Mouse

LOL... what a maroon...

I thought you said your cat was sick? That cat looks pretty healthy to me... </font>

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell! Here is how you matched up against all the levels: <table cellspacing="1" style="margin: 5px; background-color: #000000; border: none; font: 10pt arial, verdana, 'sans serif';"><tr style="font: bold 12pt arial, verdana, 'sans serif'; text-align: center; color: #ffffff; background-color: #333333;"><th>Level</th><th>Score</th></tr><tr style=background-color: #220033; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Purgatory (Repenting Believers)</td><td style=color: #4466dd; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Low</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #110022; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)</td><td style=color: #3344bb; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Very Low</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #220011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 2 (Lustful)</td><td style=color: #c40033; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Very High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #330011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 3 (Gluttonous)</td><td style=color: #ff1133; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #440011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)</td><td style=color: #4466dd; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Low</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #550011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)</td><td style=color: #ff1133; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #660011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)</td><td style=color: #3344bb; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Very Low</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #770011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 7 (Violent)</td><td style=color: #aa33aa; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Moderate</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #880011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)</td><td style=color: #c40033; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Very High</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #990011; color: #eeeeee;"><td style="padding: 4px;">Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)</td><td style="color: #4466dd; background-color: #333333; padding: 4px;">Low</td></tr></table> Take the Dante's Divine Comedy Inferno Test Hey, I'm a mouse. We're supposed to reproduce quickly... PS: YK2, was that you on the horse earlier??? Squeak, squeak! [ June 02, 2003, 12:49 PM: Message edited by: Mouse ]

Well I guess you missed at least one, Mr. "Can-I-buy-a-vowell." I guess when you failed English in the third grade, you failed math as well. Perhaps we should start you off on the number line, and see if you can progress from there. Most children get their start counting on their toes, but I see that with you club feet, you must have missed out on that early education. Squeak, squeak, squeak...

Hey!!! That's my dachsund... Shotsie. It clearly states that in my TOE. Admittedly, she's not all that large or fierce, but the plan says that I am to: First: Play some Wagner Joe Shaw's highest grade completed: Cry Havoc. <h3>HAVOC!</h3> Third: Let loose the "dog of war". That's where Shotsie comes in. And don't you dare think of trying any of those "hundminen" tricks...

Maybe he's researching rolled homogeneous helmets versus face-hardened helmets vs hemlets with bolt-on cast armor plates...

Along a similar, but not the same vein, I recall reading in "A Dark and Bloody Ground" (Hurtgen Forest) that the US forces trying to attack through the woods found that with arty shells dropping into the trees, the "drop and flatten" response was the wrong thing to do. It was found that remaining standing rather than going prone when tree bursts occurred was preferable due to the increased "soldier surface area" exposed when prone. Upright, your helmet gave you a larger precentage exposure cover against the high speed wood splinters, if I explained it well. Of course, the rounds that made it through the branches to ground impact would chew you up from a different shrapnel vector, but you're kind of damned if you do, damned if you don't. One cannister ball impacting a tree with sufficient force would launch a small storm of splinters. A cannister round's worth would make for a fairly deadly hail of splinters that would radiate out in a cone shape from each cannister balls impact. Nasty. It may be that "close is good enough" for targeting cannister in wooded terrain, and BTS's (or is it BFC's) approximation also is "good enough". To bring up other, er, sprite-based Squad Leader-ish WWII tactical level war games from a nuclear-powered game company, IIRC the cannister was fairly deadly in that game as well on the Eastern Front. [ May 29, 2003, 09:53 AM: Message edited by: Mouse ]

Poseur

First sensible thing you've done all day... The fates have smiled on the forces of Mouse... the planets were in alignment, my horoscope said that "You shall triumph in all your endeavors, strike while the cheese is fresh", my numerologist liked the numbers, and Dear Abbey even agreed! You can forget the name of Rodina for your homeland, comrade, and start calling it Rodentia... This is, after all, a war of extermination! You and your unter-mousen are doomed! Doomed I tell you!!! I think I shall call this little skirmish Willard's Revenge...

For setup, zoom 'em up to +4, turn bases on, turn trees off, and you won't miss a one. Then reset what you want for the actual play. Works for me..

Cripes... next he'll start in with all that "Yes, Grasshopper" and "Wax on, wax off" crap... Will someone please spike his methadone, and quickly...

