The Peng Challenge Thread's Got Talent!

[Seanachai]

So, my staggering powers of prognostication and mighty thews of justice were committed in fierce battle against Elvis's faerie wings of indecision and his tiara of hope, and tho' the struggle was long and hard (siddown, Bauhaus!), in the end, the forces of right and good have prevailed in the wager. And I stand ready to collect my just reward.

Well, all that happened back in June, pretty much, and the poor but shiny Elvis stood with head bowed and forelock tugged, awaiting the word on which hoppy brew might he pour forth from his whithered bowls of loss and miscalculation.

"I know not!" I cried, and my brow was wrinkled and knotted with indecision. I have but little experience with the Earthly brew known as "beer", and I feared a hasty choice might go amiss, and I stand to gain little from the mockery of my high brethren and lesser attendees and hangers-on, and much to gain from the pain and sorrow of my brave but defeated opponent.

I bent my mind long on thought and in the end beamed many transmissions to my Alcohol Jedi Obi-wan Stoli, nowadays known simply as Old Gnome Stoli.

"I'm drunk!" he shouted. He shouts a lot.

"Seanachai Stoli, years ago you drank a lot during the Gin Wars. Now I beg you to help me in my struggle to pick a good beverage."

"I'm drunk!" he shouted again. There were muffled sounds of large objects being pushed across a rough floor.

"I have fought long and - "

"Holy sh!teburgers, I'm WAY drunk!"

"Sigh. I need a good beer. Pick one for me, I beg of you."

"I'm - Woops!" he shouted one more time. This time it was the sound of glass breaking that came through.

Obviously left to my own devices I rejoined the defeated and humiliated Elvis who still waited with the patience of one who has been humiliated and defeated.

And I made my own choice and with the last of his strong magic Elvis did cause a small river of amber brew to flow from Pennsylvania to Minnesota. And as he shuffled away, head bowed and shoulders shaking, I smiled in secret triumph, for he had made my victory the greater in his woe.

For at the last he sought to dupe me, his greater, and when I asked for Budweiser, he fell into the trap that I had prepared for him, and he countered with an offer of Miller Lite instead.

Which is what I had purposed to ask for in the first place. And sweet, sweet victory, she is mine.

And Old Gnome?

Killed. Drowned in a snowglobe accident.

Sigh That was beautiful, man.

I'm still going to kill you in your sleep, though.

Maybe I'll wait awhile. In case you've still got some words, and some other words, and something about words in you.

I don't feel good about killing anyone with some strains of poetry still in their soul. Of course, for many people who post here, the only reason they're still alive is that I don't have the opportunity to go over to their homes on a Saturday night and put a pillow over their face and hold it there until they stop thrashing about.

What a clean and pleasant world this would be if I had the money to travel to the homes of each and every one of you...

[Seanachai]

Smaller Nora is 'Hit Girl'.

Tra la, la, la, lalalala

Tra la, la, la, lalalala!

One banana, two banana, three banana, four.

Four bananas make a bunch and so do many more.

Over hill and highway the banana buggies go

Comin' on to bring you The Banana Splits Show.

Und ruhig fliess der Rhein...

[Mace]

Smaller Nora is 'Hit Girl'.

Tra la, la, la, lalalala

Tra la, la, la, lalalala!

One banana, two banana, three banana, four.

Four bananas make a bunch and so do many more.

Over hill and highway the banana buggies go

Comin' on to bring you The Banana Splits Show.

Und ruhig fliess der Rhein...

Oh poo,

....that song is just going to play through my mind non stop for the rest of the day.

PS don't recall the germanic bit at the end of the song however.

[Seanachai]

There is a thing you have to do, when you are 'Grandma Steve'. You have to play games. I have been excused from playing the games of Small Friends for some time, because...

Well, because Small Friends are so much better at playing together, these days. I sit lately with their Mom, downstairs, talking, these days. We get caught up on life, and how things are, and politics, and such. And we explore once again our friendship, her and 'Daddy', my friend Chris, and we are, for those moments when they get home, adults again, remembering that we were friends long before they had children.

