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Improving the look of the Peng Challenge Thread


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Well, well, well, wednesday already! Lucky for me i've taken tomorrow off for a well deserved long weekend break in Dubai and i'm NOT taking the laptop so all you useless twits (yes, i'm looking at you Emrys) will have to try and cope with your grey little lives for 3 days until I return and brighten things up with more tales of how great I am.

However I will be drinking tonight so there may yet be some glittering pearls of wisdom for you all to enjoy before I depart.

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Well, well, well, wednesday already! Lucky for me i've taken tomorrow off for a well deserved long weekend break in Dubai and i'm NOT taking the laptop so all you useless twits (yes, i'm looking at you Emrys) will have to try and cope with your grey little lives for 3 days until I return and brighten things up with more tales of how great I am.

However I will be drinking tonight so there may yet be some glittering pearls of wisdom for you all to enjoy before I depart.

Let me get this straight... you're taking Thursday off to get a jump on the weekend? Short jump if it means going back into work on Friday.

Three days without you? Swell. Plenty of time to get the locks changed.

Tales of how great you are? Psychotic Fantasy is such a narrow genre, don't you think?

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I am goobernationally challenged. I yam what I yam. I believe in socialist deficit spending. I pee with regularity. I laugh a lot. I drink a lot. I think about you lot very little.

Nidan and I are slowly coming to grips with the fact I have assault helicopters.

MrSpkr is now trying to wend his way into the heart of darkness.

Boo and I are searching for each other in a dense, rainy wood (much like Oregon). I'm confident of victory in this meeting engagement.

My Liege, the ever inebriated and tobacco-stained Stukes is coming to the realization that I have lots of flesh, metal, and HE to throw his way.

Oh, and my Syrian clanktankerous claptraps of doom spanked the holey bejeebus out of Shaw's jarheads. He must get tired of playing the drum to my instruments of percussionist doom.

In other news, I snore.

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...{righteously snipped on grounds of it not mentioning ME}...

Oh, and my Syrian clanktankerous claptraps of doom spanked the holey bejeebus out of Shaw's jarheads. He must get tired of playing the drum to my instruments of percussionist doom.

In other news, I snore.

Well SURE ... when you've got great honking, clanking mechanical monsters with INCHES of armor and I've got nothin' but some cheap, aluminum siding armored LAVs ... and my Squishies of course ... none of whom could get into the LAVs to retrieve AT weapons SINCE THE LAVs WERE ALL FLAMING WRECKS on the first turn.

But by all means preen and boast of your GREAT victory ... I've already sent another setup and this time I'M the Syrians.

You Swine ...

Joe

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Boo and I are searching for each other in a dense, rainy wood (much like Oregon). I'm confident of victory in this meeting engagement.

Except, seeing as how it's you, I'm not looking very hard.

We've all made a very snug camp, where we're quite comfy. Every now and then, one of the lads walks out to the edge of the campsite and very quietly whispers, "Oh Leeeeeeo... LeeeeeoLeeeeeoLeeeeeo... Where are you?" and then comes back to the campfire and grabs another brewski, much to the merriment of the other troops.

With any luck, your guys will grow weary tramping through the mud and brush and they'll start to get cranky what with all the rain and the wet branches slapping them in the face and cold water running down the backs of their necks and everything, and in their pain and frustration will begin shooting each other.

You can almost hear Sun Tzu saying, "When fighting Leeeeeo, it is best not to try too hard and let him defeat himself. Relax. Put on some tunes."

Wise words indeed.

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Gimpoid, friday and saturday are Islamic weekends as any normal person will know but.....well....it is you after all so....yeah.

Does that mean Christians have to work on Sunday? Or is it all overtime? or do you work at all? When are these people going to realize that your company is milking them for all they are worth?

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You post where Berli and Peng post, and you raise an eyebrow when the spell check suggests 'Sancho' when my name comes up?

