Yeah I am really Elvis. And oh no watch out for that black helicopter. Agghh! And as for Craig, I understand that many people were friends with him. That still doesn't change the fact that he sent me anti semitic PM's and accused me of being a nazi. (weird)
You can all be confidnet in knowing that he re appeared as hound of ill omen and has now stopped antagonizing me!
How Can I Be A Forum Hero????!
Moderator: Commissar D, the Evil
Who is Who ?
Comrade Commisar,
I have just read your latest chapter and do think there is much more to tell .
The real roots of bargin airline travel has now been made known , magic carpets and Heinz ( Beans)....does this mean the lost Gaultier is near at hand ?
Apart from which with so many potential dual identities around there is much scope for surprise as a 1970's "Dallas Show" or " Falcon Crest "
Bad T.V. Classics but you have to love "J.R." " Your an unfit mother Sue Ellen".
Will "Kampfgruppemeyer" emerge from the "shower" as Das Reich .... no-one wanted to take a shower in SS buildings... did "D.R." take part in the July plot to Kill "J.R." ?
Did Craig emerge from the Kennel in Caine form , was Heinz Kling abducted and brought back as a Mel Brookes in "The Hitler Rap" .
Keep up the story lines David and other " Forum Heros" , will a medal be struck to remember those who took part in this "Glorious Action "to save the "Motherboard" , if so what would you call this award.
Take a care lads and keep the oulheadsdown.
I have just read your latest chapter and do think there is much more to tell .
The real roots of bargin airline travel has now been made known , magic carpets and Heinz ( Beans)....does this mean the lost Gaultier is near at hand ?
Apart from which with so many potential dual identities around there is much scope for surprise as a 1970's "Dallas Show" or " Falcon Crest "
Bad T.V. Classics but you have to love "J.R." " Your an unfit mother Sue Ellen".
Will "Kampfgruppemeyer" emerge from the "shower" as Das Reich .... no-one wanted to take a shower in SS buildings... did "D.R." take part in the July plot to Kill "J.R." ?
Did Craig emerge from the Kennel in Caine form , was Heinz Kling abducted and brought back as a Mel Brookes in "The Hitler Rap" .
Keep up the story lines David and other " Forum Heros" , will a medal be struck to remember those who took part in this "Glorious Action "to save the "Motherboard" , if so what would you call this award.
Take a care lads and keep the oulheadsdown.
Last edited by behblc on Fri Oct 03, 2003 12:21 pm, edited 1 time in total.
" Life , to be sure is nothing much to loose ; But young men think it is , and we were young . "
A.E. Housman.
" The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori. " Wilfred Owen (M.C.).
A.E. Housman.
" The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori. " Wilfred Owen (M.C.).
Spot on!Sam H. wrote:And for someone who has been a member for less than a month, you seem to know a lot about the forum members here abouts ... hmm ... could it be?Das_Reich wrote:Sure Craig. I mean Hound. Your not fooling anyone with your antics. I note that as soon as Craig was banned you showed up!
Former member
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michael kenny
- Associate
- Posts: 812
- Joined: Sat Sep 28, 2002 5:09 am
- Location: Northern England
Elvis "40 Golden goose stepping Greats".
"Since my Fuhrer left me" ( Heartbreak hotel).
"Lansberg Rock" ( Jailhouse rock)
"Poke Salad Eva" (Poke Slada Annie)
"Das Reich Blues" (G.I. Blues).
Never was much of an Elvis fan. If anyone can add some more fire away.
"Lansberg Rock" ( Jailhouse rock)
"Poke Salad Eva" (Poke Slada Annie)
"Das Reich Blues" (G.I. Blues).
Never was much of an Elvis fan. If anyone can add some more fire away.
" Life , to be sure is nothing much to loose ; But young men think it is , and we were young . "
A.E. Housman.
" The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori. " Wilfred Owen (M.C.).
A.E. Housman.
" The old lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori. " Wilfred Owen (M.C.).
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Sista Soldjah
- Supporter
- Posts: 70
- Joined: Wed Oct 02, 2002 1:28 am
- Location: Rockhampton - Australia
Keep going, keep going...no lack of interest on my part...I'm sitting here laughing like there's no tomorrow...
...How do they escape?...What becomes of the Soviet?...I think she's going to turn - I'd like to see a major confrontation (hand-to-hand combat) between her and Sista...and of course, against all the odds Sista's gotta win...
