stevetherat

The calm of the woods Hides a dark bloody secret Wildman lies here, dead Bridge over river Lies in sight of many guns Croda dares not pass Dense bocage country His nightmare situation Dreams come true for Meeks All these are vermin That fertilize countryside Prey, when will they learn?

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by some uncatergorized freak of nature: Stevethemasterfulandgreatone, You wish it were a default... You will get the damn file when I am good and ready, if that's OK with you, Sir <HR></BLOCKQUOTE> Mouldmoan, you wirehaired, stoat-fisting FREAK. Get the f'ing file over here NOW, or I'll come over there and wrench it from your peanut sized, air filled skull, you yellow backed piece of f'ing pondlife. Is that clear? ------------------ StevetheRat 1:0 Wildman [This message has been edited by stevetherat (edited 01-15-2001).]

Chalk me in (e-mail link above) Steve

To the Keeper of The Ledger May he so record that stevetherat has obtained his first victory, by default. Picture the scene: Wildman: "I'll take on anybody. Anybody! Just give me one shot. I am the best." stevetherat: "You're playing me" Wildman: Colour drains from face. Tremble starts, slowly at first but builds to a crescendo then suddenly stops. Colour flushes back on cheeks suddenly as whole internal organ complement is ejected into trouser legs. Holding on to waistband, he turns and sloshes as speedily as possible over the horizon, with an occasional black lung and red kidney loosening itself from his elesticated trouser legs. Conclusion: stevetherat 1: Wildman 0 Who's next?

KrissKross I have one of those 'girlfriend' appendages that constanly leeches my attention away from these halls like some clingy vampired puppy. But even I manage to take time out to a) Demand from Mouldmoan my passport to a seat on 'The Board' To waste my time completely (and get a right verbal thrashing from the aforementioned 'girlfriend' thing meanwhile) answering your query. Which, by the way, is I have no file to report because I have no FILE. ****, I have just had my eardrum blown through. Time I started administering trouser-wearers authority. (Yes dear, anything you say dear. Yes, just turning it off now dear...) Bitch.

Mildmannered Get your puckered, looping, pile-dangling fat arse into gear and send me your death-certifying f'ing file, you worthless as an encrusted plankton in the corner of an excuciatingly elderly blue whale with no family or friends, pansy

"or else we send Croda after your pets" My pet has just had a bout of the squirts. If you would like to get your piece browned, Croda, go ahead. Mind you, he has been eating his deposits lately. Get used to a higher octave.

Pansy

Mild(wo)man, Elisa & Co. Are you sure you want to publicly shame yourselves? Think twice, because the announcement of my victory will not confine itself to these petulant walls. If still wish to continue, I await in my lair. therat@thelair.co.uk Pansies.

Wake up you stinking pongers. Jeez, is it left up to me to fill this wretched hole with point(and worth)less comments about nothing at all? Just get to your freekin stations and report for freekin duty. NOW!

Puka Bunk? You mean skunk. The top skunk is not yours, you are HIS. So bend your hive ridden hide over and prepare for it to be entered.

I thought this arse-wipe was banned!

I see Elopidae Reeks has been trying to sell the virtue of a pansies game again. Well, take off your tutus yankees and come play a proper game.

OK, you witless bunch of anaemic albino stoat (which you assume is a polar bear because of your sheltered pathetic lives) shaggers, time to get down to basics. Eat me!

Crusty Scenario: (little - and far too insignificant to describe here fully - phlegm encrusted boy walks around with his puny single haired chest pushed out, claiming to rule the roost [if that's OK with you, sir {quivering}]). That's your part, I wrote it especially for you. (OK, this is my bit) "Oi, little - and far too insignificant to describe here fully - phlegm encrusted boy. phuque ewe. You are a PANSY" (Look lively, this is your part) [runs to his leather-backed mother's shirt tails] "You can't get me! Marm, tell him. Tell him daddy will get him." (Your leather-backed mother) "Son, I think I better tell you about daddy. You know when I say I love Rover the dog..." At which point the door closes. Moral: One day, mongrel, you'll have to face up to your challengers. When you do realise this, It'll be me that's standing over your mother's body, measuring her up for my next pair of Doc Martin's.

Mouse Remind me again who won the last game... Oh yes, England. You upside-down-wombat-shagging-digeridoo

Hey Mormon, you can climb back into your basket too. Read the manual before you climb out again. The meek shall inherit the Earth? Not you Elisa, all you'll be getting is a festering cucumber installed into your wrinkly (*) eye. Go back home and ask your guard to lock you back in. Fart.

Croney Clearly my presence here has made you uneasy. Some deductions: 1. You fear the unknown 2. You scare at the slightest crack of a twig 3. You are Rodentist 4. You are so *ucking scared to loose to YET ANOTHER person that you are on a self-invested mission cull any threat to reduce your already lower-than-earthworm-manure position you proudly boast. Pick a number. Any number beginning with 4. So Yoda, come get me. That is if your wiper-of-imprisoned-paedophiliac-dwarven-butmuncher's-anal-pipes job will allow. Pansy.

