me not with defeat at thy hands. For thou knowest that I am the Inept among the Inept at CM, and I fall before all. Thou Stugs runneth over my Jacksons, and thou Rickets blow up my Infantry. What more doest thou want? For Marlow said unto him, Come out of the squire thou unclean Croda. And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many. And he besought him much that he would not send them away out of the country, for the other Cesspooligans needed a whipping boy. Now there was there nigh unto the Mount Peng a great herd of sheep feeding. And all the Crodas besought him, saying, Send us into the sheep, that we may enter into them. And forthwith Marlow gave them leave. And the unclean Crodas went out, and entered into the sheep; and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the Loch Peng, (they were about two thousand,) and were choked in the Loch Peng. Senility closes the tomb and shuffles off into the darkness … [This message has been edited by Marlow (edited 03-21-2001).]

On this 21st of March, 2001 ("a date which will live in infamy …") The evil Axis forces (hereinafter "Hun Bastards") of Herr Oberst Speedy (hereinafter "Gamey Freak Boy") did dishonorably defeat the valiant forces of Marlow (hereinafter "CM God") on the field of battle. No excuses for this topplement will be made except that Gamey Freak Boy did lie, cheat, steal, alter the game code, and commit other assorted acts of vile treachery such as the Cesspool has never seen before. Sir Lorak, please record in the sacred tome: Gamey Freak Boy Speedy: Win CM God Marlow: Lose

I'll take Wildman as my lacky. I've always wanted an Officer to lick my boots.

Alas, Sir Lorak, the earless one is correct, my spotless record has now been blemished by the lowest of the low. If I was Japanese, I would now commit ritual suicide. In a monumental clash of steel, dalem and I managed to destroy approximatly 30 assorted tanks and tank destroyers. I would have won handily, but the gamey bastard (second only to j-lowecase-d) obviously paid off (not sure of the "currency" he used) someone at BTS, as the code of the latest patch included the "Panzer Mark IV of Death" for his side. I hates dalems. [This message has been edited by Marlow (edited 02-28-2001).]

Attention all of my worthless opponents: Of late I have been somewhat slow (OK very slow) to return files. Work and home life have been rather hectic, and sorry, but you pond scum sucking gits are just lower on my list than the real world (you would also a lower priority than cleaning out a broken grease trap on a hot July day). Tomorrow I leave for a well deserved break (scuba diving in the Caribbean ). Upon my return I promise that I will resume kicking all of your collectives butts with renewed enthusiasm. Sucks to be you.

So you put out for guys with Vespas and Fred Perrys?

I have only finished five games in the pool because unlike you I am not a TCP/IP slut. I prefer the time honored way of PBEM, which permits time for boasting and crowing as the battle goes on. Back to your modem twitch-chimp.

Well, if its not the Gamiest of all Gamey bastards telling me how he is going to wup me in the sandbagged abortion of a battle he set up. My dear Morsey, let me put the facts to the jury: Ladies and Gentleworms of the jury I received a message from the defendant that simply stated "prepare to be attacked." During the unit selection (1500 point, combined arms), I noted that I had been locked to Canadians. As you all know, the Canadians are probably the most handicapped of all CM forces (only pathetic rifle squads that are next to useless in any close terrain, no tank destroyers, no wasps). They essentially have all the disadvantages of the British, with few of the advantages. I select my forces anyway. Then comes the set-up. I seems that my set-up zone permits me to deploy awfully far forward, but, with all the new patches, I figured this was some sort of change. The terrain was terrible for bolt action rifle equipped squads, heavily wooded, with moderate hills. At this point I suspected that the defendant Morse was setting me up, I just didn't know the full extent of it (I also suspected that he would take SMG heavy infantry, which indeed is the case). The first turn arrives, and I realize that I am facing what appears to be an entire panzer division. For a 1500 point attack, the attacker (if combined arms) should have 675 points to spend on armor. Morse had (that I could see, doesn't count any hidden forces): 3 Panther Gs (approx. 600 points) 3 assault guns (approx 300 points) 3 pumas (about 250 points, but doesn’t count against the total for armor) 1 75 mm halftrack (again doesn't count against the armor total) Notwithstanding that the pumas, the HT and one panther are now wrecks (with another poised to join them from a flank shot that should occur within 2 seconds of the next turn), this was about 900 points of armor, which is consistent with an ASSAULT, NOT AN ATTACK!!!! Well, I think to myself, I have been well and truly sandbagged, but maybe he picked an armor force, and not combined arms. This turns out not to be the case, as over the last few turns he has show me too much infantry to purchase under a 1500 point armor attack. So Assault it is. In closing, I ask that you the jury find the defendant, one tortboy Morse, to be a low-down gamey-assed bastard. Morse, Despite all attempts to stack the deck severely in your favor, I have managed to kill over half of your armor support before you have even made a significant dent in my defense. If it wasn't for the pathetic lack of firepower of the commonwealth rifle squads you stuck me with, I would be devastating your infantry as well. With the severe handicaps you placed on my forces, a blind halfwit treesloth could win for your side. If I actually manage to win, it will be a victory that is told to generations to come in song and story. It will be an epic accomplishment rivaling those of Odysseus and Beowulf.