My Small Friends have still been there, of course. Demanding 'Grandma Steve, come and play with us!'. And their Mom tells them 'No! Grandma Steve wants to talk to Mommy and Daddy for a while! You two go up and play with Polly Pockets (a weird, cheap, aimless doll toy), and Grandma Steve will play with you later!'

But, for many months, Grandma Steve has not, necessarily played with them much. Of course, I still play with them. But between the need for everyone to have dinner (and believe me, for someone who's 'this close' to living on the street, a meal with friends is a livesaver), and watching some TV, and practicing piano, and such, there's been less time for play, and more time to be...a grown-up.

But for a while now, I come over, and we goof around a bit, and maybe watch some iCarly on TV, and I love them, and they are glad that I am there, and I get caught up with their Mom, who knows that I'm too old, and fat, and broken down to chase after small girls, and then I go home.

But they remain my Small Friends. And I remain their Grandma Steve. It's like... a contract.

There are too many nights, lately, when I lie there in the dark, and begin to wonder how I'm going to go. Heart attack, stroke, embolism, aneurism, sudden massive failure of all internal organs. Every day filled with fresh aches and pains, sudden numbness, occasional disorientation, unexpected shortness of breath, dizziness...

It's only a matter of time. And sometimes every moment of mortality hits me, late at night, lying there, all alone in an apartment that hasn't been cleaned in years. But when I can't catch my breath for fear, I remember that I have Small Friends. And... I know a different kind of fear. How can I let my Small Friends down?

And I take strength in that. I'm staying alive because there is NO GODDAMN WAY that I'm going to die and upset them. Also, I figure it irritates the rest of you, so it's all good.

But, tonight, we played games again. Their games. The games that when you try and describe them to an adult, they look at you like you're drunk or high, but they are THE games, for little girls.

They are silly, and precise, and rigid, and repetitive, and hard to explain. And you can change them, but only at certain points, and only so much, and after you change them, you're not in charge, because they become The Game, again, and go back into the hands of the children.

If you've never played one of these games, you will probably not understand. And you can order armies and nations, and make mankind bend to your will, but if you have never played one of these games, you will die and go to hell, and no one will remember you, and good riddance.

So, tonight, we were supposed to play four games. As God is my witness, I can't remember what they were all supposed to be. Each game was decided by Small Emma, the great decider, and they each involved a different 'American Girl' doll. Her Mom and I agreed that one of the greatest movie remakes in Cinema history would be remaking 'Saving Private Ryan' with children landing on the Normandy beaches with American Girl dolls. Think about it. German soldiers, poised with MG42s in their hands, sited in on the beaches, and suddenly, the landing crafts disgorge an army of little girls with dolls in strollers, on plastic ponies, dolls in carriers...

Would YOU pull the trigger?

So, I was there tonight because I picked up Small Emma at school, because her Mom had a terrible cold, and had to be there to let in the stooge from Centerpoint Energy to make sure the furnace was in good shape for the New Heating Season.

I like to be there, in these situations, because I love to see my Small Friends, and because they're amongst my oldest friends, and to pay back the fact that they've been feeding me for months, off and on, and because I am Grandma Steve.

My Small Friend Emma is now a Second Grader. This means she walks down the hall from her classroom with all her stuff to the lobby of the school for 'Parent Pick-up', and she sees me, standing there, waiting for her, and she smiles, and says 'Hello, Grandma Steve! Goodbye, Shannon' she says to the small girl she is walking with. She is such a big girl, now. It's another day to her. A fun day. I blink away tears. It is a fun day for me, too. The tip of my index finger on my left hand has been partially numb for months. I went to the doctor about it. They started me on a round of medical tests that cost me around a $1,000 before I decided I'd rather deal with the numbness and loss of dexterity rather than the loss of whatever little money I had, especially since they weren't able to tell me anything.

Anyways, there was going to be four games. But I was downstairs, drinking Christmas Water with their Mom (think 'rum and coke'; their Mom had a horrible cold, and was drinking cranberry juice with sparkling water), and getting caught up. And I told them 'we would play the games, all the games, when the boiler guy came'. And he arrived, and we went upstairs to play.

