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Wide World of Sport - The Peng Cricket Challenge Cup.


Noba

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Since I'm fairly well up to speed on the process of cooking eggs and pigs I thought I'd inquire as to the methodology he used in cooking stout.

Look, we both know there's no chance in hell he was using the stout as a marinade for the pig, as he would have drank it as soon as the bottle cap flew off, and then cracked another while waiting on the toast for the eggs, so your statement can only refer to the initial cooking of the wort.

So nnnaaaahhh

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I've drank enough to drown a hippo, yet still, these truth's do I hold dear; a bawdy song and sharing of liquor with the bard sings sweetly to my ear. "Head West, old man, for we have streams aplenty, oceans to roam, and an old agitator can easily find home."

Good grief. You've inhaled far too many fumes from that wood burning stove of yours...you know, the one you tried to make out of an oil drum and neither the door nor the pipe fits too well. Anyway, it seems to have reduced you to one surviving brain cell and that one isn't looking too healthy. It's sort of staggering around mumbling what it mistakenly conceives of as poetic inspiration but which in truth is merely confusion. Which, come to think of it, is about what a lot of recent "poetry" amounts to.

Now where was I? Oh yes. Now why don't you just lie down for a bit and maybe some kind-hearted soul will call for an ambulance for you. They will take you to a nice, clean place where you will be properly administered to in your final days.

Alternately, the said K-H S might just strike you repeatedly on the noggin with a large, heavy, and unyielding object. Like, say, a big cast iron frying pan. That would lend a nice homey touch, don't you think?

Michael

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Did I REALLY sign off on you becoming a Knight?

Well, Joe, you know you've never been exactly famous for being alert to those little signs of incipient psychopathy, like persistent drooling or being wall-eyed in both eyes. After all, he is a slum landlord. What can you expect? That's like being a used car salesman, only without the stylish and tasteful dress.

Michael

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Well, Joe, you know you've never been exactly famous for being alert to those little signs of incipient psychopathy, like persistent drooling or being wall-eyed in both eyes. After all, he is a slum landlord. What can you expect? That's like being a used car salesman, only without the stylish and tasteful dress.

Michael

In my defense he was my FIRST Squire and I imagine that I thought ALL Squires were that way.

Certainly the drooling and wall eyed aspect were present then but I probably attributed it to too many hours creating PowerPoints I assigned him on the subject of "Peng, A Cause or a Symptom?"

He never did get the hang of animation on those bullet points.

Joe

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Emrys, you post padding pundit-thrope, must you insert an inane response after

every freaking post of man, dog, god, and demon;

every piss-post by prophet, profit and preachin';

every technical spectacle treacle and leeching;

every dumb-shrug and humbug and endless repeatin?

Ha-whY?

If'n yer not careful-like, you'll get sum dalem to versifyin', see ifn't he don't get to projectifyin', jest see if'n he don't!

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I was robbed! Boo!, stole a draw, when I clearly had him on the ropes. He should admit publicly that he lost, 51 - 49. Oh, and I hate him. A lot.

Yes, yes, yes, Peng me old bean-o. Timing is everything. Some might say that the universe is everything and I won't argue with those fine men in their powdered wigs and fancy stockings, but you and I know a thing or three about these things. Things like when it's best to purge your clipboard. How to tune a guitar without hurting yourself and what is the difference between inertia and centrifugal force.

We know these things and in knowing them, we might lay our finger beside our nose and give a gentle nod. And after poking ourselves in the eye we might reflect, or even genuflect on the issue of timing.

Since you COMPLETELY buggered that attack, I shall pick the next little pas de deux.

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All of this inane chatter reminds me of a sixth homeroom class in an all-girls elementary school. More than likely a Catholic one, where the chatter would be even more inane as the young lassies twitter away waiting for the arrival of Sister Emanual and her 12 inch steel ruler. The thought of which strikes fear into the hearts of the little girls, who must watch every step for fear of being rapped across the backside with the aforementioned measuring device.

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All of this inane chatter reminds me of a sixth homeroom class in an all-girls elementary school. More than likely a Catholic one, where the chatter would be even more inane as the young lassies twitter away waiting for the arrival of Sister Emanual and her 12 inch steel ruler. The thought of which strikes fear into the hearts of the little girls, who must watch every step for fear of being rapped across the backside with the aforementioned measuring device.

Go on. I'm listening.

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Odd, don't you think, how Nidan1 was able to get the details in his little fantasy so accurate, even down to the steel ruler ... it's almost as if he could have seen it himself ... perhaps through a peephole ... or a strategically placed camera ... or somefink.

I'm just saying ...

In other news I've sent a turn to Stuka, who clearly doesn't deserve it, and I've heard NOTHING from him ... doubtless the fear of opening the turn has him nearly paralyzed.

And in still other news I've started a CMSF USMC game with Berli ... I gave him the Marines since he'd likely start weeping if he didn't have them.

Joe

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In other news I've sent a turn to Stuka, who clearly doesn't deserve it, and I've heard NOTHING from him ... doubtless the fear of opening the turn has him nearly paralyzed.

On the other hand, he might have fallen off his Dune Thunderer again and broken his neck this time. Perhaps he lies helpless and dying on a pile of sand, surrounded by scorpions and venomous snakes who violently resent his cacophonous intrusion into their previously peaceful territory.

At least one can hope so.

Michael

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On the other hand, he might have fallen off his Dune Thunderer again and broken his neck this time. Perhaps he lies helpless and dying on a pile of sand, surrounded by scorpions and venomous snakes who violently resent his cacophonous intrusion into their previously peaceful territory.

At least one can hope so.

Michael

You know Michael, you've a touch of the poet in you ... you really make that scene come alive ... I know I smiled.

Joe

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You all disgust me greatly.

Big deal, send me a turn.

Oh, and Joe? "Not Too Bright" Joe? "Not the Quickest on the Uptake" Joe? "All the Relevance of a Barking Seal" Joe?

I said the drool on YOUR lap and I meant YOUR lap. I don't care if you have a huge terrycloth bib tied around your neck at all times. with your overactive saliva glands, you could be in the middle of the Sahara desert on the driest day of the year, during a hundred year drought, where they've even imported air from the Oklahoma dustbowl and you'd still be surrounded by a puddle of spit, you puddle of spit.

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