rleete

Unit grog. Been cuddling with Dorosh again? Hmmm? And there definitely is something wrong with that.

Oh, say it ain't so. He's got eleven of the damn sprinklers...

Well, Old Foul One, you asked for it! I mean, if you say we can count on it, well, then it must be true. And as an anniversary present from the lovely wife, I just finished watching Kelly's Heroes for the umpteenth time. (All the burning bridges...) Damn, what a flick. So, at your request it's.... Trivia Time! Movie grog [need to get out more] question: What are the turret numbers of the German "Tiger" tanks in the town? Super movie grog [need a life] question: Of the so-called Tigers in the square, which one survives? (i.e., the turret number, you dolts, not "gee, the one that didn't blowed up") Bonus [man, your parents must be sooo proud] question: What unit are these tanks from?

So, you think you might have wanted to try getting a replacement from the manufacturer instead of buying another one? No, you go out and get the exact same thing that broke before. Consumers at their worst. Beware the brain dead.

Cruel and unusual punishment if there ever was any. You, Sir, are mean.

I've watched Kelly's Heroes (bolded out of respect for a masterpiece), bub, and you ain't no hero. Maybe a hoagie, or one of dalem's sandwiches. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

I've watched Kelly's Heroes (bolded out of respect for a masterpiece), bub, and you ain't no hero. Maybe a hoagie, or one of dalem's sandwiches. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

Oh, lord. You make lenakonrad (may he rest in pieces) look like he has talent.

Ha! He met me, even driving an hour to do so. But then, I provided some of the beer, and ample supply of cigarettes for him to filch. So, you see Joe, it's your overwhelming reputation for being a skinflint that leaves you solitary and alone. And even worse, longing for the company of lawyers. You really do need help.

The AI is programmed to run crews, out-of-ammo FO's and prisoners off map. You won't see all they had, unless you can find knocked out weapons and know exactly how much arty he dropped.

Ha! I knew it! You still haven't said anything about the "*" thing. Therefore, you must want to keep records of both losses and wins. Our very own (i.e. no one else would have him) Old Foul Joe is actually in favor of posting wins. There you have it folks. Shaw is a Closet Ladder Player. Add it to your sig, you are the CLaP.

As if anyone needs a reason to take a poke at Mr. "damn near stationary, because I can't move any faster" Shaw. Almost too easy to be any fun. Almost. And, from Lorak's site: "Since Losses are really all that matters, and due to the fact that the Pool isn't meant to be some sort of cheep groggy ladder, only loses will be displayed below." So, you see, Mr."make up the rules as I go, and nevermind they contradict last week", There is a website. It's just poorly maintained, much like your hygiene. Losses do matter, just not wins. Not that you'd know about them, from what I hear. Oh, and Lars? The rules you posted may be classic, but they stink as much as your foxpee, and are likely just as effective.

JasonC with a one line, two sentence post? I don't think so. Who are you, and what have you done with our formum member?

No kidding, imagine what I thought! Although, from the way I felt, it would not have been a big surprise. Wife is away for the weekend (getting a break fro me), so turns will be sent later tonight. I'll finish off your pathetic charge. Yes, I am doing much better, thanks. My voice (what's left of it, anyway) is very raspy. Scares the hell out of the cats. The coughing has been worse, though. They must think I've been yelling at them for the past two weeks. As to the coffin nails, I'll give it another go when I have my strength back. Oh, and MrSpkr? I blame you and Texas for this bug. So, you'll be getting a turn too.

No, but thanks for asking. It's been a very long and very expensive two and a half weeks. First, it was just a little cold. No big deal. A bottle of Nyquil should do it's miracle work. But three days later, the coughing just wouldn't quit. Even stopped smoking, to no avail. Fever and chills add to the fun. Doctor visit one. Diagnosis: bronchitis and perscription number one. Cost: 80 bucks (no health insurance *ouch*). Damn antibiotic makes me sick to my stomach. Add vomiting to the list of entertainment. Still feeling like hell, and no work means no pay for this contractor. Doctor visit two, new perscription. Another 80 bucks. No change, except to the wallet. Sleep was becoming increasingly difficult, and the mood was "cranky" at best. Lack of nicotine makes it worse. Haven't eaten in almost 5 days. Doctor visit three. Throat cultures for S.A.R.S, I kid you not. Recent airline travel makes it a possibility. Thankfully, it comes up negative, but the latest diagnosis is now accute pneumonia. More perscriptions, including a $60 (!) bottle of narcotic cough syrup. For 60 bucks, you'd think they could make the stuff taste slightly better than the large wads of phlem I choke up hourly. Hope you enjoy that mental image. I know that I have not. At least the codine knocks me out. Finally had my first good night's sleep. My sides and back are sore from constant coughing. I've lost almost ten pounds (you think I'd at least look thinner), but the appetite is not yet returned. To top it all off, my willpower is shot, and I resumed smoking. Needless to say, I wish all of you were as sick as I have been.

May it please the court, presenting Exhibit A: Your honor, the prosecution rests.

Well, that certainly was exciting. And, I see, the alternative is not much better. So much for the vaunted MBT.

Uh, oh. Looks like P.L. won't be the only one without yarbles around here. Word of advice to the SSN. Don't mess with the Ladies fo the 'pool. They get free reign around here, and carry out their own brand of justice. Let's just say that you won't be needing a codpiece much longer.