We only got to play the first game, because Small Friends, like adults, have big plans, but will settle for playing one silly game a lot. So, I was there. And it was the same sort of game I remembered so well, from when Small Emma was much smaller. There were more details, but it was the same sort of goofy game.

So, in the game, Small Emma was the big sister, and Nora was the smaller sister, and the doll Felicity was the next smaller sister, and some weird arsed Barbie type doll was the smallest sister. When Emma explained it, the Barbie doll was the daughter of the America Girl doll, but since they were both supposed to be sisters of Emma and Nora, I stepped in and said that wasn't going to work from a simple point of genetics and not being in Appalachia. I suggested that the dolls were twins. She pointed out that they didn't look alike. I said that they were fraternal twins, rather than identical twins. This was considered, and because she only barely understood my explanation, she went with it.

So everyone had to go to bed, and I was 'the Dad', and she was 'Ruby', the oldest sister, and Nora was 'Abby', the younger sister, and the two dolls had names that aren't worth worrying about. And we all went to sleep, but Me, the 'Dad', had this thing about singing when he was asleep, because he'd had too much 'Christmas Water' to drink. So, I lay on the bed and started singing the Eric Bogle song 'And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda'.

You can see how the games of children mirror reality, eh?

So, she'd take the blanket and throw it over my face, and I'd go "What, what, what! What's happening?"

And she would, all small child older sister second mother say: "Grandma Steve, you had too much Christmas Water to drink and were singing again. Now be quiet, the children have to sleep!"

And then she and her sister would giggle like loons.

And then, we'd do it all again. Over and over. It reminded me a lot of when I was a younger myself, except that there wasn't much singing, then, and not so much laughing.

And then, when it was morning, we all woke up. And Small Emma made us all breakfast.

We sat at the little table in her room, and she brought us 'breakfast'. I got a plain donut, and Nora got a chocolate donut, because she loves chocolate donuts, and Emma had a strawberry donut. This exactly matches the silly, plastic food that Emma has in her playset, in terms of plastic donuts.

And, before we could eat the donuts, Small Emma told us: "Okay, now we have to pray." Her parents are agnostic/atheist.

She knelt at the table, and put her hands together in the classic 'Small Girl Praying Hands' diorama. And her Smaller Sister did the same.

And I said, 'Whoa, whoa, whoa, Emmasine! Who are we praying to?'

And she told me: 'God'

So I told her: 'God? Is he here? Where is he?'

'He's in the sky. Now, Thank you God, for our food...'

'Emma, how do we know it's a God? What if it's a Goddess?'

'It's God. Maybe it's Zeus. Whatever. Now, thank you for our food...'

I will never forget that moment. Little girls, raised by atheists, but whose grandparents are devout Lutherans. But they've also been raised on Disney Films, so that they know that, in 'Hercules', Zeus is the father of the gods.

So, God. Zeus. The Goddess. Darwin. Whatever. Look, Grandma Steve, we're saying grace now, okay? We're thanking God for our food. Shut up and play the game. Maybe, just for a moment, old man, we're going to give thanks to something.

Shouldn't we give thanks for what we have? And isn't it the foolishness of old people to make a big deal about the name? How many millions have died because old men demanded that a certain name was used? Or that no name was used at all?

Maybe we should thank someone for what we have, everyday. God. Jehovah. Allah. Zeus. the Goddess. Darwin. Whatever. Aren't we happy for what we have? Do we have to believe in someone, to be thankful? Isn't it enough to be thankful, and to have?

Every night, before I go to bed, I thank my friends for being my friends. I thank my family, for putting up with me. And every night, now and forever, I thank God, Christ, Jehovah, Allah, the Goddess, Zeus, Darwin and any other god that may or may not have ever existed, or be listening, for my Small Friends, Emma and Nora.

'Cause my Small Friends are way cool. We play games. And we're thankful. Maybe someday, they'll know how important it is to be thankful.

[dalem]

and begin to wonder how I'm going to go.

I assume noisily and with your hands around someone's neck.

[Stuka]

that song is just going to play through my mind non stop for the rest of the day.

and what a lonely journey that song will take, trudging drearily through the vast, empty landscape of your mind.

