Lurkur

Heh, I Like this monarchy!

Clearly he has demonstrated an almost Republican ability in communicating with people of foreign extraction (see charred remains of Opponents Wanted Threads) and it would get him out of the country, so I would suggest: Minister of Foreign Affairs </font>

Purely anecdotal, but I saw an interview with a former member of the Afrika Korps who was at the battle of El Alamein. He and a friend were in a trench being pinned down with heavy fire and being overrun with tanks. This man knew he had to stay put, but his friend panicked and tried to bolt. The man wrapped his arms around his friend's legs to hold him in place, but the friend was beyond reason, kicked his way free and was gunned down in seconds. The problem in the game is that squads have to act as whole units. Perhaps a better solution would be to factor in the fleeing troops as casualties, making a squad dissolve over time, rather than having whole units skeedaddle.

I'm sure that Boo was in the midst of some dazzlingly clever plan to bring down the Gawdawffle thread, and you MrSpanky, have blown his cover! I'm prepared to meet any challenger who would dare impugn the integrity of any member of the House of Croda [bursts out laughing] Sorry, I almost got that one out with a straight face. Anyway, I stand with Boo, well actually upwind, a little to the left and out of arm's reach, and am ready to do to fight, to endure anything up to but not including physical discomfort in the defense of my former liege. So send me your set-ups. Force me to endure the peril of interrogation after interrogation from your exquisitely curvaceous stenographers. Here I stand, I can do no other. God help me! Lurk I was serious about the stenographer part.

I think a Cesspool Guide to CM for SSNs would be even better. We could have a whole chapter on the Art of Manly Taunting and Challenging.

Icky grog!

Now that our would-be queen is jet-setting about with the rich and silly, maybe we need to reconsider this whole monarchy thing. We should become an anarcho-syndicalist commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the week. But all the decision of that officer have to be ratified at a special biweekly meeting.

Nah, I usually do okay with them. I was just having a *bad* day in that game with GWDWD. A really bad day.

My perfect opponent is a lot like Daffy Duck. When something goes wrong he whines and screams bloody murder in fantastical proportions. But he keeps coming back for more, and finishes the game. Oh wait, I just described myself. Like that time when my Panther scored 4 non-lethal penetration hits on a Sherman and then was killed by a weak point hit...never mind. It's nice to win, but what I really live for is getting my opponent to the point where he hates me, and says so. You don't even have to watch the turn, it's enough to get those three little words in the e-mail, "I hate you." After that, it's all gravy.

Good News Nidan! If for no other reason you can start pulling your weight around Schloss Croda again. It was always, "Lurkur, would you be a dear and bring me some more Chamomile tea?" or, "Boo, fetch another pillow, will ya?" How many pillows can one human being use anyway? And of course, I'd just be at the threshold of the door about to escape and there was always one more thing, one last favor. It would take hours to get out of his cell! So...glad your eye is better. Here's a list of jobs that have languished during your convalescence. Here's a list of stuff that I said I was taking care of for you but really wasn't. Here's Boo's itemized bill of the things you have pay for under the CrodaHealth™ Medical Insurance policy. Apparently, the "competitive rates" Boo told us about were referring to the fact that we have to pay for everything ourselves at hospital rates. Yes, that really is $2.00 per aspirin. You have 3 days to pay in full. Oh, and your squire, what's his name? SgtGoofy? anyway, he was stealing your cigars and drinking your whiskey. We would have stopped him, but decided it was better to let you find out later and get some much needed exercise *booting* him repeatedly. Lurk

Why I oughta... This has nothing to do with our game! Besides, in that game the issue with my tanks wasn't so much internal spalling as internal spalling, external spalling, cracking, blistering, multiple ventilation ducts forcibly drilled through the armour plate, system failures, large parts of the transmission being ejected out of the vehicle, a fierce fire, and any parts remaining being pulverized into it's base atomic particles. Completely different circumstances. [sulks]

In a current game I had a number of Stugs take partial penetrations or spalling on the front armor. They're still in the fight, but after the battle, what would they do with the Stug? Would they have to cut out and replace the plate, patch it, or put in armor putty and hope it doesn't get hit there again? How long would a tank be out of commision for that kind of repair work?

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

I think the answer has to be a peasant revolt. A casual glance about the place reveals that most denizens here are little better than peasants, and as for revolting...can you think of a more revolting collection of miscreants than this august body of ne'er-do-wells? Besides, it's been a while since we've had a jolly good torchlight event. I'm sure it gives all right-minded folk a sense of unsurpassed joy to think of Meeks fleeing mindlessly through darkened corridors while a howling, murderous mob chases him through the palace, only to be cornered in the courtyard, where a hush falls on the crowd as they face their tormentor. But only for a moment, and as Meeks drops to his knees whimpering the mob closes in and rends him to bits with their bare hands. See I bet just reading this has made you feel better!

It scratches the hell out of you and then runs off. Now to get some bandaids...