So, I have shown you superior tactics by drawing you from your whore-ridden, faeces carpeted hovel. Whence I enveloped you in elephantine fish-remnant diarrhea before encapsulating you in a hole of my choosing and design. But still you lay and take it. Croda, I had the misfortune to meet your relatives today. While walking in the street I happened to trod in a pile of canine excrement - the kind with those nut-like additives. It was they who spoke, and by way of introduction, mentioned the lineage to you. Obviously, you were too spineless to appear in the light of day and accompany your fellow gene harborers. I don't blame you, not with a posture like yours; head up your rectal exit. I dare not play you so as to avoid the microbial infection you carry as naturally as I wear aftershave. Wildman and Meeks; football? You call that nancy game of yours football? Is that the game derived from Rugby Football? The game where the players DON'T wrap themselves in armour plating? The game where the players DON'T cry when they are tackled? The game where they can play in only two halves (not sixteenths) because they DON'T have to take a break every 2.37 minutes because they are REAL men? don't make me laugh. And, while we're on the subject, do you nancy boys also like your other national game, baseball? The game which is played here by SCHOOL GIRLS! And still, even they don't wear the plastic assortment of additions that your "players" wear and can hit the ball just as hard. Now you two I would love to play. I can just imagine the walk-over it must be. While you apply beaded seat-covers and cute furry animals to your vehicles, and brush your hair in the rear view mirror, I would have won the game and having tea. Pansies. Lorak, I think I may have seen you before. Professor Stephen Hawkins is a fine communicator and theologian. His mastery of unknown quantities, particularly in the physical science, is legendary. Anyway, I did happen to see an old, soiled, soft toffee stuck to one of his wheels recently. Was that you? Maybe it wasn't a toffee though? The light wasn't that good. A friend of mine has a saying; "As useful as an ashtray on a motorcycle". I think that sums you up pretty well. Up yours, the lot of you.

Q: Where are the 39 Steps?

I have developed and particularly nasty illness: Over the past couple of days I have developed a large protuding instrument that occasionally fires shells. Doctors have failed to aid me as they can't determine whether they are large snail shells or small conch's. Can anyone help?

I woke the next morning, mindful of my vengeful task. I dressed quicklky, and for convenience opted for the chamelion skin dungarees, which I just happened to be sleeping in. After packing my trolley, I headed off. I prepared the first stage: I unloaded the elephant and positioned its rearward facing element toward the door of the house, and unpacked my necromantic components. All unheard or seen by the occupants (they are SO self absorbed!). The second stage was going to require exceptional timing. To this end, I had already purchased the best 4.99 digital watch I could find. Timex never fails to deliver. I pursed my lips and blew on my 'creamhorn of announcement' and waited for the response. Sure enough, out they came like a pack of hungry leprechauns, squeeling and shreeking. I quickly released the hamster which is usually caged round the back. In turn the elephant dropped its load of jelly-like deficant (I had been feeding it eels and oysters for most of the night). Just as planned all unsuspecting occupants slid into the trap, literally. While they fought to regain their footing I began to cast my spell. Using my components I majicked a thunderous quake from the depths of Valhalla. The ground opened and in they fell. As I had only completed half the spell, the hole wasn't deep. But deep enough! I thought this an opportune moment to release my bladder contents over the occupants of the hole. To my surprise some, particularly Croda, stood opened mouthed and drunk on the nectar. Well, well! I looked and laughed heartily, knowing my challenge was laid bare and obvious. Now they HAD to respond...

Upon noticing some particulars of mine were missing, I decided to return to the house in the dead of night. The window still wasn't locked so I slipped in, just as it started to rain. The metaphoroligists said the going in some parts of the world would be wet. They were right! I was halfway through when a small rodent type animal started barking on the hearthrug. It was a Crodarite. They're harmless, but they pump themselves to appear bigger than they really are. I ignored it and, surely enough, it crept back to its lonely hole. I hadn't noticed before, but all the windows and doors were covered in thorns. No wonder I lost my particulars! They certainly don't want anyone coming in here! Especially the sociably curious. Looking round further, I noticed a certain amount of chairs. And a certain amount of goblets, and a certain amount of pieces on the board. Obviously, there is no room for a guest here. I think I will cut my losses and try another house. This one is SO unfriendly! I left another of my aromatic deposits on the floor and left through the window. Again.

(knock knock) Hello! Hello? Anyone in? Damn! Never mind, I'll let myself in anyway. They won't mind, I'm sure. Oh, hello. Who's porrige is this then? And what is a fully functional carousel doing in the dining room? I think I'll have a go... Oh, that was fun! I haven't done that for millennia. While I'm here, and nobody else is, I think I'll make myself comfortable. Oh! What's this? 'Brandy, Special Reserve 1944. Property of Peng' Must be worth a bit. I think I'll have a glass or two. Oh no, it tastes like vinegar (spit). This chair is uncomfortable. I'll rearrange the cushions a bit. There... no, still no good. I don't like the chair anyway - coincidentally, I would like to evacuate my bowel. And this, supposedly, comfy chair looks like just the spot. Oh, what a stinker! I'm going to have to move to the next room. Wow! a games room! I like games. Looks like they play a lot here. I wonder if they're any good? I think not. From all those candy wrappers, games magazines and smutty playing cards, I'm guessing they're just children. I'll just rearrange the pieces on the board. That'll throw them! (hee hee) Pitty nobody was in. Well, never mind. I'll come back soon and see if anyone wants to play. I better not tell them I've been here before - they'll go mad! Oh no, I can hear someone coming! There's a back window. I can make it if I'm quick...

I'm in. But only because I want to see what the 'Official' CM nerds look like and to see if Rob1 is either 11 or 12 years old. Steve