[Seanachai]

Die Luft ist kühl und es dunkelt,

Und ruhig fließt der Rhein

from the poem 'Die Lorelei', by Heinrich Heine.

The air is cool, in the gloaming

and peaceful flows the Rhine.

What we should remember him for, these days, especially since he's a German, he stated: Where they begin by burning books, they will finish by burning men.

He was referring in his play 'Almansor', set in Spain during the Inquisition, to the burning of the Quran.

Maybe you lot should study more about Germany than their tanks, eh?

[Seanachai]

I assume noisily and with your hands around someone's neck.

That's because I shot you with a low velocity round, Dalem, you feck...

[Boo Radley]

The tip of my index finger on my left hand has been partially numb for months. I went to the doctor about it. They started me on a round of medical tests that cost me around a $1,000 before I decided I'd rather deal with the numbness and loss of dexterity rather than the loss of whatever little money I had, especially since they weren't able to tell me anything.

Sounds like a pinched nerve. Possibly in your elbow.

Now give me a thousand dollars, you hot house orchid.

[Stuka]

Maybe you lot should study more about Germany than their tanks, eh?

I studied their beer quite thoroughly 2 years back at the Oktoberfest in Munich.

[Sir Lars]

It's only a matter of time. And sometimes every moment of mortality hits me, late at night, lying there, all alone in an apartment that hasn't been cleaned in years.

Best burn it down now, before the coroner and police get their chance to look around.

[Michael Emrys]

Would YOU pull the trigger?

Of course not. But that's because at bottom I am a decent being. But you know the Kraut soldiers would. There would perhaps be tears running down their faces, because at bottom many of them are decent being too. But they would do it because they had been ordered to, and for that generation of Germans orders were GOD. So they would do it, and if they survived the battle and survived the war, they would never speak of the experience. They would never speak of it because there could be no words to adequately express the enormity of what they had seen and done.

Michael

[Michael Emrys]

The Germans do have some magnificent mammeries...er, ladies, don't they?

Michael

[Sir Lars]

But that's because at bottom I am a decent being.

It figures that would be the one part.

[Michael Emrys]

It figures that would be the one part.

Unlike yourself, who is a source of bottomless depravity.

Michael

[Boo Radley]

Oh poo,

....that song is just going to play through my mind non stop for the rest of the day.

That's because there's not much in there to get in it's way.

You know if you stick your finger in one of Mace's ears (eww) and listen very carefully at the other, you can hear the ocean.

[Stuka]

I'm driving to Dubai through Saudi tomorrow morning in the big, red truck with the stars'n'stripes chevy emblems front and rear.

I figure I got a good chance of making it through unscathed...but if something should happen, I want you to know that I hate you all so very, very much.

[Michael Emrys]

I figure I got a good chance of making it through unscathed...

Good. Keep thinking that. Heh, heh.

Michael

[Mace]

That's because there's not much in there to get in it's way.

You know if you stick your finger in one of Mace's ears (eww) and listen very carefully at the other, you can hear the ocean.

I'll have you know that sound cannot propagate through a vacuum. So there!

[Boo Radley]

Then how do you hear all those voices in your head?

(That should keep him busy for awhile)

[costard]

Then how do you hear all those voices in your head?

(That should keep him busy for awhile)

Do you tune into radio Mace often? Just for the company?

Boo's Panthers were smitten good and hard, his troops acquired wisdom running over the crests of bare hills. Quad .50 cals rule. The next map is all trees and gullies and towns, so I'm told.

"..and I ask myself the same question."

[Boo Radley]

There's no handy reverse slopes for you to hunker down and hide behind this time, boyo. Lots of bocage, which should appeal to your sneaksy ways. I'm starting a game against Stuka-Nuka-Puka-Pants using the exact same map. I also have the exact same unit choices, so it should be interesting to see how each game develops.

And at which point if all goes south for me.

[Patch]

There is a thing you have to do, when you are 'Grandma Steve'. You have to play games. I have been excused from playing the games of Small Friends for some time, because...