Scumpond The file is away... Imagine it mid-July 1941. The day is overcast, and the heat and humidity in the still air is stifling. Your troops grumble about having been shanghied from their poor hovels just outside the collective farm. But while they grumble about the food, and the Stalinist pressgangs that forced them into the Army, they are thankful that their unit hasn't seen any action yet, as they are sequestered a comfortable distance behind the front lines. A small crowd is gathered around a pair of men shooting dice. "Crap!" exclaims one of them, generally known as Pondscum (I assume due to his bathing habits) as the other laughs merrily in a high pitched voice, "Ha ha ha. There will be no big hills for you to hide behind, Comrade Commisar." "Double crap!" shouts Pondscum as his next roll comes up snake-eyes. "He he he," chortles the_mouse. "And no trees for cover either. This is not your day, Comrade Commisar." "The Rodina hates me!" exclaims Pondscum as he realizes that on his final roll, chance has decreed that he battle in a rural area, bereft of structures save a few small hovels. At that moment, the dice game stops as a dreadful sound fills the air... Reminiscent of a plague of advancing mice, the unmistakable sound of advancing German armor cuts through the heavy air.

Squeak squeak squeak... Happy now Scumpond? If you want to hear more squeaking, perhaps it should be the sound of German armor in the distance as it approaches and makes your little Allied wretches wet their pants at their impending doom... Expect a setup, algae-breath.

First time I have ever had dealings with a lawyer and came away a winner!! </font>

Oooh, Pondscum is a Micro$erf... How many Cesspool people go read the other folks bio's? Oh, that many... Well let me paraphrase The History of Pondscum His early history is non-existent. Lets just say that he grew from a fetid pool of water under the hot July sun somewhere in the south. After being kicked out of college, he spent his formative work years figuring out the local ATM (and I quote "and spent a year working on early ATM"). Then after much frustration over being unable to get his meager lunch money back from the bank at those funny machines, he decided to try his luck at a second institution of higher learning. Unhappily, fortune was not with him, and he became involved in a big Melon SCANDAL. Fearing persecution and prosecution, he quickly invented a dissertation topic so hyper-convoluted, so uber-obfuscating, so how-many-hypens-can-I-use, that it left the school administration little choice to award him a degree just to make him go away. When asked to comment on his more recent activities, Pondscum stated "Since then I've mostly spent my time building and playing with clusters". Yes, all it takes is a simple box of breakfast cereal to entertain him...

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You, sir, are a rat-bastard if ever I saw one... How dare you impune the good name of rodents around the world... Why, that one, yeah, second from the left... he could be my cousin Daryll... and the one farthest to the right... he could be my other cousin Daryll... They wuz framed... framed I tell you!

Now THAT's just cruel.. You are a sick, sick puppy, offering such tortuous images...

<h2>Hey!!! Who moved my cheese???</h2>

Oh, and Herr Fascist Shaw, the email addy is included, so byte me! Is this a challenge for a Byte Battle or a Der Kessel scenario? No! I would not want to stress your brain too much. That was not a challenge to you. Here is your challenge... Tie your shoes!

*sniff* *sniff* Man, that cheese stinks... stinks like a weasel to this mouse nose. The kind of weasel who would report a change from 2% to 3% as a 50% increase in the adoption rate of malformed, inbred Malakovski offspring. It fails to mention the other 97% that were left by the railroad tracks where even Boxcar Willy in his drunken stupor, as part of a bet that could win him a case of Thunderbird, declined to unwrap the filthy swaddling clothes to gaze upon the horrors within.

And I suppose that you are the poster-boy for the challenged part of the thread title, no? Still wearing those velcro tennis shoes? Check each morning to make sure that you have matching garanimals picked out for your clothing? (God forbid you should mix a monkey and a hippo) Very well. As I am at work right now, you shall have an Email address tonight, or something like that.

Noba-dy knows the trouble I've seen... Noba-dy knows such sorrow... IIRC the rules say that you must have an address, like a physical location, so we can make fun of the Aussies and Ohioans... and New Yorkers from er... New York, and Surf Dudes from California, and schmucks from Pennsylvania

If you're going that route, you have to watch Ghost in the Shell before you give up on anime totally.

What's your issue Joe? That photo certainly speaks to me... A fine image it is... There's nothing in the world that looks better than a dripping wet pussy cat.