Hey, boss! This neo-con whore wants to talk to you! I told him you got standards, but he says he belongs here, you know? I remember him, he was stupid a lot, but I remember him. Stupid, most of the time. But I remember him.

Seanachai waits for a response

Lawyer boy, Satan says he doesn't like you, and the Cisco Kid doesn't want to talk to you, and you need to buy me some wine, eh, if we're going to talk some more.

The bastards are probably still awaiting their cut of commissions. Meanwhile, who gets stuck evicting the widows, the orphans, the elderly or infirm from their vastly overpriced palatial hovels this cold, dreary winter? That's right, yours truly. Do I get any appreciation for increasing the sum total of human misery in this world? Any consideration for the long hours I put in, listening to innumerable people seeking <snicker> justice in the world? Hearing of their failed relationships, their unfaithful spouses, their despicable slum lords (I'm looking at YOU, Lars), their infirm, incompetent, incontinent parents, their disputes with credit card agencies, realtors, bankers, bakers, and candlestick makers?

No. Of course not. Because, you see, it's all about them. They could give a crazy rat's arse (or even an Elijah Meeks' arse in a tree) about these worldly concerns.

And that's okay. Because that's just they way they are. It is an innate characteristic; one that could not be changed even if they desired to do so.

But then, there is you. You, of all the Olde Ones, are burdened with sentiment. You, in a word, care.

Of the Olde Ones, you alone spare a tear for the downtrodden. You alone can be bothered to climb upon your windmills and smile.

Of course, your smile often has more to do with whom you are pissing upon at the time, but still -- you smile.

So, you gonna buy me some wine, or just talk big like you're buying, without putting something down on the bar?

Shall I try to impress you with a 2007 Gallo? Or would it matter? Perhaps a November bottle of Mad Dog 20/20? A half-empty bottle of drain cleaner from the office? Would it matter? Is it truly the alcohol you are seeking, or the fact of the gift itself?

Yeah, boyo. I'm Sancho. I know where the Windmills are. I know what loyalty means. And I know where laughter lies.

Seanachai, I still look forward to the day that I will make my way up to Minniehaha that we may carouse at a hole in the wall tavern (likely one with the classic maroon asphalt siding over cinder block construction); that we may laugh, share stories, and drink cheap beer and whiskey.

Yes, we shall do these things, then, as the evening grows late, we shall stagger out of the establishment whilst belting out drinking songs from the old country. Perhaps, as we pass into the shadows beneath an interstate overpass, we shall even share a cheap bottle of wine held in a plain paper bag.

Then, me laddy, we will toast the Olde Ones; we will lament their aloof spirits, and we will cackle wildly in the night.

Steve

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stikky can't parallel park.

You're kidding, right?

I thought all you people had over there were those tiny, 1/2 scale model circus clown cars, with the equivalent of a lawn mower motor and tires the size of dinner plates.

Hell, you should be able to lift the damn thing and put it in a parking spot.

Well... a normal sized person.

Not some fey, whisper-thin, beret-wearing toe-dancer like yourself.

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Meanwhile, who gets stuck evicting the widows, the orphans, the elderly or infirm from their vastly overpriced palatial hovels this cold, dreary winter? That's right, yours truly. Do I get any appreciation for increasing the sum total of human misery in this world? Any consideration for the long hours I put in, listening to innumerable people seeking <snicker> justice in the world? Hearing of their failed relationships, their unfaithful spouses, their despicable slum lords (I'm looking at YOU, Lars), their infirm, incompetent, incontinent parents, their disputes with credit card agencies, realtors, bankers, bakers, and candlestick makers?

Somewhere a violin is scratching its way through a rendition of "Hearts And Flowers".

Michael

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From another thread:

I've just seen this bug in a PBEM game I'm playing. I called in air support, bullets are fired which make a 90° turn mid air before striking their target.

Stikkypixie, the bullets aren't turning due to some programming error. This is neither a bug nor a feature. Simply put (in deference to certain other participants in the MBT (I'm looking at YOU, Boo)), the game abhors your very existence and is attempting to discourage you from further play.