As for the character of Ian - yeah - a little bit of healthy romance between he and Sista would be a nice touch...but at no stage is he allowed to 'save her' from anything ok! this woman has a mind and will of her own - she's able to hold her own - and she likes men.
Cheers
Sista Soldjah
...How do they escape?...What becomes of the Soviet?...I think she's going to turn - I'd like to see a major confrontation (hand-to-hand combat) between her and Sista...and of course, against all the odds Sista's gotta win...
As for the character of Ian - yeah - a little bit of healthy romance between he and Sista would be a nice touch...but at no stage is he allowed to 'save her' from anything ok! this woman has a mind and will of her own - she's able to hold her own - and she likes men.
Cheers
Sista Soldjah
"You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake. "
--Jeannette Rankin first woman Member of Congress
--Jeannette Rankin first woman Member of Congress
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Hound of Ill Omen
- Supporter
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Tue Sep 23, 2003 10:54 am
- Location: Afrika
- Contact:
Timo wrote:Spot on!Sam H. wrote:And for someone who has been a member for less than a month, you seem to know a lot about the forum members here abouts ... hmm ... could it be?Das_Reich wrote:Sure Craig. I mean Hound. Your not fooling anyone with your antics. I note that as soon as Craig was banned you showed up!
Quick Timo, run off to Jason with your suspicions! You got Adolf's Brain banned because you thought he was KGM and you couldn't have been more wrong, so why not try and get me banned because you think I could be someone else???
You need to take a good hard look at yourself in the mirror, and give yourself an uppercut!
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michael kenny
- Associate
- Posts: 812
- Joined: Sat Sep 28, 2002 5:09 am
- Location: Northern England
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Commissar D, the Evil
- Moderator
- Posts: 4823
- Joined: Sun Sep 29, 2002 7:22 pm
- Location: New Jersey
FUN AND GAMES
Under the circumstances, the captured flyers didn’t have much of an appetite– except for the three pilots whose names I didn’t mention. Having followed the plot line, they knew their chances of surviving this episode were nil, so they ate heartily. (But, the reader shouldn’t worry too much about them, I have it on good authority that they were written into the first Star Trek series and accompanied Captain Jim Kirk on his away missions, where they were killed in much more scientifically interesting ways. But I digress, sorry ~D)
Dinner eventually came to an end and the Jerkistanis looked expectantly towards Boobi Bin Ladinsky for after dinner entertainment. Not wanting to disappoint the troops, he had the six prisoner brought before him and outlined their fate–a difficult job as, by now, gas was escaping from both of his ends.
“Yes--burp--Chrisitian Commie infidel dogs–poot–it is now time for three of you to die–braap!!!
Two of the flatulent one's minions spread a carpet before the flyers and dropped a pair of dice in its center.
“Bets, I’m taking–Buurppp--bets here!!” Bin Ladinsky announced. Instantly the fetidyeen pulled money out of turbans and trousers, while screaming odds and amounts to their leader.
“Life is a crap game after all’, Ian observed sagely, as one of the flyers was pushed to his knees on the carpet.
The poor man crossed himself, to the hoots and hisses of the Jerkistanis. With a final prayer, he rolled the dice.
“Snake eyes!” Bin Ladinsky howled and his men dragged the unfortunate prisoner away for execution.
Sistah pushed her way to the carpet and knelt down to retrieve the dice. The crowd quieted for a moment, then burst like a great dam into a roar of betting and exchanging money.
Sistah pursed her lips and blew on the dice–Ian instantly fell in love with those ruby red lips, but he was probably the only one in the cavern paying that close attention to her facial movements. Fearlessly, the German test pilot took her throw.
“11", Bin Ladinsky burped. The crowd, or at least the losers, groaned in unison. Ian heard one of the Jerkistanis whisper to Boobi Bin Ladinsky,
“The Force is strong in that one.”
Bin Ladinsky seemed disappointed, but waived the triumphant flyer back.
Ian, who believed in luck, stepped up to the carpet. At over six feet, his rugged frame easily dwarved the other pilots and the Jerkistanis. It also provoked a certain amount of envy, and, as it is written that the weak always hate the strong, the bets were entirely against him. He threw an eight, which provoked an even more frenzied round of betting.
“Eight’s the point”, Bin Ladinsky shouted. “Bets are closed!”
