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The Peng Challenge Thread's Got Talent!


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Oh I am Boo Radley ... I am.

But duty calls ... I'm going out of town again ... to Des Moines again ... again. And that means you must take hold of the reins, put the tiller over and set the trim tabs for level flight so that the Peng Challenge Thread doesn't lose it's way in the absence of your Beloved Justicar for Life of the Peng Challenge Thread ... it may forget what the hell it's riding with all those mixed metaphors but that won't be my problem.

Once again it'll be up to you, as the duly appointed Auxilliary Backup Deputy Justicar of the Peng Challenge Thread, to protect, preserve and defend the Sacred Traditions of the Peng Challenge Thread and, among other things, ensure that Seanachai doesn't start making Olde Ones out of SSNs ... there's no telling what he will do when he's in his cups ... and really, when isn't he.

That you will disappoint me is a given ... I only hope that I won't be TOO disappointed.

Joe

What? I sort of dozed off there after you said, "Oh".

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I understand Scunthorpe is subsiding slowly into the bog. What a pity...l

And yet so little you know... Scunthorpe is the universal bog which swallows us whole no matter how we struggle only to push us up many years later in a leathery preserved condition.

It is, Michael, an inescapable quagmire.

Much like yourself but on a far grander scale.

Now, have you managed to strike the right end of your match sticks or do we need to give you some help?

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... and as we we wait an interminable length of existence for Michael to fathom his tricky matchstick issues, a little tune to while away the time...

You know that it would be untrue

You know that I would be a liar

If I was to say to you

Mike, we couldn't get much higher

Come on Michael, light my fire

Come on Michael, light my fire

Try to set the night on fireEEER

The time to hesitate is through

No time to wallow in the mire

Try now we can only lose

And our love become a funeral pyre

Come on Michael, light my fire

Come on Michael, light my fire

Try to set the night on fire, HONK

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Of course. Lars merely speaks a polyglot of 'Western Metro Lakeside', 'Mound Exurb Third Convocation' and 'Extremely Goofy Drunk Danish Bastard'.

Hell, I learned the first of those before I ever left High School, picked up the second working with Bail Bondsmen, and a life of aimlessness and chemical use left me fluent in the third.

On any given night, I can translate Lars with a 95% accuracy rating.

Hell, Lars can't translate himself with that much accuracy.

Should I mention his latest bit of illogic when he tried to explain that a 'Card Held at the End of a Turn' was the same thing as 'A Card You Can Hold In Your Hand'? And by 'hold in your hand', he appeared to mean 'unlike the cards you can hold with your feet'.

Seriously, playing a game with Lars is like watching chipmunks do gymnastics. You can see it happening, it's bizarrely and even impressively athletic, but there doesn't seem to be any point to it.

You just keep wishing the cat would come out and bite his head off.

In my defense, I looked it up the next day on the relevant forum, and there was a two page thread on whether or not you could discard a scoring card on that part of the Space Race, only settled by the designer of the game himself weighing in.

Besides, what's a good wargaming session without a rules fight?

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In my defense, I looked it up the next day on the relevant forum, and there was a two page thread on whether or not you could discard a scoring card on that part of the Space Race, only settled by the designer of the game himself weighing in.

Besides, what's a good wargaming session without a rules fight?

And the designer ruled that...?

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Emrys,

All my troubles seemed so far away,

Now it looks as though he's here to stay,

Oh, I uneased an Emrys.

Suddenly,

I'm twice the donkey I used to be,

There's a dingle hanging over me,

Oh, Emrys came suddenly.

Why he

Had to go I don't know, he wouldn't say.

I said,

Something *HONK*, now I *HONK* for Emrys.

Emrys,

HONK was such an easy game to play,

Now I need a place to hide away,

Oh, I uneased an Emrys.

Why he

Had to go I don't know, he wouldn't say.

I said,

Something *HONK*, now I *HONK* for Emrys.

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I, dalem, of House Persiflage, Lord High Hullabalooster, Lord of Pants, and Olde One Extraordinnaire, hereby claim one Yeknodathon, Supreme HonkyDonkey, as my Versificationwan Learner.

I do prophesize that he is the Honky One who can bring balance to the Versification.

So it is written, so it is done.

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I, dalem, of House Persiflage, Lord High Hullabalooster, Lord of Pants, and Olde One Extraordinnaire, hereby claim one Yeknodathon, Supreme HonkyDonkey, as my Versificationwan Learner.

I do prophesize that he is the Honky One who can bring balance to the Versification.

So it is written, so it is done.

See kids? This is what happens when you don't eat your vegetables.

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Actually, if either of you slack-wits were really on the ball (Wow, now there's really a completely impossible concept) you'd actually print up a complete set of fake rules (that are only slightly different from the real rules) and require that Seanachai study them before the game (Like that could ever happen). And then, during the game, completely confuse him*.

(*Of course this could also be done just by putting alcohol just our of arm's reach on either side of him. He wouldn't be able to decide which way to go)

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