Take the Quiz! Which Peng Challenge Thread Character Are You?

[Boo Radley]

Had it removed, did she?

[Joe Shaw]

I'll have you know I was a kind and gentle conquerer, hence my legion of grateful recipients.

... {snipped} ...

Which Roman Legion was that?

Joe

[Yeknodathon]

Quintilius Stukarus, gone un lost his legions

[Michael Emrys]

Had it removed, did she?

Pickled in brine and mounted over the mantelpiece too, you can be sure. Keeps him mindful of who's boss in their household.

Michael

[Seanachai]

Joe Shaw owes me an apology for something. I have checked, and the account is not in balance. It could be for almost anything.

[Seanachai]

The Cisco Kid, he was a friend of mine...

[Joe Shaw]

Joe Shaw owes me an apology for something. I have checked, and the account is not in balance. It could be for almost anything.

That reminds me of a story told of George Pickett which may even be true. Apparently he had a true talent for annoying and irritating people at virtually every turn and he never had even a remote clue as to why it happened. As a result he would wander around and apologize in general from time to time and simply hope for the best.

Joe

p.s. Oh my ... apparently I forgot to apologze ...

[Seanachai]

That reminds me of a story told of George Pickett which may even be true. Apparently he had a true talent for annoying and irritating people at virtually every turn and he never had even a remote clue as to why it happened. As a result he would wander around and apologize in general from time to time and simply hope for the best.

Joe

p.s. Oh my ... apparently I forgot to apologze ...

Good enough for me, and as close as you've ever come to an apology. I have, over the course of the last year or so, been retiring ever more into myself. Imagine the horror: Left alone with me. It is not something I recommend.

I will try to distribute myself more widely upon the planet. It cuts the toxicity, unless you're within cocktail range.

And who wouldn't want to have a drink with me?

[Seanachai]

GODDAMN! I'VE GOT iTUNES BACK, AFTER 4 WEEKS!

Ever since I upgraded to 8.1, it was crashing every time I opened the app. Can't write without music. Dumped every piece of album artwork I ever acquired, and dumped every song Berli sent me. Something worked.

[Seanachai]

Persephone, fair lady. Thank you for the Birthday greetings, and the phone call. Are you still paddling? You need to email me more about paddling. What the hell, am I too foolish for you to email me about life? I swear to all the gods, girl, I was just sitting there when the cop came by and wanted to know about the broken wine bottle and the frightened pit bull. Ah, wine.

You do know that my email address is in my profile, eh? I can post here, when I'm coherent, and I can post on facebook (horrible place), even when I'm not, and I can always answer emails.

[Seanachai]

I shall be going up to the Great North, this weekend. Up to 'the cabin'. That's what we say here in Minnesota.

What're you doing this weekend? We're goin' up north. Up to the cabin Up to the lake.

That's how we talk, here in Minnesota. Where we go 'Up North'. Where we go up to 'The Lake'. Where we go up to 'The Cabin'.

I'm going Up North, to The Lake, to my families Cabin. Sixty miles into Canada, on Lake of the Woods. And this time, by the gods, I'm going to paddle. Eight miles out. Weather be damned, I'm going to put my folding frame kayak together at the resort, and I'm going to paddle the 8 miles out to the cabin.

Straight up.

If I die, Boo Radley shall speak for me, hereafter. I'll send the necessary emails, songs and weirdness to him to prove that he shall hereafter be regarded as...me.

If I die. If I don't, then he'll simply have to sing a really good song.

[Stuka]

So if I send the box of Bolivar Bonitas to 'the cabin, Canada', they'll be delivered no problems?

[Boo Radley]

If I die, Boo Radley ... shall hereafter be regarded as...me.

Oh, no you don't! There is NO way my Karma is so screwed up that I get to be the new you! I may have done some things in my life that guarantee I'll be returning as some sewer mold wearing a Gestapo uniform, but I can't imagine ANYTHING I've done, or anything I'll EVER do that would warrant suddenly waking up being you!

TAKE IT BACK, RIGHT NOW!

[Lars]

I shall be going up to the Great North, this weekend.

Gonna skip the Great Pontoon Boat Party out on Tonka for Shary's B-Day, eh?

Pity, I'll have to run over somebody else then.

[Michael Emrys]

Persephone, fair lady. Thank you for the Birthday greetings, and the phone call. Are you still paddling? You need to email me more about paddling.