Don’t wet your panties Sir Alphabet, I'll get around to sending a set-up soon enough, and then you'll realize the folly of your challenge. Enjoy your brief stay of execution. Or if you should not honor the gauntlet you throw so carelessly on the ground, perhaps not fully realizing who you were challenging, then in the immortal words of the bard (sit down Senility): yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o' the time: We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted on a pole, and underwrit, 'Here may you see the pansy.'

I sent the turn two days ago, so obviously it is you technical incompetence that is causing the problem. I'll send it again tonight. As far as the battle goes, I thought the Americans had too many tanks, so I intentionally let you shoot up the three that you got. I'm removing them from the final battle anyway. Also, to make the battle more fair, I have recused myself from the game, and have been letting my two year old give orders for my forces. Thus, you may have a small chance of winning.

Also keep in mind that the "3 to 1" advantage is in manpower and weaponry. It is assumed that the defender will be dug in and possibly have improved his position. In CM these improvements (bunkers, pillboxes, mines, wire, roadblocks, TRPs) all count against the defenders total points.

Although it is often said that actual skill is irrelevant in the pool, it is time to bow down before the master. As if their were any doubt, just one more piece of evidence that I am indeed the reincarnation of Sun Tsu. My perfect 5-0 record has come at the expense of poolers with a combined record of 55/34/6 (Elvis, jd, Shandorf, Nijis, Croda). If you throw out the one outlier (i.e. Croda) that becomes an astounding 52/19/6. Ptthhbbtt.

Well, I disagree with your disagreement. Typical Civil War battles resulted in the loser retreating with the victor too exhausted to pursue. Then, the loser would set up shop a little bit down the road, and if the winner pursued, another battle took place. It is unlikely that Lee could have just waltzed into Washington even if he won at Gettysburg. Further, not to discount the political importance of a win, don't forget that the Union won the most important battle (militarily in any event) of the war the same day: Vicksburg. That victory, cutting the South in half, would likely offset much of the political ramifications of a loss at Gettysburg. I also disagree with the statement " before Gettysburg the North was getting it's butt kicked on a regular basis." This was true in the east, where most modern historians tend to focus (I have my opinions on why this is the case, but its too long to go into now). However, in the west, the Union regularly defeated the Confederates: Fort Henry Fort Donaldson Shiloh (not pretty, but the Union kept the field, and took initiative from the South) Perryville Stone River (maybe not a win, but not a loss, and certainly not a 'butt kickin.') Last, but not least, the whole Vicksberg campaign. There are probably some others that I am forgeting

Old Petey holsters his .38, gives Aragroan's lifeless body a kick, and wanders back to his chair in the corner of at Doc. Croda's for a little nap. On to more important matters - Game updates: Croda - In our gargantuan River of Death battle, Croda's boys are dropping like flies before my armored onslaught. The map has a river down the middle, with a double bridge in the center, and a single one on the right and left. We each assaulted one of the bridges on the ends, the only difference is that his assault has turned into a killing field for his brave but mislead gum-smackers, while mine has been a masterstroke that would do Rommel proud. jd - The gamiest gamey bastard to ever gamely play CM, is running into a little trouble in his attack (although I suspect he sent me an assault QB rather than an attack QB given the entire panzer division that is poised to crush the 3 boy scouts and 2 horse carts that I have as defender). He has lost all three of his Pumas and a 75 mm HT before they have even crossed the line of departure. I'm still a little pissed that he stuck me with Canucks rather than my beloved Yanks (with their wonderful Garands rather than those piece of crap Enfields) on a heavily wooded map. Did I mention that he is a gamey bastard. Steve the Rat Faced Boy - Says I am losing, but I haven't even seen the movie for the first turn. Wildman - I am attacking with no cover to speak of in the face of AT pillboxes. I am winning anyway. dalem - The second gamiest bastard to ever play the game (see jd above) and by far the luckiest, is poised to pull a draw out of what should have been a humiliating defeat. His tanks come traipsing into ambush kill zones, my gunners decide that hitting the target is not in their job description, and pay the ultimate price for their incompetence. Peter of dying computer fame has not been able to properly update our file to 1.12. Goanna is helping me playtest a scenario, otherwise I would be beating the crap out of him. Shandy Duncan is having a little trouble finding my guys. I see that he has take all Hetzers as the armor support for his attack. This suits me fine as they carry only 3 rounds of HE apiece, and I have not purchaced any tanks. I was beating Hiram handily until he disappeared from the face of the earth. Nijis and I have begun "Knight of the Engineers." Speedy the third gamiest bastard that ever lived (see jd and dalem above) is beating the crap out of me. A rare occurrence I might note, as most of you have the IQ of a kumquat. If I am forgetting anyone, its only because you are irrelevant.

