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If I didn't love you I'd hate you (but I would still challenge Peng)


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Originally posted by Seanachai:

THE LINE FORMS BEHIND ME, YOU BASTARDS!

That boat sailed many moons ago, Seanachai, my old friend, and knowing you, you got frustated that you weren't first on the list of invitees, protested in highly flowery speech, and were so drunk when the reply came that you deleted it unread thinking it another advertisement for hard-on pills, which you were getting at a discount via a deranged half-cousin in the pharmaceutical industry anyway in exchange for original sonnets so that Bucky in Milwaukee might find himself a suitable mate to whose nuptials you would not be invited to embarrass the family by way of personal appearance in any event.

You're not of that generation anyway, Dear Bard. You're one of the lead singers of this little orchestra, and the lead singer is always discrete about his dalliances. Leave it for the roadies to believe they've formed meaningful relationships with the groupies; then stand back in a mixture of shock and awe with that same 'is he feckin' serious' look on your face you get when dalem comes out of the kitchen with the paper chef's hat and the apron that says "Kiss The Cook" tied neatly over his gun belt.

No, your generation isn't the kind that has to line up for affection via cattle call; your kind reminds me more of the fellows that inhabited the bus to Hanna in 1986 when the army cadet band was "permitted" to play with the reserve army guys, and the booze-fuelled debauchery of those days included a bare-arsed spanking, sans kilt while bleary eyed tenor drummers looked on in amazement commenting "look, I think they're enjoying it!" as the bass drummer let fly with a leather waist belt in that same kind of sexless male-bonding special victims unit scenario that has kept your hoary old kind together since time immemorial, and has now, for good or ill, slipped beneath the waves with the reverse of sexual discrimination and a whole new hiring policy regarding both genders.

That anyone should need to remind you that your path is different from the common guttersnipes is troubling. Best advice to you is to follow John Fahey's advice and never forget who you are, and where you are. Which would be most incredible since you never seem to know that to begin with. Or, if these strange feelings should come over you again, just threaten to piss a stream on someone like you usually do and hopefully any troublesome tendencies will pass and the honour of your position in the band will be preserved. Having Peng on speed dial clearly isn't enough; you need a freakin' Medic Alert necklace with a bright red panic button, or maybe one of those Jimmy Olsen watches that will let out with the ZEEE ZEEEE ZEEEE whenever you feel the need to soil the dignity of your office here. Just remember, no matter where you are, no matter what you're doing, if you need help and have no one else to call - I'm not your buddy.

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Originally posted by Michael Dorosh:

That boat sailed many moons ago, Seanachai, my old friend, and knowing you, you got frustated that you weren't first on the list of invitees, protested in highly flowery speech, and were so drunk when the reply came that you deleted it unread thinking it another advertisement for hard-on pills, which you were getting at a discount via a deranged half-cousin in the pharmaceutical industry anyway in exchange for original sonnets so that Bucky in Milwaukee might find himself a suitable mate to whose nuptials you would not be invited to embarrass the family by way of personal appearance in any event.

You're not of that generation anyway, Dear Bard. You're one of the lead singers of this little orchestra, and the lead singer is always discrete about his dalliances. Leave it for the roadies to believe they've formed meaningful relationships with the groupies; then stand back in a mixture of shock and awe with that same 'is he feckin' serious' look on your face you get when dalem comes out of the kitchen with the paper chef's hat and the apron that says "Kiss The Cook" tied neatly over his gun belt.

No, your generation isn't the kind that has to line up for affection via cattle call; your kind reminds me more of the fellows that inhabited the bus to Hanna in 1986 when the army cadet band was "permitted" to play with the reserve army guys, and the booze-fuelled debauchery of those days included a bare-arsed spanking, sans kilt while bleary eyed tenor drummers looked on in amazement commenting "look, I think they're enjoying it!" as the bass drummer let fly with a leather waist belt in that same kind of sexless male-bonding special victims unit scenario that has kept your hoary old kind together since time immemorial, and has now, for good or ill, slipped beneath the waves with the reverse of sexual discrimination and a whole new hiring policy regarding both genders.

That anyone should need to remind you that your path is different from the common guttersnipes is troubling. Best advice to you is to follow John Fahey's advice and never forget who you are, and where you are. Which would be most incredible since you never seem to know that to begin with. Or, if these strange feelings should come over you again, just threaten to piss a stream on someone like you usually do and hopefully any troublesome tendencies will pass and the honour of your position in the band will be preserved. Having Peng on speed dial clearly isn't enough; you need a freakin' Medic Alert necklace with a bright red panic button, or maybe one of those Jimmy Olsen watches that will let out with the ZEEE ZEEEE ZEEEE whenever you feel the need to soil the dignity of your office here. Just remember, no matter where you are, no matter what you're doing, if you need help and have no one else to call - I'm not your buddy.

So, Michael...

I see the schedule of self-medication is working about as well as anyone could expect.

Carry on. Oh, and double up if you get the chance.

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Originally posted by Boo Radley:

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

Filling the humidor with a new box of cigars is one of those really good feelings.

You really, sincerely need to get out more often.

Maybe meet people other than Seanachai, Lars and Papa Khan.

You know, people not quite so morally bankrupt and inbred.

p.s. Peng, send a freakin' turn, already! </font>

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Originally posted by Boo Radley:

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

Filling the humidor with a new box of cigars is one of those really good feelings.

You really, sincerely need to get out more often.

Maybe meet people other than Seanachai, Lars and Papa Khan.

You know, people not quite so morally bankrupt and inbred.

p.s. Peng, send a freakin' turn, already! </font>

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Hey, Boo. If you are ever tempted to read another MD post you should have second thoughts he KNOWS you read posts by speaking the words really s l o w l y to yourself and if you didn't die from oxygen starvation after reading the first paragraph above in that insanely long-winded drivel he will take note that you are still around and make sure next time to leave out just the right amount of punctuation to ensure with complete certainty that by the time you get half way through it will be enough to kill you which in most peoples' opinion is an entirely good thing I think and I would suggest an opinion of most if not all the other people here not in the first category or sumfink.

Noba.

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Originally posted by Noba:

Hey, Boo. If you are ever tempted to read another MD post you should have second thoughts he KNOWS you read posts by speaking the words really s l o w l y to yourself and if you didn't die from oxygen starvation after reading the first paragraph above in that insanely long-winded drivel he will take note that you are still around and make sure next time to leave out just the right amount of punctuation to ensure with complete certainty that by the time you get half way through it will be enough to kill you which in most peoples' opinion is an entirely good thing I think and I would suggest an opinion of most if not all the other people here not in the first category or sumfink.

Noba.

This is your Noba.

This is your Noba on 6 frappachinos.

Any questions?

Hey, Noba! Why don't you get yourself even more wired up and go work in a hardware store as a paint mixer.

See how I look out for you?

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