Is this your way of asking for a date? Won't Madam Polly allow you into her establishment any more? Now you try to suborn an innocent maiden (more or less) to fulfill your unspeakable urges?

Michael

[Michael Emrys]

...I can always answer emails.

Oh really?

Michael

[Michael Emrys]

I shall be going up to the Great North, this weekend. Up to 'the cabin'. That's what we say here in Minnesota.

What're you doing this weekend? We're goin' up north. Up to the cabin Up to the lake.

That's how we talk, here in Minnesota. Where we go 'Up North'. Where we go up to 'The Lake'. Where we go up to 'The Cabin'.

Still trying to channel Hemingway, eh?

Michael

[Joe Shaw]

So if I send the box of Bolivar Bonitas to 'the cabin, Canada', they'll be delivered no problems?

Not quite, you'll need to send it to "The Cabin, Canada eh!" in order to have it promptly delivered.

Joe

[Joe Shaw]

I posted something on Facebook that led me to look this up ...

The Betrothed by Rudyard Kipling

"You must choose between me and your cigar."

-- Breach of Promise Case, Circa 1885

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,

For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas -- we fought o'er a good cheroot,

And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a space;

In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.

Maggie is pretty to look at -- Maggie's a loving lass,

But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.

There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay;

But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away --

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown --

But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty -- grey and dour and old --

With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,

And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar --

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket --

With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket!

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a while.

Here is a mild Manila -- there is a wifely smile.

Which is the better portion -- bondage bought with a ring,

Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?

Counsellors cunning and silent -- comforters true and tried,

And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,

Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,

With only a Suttee's passion -- to do their duty and burn.

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,

Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,

When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,

So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.

I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,

And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between

The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,

But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light

Of stums that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,

But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?

Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider anew --

Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;

And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.

Light me another Cuba -- I hold to my first-sworn vows.

If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse!

Joe

[Boo Radley]

I can post here, when I'm coherent, and I can post on facebook (horrible place), even when I'm not, and I can always answer emails.

But apparently you can't return files.

[Stuka]

You know how I promised you a setup Boo?

I lied.....

[Patchy]

Persephone, fair lady. Thank you for the Birthday greetings, and the phone call. Are you still paddling? You need to email me more about paddling. What the hell, am I too foolish for you to email me about life? I swear to all the gods, girl, I was just sitting there when the cop came by and wanted to know about the broken wine bottle and the frightened pit bull. Ah, wine.

You do know that my email address is in my profile, eh? I can post here, when I'm coherent, and I can post on facebook (horrible place), even when I'm not, and I can always answer emails.

Okay Gnomey, I sent you an email. I have not received a response email back from you....yet.....

[Patchy]

I posted something on Facebook that led me to look this up ...

The Betrothed by Rudyard Kipling

"You must choose between me and your cigar."

-- Breach of Promise Case, Circa 1885

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,

For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas -- we fought o'er a good cheroot,

And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a space;

In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.

Maggie is pretty to look at -- Maggie's a loving lass,

But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.

There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay;

But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away --

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown --

But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty -- grey and dour and old --

With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,

And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar --

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket --

With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket!

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a while.

Here is a mild Manila -- there is a wifely smile.

Which is the better portion -- bondage bought with a ring,

Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?

Counsellors cunning and silent -- comforters true and tried,

And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,

Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,

With only a Suttee's passion -- to do their duty and burn.

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,

Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,

When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,

So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.

I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,

And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between

The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,

But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light

Of stums that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,

But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?

Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider anew --

Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;

And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.

Light me another Cuba -- I hold to my first-sworn vows.

If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for Spouse!

Joe

I suppose next you will be posting a poem about a pick up truck?

[Joe Shaw]

I suppose next you will be posting a poem about a pick up truck?

I considered saying that there were no poems about pickup trucks but I imagine there are. None by Kipling though, thank the Gawds.

The immortal line ... "A woman is only a woman but a good cigar is a smoke" ... will live on in the hearts of men for as long as prime tobacco is fashioned into cigars.

No offense intended Milady but ... you wouldn't understand.

Joe

[Lars]

I suppose next you will be posting a poem about a pick up truck?

How about an essay?

http://nctr.net/Campfire%20tails/Pickup%20Trucks.htm

An experienced pickup truck driver is a person who's wrecked one.

Tis only too true.

All of it.