Ian shook the dice in his hand, then, on impulse, he turned his classically sculpted face to Sistah and winked as he threw, not taking his eyes off her as the dice rolled to a stop.
The groans from the fetidyeen shook the cave and Ian even heard a few submachine guns being cocked.
But Bin Ladinsky silenced the protesters with a piercing icy stare and pious words. “Let no one–fart--defile this holy moment or the sacred roll of the dice!”
The Jerkistani fetidyeen grumbled a bit, but settled into a gloomy silence. They were cheered, however, when the next two pilots threw consecutive 12s and were herded off to their doom.
That left the intrepid Anna. Unlike Sistah, who was small-boned and petite, Anna was, well, “healthy”. She was that sort of Russian woman who stood tall and had the muscle to argue a point with any man. Growling, she picked up the dice in one beefy hand. Without saying a word, she waited until the bets were in and the Jerkistanis were leaning forward on their carpets in anticipation.
Anna’s face reddened as the muscles in her hands and forearm contracted. A stream of powder ran through her fingers and she opened the hand and contemptuously blew the dust at Bin Ladinsky.
The terrorists screamed in horror at the pulverized dice and gibbered curses in Jerkistani as they aimed their weapons at the infidel.
Boobi Bin Ladinsky stood up and held his arms out to the faithful.
“Brethern, luck has spoken–we needed three and now we have–bratttt--three! Besides, they will die anyway!! I void all bets–pooot”
The terrorists roared in delight and began grabbing their money back, taking some solace in having lost nothing due to the unbeliever.
With the false gaiety of a carnival showman, Bin Ladinsky turned to Anna, Ian and Sistah and exalted, “You are the luckiest infidels in the world–you have lived to play Lotto!!!
Under the circumstances, the captured flyers didn’t have much of an appetite– except for the three pilots whose names I didn’t mention. Having followed the plot line, they knew their chances of surviving this episode were nil, so they ate heartily. (But, the reader shouldn’t worry too much about them, I have it on good authority that they were written into the first Star Trek series and accompanied Captain Jim Kirk on his away missions, where they were killed in much more scientifically interesting ways. But I digress, sorry ~D)
Dinner eventually came to an end and the Jerkistanis looked expectantly towards Boobi Bin Ladinsky for after dinner entertainment. Not wanting to disappoint the troops, he had the six prisoner brought before him and outlined their fate–a difficult job as, by now, gas was escaping from both of his ends.
“Yes--burp--Chrisitian Commie infidel dogs–poot–it is now time for three of you to die–braap!!!
Two of the flatulent one's minions spread a carpet before the flyers and dropped a pair of dice in its center.
“Bets, I’m taking–Buurppp--bets here!!” Bin Ladinsky announced. Instantly the fetidyeen pulled money out of turbans and trousers, while screaming odds and amounts to their leader.
“Life is a crap game after all’, Ian observed sagely, as one of the flyers was pushed to his knees on the carpet.
The poor man crossed himself, to the hoots and hisses of the Jerkistanis. With a final prayer, he rolled the dice.
“Snake eyes!” Bin Ladinsky howled and his men dragged the unfortunate prisoner away for execution.
Sistah pushed her way to the carpet and knelt down to retrieve the dice. The crowd quieted for a moment, then burst like a great dam into a roar of betting and exchanging money.
Sistah pursed her lips and blew on the dice–Ian instantly fell in love with those ruby red lips, but he was probably the only one in the cavern paying that close attention to her facial movements. Fearlessly, the German test pilot took her throw.
“11", Bin Ladinsky burped. The crowd, or at least the losers, groaned in unison. Ian heard one of the Jerkistanis whisper to Boobi Bin Ladinsky,
“The Force is strong in that one.”
Bin Ladinsky seemed disappointed, but waived the triumphant flyer back.
Ian, who believed in luck, stepped up to the carpet. At over six feet, his rugged frame easily dwarved the other pilots and the Jerkistanis. It also provoked a certain amount of envy, and, as it is written that the weak always hate the strong, the bets were entirely against him. He threw an eight, which provoked an even more frenzied round of betting.
“Eight’s the point”, Bin Ladinsky shouted. “Bets are closed!”
Ian shook the dice in his hand, then, on impulse, he turned his classically sculpted face to Sistah and winked as he threw, not taking his eyes off her as the dice rolled to a stop.
The groans from the fetidyeen shook the cave and Ian even heard a few submachine guns being cocked.
