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The Peng Challenge Thread: We Were Here When It All Began


Seanachai
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I was never more than a gnat on the MBT, but a gnat can be highly efficient in the mass-to-annoyance ratio, if employed correctly. 

I never met any of the posters in three dimensions, and that might be for the better, as they loomed large online. In spite of the reputation of the cesspudlians, I knew they were an inherently silly and decent lot, with the possible exception of Dorosh.  

It needs to be remembered that the real unspoken purpose of the thread was to allow civil men to get in touch with their innate hate. Now for the youngsters out there, I don’t mean the discounted, pouty and petty everyone-I-disagree-with-is-literally-Hitler, Instagram-empowered, overly-hyphenated thing we call hate these days. No, our aggressions were macro and very pointy indeed. The challenges were a form of preparation, like a meat tenderizing hammer on the insensate slab of meat that was your opponent. The verbal blows would rouse them to awareness, get them engaged, because that was the only way to extract the right kind of hate out of them. Make them pull themselves up only to make the fall that much better, for nothing brings out the pure hate than having the mandala of your beautiful strategic vision blurred by an opponent constantly banging the underside of the table. Your Tiger’s been defanged by a lucky shot. The ATG in the perfect position uncrewed by a stray artillery shell. Discovering the hard way the tank you thought was hull down isn’t. Turn after turn the design gets contorted, deformed, and corrupted, and you can begin to smell the hate coming from the other end of the e-mail. This form of hate goes deeper than politics, religion, or even relationships. It is primal, a liquid black opal straight from core of your opponent. One drop in the city water would give 1000 children scabies, but to a proper knight of the ‘pool having your opponent hate you was far better than victory. It kept you warm in the darkness…

In those days event the gnats swaggered. Women clutched their heaving bosoms for fear of being overcome by the sheer testosterone dripping from every post. Yes, we had women in the pool, erm… three of them I think, and one of those ended up being a dude, but it was NOT NEARLY AS LAME AS THAT JUST SOUNDED! 

Special recognition to my liege Boo Radley. I shall always be the Wormtongue to your Sharky.

Wherever some mouth breathing halfwit is being upbraided, a garter being verbally snapped, or plans are thwarted by happenstance and lesser men, the Pool lives on.

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  • 2 weeks later...
Posted (edited)
On 5/24/2022 at 12:46 PM, Ghost of Lurkur Past said:

I was never more than a gnat on the MBT, but a gnat can be highly efficient in the mass-to-annoyance ratio, if employed correctly. 

I never met any of the posters in three dimensions, and that might be for the better, as they loomed large online. In spite of the reputation of the cesspudlians, I knew they were an inherently silly and decent lot, with the possible exception of Dorosh.  

It needs to be remembered that the real unspoken purpose of the thread was to allow civil men to get in touch with their innate hate. Now for the youngsters out there, I don’t mean the discounted, pouty and petty everyone-I-disagree-with-is-literally-Hitler, Instagram-empowered, overly-hyphenated thing we call hate these days. No, our aggressions were macro and very pointy indeed. The challenges were a form of preparation, like a meat tenderizing hammer on the insensate slab of meat that was your opponent. The verbal blows would rouse them to awareness, get them engaged, because that was the only way to extract the right kind of hate out of them. Make them pull themselves up only to make the fall that much better, for nothing brings out the pure hate than having the mandala of your beautiful strategic vision blurred by an opponent constantly banging the underside of the table. Your Tiger’s been defanged by a lucky shot. The ATG in the perfect position uncrewed by a stray artillery shell. Discovering the hard way the tank you thought was hull down isn’t. Turn after turn the design gets contorted, deformed, and corrupted, and you can begin to smell the hate coming from the other end of the e-mail. This form of hate goes deeper than politics, religion, or even relationships. It is primal, a liquid black opal straight from core of your opponent. One drop in the city water would give 1000 children scabies, but to a proper knight of the ‘pool having your opponent hate you was far better than victory. It kept you warm in the darkness…

In those days event the gnats swaggered. Women clutched their heaving bosoms for fear of being overcome by the sheer testosterone dripping from every post. Yes, we had women in the pool, erm… three of them I think, and one of those ended up being a dude, but it was NOT NEARLY AS LAME AS THAT JUST SOUNDED! 

Special recognition to my liege Boo Radley. I shall always be the Wormtongue to your Sharky.

Wherever some mouth breathing halfwit is being upbraided, a garter being verbally snapped, or plans are thwarted by happenstance and lesser men, the Pool lives on.

Lurker, you mewling, inbred fey artiste Nimrod. Thick as a short plank sandwich is what you are. Have you actually made bail? Who slipped up this time? WHO'S RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS INDIGNITY???
Joe Shaw shall hear about this!
Dear Gawd, how does this UBB code thingy work, anyhow?

Edited by Boo Radley
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Boo Radley!

Good to feel the ol' boot on the back of my head again, my liege! Not so much bail, more like work-release except you don't come back and need to find a saw to cut the chain that links you and the other nine guys together. Fear not! I ought to be able to make it to your neighborhood in time to celebrate "Shoot out the bastige's porchlight night."

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