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Peng low, sweet chariot.....comin' for to challenge you all.


Noba

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14 days, you gang of half-wit fools. Mark January 28th on your fecking calendars.

I want each and every one of you lackwits here on January 28th. I want you to think about your Mums, your Dads, and your family.

I want you to show up with something significant to say, be it ever so personally significant, regarding family.

And I want you to address it to our Fair Queen Emma, and her Dad.

Memorial Day is for all of us. January 28th is for our Queen. Let us make January 28th the Memorial

Day of the Peng Challenge Thread.

And you lot of raccoon droppings are here for only one purpose.

Show our Queen your hearts.

Share with us everything that makes Family strong.

You have two weeks.

Amaze me.

[ January 14, 2004, 04:35 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ]

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I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars

Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,

And men forgot their passions in the dread

Of this their desolation; and all hearts

Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:

And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,

The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,

The habitations of all things which dwell,

Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,

And men were gather'd round their blazing homes

To look once more into each other's face;

Happy were those who dwelt within the eye

Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:

A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;

Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour

They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks

Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.

The brows of men by the despairing light

Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits

The flashes fell upon them; some lay down

And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest

Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;

And others hurried to and fro, and fed

Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up

With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

The pall of a past world; and then again

With curses cast them down upon the dust,

And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,

And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes

Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd

And twin'd themselves among the multitude,

Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.

And War, which for a moment was no more,

Did glut himself again: a meal was bought

With blood, and each sate sullenly apart

Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;

All earth was but one thought--and that was death

Immediate and inglorious; and the pang

Of famine fed upon all entrails--men

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;

The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,

Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept

The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,

Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead

Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,

But with a piteous and perpetual moan,

And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand

Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.

The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two

Of an enormous city did survive,

And they were enemies: they met beside

The dying embers of an altar-place

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things

For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,

And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath

Blew for a little life, and made a flame

Which was a mockery; then they lifted up

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld

Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--

Even of their mutual hideousness they died,

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow

Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,

The populous and the powerful was a lump,

Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--

A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.

The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,

And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd

They slept on the abyss without a surge--

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;

The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need

Of aid from them--She was the Universe.

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Originally posted by Seanachai:

Be quiet. I'm contemplating the glory of the 5 CDs of music I've been preparing as my Major Opus for Boo Radley.

The titles, I'm thinking, are: God, Life, the Devil, the World, and the Jolly Sing-Song.

And each song is fitted into it's place.

Let me see if I understand this correctly.

You are in the process of compiling a 5 CD set containing music that YOU think pertains in some way to me?

How far through it did your Morrissey collection carry you?

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Originally posted by Seanachai:

I looked at all the years behind, and all the years ahead, and realized that fecking accountants were in charge of Life.

Ah yes, at last the scales of blindness have dropped from your eyes.

Balance my good gnome, everything must balance. For every sale there is a cost of sales. For every touchdown pass there is a defensive back beaten and humiliated. For every long-winded post you make, there is a one-liner from Berli.

Always a balance, cause and effect, trial and error, Boo and humor, it goes on and on.

It has been and will for ever more be.

Oh and to avoid confusion, bankers are NOT accountants. Bankers are the mold on a piece of bread, the pile of warmth the neighbor's dog leaves in your yard, the one who tries to sneak through the express aisle with 12 items.

Especially those in Utah.

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Originally posted by Leeo:

Weep for my poor Green and Conscript Italians trying to cross a flat cratered desert against the indomitable Brits.

WEEP FOR ME!

You sent somebody else that abortion of a map too?

I'll not weep for you, I'm too busy laughing.

What a idjit...

SSN Hint Of The Day: Get into a heated argument about the weather.

Now sod off.

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Originally posted by Lars:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Leeo:

Weep for my poor Green and Conscript Italians trying to cross a flat cratered desert against the indomitable Brits.

WEEP FOR ME!

You sent somebody else that abortion of a map too?

I'll not weep for you, I'm too busy laughing.

What a idjit...

SSN Hint Of The Day: Get into a heated argument about the weather.

Now sod off. </font>

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Seanachai, I'd show you my heart, but as we both know, I share a certain affliction with one of the characters from The Wizard of Oz. Comes in right handy in my new line of work.

Now send me the promised setup. I know you probably don't remember promising anything because, well, you were mightily intoxicated. But when haven't you been? Now off with you, lad. Something in the desert, if you please. I want to imagine what it would feel like to be warm again.

dalem, you're a dive-bombing, machine gun strafing cur. No matter. Regardless of your puny efforts to humiliate me, your animals still like me best.

As for the rest of you, sod off. Ladies of the Pool excepted, of course.

Papa

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Originally posted by Boo Radley:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Lars:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Leeo:

Weep for my poor Green and Conscript Italians trying to cross a flat cratered desert against the indomitable Brits.

You sent somebody else that abortion of a map too?

</font>

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Originally posted by Papa Khann:

Seanachai, I'd show you my heart, but as we both know, I share a certain affliction with one of the characters from The Wizard of Oz.

You have a tufty tail?

You require oil in your cracks before you can move?

You look fetching in a checkered dress?

You ride in a small wicker basket?

You have a weewee made of straw?

You are a patron saint of male homosexuals everywhere?

You appear and disappear in great clouds of oily green smoke?

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Originally posted by Leeo:

The map I sent to Lars was a piece of ****e carefully crafted by me in the scenario editor

The map I sent to Boo was a piece of ****e haphazardly created by the random scenario generator

Boo, you lucky sod, you got the better map.
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Originally posted by Lars:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Leeo:

The map I sent to Lars was a piece of ****e carefully crafted by me in the scenario editor

The map I sent to Boo was a piece of ****e haphazardly created by the random scenario generator

Boo, you lucky sod, you got the better map. </font>
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Originally posted by dalem:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Papa Khann:

Seanachai, I'd show you my heart, but as we both know, I share a certain affliction with one of the characters from The Wizard of Oz.

You have a tufty tail?

You require oil in your cracks before you can move?

You look fetching in a checkered dress?

You ride in a small wicker basket?

You have a weewee made of straw?

You are a patron saint of male homosexuals everywhere?

You appear and disappear in great clouds of oily green smoke? </font>

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