If this "small hamlet cum village" is the one at the top of the hill in our current game, I strongly recomend that you use the move order to send your troops on parade through the center of town.

A classic presentation of: River Runts Episode V: A Hard Day's Knight Brought to you by Mace's Livestock Emporium and Whorehouse: If you can't catch it here, you can't catch it anywhere. Out of the mists of the River Peng the painted bow of a longship appears. Its sleek form cutting through the dark waters. The splash from the dropping blades, the oarlocks groan, and the grunts of the oarsmen is all that is heard over the morning calm. On the foredeck stands a proud and noble figure. Resplendent in shining armor, with a great sword strapped at his side. A stout hearted champion with a determined look in his dark and brooding eyes. He had journeyed many long and dangerous roads in his quest for the one true Mutha-Beautiful Thread, and he would not be deterred. Coming around a bend in the river he saw the docks of the tumbledown riverside hamlet of Meeksburgh. Aragorn: Captain, pull us up to the dock between that tugboat and that garbage scow. I'm going ashore to find the Great-ones, the Cesspooligans, and challenge them to glorious battle. Captain: In this place sire? It looks like a pile of crap if you ask me. Aragorn: Silence fool. Only the best warriors are entered into the lists of the Cesspool as scribed by Sir Lorak. I shall prove myself their master. Captain: I thought they were supposed to be a bunch of blowhard idiots myself. Aragorn: Nay, those who reside here are the greatest of CM players ever assembled. Few can stand before their tactical skill or razor wit. Captain: But Sire, I've read their ****e. Its all the ravings of idiots. They don't have enough brain cells between them to … Aragorn: Insolent welp! Shut your mouth before I shut it for you. The ship pulls into the decrepit docking slip, and Aragorn alights. He begins walking down the dust road towards the collection of hovels that make up the town. The sounds of an off-tune piano comes through the window of the saloon, and more disturbing sounds come from the upper floor of a building with a sign that read "Miss Kitty's." As he strides boldly down the main street, he looks around at the torpid figures that lounge in stupor on the various benches and stoops on the main drag. The figure speaks in a commanding voice that unexplainably fails to rouse the indifferent inhabitants of the town. The warrior speaks: "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn! I challenge anyone who is willing to a game of CM! Who is first to be slain?" The cesspool inhabitants in the depths of their ennui barely look up at the looming figure. A flicker of annoyance is seen on more than one face. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn! I challenge anyone who is willing to a game of CM! Who is first to be slain?" Still no response. "I am the greatest of all warriors, and I come to conquer this place and its honorable inhabitants." Disturbed by the bellowing of the noble warrior, Petey the Geriatric night watchman at Doc. Croda's 24-Hour Peepshow/Venereal Disease Clinic, rouses himself from chair which had been reclined against one stained wall, shuffles across the sticky floor, and stumbles out the door. Blinking his rheumy eyes, he spies the tall and splendid figure standing before him. Once again, the brave warrior challenges the indifferent kaniggets and squirrels who ignore him: "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn! I challenge anyone who is willing to a game of CM! Who is first to be slain?" The old guard pulls out his service .38 and puts a small hole through the middle of Aragorn's forehead. The Cesspool inhabitants stir from their indifference for long enough to buy Petey a fifth of Jimmy Dean for his fine shot, and go back to living unhappily ever after. The End. [This message has been edited by Marlow (edited 02-21-2001).]

Game Updates: I am either winning or losing all my games. Turns out to most of my idiot opponents mommentarily. Especially you tortboy, although your not going to like it.

Sounds like you are auditioning for Winston Smith's job. What next, "the term "World War II" is racist because it presumes that the nations actually involved in the war make up the world, and therefore are more important than those not involved"? Maybe we should call it the "United States-English-Russian-German-Italian-Japanese-Australian-French-Finnish-Etc… War" instead. Oh, but then we presume that the United States is the most important. Give me a break.

It would not be an ahistorical tactic. With few planes to shoot at, M16s were often used in the infantry support role, hence their nickname "meatchopper." That said, I also would prefer to see CM2 rather than additional units in CM1

Marlow - The agent sent after Mr. Kurtz in Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Seems appropriate given where I do most of my posting.

Sir Lorak!!!! Win number 5. Marlow Win Nijis Loooooooose.