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Go, Mohammed, and seek Peng's Challenge on the mountain


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Hiram, you tell Beth to keep at it. Obviously her way is working if she's still got all that spunk left. I'm glad to hear she's still fighting.

As for the hair, there are a number of us here who can vouch for the fact that it's not as important as we make it out to be.

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Originally posted by Joe Shaw:

For how long? Until such time as the Squire fufills the quest set by his liege, that's how long. In this case I set Papa Khann's quest in the time-honored tradition of The Shavian House as completing FIVE (5) CessPool games at which point I shall proudly submit his name to the CessPool as a Knight of the CessPool.

Joe

Joe, has he played Jabos! yet?

Speedbump

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Originally posted by Croda:

Marlow is a...what the hell is Marlow anyway? I remember when he showed up, but I thought he left to play twitch games. Oh wait, that was me.

What the hell is Marlow?!?

I must have kicked your ass one too many times (3 and 0. w00t!!) and given you amnesia. So to refresh your memory ...

CrodasUx0rS!!!!!

IS3 OwNz J00 F3wL!!!!!!!

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Originally posted by Mace:

Even so, that was a extremely long time ago. Even Seanachai's and Joe Shaw's age, when summed together, is extremely miniscule in comparison.

Mace

Ah, yes, but if there's anything out there that makes the sum of mine and Joe's egos seem miniscule, I want it hunted down and shot through the lungs.
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Sir Boo_Radley exclaimed, with sweat on his brow:

Here, I've got a deal for you. How's about we get my squire, Lurker-the-Laidback to do the CrodaburgTM Dance with him and you and I can have a go at something else? Yeah, that's the ticket!

Ya know, when I read Croda's original post on this, a dread, cold tingle ran up my back. I would just like to say: NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

I've heard about that one! Jabos still has me waking in the middle of the night!

fit of uncontrollable shivering

What I meant to say...[looks at the door for a moment, loses all hope and continues]...if it pleases mi'lord, have that bloody, bloated hemorrhoid on a Mandrill's butt known as Buzzslob send me the feckin' set up. He shall know the wrath of the Nefarious Legions! Or at least their mild irritation.

Lurk

leaves muttering

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Originally posted by YK2:

Is it true what Seanacoochie posted?

That the one and only Justicar Sir Joe (gives a deep curtsey) sometimes dresses his squires in FROCKS !!!!!!!

It is true, Most Fair One! In fact, Lars told me that during his recent 'brush with death' in the Far North, the one thing that brought him peace was the thought that if he died, at least the dreams of wearing a frock and singing Joe's praises would finally be over.

Originally posted by YK2:

Seanacoochiecoo did you not promise me some Scottish lyrics?

I've scrolled through this whole thread and the last one looking for sign of that sing song surely that deserves something? If I missed that then point me in the right direction.....

Indeed I did, and I abase myself in my contrition for having failed to post same last night. Here's one of my favourites, that always makes me think of the Peng Challenge Thread.

The Parish of Dunkeld

-Silly Wizard

Oh, what a parish, a terrible parish; 

Oh, what a parish is that o' Dunkeld. 

They hangit their minister, droon'd their precentor, 

Dang doun the steeple and fuddled the bell. 

The steeple was doun but the kirk was still staunin', 

They biggit a lum  whaur the bell used to hang. 

A stell-pat they gat and they brewed Hielan' whisky; 

On Sundays they drank it and ranted and sang. 

O, had you but seen how graceful it lookit, 

To see the crammed pews sae socially joined. 

MacDonald the piper stood up in the poopit, 

He made the pipes skirl out the music divine. 

Wi' whiskey and beer they'd curse and they'd swear; 

They'd argue and fecht what ye daurna weel tell. 

Bout Geordie and Charlie they bothered fu' rarely 

Wi' whisky they're worse than the devil himsel'. 