Alas, no. She insisted that "Peng" was not a real word. in her weakened condition, I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth. [ November 03, 2003, 02:19 PM: Message edited by: Lurkur ]

Over the weekend my wife, who is recovering from bronchitis and pneumonia, gave me the option of playing Scrabble or else. I've seen else and wisely decided to play Scrabble. The first four letters that I drew spelled "PENG". I don't know how you did it, but you will all pay. Lurk

Imagine my relief when discovering the Queen of the Cesspool was Faire Emma and not some Odstralian in drag...not that there's anything wrong with that...as long as you're on the other side of the planet, that is. Anyway, all hail the Queen! SirReal: My e-mails are bouncing back as well. Might be that Anti-House of Croda™ firewall you installed on the server. I keep getting a message with your e-mail address, and underneath it: " Permanent Failure: 513_Relaying_denied." I love those moments when truth, beauty, and technology converge. Lurk [ November 02, 2003, 04:28 PM: Message edited by: Lurkur ]

I get awed everytime I see a picture of that plane. Pity none of them survived the war.

I like it Boo, but could you place a ceramic garden gnome steeple on the roof? Extra points if it glows and rotates.

I like it Boo, but could you place a ceramic garden gnome steeple on the roof? Extra points if it glows and rotates.

I, for one have no objection to making Seanachi dog of the MBT. Dogs are generally social, usually friendly, will bite if provoked, are prone to sniffing strangers naughty bits, frequently clean their own private parts in the center of a crowded room, and if you don't watch them, will soil the carpet when you're not looking. The parallels are downright eerie. By the by, does this mean you've become disenchanted with Great Fred, or is there some doctrinal dispute, like he doesn't eat pickled products?

I, for one have no objection to making Seanachi dog of the MBT. Dogs are generally social, usually friendly, will bite if provoked, are prone to sniffing strangers naughty bits, frequently clean their own private parts in the center of a crowded room, and if you don't watch them, will soil the carpet when you're not looking. The parallels are downright eerie. By the by, does this mean you've become disenchanted with Great Fred, or is there some doctrinal dispute, like he doesn't eat pickled products?

Meanwhile back in the vicinity of Novgorod, a lone figure is seen wandering aimlessly through an empty and thoroughly frozen cesspool. The wind howls through the tunnels and whips dry snow about like sand from a sand blaster. In spite of the sub-zero temperatures, the place has lost none of its reek. "Hello? Hellooowwwwww?!" The wanderer is clad in heavy winter gear, the scarf that covers his face is coated with frost. Snow has embedded itself in every fold or crease in his clothing. He rummages through an in-basket marked "Lurkur", finding only frost and advertisements for hair restoration services, products to make him "bigger," generic viagra, low-interest mortgages, and nameless, hot women who desperately want him in spite of the fact that someone out there thinks that he needs all these improvements. "Now if they gave you a hot, nameless woman with every bottle of generic viagra you bought, that would sell..." Lurkur lets the wind carry the papers away. "I don't think I'm getting all of my memos..." He emerges from the 'pool, and watches as the winds blow away the last traces of footprints heading off into the trees. "Roight!, this way then!" He trudges toward the trees, chasing the ghosts of footprints into the woods. Into the snow. Into the wind. Gamey Updates: Total victory over Lady Moraine. She maintained her dignity in defeat, and we had a delightful picnic after the fight, using one of her dead tankers as a table. About to be rolled and beaten like a dirty old rug by SirReal, who has undoubtedly used some Swedish mind control trick on the game to give him overwhelming numbers of ferrets to hurl off the cliff of combat. Gamey rat bastige. In stasis with Simon. We'll need a few extra turns to let our men do stretching exercises before continuing the battle. Some of them are complaining about getting cramps from holding the same pose for three weeks. Lurk

Meanwhile back in the vicinity of Novgorod, a lone figure is seen wandering aimlessly through an empty and thoroughly frozen cesspool. The wind howls through the tunnels and whips dry snow about like sand from a sand blaster. In spite of the sub-zero temperatures, the place has lost none of its reek. "Hello? Hellooowwwwww?!" The wanderer is clad in heavy winter gear, the scarf that covers his face is coated with frost. Snow has embedded itself in every fold or crease in his clothing. He rummages through an in-basket marked "Lurkur", finding only frost and advertisements for hair restoration services, products to make him "bigger," generic viagra, low-interest mortgages, and nameless, hot women who desperately want him in spite of the fact that someone out there thinks that he needs all these improvements. "Now if they gave you a hot, nameless woman with every bottle of generic viagra you bought, that would sell..." Lurkur lets the wind carry the papers away. "I don't think I'm getting all of my memos..." He emerges from the 'pool, and watches as the winds blow away the last traces of footprints heading off into the trees. "Roight!, this way then!" He trudges toward the trees, chasing the ghosts of footprints into the woods. Into the snow. Into the wind. Gamey Updates: Total victory over Lady Moraine. She maintained her dignity in defeat, and we had a delightful picnic after the fight, using one of her dead tankers as a table. About to be rolled and beaten like a dirty old rug by SirReal, who has undoubtedly used some Swedish mind control trick on the game to give him overwhelming numbers of ferrets to hurl off the cliff of combat. Gamey rat bastige. In stasis with Simon. We'll need a few extra turns to let our men do stretching exercises before continuing the battle. Some of them are complaining about getting cramps from holding the same pose for three weeks. Lurk