Well, because Small Friends are so much better at playing together, these days. I sit lately with their Mom, downstairs, talking, these days. We get caught up on life, and how things are, and politics, and such. And we explore once again our friendship, her and 'Daddy', my friend Chris, and we are, for those moments when they get home, adults again, remembering that we were friends long before they had children.

My Small Friends have still been there, of course. Demanding 'Grandma Steve, come and play with us!'. And their Mom tells them 'No! Grandma Steve wants to talk to Mommy and Daddy for a while! You two go up and play with Polly Pockets (a weird, cheap, aimless doll toy), and Grandma Steve will play with you later!'

But, for many months, Grandma Steve has not, necessarily played with them much. Of course, I still play with them. But between the need for everyone to have dinner (and believe me, for someone who's 'this close' to living on the street, a meal with friends is a livesaver), and watching some TV, and practicing piano, and such, there's been less time for play, and more time to be...a grown-up.

But for a while now, I come over, and we goof around a bit, and maybe watch some iCarly on TV, and I love them, and they are glad that I am there, and I get caught up with their Mom, who knows that I'm too old, and fat, and broken down to chase after small girls, and then I go home.

But they remain my Small Friends. And I remain their Grandma Steve. It's like... a contract.

There are too many nights, lately, when I lie there in the dark, and begin to wonder how I'm going to go. Heart attack, stroke, embolism, aneurism, sudden massive failure of all internal organs. Every day filled with fresh aches and pains, sudden numbness, occasional disorientation, unexpected shortness of breath, dizziness...

It's only a matter of time. And sometimes every moment of mortality hits me, late at night, lying there, all alone in an apartment that hasn't been cleaned in years. But when I can't catch my breath for fear, I remember that I have Small Friends. And... I know a different kind of fear. How can I let my Small Friends down?

And I take strength in that. I'm staying alive because there is NO GODDAMN WAY that I'm going to die and upset them. Also, I figure it irritates the rest of you, so it's all good.

But, tonight, we played games again. Their games. The games that when you try and describe them to an adult, they look at you like you're drunk or high, but they are THE games, for little girls.

They are silly, and precise, and rigid, and repetitive, and hard to explain. And you can change them, but only at certain points, and only so much, and after you change them, you're not in charge, because they become The Game, again, and go back into the hands of the children.

If you've never played one of these games, you will probably not understand. And you can order armies and nations, and make mankind bend to your will, but if you have never played one of these games, you will die and go to hell, and no one will remember you, and good riddance.

So, tonight, we were supposed to play four games. As God is my witness, I can't remember what they were all supposed to be. Each game was decided by Small Emma, the great decider, and they each involved a different 'American Girl' doll. Her Mom and I agreed that one of the greatest movie remakes in Cinema history would be remaking 'Saving Private Ryan' with children landing on the Normandy beaches with American Girl dolls. Think about it. German soldiers, poised with MG42s in their hands, sited in on the beaches, and suddenly, the landing crafts disgorge an army of little girls with dolls in strollers, on plastic ponies, dolls in carriers...

Would YOU pull the trigger?

So, I was there tonight because I picked up Small Emma at school, because her Mom had a terrible cold, and had to be there to let in the stooge from Centerpoint Energy to make sure the furnace was in good shape for the New Heating Season.

I like to be there, in these situations, because I love to see my Small Friends, and because they're amongst my oldest friends, and to pay back the fact that they've been feeding me for months, off and on, and because I am Grandma Steve.

My Small Friend Emma is now a Second Grader. This means she walks down the hall from her classroom with all her stuff to the lobby of the school for 'Parent Pick-up', and she sees me, standing there, waiting for her, and she smiles, and says 'Hello, Grandma Steve! Goodbye, Shannon' she says to the small girl she is walking with. She is such a big girl, now. It's another day to her. A fun day. I blink away tears. It is a fun day for me, too. The tip of my index finger on my left hand has been partially numb for months. I went to the doctor about it. They started me on a round of medical tests that cost me around a $1,000 before I decided I'd rather deal with the numbness and loss of dexterity rather than the loss of whatever little money I had, especially since they weren't able to tell me anything.