But Bin Ladinsky silenced the protesters with a piercing icy stare and pious words. “Let no one–fart--defile this holy moment or the sacred roll of the dice!”
The Jerkistani fetidyeen grumbled a bit, but settled into a gloomy silence. They were cheered, however, when the next two pilots threw consecutive 12s and were herded off to their doom.
That left the intrepid Anna. Unlike Sistah, who was small-boned and petite, Anna was, well, “healthy”. She was that sort of Russian woman who stood tall and had the muscle to argue a point with any man. Growling, she picked up the dice in one beefy hand. Without saying a word, she waited until the bets were in and the Jerkistanis were leaning forward on their carpets in anticipation.
Anna’s face reddened as the muscles in her hands and forearm contracted. A stream of powder ran through her fingers and she opened the hand and contemptuously blew the dust at Bin Ladinsky.
The terrorists screamed in horror at the pulverized dice and gibbered curses in Jerkistani as they aimed their weapons at the infidel.
Boobi Bin Ladinsky stood up and held his arms out to the faithful.
“Brethern, luck has spoken–we needed three and now we have–bratttt--three! Besides, they will die anyway!! I void all bets–pooot”
The terrorists roared in delight and began grabbing their money back, taking some solace in having lost nothing due to the unbeliever.
With the false gaiety of a carnival showman, Bin Ladinsky turned to Anna, Ian and Sistah and exalted, “You are the luckiest infidels in the world–you have lived to play Lotto!!!
Last edited by Commissar D, the Evil on Fri Oct 03, 2003 5:53 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....
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Commissar D, the Evil
- Moderator
- Posts: 4823
- Joined: Sun Sep 29, 2002 7:22 pm
- Location: New Jersey
“This is really ghastly stuff Prit”, Sam complained as he pulled a thread of meat off his fork. “Tastes like something Kafka would cook. Where did you get it?”
Prit pulled another stick out of the fire and wrinkled his nose at the scorched strip of meat hanging from it.
“Better question is what is it?” Xavier added. “Tastes like salted boot leather and its not even chewy.”
Prit passed Sam a bottle of vodka. “Hey, we’re lost and out of food–that’s some Russian canned stuff I found.” He picked up a rounded tin can and held it to the light of the fire. “Correction, it’s some Ami canned stuff–“S” “P” “A” “M”–“Spam”, must be an acronym or something.
“A what?” Adrian sniffed.
“You know”, Sam said, “where each letter stands for a word.”
“S**t, P**s And Meat?” Adrian mused.
More likely “Soldier’s Putrid American Meat”, Sam laughed. “Say, did Tolga ever get that tread back on?”
The entire crew of the scarlet StuG chuckled at this “in” joke. Tolga’s Tiger I was famed on the Eastern Front for throwing its tracks.
“No and our reconnaissance armored car hasn’t done any reconnaissance either.” Xavier said. He looked off into the dark Russian night. “They’re both parked over there. They probably have decent food and don’t want to share it--bastards.”
“Could be, personally I think they just don’t like the smell of this.” Prit held up a strip of meat and popped it into his mouth. Before his mouth closed, a huge hound appeared out of nowhere and leaped on him, licking his face with it’s equally huge tongue.”
“Jesus Christ!”, Prit yelped, trying to push the dog away. “Damn near scared me to death!”
Sam holstered his pistol and Xavier put his MP-40 back down on the ground. Adrian gobbled another piece of meat and watched calmly as the hound continued to lick Prit’s face.
“Where the hell did he come from?” Sam asked.
“Looks like an old girlfriend of Prit’s”, Xavier jibed.
“Maybe we could eat it”, Adrian said half-jokingly.
The hound walked over to the fire and lifted it’s leg.
“Ill-mannered beast”, Prit cursed as he wiped dog slobber off his face. “Probably has fleas.”
“Like we don’t already?” Xavier joked.
Sam offered the hound a morsel of meat. To his great surprise the dog snapped it up and whimpered, begging for more.
“That does it”, Adrian said angrily, “Prit, you just fed us some Russian dog food!”
Prit was about to protest, but Sam seized the dog by its neck. “Hey, look, a message!”
After undoing the piece of thread tying the note to the dog’s neck, he pulled it off and unrolled the note. “It’s from that sniper guy, Craig. It’s a map! Hah! He says something about an airbase in Stinsk.”