Like many of us here, CMSF's AI would prefer that you give up the game and resume your former life's work, i.e., hiding in your mom's basement and posting unintentionally humorous personal ads on the Internet in what will ultimately be a futile attempt to locate a mate.

Or at least, to suffer humiliating rejection from real live girl.

Steve

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From another thread:

Stikkypixie, the bullets aren't turning due to some programming error. This is neither a bug nor a feature. Simply put (in deference to certain other participants in the MBT (I'm looking at YOU, Boo)), the game abhors your very existence and is attempting to discourage you from further play.

Like many of us here, CMSF's AI would prefer that you give up the game and resume your former life's work, i.e., hiding in your mom's basement and posting unintentionally humorous personal ads on the Internet in what will ultimately be a futile attempt to locate a mate.

Or at least, to suffer humiliating rejection from real live girl.

Steve

I like to think it's my raw charisma that turned, what would otherwise be a horrible miss from that pilot's plane, into a battle-changing direct hit.

But explaining violations against the very fabric of space-time is one thing, understanding why a anyone would spend their day reading personal ads of cheese obsessed young men is beyond me.

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Stop looking at me. I find your interest very creepy.

Very creepy.

Oh stop whining ... if you can't stand up to a little virtual look you're not the man I thought you were ... and I never thought you much of a man so the bar's pretty low on that.

As probably the only one who's been exposed (you should excuse the expression) to the ACTUAL direct gaze of MrSpkr I believe I can speak with some authority on the subject.

It's not quite as bad as you suggest though the addition of the drool on the chin does make it disconcerting.

Joe

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Oh stop whining ... if you can't stand up to a little virtual look you're not the man I thought you were ... and I never thought you much of a man so the bar's pretty low on that.

As probably the only one who's been exposed (you should excuse the expression) to the ACTUAL direct gaze of MrSpkr I believe I can speak with some authority on the subject.

It's not quite as bad as you suggest though the addition of the drool on the chin does make it disconcerting.

Joe

Yes, yes, yes, we know. You've actually SEEN MrSpkr. You faced the gorgon and lived to tell the tale.

You remind me of those characters in all the old black and white horror films who are an integral part of the exposition and invariably inhabit either a run down dock or a back stool in a run down bar. He's always drunk and half mad and relies on the charity of strangers who treat him like a harmless, albeit addle-pated clown.

Any of this hitting home yet, Sparky?

Normally he's missing half his teeth and usually a leg and one of the protagonists will call on him to describe just what he saw "out there".

Then, after he's mumbled some fantastic story of death, mayhem and destruction, which always ends with a pleading whine for booze, everyone will laugh at him and mock him and generally discount everything he's said.

Of course he's proved right in the end, but he's still a pathetic and icky piece of business.

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Yes, yes, yes, we know. You've actually SEEN MrSpkr. You faced the gorgon and lived to tell the tale.

You remind me of those characters in all the old black and white horror films who are an integral part of the exposition and invariably inhabit either a run down dock or a back stool in a run down bar. He's always drunk and half mad and relies on the charity of strangers who treat him like a harmless, albeit addle-pated clown.

Any of this hitting home yet, Sparky?

Normally he's missing half his teeth and usually a leg and one of the protagonists will call on him to describe just what he saw "out there".

Then, after he's mumbled some fantastic story of death, mayhem and destruction, which always ends with a pleading whine for booze, everyone will laugh at him and mock him and generally discount everything he's said.

Of course he's proved right in the end, but he's still a pathetic and icky piece of business.

I have NOT lost half my ... wait a minute, how many teeth are there ... hang on a sec ... okay, I have NOT lost half my teeth.

Having demolished a KEY aspect of your fantastic tale I have therefore instilled doubt in the rest of your story.

Besides in YOUR story you're the whiny little girl who's frightened of her own shadow and, sure enough, she's the one that gets the knife through the forehead pretty much the second they walk through the door.

So there ...

Joe

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