Leeo

Do I sense "fire-and-forget" weapons? Those of a kind wherein something something? (I blame the vodka; y'all can just blame me)

I like this potion: Hindi-indie.

I surrendered to MrSpkr. I'm not much into playing ant when another wants to play magnifying glass on a sunny day. Irregulars with Toyotas, RPGs and Kalishnikovs against US IFV's at night in open country does not a potential make. If he wants to have that kind of fun, he can lure in some SSN to get his Jabos off. If he wants a REAL game, I'll dig one out and start anew. Being forced to live in Texas, it's no surpise he feels sadistic; That would make anyone nuts.

I think Nidan1 would do better with a little braindrycleaning. Maybe a couple of passes with the lint brush will remove those loose neurons.

Do electronic sheep have nightmares of Australians?

I am multitudinous. I contain the universe. However, despite this fact, Nidan1 has achieved a major victory over my multidudes of brave green American scrappers. I was too focused on getting the flags. And I had massive casualties before the scenario even started. And the sun was in my eyes. And the gods abandoned me. And... And... it was not meant to be. I'd congratulate him, but any monkey could've pulled the triggers on my ineptitude. And so it goes...

It's trilobite, you ignorant adjuticator of recorded codifications!

I have completely destroyed Joe Xia's M1s. He is a sissy nancy boy who quavers in the grip of tactical ineptitude. A new game has he sent unto me, though by his own admission, it reeks of his previous stamp upon it. I have totally scared shatless Nidan1's Bulging-Blue-berm of befuddled Germinators. He had blue, he had blue, I had heavy casualties, he had what what?! He will win, but I will have made him pay. Mayhap he's brave enough to do a CMSF game next time around the wheel? Boo is a pox unto my sight. His tanktickles have killed all of mine'n. Feckin' bastich. I hammer him with arty and hide. Too bad Arty Shaw recently passed away, as I imagine him and the Boohooster to be much the same. MrSpkr talks loudly about his multiple bang-sticks and capers in glee at the foul demise of my irregulars facing imperialist running dogicles. That's all, folksillites.

I hate everybody. Once, the particular, I hate Mr.squeker; He is as a carbuncle unto my sight. Second, the groupular, I hate BOO (admit it, I scared you just a tech there). As to the Thirdulous, I completely abhor said Nidan1. As four Fordulous, Mr.Spkr-the-squealishness is a stink to me. Fifthulous, Joe Xia, owes me recompense for my utter thrashing of his Tanklickles. As f0r the rest of you'se all's, COME GET SOME!!

It's also nice to know that there remain those who find great glee in creating lopsided battles in an attempt to assuage "lost honor" for not finishing previous games. It's not as if I'm a frikken SSN, and this attorney thinks it's funny to completely stack the deck against me. Not that I care about winning, I'm in it for the fun, but apparently said "Spkr" is into the domination game. Pitiful, really. Ha Ha, hee hee, ah, 'tis to laugh. Perhaps I can buy you a magnifying glass and an ant farm? May-hap a laboratory mouse and a snap-trap? Would that help the superiority bone? Oh, the tears of laughter I shed. Oh, the hearty harrumph I bellow. This, a "knight," does not prove to be a fellow.

I would like to simply point out that I am 'splodeying Joe's M1s. A lot.

You guys making hurt eyes my the gooberese. Terns send too lacking?

What's this? A sack of law-making-wanna-be seeks to engage me? It seems to proffer non-sensical out-of-date accomplishments. I laugh. I titter. In fact, I even "tee-hee." Let's just say that I'll believeth what I seeith. And if'n I romp with him in the field of pusillanimous destitution, it will become obvious that he flees at the threat of my mighty tread. So let it be written, so let it be attempted in some vague way.

How in the name of Peng did I get drug into all of this? Mmmm, drugs.... MrSpker is a dilly-dallyer with no staying power. He wanders in, dips his toe, and then runs shivering with fright from the MBT. His haughty 'looking-down-the-nose-firmly-up-the-client's-arse' schtick does not carry water here. He can't deal with the babbling denizens of decrepitude that bay at his heels (and refuse to pay his billable hours). He'll be gone again within the week, if not less. He might start a game, but he won't finish it (much like the cases that haunt his waking hours). On another topic, I blew the crap out of Joe's M1, and I'll gets me plenty more, see if'n I don't!

I wanna learn how to drink from the Oddstralians. Not that someone of my caliber can actually decipher enough to eddify my inebreation, but still; What was I mumbling? Oh yeah, Mace me a drink!

I am funny. Not ha-ha, not poofty, just funny in the head. Funny is as funny does, and funny wunny wasn't funny, was he? When I was a child they had "Fuzzy Bear" soap (at least in Colorado). It was to go along with that childhood rhyme that all of you lot mumble in your sleep. Anywho, once you got it wet in the process of using it to clean yourself (again, a foreign concept for you shambling mounds of mediocrity) it would grow a sort of white fuzz on the bear-shaped cake of yellow soap after sitting in the air a bit. Then, if you used up all the soap, some bit of jagged tiny toy would emerge from the center of the bar, flensing your skin in the process, until you were left with nothing but blood and a crackerjack toy. Them were the good old days when capitalists were torturous and children bled freely. Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear, Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair, Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he?

They're just not that into you, Stukes.

Yeth, I've leaked all my assthpirationths.

I have never felt like a cigarette.

So I take it somehow I was grandfathered in? Must've been the vigor with which I kept my piss-buckets so shiny. Nothin' but bunished bronze for MY former Liege. Truth is, though, the daft aussie bugger owes me a "set-up," and he liked to trim his nosehairs using the reflection from the bottom of the bronze.

I am on the verge of throwing dictionaries and thesauruseseses at the lot of you. FeCk!

Hmmm, "Chicken dinners on me!" Hmmm...

Yes, but: How does this hasten my reception of a tern by U?

We are a balmy 835 Tesla-Melkin degrees. Convert that, you feckin' bastiges! On another note, the efforts of my brave, attrited, green American's look as though they are unlikely to persevere against Nidan's green Gesuhndieten. We also are unlikely to overcome Boo's Wehrmachteningengen. But I'm not scared. Why, next time around, I'm assured of kicking their puny-pitifundus arses. See if'n I won't! (Former phrasing brought to you by cojones one and two).

I imagine he picks nits, so I'd think that would make him a groomer. Concialiatory grooming is a trademark of groomernationals.