“Sounds like fun”, Adrian yawned. “I’m going to bed. If I get the runs tonight, we’re going to be minus a cook in the morning.” He turned over as Prit gave him the finger. But Prit knew that he would have the final revenge. The only food left on the StuG was a case of spam.
Prit pulled another stick out of the fire and wrinkled his nose at the scorched strip of meat hanging from it.
“Better question is what is it?” Xavier added. “Tastes like salted boot leather and its not even chewy.”
Prit passed Sam a bottle of vodka. “Hey, we’re lost and out of food–that’s some Russian canned stuff I found.” He picked up a rounded tin can and held it to the light of the fire. “Correction, it’s some Ami canned stuff–“S” “P” “A” “M”–“Spam”, must be an acronym or something.
“A what?” Adrian sniffed.
“You know”, Sam said, “where each letter stands for a word.”
“S**t, P**s And Meat?” Adrian mused.
More likely “Soldier’s Putrid American Meat”, Sam laughed. “Say, did Tolga ever get that tread back on?”
The entire crew of the scarlet StuG chuckled at this “in” joke. Tolga’s Tiger I was famed on the Eastern Front for throwing its tracks.
“No and our reconnaissance armored car hasn’t done any reconnaissance either.” Xavier said. He looked off into the dark Russian night. “They’re both parked over there. They probably have decent food and don’t want to share it--bastards.”
“Could be, personally I think they just don’t like the smell of this.” Prit held up a strip of meat and popped it into his mouth. Before his mouth closed, a huge hound appeared out of nowhere and leaped on him, licking his face with it’s equally huge tongue.”
“Jesus Christ!”, Prit yelped, trying to push the dog away. “Damn near scared me to death!”
Sam holstered his pistol and Xavier put his MP-40 back down on the ground. Adrian gobbled another piece of meat and watched calmly as the hound continued to lick Prit’s face.
“Where the hell did he come from?” Sam asked.
“Looks like an old girlfriend of Prit’s”, Xavier jibed.
“Maybe we could eat it”, Adrian said half-jokingly.
The hound walked over to the fire and lifted it’s leg.
“Ill-mannered beast”, Prit cursed as he wiped dog slobber off his face. “Probably has fleas.”
“Like we don’t already?” Xavier joked.
Sam offered the hound a morsel of meat. To his great surprise the dog snapped it up and whimpered, begging for more.
“That does it”, Adrian said angrily, “Prit, you just fed us some Russian dog food!”
Prit was about to protest, but Sam seized the dog by its neck. “Hey, look, a message!”
After undoing the piece of thread tying the note to the dog’s neck, he pulled it off and unrolled the note. “It’s from that sniper guy, Craig. It’s a map! Hah! He says something about an airbase in Stinsk.”
“Sounds like fun”, Adrian yawned. “I’m going to bed. If I get the runs tonight, we’re going to be minus a cook in the morning.” He turned over as Prit gave him the finger. But Prit knew that he would have the final revenge. The only food left on the StuG was a case of spam.
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....
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Hound of Ill Omen
- Supporter
- Posts: 61
- Joined: Tue Sep 23, 2003 10:54 am
- Location: Afrika
- Contact:
I am not Craig, but Banno, Stooly, it's all the same to me.
We should stop discussing this here as this is the Forum Heroes post not a place to discuss the character weaknesses of other members.
Regards,
HOIL
We should stop discussing this here as this is the Forum Heroes post not a place to discuss the character weaknesses of other members.
Regards,
HOIL
You need to take a good hard look at yourself in the mirror, and give yourself an uppercut!
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Commissar D, the Evil
- Moderator
- Posts: 4823
- Joined: Sun Sep 29, 2002 7:22 pm
- Location: New Jersey
Yes, a Forum Hero is loyal to other Forum Heroes, that is what makes them Forum Heroes:We should stop discussing this here as this is the Forum Heroes post not a place to discuss the character weaknesses of other members.
"I For' um
You For' um
We're All
FORUM HEROES!!!!"
Das_Reich, if you want to join up, pick a character name and a military specialty. But above all, remember the first rule of snipers (and Forum Heroes) "DON'T SHOOT THE GOOD GUYS!"
Best Regards,
~D
(P.S., This just in from NKVD Central: "Michael Kenny has joined Tolga Alkan's Tiger I crew, while a mysterious fellow named "The Shadow" appears to be sitting in Tom's Armored Car.)
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....