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This Whole Peng Thread Is Wild At Heart And Challenged On Top


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Originally posted by Lars:

Berli ain't Will.

But his Will is a will of iron.

Originally posted by Lars:

Seanachai ain't Jack.

Oh, yeah? Well, I've been a Pretender to Monarchy, a False God, a Papal Candidate, and I'm still a Bard and Olde One. And you're not jack, either, you Danish with prunes!

Originally posted by Lars:

ok, maaaaybe in his younger days, Seanachai could've been Jack.

Get stuffed.

And stop thinking of me when I was young with that drawl of longing in your voice. You're getting married next Spring. It's unseemly for a Squarehead of your age and disposition to start suddenly wondering if he should have pitched for the other team.

Hey, could you ask Shari to briefly velcro 'them' back on next weekend so that we can get together at Dalem's for some movies and/or gaming?

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Bugger, just heard about HerrSpkr's impending change of status. Here's a jolly singsong going out to him to show the way...

In 1649

To St George's Hill

A ragged band they called the Diggers

Came to show the people' s will

They defied the landlords

They defied the laws

They were the dispossessed

Reclaiming what was theirs

We come in peace, they said

To dig and sow

We come to work the land in common

And to make the waste land grow

This earth divided

We will make whole

So it can be

A common treasury for all.

The sin of property

We do disdain

No one has any right to buy and sell

The earth for private gain

By theft and murder

They took the land

Now everywhere the walls

Rise up at their command.

They make the laws

To chain us well

The clergy dazzle us with heaven

Or they damn us into hell

We will not worship

The God they serve

The God of greed who feeds the rich

While poor men starve

We work, we eat together

We need no swords

We will not bow to masters

Or pay rent to the lords

We are free men

Though we are poor

You Diggers all stand up for glory

Stand up now

From the men of property

The orders came

They sent the hired men and troopers

To wipe out the Diggers' claim

Tear down their cottages

Destroy their corn

They were dispersed -

Only the vision lingers on

You poor take courage

You rich take care

The earth was made a common treasury

For everyone to share

All things in common

All people one

We come in peace

The order came to cut them down

The World Turned Upside Down

-Leon Rosselson

Welcome, brother. Never fear, lad. We shan't shun you; rather, we shall show your children how to make a way in the face of the apathy and antipathy of the monied classes.

Spkr, you are with us, and we won't see your wife reduced to selling herself to tobacco-chewing Texas workingmen to feed her children and keep another reduced lawyer from debtor's prison!

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Originally posted by dalem:

The other night I had a great idea.

Genius, really.

Berli should move here to Minneapolis and he and Seanachai can be roommates.

I must needs comment.

When I visited NorthWestern Chicagoland (as disgusting as Hell, but not as clean, and with twice the number of stripmalls), I stayed with Berli.

My first morning there, after a night of savage whisky drinking with that great bloody toad, Rune, I awoke on my Thermarest pad in my sleeping bag in Berli's living room with the distinct impression that a mouse had built a nest in my mouth, and then repeatedly fouled himself in it.

Since I couldn't actually make my fingers work in anything like a dexterous way, I grabbed a pen and probed around in my mouth long enough to pull out a huge ball of acrylic fibers that I'd apparently managed to breath in while sleeping on the hideous shag carpeting that some whore of a salesman sold to the owner of Berli's apartment building in 1974 when 'tawny earth-tone' was considered to be a colour, or at least a term to describe something purported to be a colour.

While I was examining this inadvertent hairball, a figure that looked exactly like Rasputin in a bathrobe shuffled into the room, and lit up the first cigarette of the day. It was 7:30 AM. This same nightmarish figure then proceeded to pour itself a sherry glass full of scotch, looked at me with the blood-shot eyes of demon who has found Hell all too disappointing for jest, and mumbled 'helps with the coughing'.

It then proceeded to cough for 13 1/2 minutes straight.

When he was done, he looked at me, lying there on the floor, and asked 'Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?'

I replied: 'Um...I'm Seanachai, and you invited me here.'

He finished the scotch and said 'If you're still here when I get out of the shower I'm going to piss all over you and then beat you to death with this empty scotch bottle.'

By the time he got out of the shower, I was fully dressed, and standing outside his apartment door shouting 'Berli! Berli, are you in there? It's me, Seanachai! I've just arrived!'

Then we went to breakfast.

I don't think rooming with Berli would be a good career choice...

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I blame myself for not thinking of this idea years ago.

I think I can even sell tickets. Seanachai passed out on the floor, Berli shuffling around in a bathrobe with a pitcher full of Mimosas. Lars asleep in the corner wearing nothing but a rainbarrel with suspenders.

It sings, I tell ya, it just sings.

And Papa Khann can sell you your new house!

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Originally posted by Boo Radley:

So I remind you of home, Michael?

So, soooooo predictable a response. Really, Radley, you do need to work on your material. Badly. Maybe hire a writer or two, since you don't seem to be up to the challenge yourself. Or better yet, just fade away. Then we could wonder whatever happened to ole Whatsisname. The one who could never put a snappy riposte together.

Michael

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Of course it was predictable, you pinhead! I've learned through many, many months of trial and error (any trial in which you might be acquitted would surely be an error), that providing you with anything innovative is not unlike casting pearls before swine. Except that swine are more fastidious in their personal grooming habits than you... and they at least have a use, which is being turned into breakfast food, whereas you only exist as a model for which all right thinking people can point to and say to their children, "See? THAT is what you will turn into if you don't bathe regularly, include a sufficient amount of bran in your diet and buy nothing but irregular sweaters all your life! The only thing worse would to be Canadian and that makes you into a Dorosh!"

What normally follows is years of intense therapy for the child.

No, for a simple person, such as yourself, I've found that predictabily in any kind of response to you is safer, because if confronted with something outside your narrow, clouded world view, the repercussions could send you off on wild destructive rampage in which your poor neighbors would undoubtably suffer most.

And the people in the Projects already have such a hard life as it is.

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Dear Literates,

I just got home a little while ago from seeing Hitchikers Guide and am here to tell you that if you liked the book you shouldn't be disappointed in the movie.

There was also a surprise (to me) in the movie that came as a great relief after what I had seen and heard about it before I saw it.

Love,

Elvis

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Originally posted by dalem:

I blame myself for not thinking of this idea years ago.

I think I can even sell tickets. Seanachai passed out on the floor, Berli shuffling around in a bathrobe with a pitcher full of Mimosas. Lars asleep in the corner wearing nothing but a rainbarrel with suspenders.

It sings, I tell ya, it just sings.

And Papa Khann can sell you your new house!

Dear me -- the HORROR!

Thanks, dalem. Now I need to go poke out my mind's eye.

Steve

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