When the hairt-cheerin' spirit had mounted their garret, 

Tae a ball on the green they a' did adjourn. 

The maids wi' coats kilted, they skippit and liltit, 

When tired they shook hands and then hame did return. 

If the kirks a' owre Scotland held like social meetin's 

Nae warnin' ye'd need from a far-tinklin' bell, 

For true love and friends wad draw ye thegither 

Far better than roarin' the horrors o' hell. 

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Hiram me lad,

All thoughts of love and strength out to you and your family.

Your sister is a greater hero than most of the fools that people post about on this Board.

She's killed no one to become a hero, but brought new life into the world, and remained alive herself.

She's struggled as long and hard as any man who's gone through war, but there are damn few news stories trumpeting her achievements.

I wish her all the best, and you, as well.

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Originally posted by Seanachai:

The Parish of Dunkeld

-Silly Wizard

Oh, what a parish, a terrible parish; 

Oh, what a parish is that o' Dunkeld. 

They hangit their minister, droon'd their precentor, 

Dang doun the steeple and fuddled the bell. 

The steeple was doun but the kirk was still staunin', 

They biggit a lum  whaur the bell used to hang. 

A stell-pat they gat and they brewed Hielan' whisky; 

On Sundays they drank it and ranted and sang. 

O, had you but seen how graceful it lookit, 

To see the crammed pews sae socially joined. 

MacDonald the piper stood up in the poopit, 

He made the pipes skirl out the music divine. 

Wi' whiskey and beer they'd curse and they'd swear; 

They'd argue and fecht what ye daurna weel tell. 

Bout Geordie and Charlie they bothered fu' rarely 

Wi' whisky they're worse than the devil himsel'. 

When the hairt-cheerin' spirit had mounted their garret, 

Tae a ball on the green they a' did adjourn. 

The maids wi' coats kilted, they skippit and liltit, 

When tired they shook hands and then hame did return. 

If the kirks a' owre Scotland held like social meetin's 

Nae warnin' ye'd need from a far-tinklin' bell, 

For true love and friends wad draw ye thegither 

Far better than roarin' the horrors o' hell. 

Very well, for Emma (don't be expecting this very often)...

There's a good old Scottish custom, that has stood the test of time,

It's a custon that is carried out in ev'ry land and clime.

Where brother Scots fore-gather, it's aye the usual thing.

When just before they say guid-nicht, they fill their cups and sing-

Just a wee deoch-an-doris, just a wee yin that's a'

Just a wee deoch-an-doris before we gang a-wa'

There's a wee wifie waitin', in a wee but an ben

If you can say, "It's a braw bricht moonlicht nicht" ye a'richt ye ken

I like a man that is a man, a man that's straight and fair,

The sort of man that will and can, in all things do his share

I like a man, a jolly man, the sort o' man you know,

The chap that slaps your back and says "Here Jock, before you go-

Just a wee deoch-an-doris, just a wee yin that's a'

Just a wee deoch-an-doris before we gang a-wa'

There's a wee wifie waitin', in a wee but an ben

If you can say, "It's a braw bricht moonlicht nicht" ye a'richt ye ken

I'll invite you all some other nicht, to come and bring your wives.

I'll promise you the grandest time you'll have in all your lives!

I'll hae the bagpipes skirling, (hoch) and we'll dance the Hieland fling.

And just for auld acquaintance sake, we'll a' unite and sing-

Just a wee deoch-an-doris, just a wee yin that's a'

Just a wee deoch-an-doris before we gang a-wa'

There's a wee wifie waitin', in a wee but an ben

If you can say, "It's a braw bricht moonlicht nicht" ye a'richt ye ken

--Sir Harry Lauder

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Hmmm, a few antipodeans here and my hangover from last night's party gone...anyone got a keg or 50 we can crack open?

Mace

[edited because some Kiwi stuck his bib in]

[ August 17, 2002, 05:56 AM: Message edited by: Mace ]

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