Anyways, there was going to be four games. But I was downstairs, drinking Christmas Water with their Mom (think 'rum and coke'; their Mom had a horrible cold, and was drinking cranberry juice with sparkling water), and getting caught up. And I told them 'we would play the games, all the games, when the boiler guy came'. And he arrived, and we went upstairs to play.

We only got to play the first game, because Small Friends, like adults, have big plans, but will settle for playing one silly game a lot. So, I was there. And it was the same sort of game I remembered so well, from when Small Emma was much smaller. There were more details, but it was the same sort of goofy game.

So, in the game, Small Emma was the big sister, and Nora was the smaller sister, and the doll Felicity was the next smaller sister, and some weird arsed Barbie type doll was the smallest sister. When Emma explained it, the Barbie doll was the daughter of the America Girl doll, but since they were both supposed to be sisters of Emma and Nora, I stepped in and said that wasn't going to work from a simple point of genetics and not being in Appalachia. I suggested that the dolls were twins. She pointed out that they didn't look alike. I said that they were fraternal twins, rather than identical twins. This was considered, and because she only barely understood my explanation, she went with it.

So everyone had to go to bed, and I was 'the Dad', and she was 'Ruby', the oldest sister, and Nora was 'Abby', the younger sister, and the two dolls had names that aren't worth worrying about. And we all went to sleep, but Me, the 'Dad', had this thing about singing when he was asleep, because he'd had too much 'Christmas Water' to drink. So, I lay on the bed and started singing the Eric Bogle song 'And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda'.

You can see how the games of children mirror reality, eh?

So, she'd take the blanket and throw it over my face, and I'd go "What, what, what! What's happening?"

And she would, all small child older sister second mother say: "Grandma Steve, you had too much Christmas Water to drink and were singing again. Now be quiet, the children have to sleep!"

And then she and her sister would giggle like loons.

And then, we'd do it all again. Over and over. It reminded me a lot of when I was a younger myself, except that there wasn't much singing, then, and not so much laughing.

And then, when it was morning, we all woke up. And Small Emma made us all breakfast.

We sat at the little table in her room, and she brought us 'breakfast'. I got a plain donut, and Nora got a chocolate donut, because she loves chocolate donuts, and Emma had a strawberry donut. This exactly matches the silly, plastic food that Emma has in her playset, in terms of plastic donuts.

And, before we could eat the donuts, Small Emma told us: "Okay, now we have to pray." Her parents are agnostic/atheist.

She knelt at the table, and put her hands together in the classic 'Small Girl Praying Hands' diorama. And her Smaller Sister did the same.

And I said, 'Whoa, whoa, whoa, Emmasine! Who are we praying to?'

And she told me: 'God'

So I told her: 'God? Is he here? Where is he?'

'He's in the sky. Now, Thank you God, for our food...'

'Emma, how do we know it's a God? What if it's a Goddess?'

'It's God. Maybe it's Zeus. Whatever. Now, thank you for our food...'

I will never forget that moment. Little girls, raised by atheists, but whose grandparents are devout Lutherans. But they've also been raised on Disney Films, so that they know that, in 'Hercules', Zeus is the father of the gods.

So, God. Zeus. The Goddess. Darwin. Whatever. Look, Grandma Steve, we're saying grace now, okay? We're thanking God for our food. Shut up and play the game. Maybe, just for a moment, old man, we're going to give thanks to something.

Shouldn't we give thanks for what we have? And isn't it the foolishness of old people to make a big deal about the name? How many millions have died because old men demanded that a certain name was used? Or that no name was used at all?

Maybe we should thank someone for what we have, everyday. God. Jehovah. Allah. Zeus. the Goddess. Darwin. Whatever. Aren't we happy for what we have? Do we have to believe in someone, to be thankful? Isn't it enough to be thankful, and to have?

Every night, before I go to bed, I thank my friends for being my friends. I thank my family, for putting up with me. And every night, now and forever, I thank God, Christ, Jehovah, Allah, the Goddess, Zeus, Darwin and any other god that may or may not have ever existed, or be listening, for my Small Friends, Emma and Nora.

'Cause my Small Friends are way cool. We play games. And we're thankful. Maybe someday, they'll know how important it is to be thankful.

I'm thankful for another Small Friends story.

[Sir Lars]

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