Here is how I matched up against all the levels: Purgatory | Very Low Level 1 - Limbo | Very Low Level 2 | Very High Level 3 | Very High Level 4 | Very High Level 5 | Very High Level 6 - The City of Dis | Very High Level 7 | High Level 8- the Malebolge | Very High Level 9 - Cocytus | Very High Results? Fifth Level of Hell! Yeah, way to go! -------------------------------------------------- The river Styx runs through this level of Hell, and in it are punished the wrathful and the gloomy. The former are forever lashing out at each other in anger, furious and naked, tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth. The latter are gurgling in the black mud, slothful and sullen, withdrawn from the world. Their lamentations bubble to the surface as they try to repeat a doleful hymn, though with unbroken words they cannot say it. Because you lived a cruel, vindictive and hateful life, you meet your fate in the Styx. Now that is what every member of the MBT should aspire to. Pure hatred, in every walk of life. Choke on it, you pillocks. And Boo? Still no turns sent. Deal with it. [ May 31, 2003, 08:12 PM: Message edited by: R_Leete ]

There you go with the failing memory again. It ain't the *BOOT* that Bauhaus is famous for. Next you'll be thinking that Mace likes to pet the sheep.

Ah, yes. How's about this? The Stoop (YK2 and Persephone): Always demure but subtly inviting. Tastefully decorated, and well maintained. Impeccable construction with artistic flair. Bright and cheery, it belies the horrors waiting within the abode beyond. Known to be slightly tipsy at times, possibly due to close proximity to the grape vines. And another: The Doormat (Boo Radley): Trampled on by all. Raggedly unkempt, it presents a slovenly, disheveled appearance. Always present, but usually forgotten and ignored. Absolutely useless at keeping slime and vermin from entering. Probably should be nailed down with dull, rusty railroad spikes.

But what a mess it is. Never any maintenance around here. The Foundation (Peng): Once formed of massive stone rants. Some slightly cracked, but held together with drunken glee mixed with malice aforethought. Towering in its rage, sunk to the very depths of human frailty. Cemented together using hate, dead smileys and steaming bile left to boil and fester for days. Now, mason and mortar alike dried out and mildly bitter. The cracks that appear are the gaping maws of SSN’s left to chip away at what is left. Stealing a bit to show their daring, only to erode further. The Monster in the Basement (Berli): Once feared by all and sundry. Which is mostly the type we get around here. The terror of the one-line hit and run. His bark was his bite, and terrifying in its intensity. Able to rend even an armored kniggit in a single horrifying stroke. Tolerance? None, except for certain barrels of liquor, aged many years. Tempered only by the lovely Persephone, in a classic case of Beauty and the Beast. Now, having suffered too much indigestion from consuming countless lackwits, has retreated to the furthest corners of the dungeon. The growls of impending doom have become silent. The Walls (Joe Shaw): Crooked to begin with (hey, a banker is a banker), but providing definition. Lofty as the ideals of the righteous, and often as impracticable. Formed on good intentions, with absolutely no plan. Trying vainly to channel all traffic into well worn hallways. Pressed and battered into ever more convoluted contortions (Mormon wives at work?), they now have all the functionality of the Winchester Mansion floorplan. Old and rickety from the beginning, they now moan and groan with every step. Barely able to stand up to the gusts of hot air emanating from the latest crew of wannabes. The Skeletons in the Closets (senior kniggits): Like all bogeymen, some induced mild fear. Others, only amused grins. Mostly fallen to dust. With nothing to consume but themselves, they have starved. Some may return to offer a snide comment. Never have any stayed for long, unable to reconcile their own image as fearsome with the disrespect often heaped upon them. The Yappy Little Dog (Elvis): Shouting “wankers” at every knock on the door. About as useless as they come. Best ground into food for real dogs. The Resident Scribe (Lorak): Huddled over the tome of deeds, dutifully recording all promotions and mug shots. Always underpaid (but, apparently, never underfed) like Bob Cratchet he kept his post. Alas, Tiny Tim has died, and the scribe went on to inflict suicide by IL-2. Finally, The Roof (Seanachai): A few shingles short of a small townhouse. Once providing the final piece to tie everything together. Proudly going on and on. Now, stretched thin (Yes, yes. I know he isn’t. It’s artistic license.) in his attempt to protect all. Failing, of course. Feeling old, shopworn and a bit neglected. Leaking in the most disgusting of places. The gutters are full of debris and are coming loose. Not to mention the backed up downspouts… Dammit! Didn’t I say not to mention the downspouts? Now look what you’ve done. Some wide-eyed pillock will come waltzing in and go on and on about the damn downspouts. You mark my words, they’ll make all sorts of nasty innuendo about the backing up, and what’s caused it and everything. Now where’s the damn pissboy? Tell him to clean out the downspouts. That oughta make Old Senile Tea sorry he ever bestowed the title!

And that would be about, oh say, none?

Yee, haw! Well, I'll be dad burned, by gum it. Or something like that. The company is a-sendin' me down Texas way. Almost to the heart of Mr-we don't need no stinkin' vowels-Spkr territory. He has kindy agreed to throw a "Texas blanket party" in my honor. What a guy. Maybe I'll even get to keep the blankets. I'm still wondering if the rental car will have those groovy longhorns mounted to the hood.

Here's another one, but only of large scale models. Click on "Pictures of Alfredo Campanini's Tiger Tank" to see one in progress. BTW, does anyone know what those round holes just behind the front fenders are for? I mean the ones shown in the pic labeled MovCover.jpg. I have only seen them on the early models. Were they for something that was later discontinued?