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The Death Clock of the PENG CHALLENGE Thread Tolls for Thee


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Originally posted by Seanachai:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Doug Beman:

WHAT is this sudden fascination you have with getting all of us to hug?

DjB

Sorry, Doug, but I just think you, Emrys, and Dorosh are all quite huggable. I wouldn't touch any of you with a marlinspike in person, but in this strange, mental landscape I've constructed of the Combat Mission Forum, you three are like Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Greenjeans, and Bun Rabbit. I'll leave it to the three of you to determine who's who.</font>
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Originally posted by dalem:

Milady I must most gently protest. Since I have given up my titles I have no need of bolding or capitalization. And it's less "missionary work" than a quest for hatred. Or somefink.

edited to add - 'tho you're quite right in laying a fair slice of the blame at the pigeon-toed feet of Joe.

Dalem, I'll always bold and capitalize your name regardless of your title or lack of one. Good luck on your quest for hatred.

Persephone

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See what I mean?????

The most entertaining post in seven pages has been Hiram's transcription of his latest gastro-intestinal fire sale. On a good day such a weak and watery post wouldn't be worth the effort to even comment on; worth a spritz of Pine-Fresh Lysol at best.

But these days the average post in the MBT is to wit and hatred as a dropped cash register is to music. Where are the stories? The versifications? The wonder? The bile?

My search continues. I have identified Old Man Joe as the Grinch Who Stole Cessmas, and in the hirsute, frog-gulping mass of Jabba the Hiram, I had hoped to find some glimmer of the True Meaning of the MBT. But I see now that he is a mere signpost on my journey, nothing more, nothing less.

On I trudge.

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Originally posted by CMplayer:

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

Lars has started a sanctuary for homeless cats.

At first I thought you were just joking, but then I found his website! It's here. I had no idea Lars had such a nurturing side.</font>
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Originally posted by dalem:

See what I mean?????

The most entertaining post in seven pages has been Hiram's transcription of his latest gastro-intestinal fire sale. On a good day such a weak and watery post wouldn't be worth the effort to even comment on; worth a spritz of Pine-Fresh Lysol at best.

But these days the average post in the MBT is to wit and hatred as a dropped cash register is to music. Where are the stories? The versifications? The wonder? The bile?

My search continues. I have identified Old Man Joe as the Grinch Who Stole Cessmas, and in the hirsute, frog-gulping mass of Jabba the Hiram, I had hoped to find some glimmer of the True Meaning of the MBT. But I see now that he is a mere signpost on my journey, nothing more, nothing less.

On I trudge.

Oh, blah-de-fricken-blah! Cry me a river, you sad tit. I used to post regular bile-fests here. I spewed enough bile to paint the MBT yellow, but it was all wasted on you lot! I've had more meaningful slam extravaganzas with belly-button lint! The last vituperative blast I've seen from you was when you corrected The Carp's spelling of "gesture". So if you want to point fingers, I'd suggest you point first at yourself. As a matter of fact, why don't you point two fingers at yourself and while you're doing that, take your other hand, put it on the back of your head and force your face quickly towards your extended digits, hopefully impaling your eyes! Knowing you though, you'd miss and merely stove your fingers on that ski slope you call a forehead.

I don't even know why I bother with you. Even now, I imagine you're looking at this without even the dimmest flicker of comprehension. Which reminds me, speaking of "dim", I finally finished that perfectly horrid scenario foisted upon Eggnoggathon and myself by the comedy team of Berli & Goanna which I called the "Butt Crack of Doom". I got a minor victory out of it simply because my poncing Brits were clumsy enough to fall down the mountainside faster than Eggnogg's jack booted thugs and therefore got to the flags first.

Next time someone suggests we play a scenario devised by Mutt & Jeff I'll tell them that I'd rather shave my hinder and squat in a bowl of gin.

Let me know if any of this is getting through to you, dalmation. If not, I'll just plan on showing up at your house with my belt sander and a bottle of Real Lemon®.

Git.

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Originally posted by Joe Shaw:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />I have identified Old Man Joe as the Grinch

Who Stole Cessmas,

Ah so it's all MY fault is it then? Very well, this is my last post to the CessPool.

Joe</font>

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Originally posted by Joe Shaw:

Don't be silly Patch, what ever gave you the idea I might be leaving the Pool?

Joe

Maybe I just had a bad dream (or would that be a good dream? hehe)...I keep falling asleep here at my desk. Work is so boring!

Persephone

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Originally posted by Doug Beman:

Did you dream that you were forced to watch Mace chasing all them sheep off the cliffs of Framce?

DjB

Macey would never harm sheep. He was probably at the bottom of the cliff, wearing his Bo-Peep dress, trying to catch all of the sheep. How unfortunate for the sheep, Mace never learned how to catch.

Persephone

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Originally posted by Persephone:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Doug Beman:

Did you dream that you were forced to watch Mace chasing all them sheep off the cliffs of Framce?

DjB

Macey would never harm sheep. He was probably at the bottom of the cliff, wearing his Bo-Peep dress, trying to catch all of the sheep. How unfortunate for the sheep, Mace never learned how to catch.

Persephone</font>

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Originally posted by athkatla:

Eh, who rattled your cage sonny? As I remember BuzzOff, this is the second time you had a go at me on here. Either get your arse in gear and do it properly or sod off!

Listen, athkatla, you will know when I have really “had a go at you.” I’ll have you hopping on one foot, singing Yankee Doodle Dandy, and gargling the contents of your piss-bucket by the time I’m done with you. You are a dog-chuffing, donkey-fondling, English willy wart. The soggy English weather has clearly rotted that small bundle of ganglia that passes for your brain. Do you find that you have to concentrate every time you take a breath?

I am considering challenging you, but I need some assurances that it will be somewhat more entertaining than reading your posts. Pulverizing your troops while they sit around the bivouac picking lice from their armpits and day-dreaming about the Queen Mum in a leather body suit and 6-inch heels is just not my idea of fun.

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Originally posted by MrPeng:

Hi!

Ah yes. You swine. For a long time we thought you had abandoned out little game and buggered orf. But not so. It was I who had forgot to send you the last file. The discovery was perfectly dreadful. I had had such a wonderful reason to hate and despise you and now it was taken away from me.

Well then. Shall we start anew or finish the last one?

Hugs,

Johan

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Sqerf, sqerf, where's me sqerf?

I hear reports of idjit tactical play and massive, humiliating defeat? Eh? Is that so?

WELL DONE, LADDIE...er, how are old are yer? Laddie, hmmmm... no, no that won't do... er... WELL DONE, GRAMPS keep the standards of the paddock up.

Now, do tell me that Persephone has yer piccie in ethnic dress?

And, er, I'll be having you do something of a private, skulking nature... a little sqerfy errand.

Yeknod o' tha Thistle and Defender of the Paddock

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